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Doomed Dynasty Pt. 01

By: Egmont0409



---Set in New Zealand---

INTRODUCTION

The gnarled-faced woman, hair white and thinning without a hint of waves to give relief to her aged appearance, sat at ease, her pale violet eyes looked permanently saddened as if life had treated her cruely.

The widow resident of the retirement home bearing her name, pulled out a cheque from her dressing gown pocket. It was signed and dated, the amount correctly entered as $38,000. 

"Thank you Mr Drummond," she said to the novelist. "Well done and spend your earnings wisely."

Mark Drummond looked into those steady violet eyes for the final time, his job done. 

"Thank you, Mrs Curtis," he said, almost bowing. "It has been a pleasure listening to you and helping you to preserve the history of your distinguished family."

"Go," was all she said.

Well she looked tired and he had money to bank.

Mark wished Courtney Curtis a comfortable and long life in her twilight years, knowing she'd only commissioned this book because she regarded it as her duty. Her son had disgraced the family name land perhaps even worse had lost the family's fortune and not fathered a son. That failure had doomed the survival of this Curtis Dynasty into which she'd married and had influenced the family significantly.

Mrs Curtis had been a pain to deal with but after the third and really fiery row he'd emerged the victor. Sullenly she agreed that she was to tell the stories, fill in the gaps as requested, and he'd write the book anyway he wished. She'd buckled to his ultimatum that he'd walk unless she pulled in her horns and left the writing to him.

Mark drove away thinking Mrs Curtis was one of the most impressive women he'd ever met. It was a magnificent story and virtually had told itself. He'd learned that morning the paperback edition of 'Doomed Dynasty', already out, had won the historic category in the Pfeiffer-Mc Higgins New Zealand Book Awards.

Before turning away he saw Mrs Curtis open her copy of the book, the newly produced hard cover version he'd collected as part of the deal to earn his payment.

CHAPTER 1

Dressed in a baggy grey tracksuit and pink fluffy scuffs, Courtney Curtis stood at the window, nursing an empty coffee cup. She looked at the solitary figure down on the beach. Her husband Matt was gazing out to sea, standing motionless.

After watching a runabout disappear from view around the headland The gnarled-faced woman, hair white and thinning without a hint of waves to give relief to her aged appearance, sat at ease, her pale violet eyes looked permanently saddened as if life had treated her cruely.

The widow resident of the retirement home bearing her name, pulled out a cheque from her dressing gown pocket. It was signed and dated, the amount correctly entered as $38,000. 

"Thank you Mr Drummond," she said to the novelist. "Well done and spend your earnings wisely."

Mark Drummond looked into those steady violet eyes for the final time, his job done. 

"Thank you, Mrs Curtis," he said, almost bowing. "It has been a pleasure listening to you and helping you to preserve the history of your distinguished family."

"Go," was all she said.

Well she looked tired and he had money to bank.

Mark wished Courtney Curtis a comfortable and long life in her twilight years, knowing she'd only commissioned this book because she regarded it as her duty. Her son had disgraced the family name land perhaps even worse had lost the family's fortune and not fathered a son. That failure had doomed the survival of this Curtis Dynasty into which she'd married and had influenced the family significantly.

Mrs Curtis had been a pain to deal with but after the third and really fiery row he'd emerged the victor. Sullenly she agreed that she was to tell the stories, fill in the gaps as requested, and he'd write the book anyway he wished. She'd buckled to his ultimatum that he'd walk unless she pulled in her horns and left the writing to him.

Mark drove away thinking Mrs Curtis was one of the most impressive women he'd ever met. It was a magnificent story and virtually had told itself. He'd already learbed the paperback edition of 'Doomed Dynasty', already out, had won the historic category in the Pfeiffer-Mc Higgins New Zealand Book Awards.

Before turning away he saw Mrs Curtis open her copy of the book, the hard cover version he'd collected as part of the deal to earn his payment.

CHAPTER 1

Dressed in a baggy grey tracksuit and pink fluffy scuffs, Courtney Curtis stood at the window, nursing an empty coffee cup. She looked at the solitary figure down on the beach. Her husband Matt was gazing out to sea, standing motionless.

After watching a runabout towing two water-skiers disappear from view around the headland, Courtney went to the patio and began clearing away the remains of breakfast. She hurried, wanting to get back to her studio. It was times like this that she missed having a housekeeper.

Matt should be up here doing this because it was largely his mess. She immediately regretted thinking that about the person who was her landlord, her shared lover and father of their only child.

Minutes later her married life ended. 

Well to the south on that Sunday morning, the general manager of Mayfield Investments Ltd, Matt and Courtney Curtis' son Reece, was at his office dressed in a green and blue shot silk shirt, blue jeans and white boat shoes, filling in time before taking his wife Chase to brunch at the Slaughter House. 

She was out shopping.

Chase liked going to the Slaughter House, as most of the regulars were her kind of people, young, stylish and 'cool', and because the entertainment was unique.

Reece thought it was miraculous a restaurant called Slaughter House attracted any custom at all. Three weeks ago he'd tried to book a table for two and had to agree to go on the waiting list. A cancellation that secured a table for them came only two days ago. 

It was the restaurateur rather than the top-rated chef that produced the establishment's enormous popularity. Perhaps it was not surprising that someone who'd named his restaurant after an abattoir that once had occupied the site would be nicknamed Mad Willy. He would be no more insane than most of his clientele, but he knew a thing or two about marketing. At an appropriate moment when many of the diners had their food in front of them, Mad Willy would dash from the kitchen shouting and carrying a meat cleaver in his hand.

"Who ordered spare ribs!" he'd yell. "Gotta tell you, I chopped off one of my wife's fingers; she now wants it back. So who's got it?"

The fun for regulars came from looking at the reaction of newcomers, who'd be watching Mad Willy, mouths agape. 

The more nervous of them would be picking through their plate of chicken or spaghetti looking for a severed finger.

Others would have their eyes fixed on the cleaver, swinging menacingly as the terrible man approached their table. 

It was sheer theatre, always with some variation.

The last time Reece was at the restaurant on a business lunch a woman just finished stripping her spare ribs and was wiping her mouth when Willy did this act. She'd burst into tears with fright. Willy tossed his cleaver behind the bar and went over and gently apologised to the woman. 

Then stepping back he sang 'Oh My Beloved' in a beautiful voice, clearly that of a trained tenor. On that occasion the loudest applause came from his victim and her husband.

"Don't worry, my love," Mad Willy told the woman loudly. "My wife has eight fingers on each hand, so she has fingers to spare."

No surprisingly, Reece was looking forward to returning to the Slaughter House to enjoy the uplifting atmosphere. He was at a low, his marriage was failing; he was struggling to perform in his high profile management job and only by his nocturnal activities was managing to keep his debtors at arm's length.

While waiting for the report to print out he looked at the smaller of two photographs on his desk, a close-up of his parents. 

Reece lightly touched the image of his mother, running a finger down the side of her face. It was a lovely gesture, performed almost sub-consciously. He barely glanced at the image of his father, and when he did so it was with the hint of a scowl.

Reece's printer spat out the last page of the report, the dull humming of the motor stopped. 

At about that moment on a Sunday in mid June, the man on the beach Matt Curtis collapsed. An incoming flow from an exhausted wave stopped just short of his lifeless body. 

Three days later, Reece walked towards the crowded Miranda Valley & District Presbyterian Church on a grey afternoon, his arm around the shoulders of his white-faced but smiling mother Courtney. Walking on the other side of Courtney and holding her hand was his wife Chase. Behind them came his grandmother Patricia.

Two fire engines were parked opposite the church and ten volunteer firemen of the small brigade formed in two lines on the side of the path to the church saluted when Courtney, widow of their chief fire officer, walked with her family between their lines. 

Sympathetic eyes fell on the widow briefly. Involuntarily, most gazes drifted to her stunning daughter Chase. 

As Chase Ireland, the Australian had gone on from winning a South Pacific beauty pageant to become an internationally famous swimsuit model, based on Paris. She had retired almost three years ago on the eve of her marriage. However the late Matt Curtis was at the centre of eulogies and later conversations. 

Comments made by the Rev Chong and other speakers at the church service would later be amplified and even exaggerated in the church hall, with tea and coffee largely being ignored. Some of the best red and white wines from Matt's cellar would sluice down Thai finger food, club sandwiches, pastries and meringues.

Acting chief fire officer Merv Arnold found to his surprise that townspeople were greeting him with new recognition. He was enjoying this elevated status as head fireman and hoped that a call out to a fire or some other emergency would not ruin his afternoon.

After the gathering ended and most people had dispersed and Merv was about to order crews to return the two fire appliances to the station, he heard the clatter of high heels on the concrete behind him.

"Hullo, Merv," came a soft greeting from just below his right shoulder. 

He turned, and looked straight into the baby blue eyes of Vikki Armstrong, proprietor of the Riverside Café. "It's a very sad time for us all."

Merv nodded, being almost tongue tied as Vikki presented her cheek to be kissed. Everyone knew, and he knew better than most, she'd been Matt's girl... er mistress. 

Merv was aware that although Matt and Vikki had meticulously tried to keep their secret life their secret, nonetheless tongues found reason to waggle among groups on street corners, in bars and at sewing circles.

Something Vikki was saying jolted Merv back from his musing. Her words excited him. "Come and have a coffee with me one morning. Park under the big pohutukawa tree at the side of the building; if you phone beforehand I'll leave the side door unlocked."

Merv moistened his lips that suddenly had dried. "Right, I'd love to pop in sometime and chat over coffee."

He wondered if Vikki wore black underwear. He grinned, knowing he was the man to kept Vikki's fire stocked as Matt's hand-picked successor.

The head waitress/manager at the Riverside Café, Muriel Jones, saw her boss talking to Merv and concluded that Vikki was wasting her time. Merv the plumber's nervous little wife kept him on a very short lead; it was a wonder he'd been allowed to join the fire brigade that had him rushing out and about at all hours of the day and night.

The unmarried Muriel knew she would feel Matt's departure for a while. She'd often though the café seemed to light up when he walked in. She'd become used to the horsy smell of him when he had arrived straight from the farm. He would kiss her, sometimes before he kissed Vikki, and she'd brace herself for the occasional friendly slap on her butt.

Women had been attracted to Big Matt.

* * * 

Miranda Valley starts high in a mountain range and runs out like a mouth of a funnel onto coastal flats. 

The town of Miranda of some 4000 people lies on both sides of the river and ends at the start of a narrow coastal reserve on the beachfront. Beyond that is a bay reaching out into Cook Strait, the watery gap between the South and North Islands that link the South Pacific Ocean and the Tasman Sea.

William Curtis was one of the three British immigrants who purchased land from the native Maori in 1847 and cleared the first grazing areas in the region for their cattle and sheep. In an act of generosity, during a period of high farm prices, those three pioneering farmers jointly gifted a strip of land to the Government to form a reserve in perpetuity. They handed across that land while retaining a small block at it's centre for themselves. 

The wisdom of holding on to that small piece of land privately with superb ocean views went unnoticed at the time but over the years its exclusivity became apparent after the block was subdivided into three dwellings sites. The homes built there by the Whitehead and Thompson families, descendants of the original settlers, to abut the existing Curtis home were the only properties for a almost a mile on either side of that block to have direct access to the beach.

Matt's grandfather Charles built a replacement grand home in the 1920s on the Curtis's one acre home site. He named it Aberdeen, after the birthplace in Scotland of his mother Amelia. 

Over the years usually a Curtis, Whitehead or Thompson was the chairman of the Town Board, or following local government reforms, chairman of the County Council, then later mayor of the Borough Council and more latterly mayor of the District Council.

At the time of his death Matt Curtis was ending his second term at mayor. 

Several communities in the district, ranging in size of between 50 to 300 people are situated on beaches to the north and south while the largest of them developed where isolated supply shacks were built by traders to service the first European settlers and small tribes of Maori whose ancestors arrived several hundred years earlier.

* * *

At least one discussion at the function after Matt Curtis' funeral touched briefly on the subject of his successor as mayor.

"Deputy Mayor Ivan Whyte will be an adequate fill-in until the next local body elections," Ewan Major said to his brother, Steven. "But he won't get things done like Matt did."

Steven nodded, commenting, "Although old Charlie Whitehead doesn't say much as a councillor, he could toss his hat into the ring. You know, the town expects a Curtis, Whitehead or a Thompson to be the leading citizen, and I reckon Charlie will waltz in if he goes for the top job."

"You're probably right, but Matt's boy could upset things if he chooses to come back to live here. The rumour is that he will. Anyway, we've not here to get too involved in discussing politics. Pass the bottle will you."

Similar conversations about Matt and his loss to the community were beginning to decrease as people dropped into their customary patter of commenting the weather, blocked drains and pot holes and, of course, rugby, food, television programming and 'the impossible' younger generation.

Merv Arnold was talking to two of his firemen while keeping one eye on Vikki across the room expressing her condolences. 

Newly widowed Courtney had stepped forward to give Vikki a long hug, much to the amazement of those who knew that this was a significant public meeting between her and her late husband's grieving mistress.

"Matt was a hero, he really was," Vikki sniffed, astonished at Courtney's embrace in public.

"Yes indeed, he gave so much of himself," Courtney smiled without apparent malice.

"Mum sorry to interrupt but Mrs Martin is leaving and wants to say goodbye," said Reece, totally ignoring Vikki. He couldn't understand what his father saw in that woman who was all breasts, tum and bum and talked excessively. But at least he agreed with her on one thing, his father was a hero, as well as what she didn't say... an adulterer and a flawed husband and inadequate father.

Chase, becoming bored by the ritual and mindless conversations, looked at her husband. She wondered why Reece had neither the build nor the aggressiveness of his father Matt, whom she had rather fancied. Whenever she'd been around Matt there was always a feeling of excitement, if nothing was happening, he would make something happen. Matt had been like a second father to her. In contrast, her own father had never allowed her to take risks, calling her 'My Princess" just as her mother did. Her parents had treated her protectively, as if trying to shield her from harm to preserve her good looks and an incredibly unblemished skin. 

In contrast, her father had been uncompromising towards her and she revelled in his attention. It had been Matt who had taught her to ride a horse, to catch salmon and to drive his four-wheel-drive vehicle on bone-jolting journeys across paddocks to ford rivers and climb mountains... at least the hills looked like mountains to her when she was going up the scary steep slopes.

He wasn't bothered with conventions or saying what he thought. She recalled a time when the rest of the family had gone down on to the beach to walk off an enormous Christmas lunch. She and Matt were alone beside the pool resting.

"Do you mind if I sunbath with my top off," she had asked nervously, adding, "I will remain on my tummy."

Matt had laughed. "Go to it, and turn over as many times as you wish, it won't excite me. "You're too lanky to get me excited."

That was probably true as Courtney was curvaceous and the woman in town that Reece had pointed out being "Dad's scarlet woman" was an over-inflated Barbie look-alike except that she had brown hair. 

Matt had been an incorrigible flirt and she enjoyed the attention when that teasing was directed at her. She sighed and said aloud, "I'll miss you, really miss you Matt."

In the middle of the room there was quite a gathering around a group of Americans, including two blonde women who looked as if they were mother and daughter. 

The loudest voice belonged to another in that party, Matt's Aunt Milly, who was telling everyone who was listening how Matt as a 17-year-old had come to her ranch in Wyoming and she sent him home a little over three years later "ready to take on the world".

In the far corner of the room was a man, with a crutch on the empty seat beside him. His right leg was missing from just above the knee. He was unshaven, quite scruffy. On the seat next to him was a greying fox terrier, dozing despite the noise. The teenage son of one of Matt's closest friends returned to the man carrying a bottle of wine. His interest was to pump the old man a bit more for a story that could become an "Incident from the Past" essay required as part of his high school studies.

"Cheers, Mr Thomas. Now let me dump the empty bottle for you. I'm afraid that the Cloudy Bay sav is all gone. But the barman said that this one from Nelson's lower Moutere Valley is every bit as good."

"Doesn't matter laddie, it's all plonk to me. Now, where were we? Matt and I were being swept down the Miranda River..."

Extracting useful titbits from all this chatter was Ali Packard, a reporter from the local newspaper The Bugle. Unnoticed, a feature writer from a national Sunday newspaper was also quietly at work. His story of the turbulent life of Matt Curtis would be featured as a double-page spread in the newspaper distributed around the country.

When finding out of the presence of that uninvited reporter, Reece and Courtney initially were appalled at the intrusion. But the journalist was an elderly, persuasive man, and managed to convince Reece that it would be advantageous to be allowed to continue his fact-gathering to supplement material already on hand at the newspaper.


Doomed Dynasty Pt. 01



The journalist offered to later interview Reece alone about memories of his father "to ensure we get an accurate picture." This pressure to participate forced Reece to think clearly about his father in a way he had not done so previously, even when pressed by Chase "to let it all flow out." He thought perhaps now was the time to do that. 

The feature writer had been warned by his news editor not to expect any cooperation from Matt's son... "Like his dad, Reece Curtis really is a hard bastard." 

The warning appeared to be misplaced, however. Reece showed himself to be a thoughtful and clear-thinking individual, who expressed himself well and, in this instance, was particularly cooperative.

* * *

The article, rather than a simple obituary, in The Sunday Tribune was headed 'Death of a Multiple Hero and Hard B----d'. 

None of the family was upset at that heading, least of all Patricia, Matt's mother. It was only stating the truth.

The article outlined the Curtis dynasty. 

'In 1867 William Curtis, a Scot born just outside Aberdeen and later farmed stud cattle at Tillyfour, sailed for New Zealand with his wife Amelia and two small children, Charles and Alice, to buy land to develop a cattle and sheep station far larger than that William could have afforded to do in his native Scotland.' 

'Eventually suitable land was found alongside the Miranda River, some of it old riverbed terraces. Ever mindful of the homeland on the other side of the world, he named his station Faraway Farm.' 

'His son Charles inherited Faraway Farm in 1891, he married a Christchurch lawyer's daughter, Sarah Scott, and it then passed on to his only son, Collier Curtis, in 1924 who had married the daughter of a local pastoralist, Patricia Sutherland. It passed to son Matt in 1957 who the following year married Courtney Sterling of Wellington. Matt had been christened Matthew but soon after he started talking he persistently called himself Matt and the shorter version of his name stuck. Collier 'Fearless' Curtis, a local legend because of his fearless horsemanship, wild behaviour and then in his latter years his aggressiveness as mayor to modernise the town centre and persuade the Government to build a bridge over the river to replace the out-dated but nevertheless iconic ferry.'

'Collier worked on toughening up his son from an early age. He proudly claimed that he wanted Matt to fight above his weight and ride horses furiously, boasting that he looked forward to the day when Matt could knock him senseless, race him to the back boundary of their farm and drink him under the table.'

'Matt achieved his father's first two targets by the time he turned seventeen but never achieved the third, much to his father's disappointment. His father's capacity for liquor would invariably left him 'last man standing' at parties with shearers, shepherds and neighbours.'

The article stated that in his last year at high school Matt was expelled for assaulting a fellow pupil, Victoria (Vikki) Armstrong, who eventually became a very close friend of her former assailant.

The writer reported that people were shocked to learn of the assault on the Rev. Clyde Armstrong's daughter. As the deeply aggrieved widower gathered sufficient support to get Matt expelled from the school, Rev. Armstrong decided against referring the incident to the police after gaining the agreement of Matt's father, the Mayor, to arrange for his disgraced son to 'disappear' for a while. Victoria was sent south to a relative as soon as the stitches to her mouth had been removed. The scandal over Matt's expulsion faded when it became known that he had been sent to live with his father's young sister in Wyoming.

CHAPTER 2

In mid-August 1956 Matt Curtis arrived in the United States to begin a great adventure. He left Los Angeles by bus, arriving in Cheyenne more than twenty hours later. 

Matt enjoyed passing through the famous Rocky Mountains to enter a historic part of the west. He'd read many yarns about people and places of the Wild West and many times he'd come across the name Cheyenne. Now he was walking its streets imagining that perhaps real gunfighters once walked where he was walking.

Matt stayed the night at a cheap hotel, and next morning went out to try some real western food.

"Say, you're not from around these parts," drawled the waitress.

"New Zealand?" she said, surprised, when told by Matt where he hailed from. "I'm not quite sure where that is, but I've never met anyone from those parts before."

Matt had never met anyone quite like her, a big-breasted good-looking woman with a very wide mouth encircled with bright red lipstick. She conversed with him, a total stranger, without any shyness and wanted to know all about him.

"I've got a boy of sixteen, and as sure of hell I wouldn't let him go halfway around the world by himself like you are doing."

Matt was surprised that she didn't know the town where he would be heading for by bus around midday.

"Nope, never head of Arrowhead. Are you sure it is in Wyoming?"

Matt arrived there late that afternoon, travelling via Laramie, another name he was very familiar with from reading cowboy stories. He was the only passenger to alight at Arrowhead and was disappointed Aunt Milly was not waiting to greet him. The only other person he could see was a dark featured man, leaning against a street pole.

Matt was now becoming nervous that he might be marooned. There was still no sign of Aunt Milly. Lifting his duffle bag on to his shoulder he thought he should ask someone where the Bar 2X ranch was, so walked over to the wiry middle-aged man with an unlit cigarette drooping from his mouth.

Before he could speak, the old man asked: "Are you Fearless Curtis' kid? You sure look like him."

So, thought Matt. This must be Ponto Rivers. 

"Yep, and are you Mr Rivers?"

The man looked at Matt as if he'd insulted him. 

"I'm Ponto to you and to everyone else. Out here we only call gentlemen Mister and I can't rightly says when I last met one of those. The pick-up is round the corner. Come."

The only vehicle there was a dusty and rather battered 1936 Ford. Ponto grinned at the enthusiasm of the boy and opened the hood to show him the flat-head V8 motor.

"You like cars boy?"

"I do, especially American ones. We don't have many at home because imports were stopped by the war and our involvement in the war was costly and the county has just got going again. But dad drives am ex-Army Jeep. I also like horses. Dad says Aunt Milly runs some of the best."

"Your dad!" said Ponto, and then fell silent, leaving that comment unfinished.

During the ride in the Ford, Matt had to lead the conversation.

"Gosh, I thought the Rockies looked magnificent. Reminds me of our Southern Alps back home."

"You've got mountains that big back home? Can't remember Fearless ever telling us that. He gave us the impression that New Zealand was made up of green paddocks, thermal areas twice as good as Yellowstone and lakes and rivers where they throw back trout if they're not twice the size of our ones in Lake Soda."

"Yeah, we've got lots of mountain ranges and a few very high mountains. Does it ever snow on the ranch?"

Ponto took his eyes off the road momentarily to see if the teenager was pulling his leg. 

Apparently satisfied the kid was serious he said, "Yep, it does snow a bit, quite a bit actually. By mid-December you will be up to your ass in it." 

At that Ponto laughed, enjoying his wit. Matt thought it best to join in.

Looking at the laughing teenager again, Ponto swung his left-hand across his chest and playfully punched Matt on the upper arm. The wallop caught Matt by surprise, moving him a couple of inches across the bench seat. 

Ponto caught the involuntary clenching of Matt's left fist, and smiled approvingly. "You'll do, boy. Didn't think that Fearless would raise a softie."

They were passing small farm lots and when they slowed, turned and drove under the Bar 2X sign suspended on two vertical poles, Matt was disappointed. He remembered in his boyhood his father relating his times he'd spent on this ranch. As Matt recalled, his father had galloped his horse over mainly unfenced grassland that disappeared into the distance. Thus he had been expecting to be arriving at a ranch of several thousand acres.

"How many acres do you have here Ponto?"

"Me? None. I'm only the hired help. Milly has 350 acres. We used to be very much bigger but you know, bad prices in some years, taxes and pressure to size down land those days means really big ranches are gone forever for all but a very few people. One day I'll take you to my brother Quincy's spread further up country. He's on a few thousand acres and each year joins the Upper Green River cattle trek to the summer pastures in the national forest."

"A cattle trek, you mean just like the old days on the Oregon trail?"

"Yes, but you already have been on part of that trail."

"Really! When?"

"When you reached Cheyenne and then went through Fort Laramie you were more or less following the old Oregon Trail. It then went through South Pass, which is close to here. You are, my young friend, in really historic cattleman's country."

Matt's aunt came running out of what looked more like a barn than a house to greet them, waving excitedly. The solid blonde in a checked shirt, blue dungarees and brown leather boots hugged Matt and said she was sorry about the trouble he had landed himself in.

"What really happened?" she asked, insisting that he call her Milly because she was young enough to be his much older sister.

They laughed unaware that moment established a wonderful relationship.

Matt said, "Well, the girl is one of those really pushy types and when I said no, I didn't want to go to the ball with a dame who comes on too strongly, she slapped me. I sort of hit her back... didn't really mean to, it just happened. I truly didn't clip her hard but caught the corner of her mouth and it split open. There was blood everywhere. One of her girl friends saw what happened and started screaming I just took off."

"Was that the reason why you didn't want to go to the ball, because she was pushy?"

"W-e-l-l no. It's rather embarrassing really." Matt stared up to the sky and confessed, "I can't dance."

"What?" laughed Milly. "My brother is one of the most graceful dancers I have ever danced with."

"Not any more, not since he shattered his leg when falling off his horse some years back. He limps badly now."

"Good gracious, I am so sad about that. Patricia wrote that he'd taken a hard fall, but it didn't realise it was a bad as that. Well, young Matt, we've got three things to do for you, and I want you to listen. One, teach you to respect women; two, teach you to ride a horse; three, teach you to dance."

"But I can already ride a horse, and ride well," Matt protested. 

He saw Milly and Ponto look at each other and grin. Matt was puzzled about that exchange. "Oh, I really would like to learn to dance; it's just that I never got round to it."

"We have got some very pretty, lively fillies around here, and I don't mean horses. It will be worth your while to become known as a good dancer."

At 6:00 the next morning Matt leapt out of bed and peered through the window. He saw Ponto standing outside with a tired old horse. Despite being saddled, the sink in its back was very noticeable.

Matt thought one for the knacker's yard. 

He then saw Milly at the back door putting down a hammer on to the tank stand. It was she who had clanged the hanging piece of steel. It was a wake-up noise that he'd hear every morning except Sundays.

"Meet Flying Victor," Milly said to Matt, as he emerged through the doorway. "Take him for a ride and see if you can jump that feed trough," she said, pointing to the low container half-full of a chaff and grain mixture.

Matt swung up lightly into the saddle, found the other stirrup instinctively through long practice and caught the reins as Ponto threw them up on either side of Flying Victor's head.

Digging his heels in, sitting on a huge and unfamiliar saddle, Matt almost unseated himself as, instead of leaping ahead, the horse simply plodded forward slowly. 

Looking back he could see Milly and Ponto in near hysterics. 

He dug in his heels deeply, and lashed the horse's neck a couple of times with the ends of the reins. But Flying Victor was steadfast, moving along at precisely the same measured gait of a snail.

Matt gave up, and pulled to turn the horse. But the horse turned resited, snorting, and continued its forward motion, then stopped at the trough and began eating. Its rider dismounted and slunk back to the two people who were wiping away tears.

"Have you got something with a little less passion?" Matt asked, through gritted teeth. That sent the other two off into another spasm.

"Oh, we're sorry, Matt but out here one doesn't get much real entertainment," said Milly, now with a very red face. "I must say, you took it very well."

They had breakfast, a real cowboy's breakfast, according to Ponto. Matt, used to perfectly shaped beans floating in tomato sauce, took a mouthful of the refried seasoned beans and hastily washed them down with water.

"You'll get use to the fiery taste and will never eat that tinned crap again," Milly predicted. Three mouthfuls later Matt was thinking that perhaps she was right.

After breakfast the three of them rode out to show Matt the spread. There was a small herd of purebred Herefords and the remainder of the stock were horses.

"Milly buys the horses in as yearlings and we finish them off to the stage of being led by halter. Some go to local cattlemen and others are driven to Landers where they are broken in for us and then shipped out to buyers, some going to neighbouring states," Ponto explained.

Up to this stage they had been walking the horses quietly along. 

"Race you all to the windmill," shouted Milly and they were off. She had a two-length start on the men but in less than 100 yards they passed her. Within another 100 yards Matt headed Ponto by five lengths. 

Although unfamiliar with the heavy western saddle, Matt decided to put on a bit of a show. As he neared the windmill he threw his body clear of the saddle, holding on to the horn. His feet hit the ground and he leaped back into the air and went clean over the saddle to bounce on to the ground on the other side of his mount and to thump back into the saddle again. 

He turned his horse at speed and stopped; both horse and rider were breathing heavily.

"My word, aren't we a big show off," Milly said rather proudly. 

Matt scratched behind his right ear and said, "What a neat little horse. What's it called?"

Ponto looked at Milly, and she nodded to him.

"The horse is yours, Matt, totally yours," he said. "We've named it Nevada, but don't think that name is right for it. You name it."

Matt flushed with pleasure. "Oh, thanks Milly."

"Thank Ponto," she replied. "He does routine chores for me for his keep and takes what else he is owed in extra work in horse flesh. This sorrel is one of his. It's his way of saying thank you to your father, who bought him to me. They'd worked together all through the summer of 1947 and when the season ended and Ponto had not found work my brother bought Ponto back with him. It was only meant to be for over the winter, but Ponto became so useful about the place I just couldn't let him go."

"Thank you, thank you very much, Ponto," said Matt.

Ponto lifted a hand in acknowledgement, but looked embarrassed. He covered this by saying, "What are you going to call her?"

"Chinook because she goes like the wind."

Surprised, Ponto asked, "How do you know about that name?"

"We're educated in New Zealand Ponto. Did you think we were dumbclucks?"

"It means very unintelligent persons," Milly said, cutting in when noting Ponto's confusion. "He's using it in a joking sense." 

"Dumbcluck, that's a word I'll find a use for," said Ponto. "Dumbcluck."

The weather got colder and before Christmas after one big dump the snow was really up to Matt's ass. In January he struggled to keep warm but gradually the weeks passed and life started getting back to normal.

It even snowed in the town, and Matt was surprised to learn that the settlement got around 60 inches during winter. He wrote home about this, and the tough life farm and ranch folk had. 

"We view the Wind River Mountains from here, as you well know dad," he wrote. "Ponto says that there are drifts up to 12ft deep in those mountains. Mountains are everywhere around here, and Ponto says wolves, black bears and even grizzlies are on often come down looking for food and will sometimes kill cattle."

Milly invited some neighbours over to meet the visitor from New Zealand. 

One couple, a mother and her daughter, were both very pale blondes. Martha Bridger looked on approvingly as her daughter Caitlin and Matt fell into easy conversation. 

Later in the evening Martha pulled Matt to his feet to join the other dancers. Matt's feet often were not in the right place but being light on his toes he managed to do quite well. He had good rhythm and Martha, taking him into a strong grip was doing the leading.

"I see you have been talking to my daughter," she said.

"She's a lovely girl, a very lovely girl," he replied, uncomfortably, wondering if Milly had told her the reason why he had been more of less chucked out of New Zealand.

"Just be gentle with her Matt," said Martha. "You probably don't know this but the three times you father visited here I was his girl, even though on the last occasion I was married."

Matt was flabbergasted. He had never heard a woman talking like this. Not only that, it seemed that he was being given some sort of licence to partner her daughter. She must be drunk. But then he reasoned that everything she was saying and the graceful way in which she was twirling him around the floor were not the words or actions of a drunk person.

"Where's your husband this evening?" he asked, not knowing anything else to say.

Martha looked straight at him and cocked an eyebrow. "Why young man, do you have something in mind?"

Horrified, Matt was about to blurt a denial and then saw the mischievous look on her face. She was just teasing him.

"I just thought it was funny that your husband would let you two girls go out alone."

"Thank you for your concern, Matt, but I can assure you that we rancher girls of Wyoming who know how to rope bulls and ride wild horses are quite capable of looking after ourselves. Lukas has gone up to the summer pasturelands to check on the windmills. It's risky but the thaw appears to be underway."

She then twirled him around twice very rapidly, stopped, and said smilingly, "Thank you, Matt. Here's your new partner."

Matt found himself looking into the green-yellow eyes of the much younger blonde, Martha's daughter called Caitlin, a name he'd never come across until now. 

"You seemed to be enjoying dancing with my mother?"

"Well, yes Caitlin. I may call you Caitlin?"

"Of course, please do. I've been longing to meet you. All of my girlfriends have been talking about the handsome New Zealander who has arrived in our midst, but none of them has actually had the opportunity of talking to you. We know that Milly has been purposely keeping you from us. She's so mean."

"Well, you and your girlfriends ought to know that I'm here because I got into some trouble back home..."

"Oh, that." responded Caitlin, cutting in. "We all know about that. We in Sublette County run the best grapevine in the State. We all think you must have had a good reason for doing what you did. You know, your father was a wonderful ambassador for your country."

Matt coloured, wondering what she was getting at. Did you know about his father and her mother?




Doomed Dynasty Pt. 01



"Er ambassador?"

"Why yes, mum told me he was so out-going, contrasting with most of the men around here. And he's remembered as a great storyteller about New Zealand and its people and their way of life. It was not long before some of the women in these parts were falling over themselves trying to get to entertain him. But they first had to get past mother, according to what she old me, and I can tell you that would have been no easy task. Mother is totally defensive when it comes to her family, though you wouldn't think that to look at her. So sweet, so pretty still and utterly feminine. But, when it comes to defending her claim, she's a tigress."

Matt clumsily tripped over his feet and would have gone sprawling but for Caitlin. Clasping him with surprising strength, she continued to turn him in a pirouette, allowing him to regain his balance. So she did know about his father and her mother! He was unnerved.

"Thank you," he gasped. "I'm such a lousy dancer."

"Nonsense," she replied. "Anyway, I'm prepared to come over and give you private lessons if Milly will allow."

"You're got rather good upper body strength for a girl of your, um, your...." He stopped.

"My what?"

"Your fine features. I mean you are slender with quite light conformation."

"Is that the New Zealand cattlemen's way of passing a compliment? I assume if one translates what you just said into American English it means that I am petite, nay, I am winsome with a diminutive figure?"

"Uh whatever you say," blurted out Matt, colouring.

"Ranchers and their women, older children too, are strong in the hands and arms. It comes with having to deal with half-wild horses. I suppose you don't ride?"

The wind outside had risen to a howl but a violent hammering on the door could be heard above it. A man in a thick clothing and peaked wool hat with tabs tied over his ears staggered in as Milly pulled the door open.

He glanced around the room and went straight for Martha. 

"I'm sorry, terribly sorry Martha. We got hit by this storm and got separated. Lukas is still up there somewhere. I just couldn't find him... it's hell up there."

"It's all right, Hank," said Martha, soothingly, although turning white. She steered him towards a group of women. "He needs hot food and a warm drink. Look after him."

Martha then went to the phone and asked for a number. She was then connected to a representative of mountain search and rescue and gave them details of the last known position of her husband up on the mountain slopes.

She, Caitlin and Milly raced off to the search headquarters. 

The party soon died, and guests filed out of the door, wishing Matt a happy birthday. The smiles for him faded as they left; they all knew that a man alone on a mountainside lashed by a snowstorm would be having no picnic.

Ponto made a fresh pot of coffee. 

He and Matt were alone. Ponto stared into his coffee cup, not drinking. Suddenly he announced, "Lukas is good in the mountains. I reckon I know where he would head for, a cave not far from where he was when Hank last saw him. I think I will take a look."

"I'm coming too," Matt said. "It's too dangerous to go by yourself."

Ponto eyed him coolly, and then shrugged. "As you like, but Milly will kill me for this."

Four hours later, assisted by a low-powered battery light attached around their hunting caps, ear flaps held in place by a tie under their chins, Ponto and Matt were thankful as they climbed the wind-driven snow was lashing their backs rather than coming into them head-on. 

They were heading to a derelict trapper's cabin that Ponto felt he should check out. Just as they neared it he slipped on iced rocks, wrenching his left ankle. He was in agony. 

Inside the cabin they were relieved to find an emergency pack comprising liniment, bandages, a needle and strong cotton, aspirin and, somewhat inexplicable, a large bottle of Buckley's Canadian cough mixture.

Matt untied a larger canvas parcel to reveal several pairs of tramping socks, two thick blankets, and some chocolate and dried fruit.

"Well, Ponto. You can do very nicely for yourself here. I guess it's time for me to push on. Give me directions."

Ponto sensed that Matt would go, whether or not he was given directions. But he also knew that another life was in danger of being lost if Matt went out into unknown territory unguided.

Anticipating Ponto's dilemma, Matt calmly said: "Dad helped give you your chance Ponto. Now it's your turn to repay the favour. We all have to take chances some times."

Ponto's eyes rolled upward, and he groaned, not in pain but because he knew what he must do and try to ignore Milly's wrath for the time being. "Keep walking straight up for about half a mile and you should come to location of the windmill. Check around for footprints. Look in the lee of drifts or rocky outcrops or even beside fallen trees, as the wind-driven snow may not have obliterated all of Lukas' tracks. It will be tough going, try to avoid the drifts but don't veer too much to the left or right. You will know when you reach the location of the windmill because the ground suddenly flattens out into an area of about half an acre, with no trees.

Matt trudged onwards, his heavy cattleman's coat extending almost to his ankles made it really heavy going. He was keen to avoid plunging into drifts up to his ass' as fighting to get free would be exhausting. 

He was relieved to reach the small plateau that Ponto had described. Stumbling around in the darkness through the thick snow Matt found the windmill. The shed protecting the pump was empty, and there were no footprints. 

The small cave Ponto had told him about was to the nor-east. Matt took a compass bearing and headed off, feeling the chill and being rather apprehensive and feeling very much alone. His spotlight illuminated less than a couple of yards ahead of his feet. 

He was still well short of the cave site when he stumbled, fell heavily and rolled down a short incline into a small bowl. He was conscious that he'd barely missed hitting a rock rising out of the snow like a dorsal fin. Resting to catch his breath, he realised that he was up against something soft that was too unyielding to be snow. Matt reached out and felt the body of a heavily dressed person. It had to be Lukas. He must has fallen the same way in the same place as Matt had.

There was no greeting from Lukas. He remained motionless. 

Matt tore off his right-hand glove and wriggled his hand through the several layers of clothing and on to Lukas' chest. It was warm and he detected a heartbeat. If Lukas was to survive he needed to be moved to a warmer place.

Tilting his spotlight down on to Lukas's face, Matt saw dried blood from a laceration on his forehead. He noticed Lukas's blond hair peeing from under his hood and thought that no wonder Caitlin had blonde hair since it ran in the family.

Matt's fitness, from years of horse riding, farm fencing, skiing and rock climbing would now assist Lukas' chances of survival. He dragged Lukas out of the bowl into which both men had fallen, hours apart. Then he struggled to get the unconscious man across his back. 

An hour later Matt was close to exhaustion; he realised that he had missed the location of the cave. The temperature had dropped even further. 

He reckoned that he had two choices; to try to slide down the mountainside towing Lukas, or to dig in and wait. 

Sliding down appealed to Matt as it hinted strongly of being the easiest option; but his outdoors training and experiences had inculcated the discipline of minimising risk. He knew that they should stay put. If they went sliding down the mountainside in darkness or even poor visibility in daylight they easily could slide over a bluff.

Matt turning slowly peered around their location, resisting the temptation to drop Lukas from his back for a spell. He might not manage to hoist him back up. 

Just up ahead, to the right, his headlight illuminated a rocky outcrop.

"That's better than nothing," he panted. He carried his burden over to this possible refuge and gently lowered Lukas on to the snow. 

On the leeward side of the rocks, the snow cover was quite thin. He scraped it away and found hard dry but frozen ground.

Standing over the cleared area, in the freezing cold, Matt stripped down to his underpants, and did likewise with Lukas. He then rolled Lukas onto a bed of Lukas's clothes and then lay against him, pulling his own clothes over them topped by the two blankets he'd unrolled from above his haversack that he'd been forced to place over his chest before hauling Lukas on to his back. He wanted to transfer the warmth in his body to Lukas. He tried to get some warm liquid from the thermos into Lukas but could not get the unconscious man to swallow. The final thing Matt did, before lying down, was to scatter the contents of his haversack around the area. He then fell asleep, exhausted.

Just before 11.30 the next morning a search team came across a number of items, half-buried in fresh snow.

"There must be somebody around here, somebody with a bit of nous. He's probably behind that outcrop," called the leading searcher.

In less than a minute Matt and Lukas had been found. 

The rescuers wrapped both men in thermal blankets, and Matt gulped down a warm drink and was given some biscuits. Lukas remained unconscious.

"We've got to get this one down quickly; he's in a bad way," said the leader. "Carter, radio HQ and tell them that we have found both men, alive. Say we are on our way down and to have emergency services waiting."

Matt croaked, "Leave me here, I'll be all right. Just get him down as fast as you can."

The Ensign reporter accompanying the search team noted down Matt's request and next day that quote would appear as the secondary heading of the front page lead article in The Ensign titled, 'Selfless Act of Mountain Hero'.

Of course, Matt's request was ignored. The main party raced away with Lukas while the two remaining members placed Matt on a rescue sled and followed a little more leisurely behind. They refused to let him walk. "You've lost a great deal of body heat, stay put and warm up."

The reception crowd had dispersed by the time Matt's rescuers got him back down the mountain. He was driven back to the nursing centre for a medical check. 

Waiting there for him were Milly and Ponto. Matt was told that Lukas was awake and coming along fine, though he was suffering slight frostbite to his feet.

"What took you so long? They found me at midnight," cracked Ponto, giving Matt the thumbs up and grinning at him so widely that gaps in his yellow line of teeth were showing.

Milly hugged Matt and said, "Well, I'll not growl about a stupid man and especially a young dumbcluck who should be packed off home this instant. But I will say this Matt; you've made me very proud." 

Milly burst into tears. 

Ponto and Matt looked at her helplessly. It was left to one of the rescue team to put his big meaty arm around her and say, "Hush dear, keep calm. We don't want to spook our young hero, do we now?"

Nursing staff attended to Matt's minor abrasions and two of the younger nurses volunteered to give him a bath before he received a complete medical check. 

The deep laughter and high squeals coming from the bathroom indicated to Milly that her nephew appeared to be recovering very well from his ordeal.

They were just leaving the nursing centre when Martha rushed up to Matt, hugged him tightly and smothered him with kisses, crooning, "Oh, my hero, oh my hero."

He was thinking if only he were 20 years older when he felt Martha step away and a slender form came into his arms. He looked down into the pale face and bright red lips of Caitlin. In a perfectly natural move he leant down and kissed her gently.

"Thank you, oh thank you for bringing daddy home," she said, holding up her face to be kissed again.

"That's enough of that Matt. We need to go home and cable your parents. I think this is going to change attitudes about you back home."

"Sorry Milly. I can't seem to get free," called Matt, with a silly grin on his face. He had the notion that what he was feeling right then was what people call love.

Matt stayed on for another two and a half years, and he and Caitlin became very close. 

At times he worked in haymaking gangs, just as his father had done before him, and repeatedly blighted his reputation by getting into fights and becoming outrageously drunk at the end-of-haymaking parties.

"Just like your father from what I've been told," Milly sighed, attending to a cut above her nephew's eyes and lacerations to his knuckles. "I suppose the other fellow looks even worse than you do?"

"Both of the buggers do," Matt said evenly, giving no indication that that the iodine was biting very painfully as it was applied to his head wound. "I'm hungry."

Matt never got to Ponto's brother's big spread that Ponto confessed was mostly semi-desert but he arranged for Matt to join the traditional Upper Green River Cattle Association cattle trek. The June drive up the mountainside brought Matt closest to the feeling of being a cowboy. 

Some of the drovers (a word that mystified the Wyoming cattlemen when Matt used it) were absolute characters. He thrived in their company, being an adept pupil at learning the art of spitting and cussing. Actually he did not find the drive particularly exciting, though his adrenaline fired up at times when he was dealing with spirited bulls and the occasional breakaway of a bunch of steers acting like hoons.

* * *

Wyoming's economy was once almost 100% based on cattle, and rodeos continue to be well supported. Matt attended several, and was finally persuaded to enter a couple of events. He won a silver buckle in the novice section of a saddle bronco championship, scoring a credible 65, but lasted 10 seconds in the ride-off in the bareback division, being knocked unconscious in the fall. 

Caitlin who had persuaded him to enter the events, raced out to him, screaming. When the recovering Matt reached up and kissed her they got a rousing cheer from the crowd. 

Earlier he'd been introduced as "the brawler and young hero from New Zealand" and many had picked him as the silver buckle winner before his points were announced and with others still to ride. 

"That kid from Nu Zooland is a natural," a retired rodeo pro confided to Caitlin. "You'll do fine hanging on to him."

"Oh Mr Kennedy, you're embarrassing me," Caitlin replied. 

Matt spent a lot of time hunting and fishing and tramping. He and Ponto went down to the famous South Pass, where pioneers had taken wagons, cattle and their possessions through to settle in California. Matt, thinking about really narrow Arthur's Pass through the mountains back home, was surprise to find that the South Pass penetrating the Rockies was two miles wide. 

In between times of recreational activity and haymaking, Matt broke in a few of Milly's horses and a couple for Ponto. At Milly's insistence they all worked as a team in late summer bottling fruit for the household.

There was a time when life had become a little quiet for Matt. He hadn't been in a fight for a while, or up the mountains and work around Milly's ranch was pretty much up to date. Then came Rodeo Day at nearby Flat Rock.

Though not competing, Matt found himself involved in more drama. He'd just walked out and handed the blue and white flag for the town of Arrowhead to Caitlin, an official flag carrier on her magnificent white stallion, when a wheel flew off one of the wagons in the final of the chuck wagon race. The cheering crowd suddenly quietened apart from a few warning screams when the spectators realised that the runaway wheel was heading towards a group of youngsters in costumes waiting to march in the grand parade. 

It sped passed two cowboys, who did nothing but gawk. But Matt responded. He leapt forward and executed what the caption to a front page picture in The Ensign called "A New Zealand rugby tackle." 

Matt's action knocked the careering wheel to the ground but the impact dislocated his right shoulder. He was carried away past the grandstand to a standing ovation, a distraught Caitlin at his side.

Two photographs and the story of the plucky tackle of a runway wheel found their way to New Zealand and were published by Matt's hometown newspaper. An enterprising Miranda Valley reporter from The Bugle contacted The Ensign and discovered Matt's earlier act of heroism on a Wyoming mountain. 

Three weeks later that story and photographs arrived by mail at The Bugle and were published, much to the delight of Matt's parents and others who remembered Matt. By then the reason why he had been banished from the town had all but been forgotten. Among those who read both articles was Victoria, daughter of the Rev. Armstrong, now calling herself Vikki. She got Matt's address from his parents and wrote him a very friendly letter, adding that she was working in professional catering and hoped to see him on his return home.

In Wellington the 'rugby tackle on a wheel' photo was featured on page three of the Evening Post, attracting the attention of a New Zealand diplomat, back in the country on his final furlough. 

He showed it to his wife, and then to his daughter who idly commented that only a New Zealander would be stupid enough to attempt such a deed. They were not to know they would arrive face to face with that same man in a year's time . 

CHAPTER 3

Matt's time in Wyoming came to a sudden end. He'd not given serious thought to returning home, as for much of the time he'd been having great experiences and revelled in being surrounded by friendly people. Occasionally he'd felt homesick and remembered that his father had warned him to not return too soon. He never actually contemplated how long was 'not too soon'.

Then came two announcements, making up his mind for him. First was a letter from his mother, saying that he must arrive home in time for his twenty-first birthday.

"It's one of the big celebrations in your life Matt," she wrote. "Your father and I want to share it with you. Why don't you try to persuade Milly to come home with you?"

The second announcement was a complete shock. Just a day after receiving that letter from his mother, Matt was told by Caitlin that her parents were taking her to Europe to visits Lukas's parents and they would be gone for as least six months, perhaps longer. 

Caitlin wept when telling him that she had no option but to go as her father wanted her to tour the towns where he had lived as a youngster and to meet all of her relatives.

Realising that a parting loomed, Matt calmed her down and whispered that of course she must go. It would be a holiday to remember forever.

A few days later Matt announced his decision to leave. Ponto immediately made a hurried exit from the room, Caitlin shed tears but accepted the inevitable and Milly did, too, biting on a trembling lower lip. "This day had to come," she sniffed. 

Matt placed a muscular arm around her heaving shoulders and said almost like a grown-up person, "Now, now. Nothing is for ever; isn't it about time you came back to live in New Zealand?"

But Milly was emphatic. "No, Matt, my home is here, and always will be. I promise you though; I'll go to back to New Zealand for your wedding."

"Ha, who'd ever have me?" Matt joked, half seriously.

Caitlin appeared to be tempted to say why didn't he ask her.

Many people in the district were invited to a combined farewell party for Matt and a bon voyage party for the Bridger's at Lukas and Martha's home. 

Matt was leaving the next day so rode Chinook over to the Lukas' for the last time. The idea was to try to get Chinook into foal to Caitlin's magnificent horse, White Thunder. Lukas had hired a manager to look after his ranch while they were away and the manager been promised a bonus if Chinook ended up carrying a foal. At Matt's request the first foal was promised to Ponto, the second was to go to Caitlin and Lukas was to have Chinook for as long as he wanted her.




Doomed Dynasty Pt. 01



The combined farewell was a party that the community would talk about for years to come. 

Lukas suffered a black eye at the hands of three farmhands who decided to crash the party. They were drunk, and he'd asked them to leave. Lukas been decked for the second time when Matt walked up. Managing three drunks was not a problem for him. They were loaded on to the back of a pick-up and taken to Arrowhead when they were left to recover in the custody of under-sheriff Cody Schmidt.

Again it was all kisses for Matt, with Martha whispering to him, "You kiss even better than I remember your father did, and I'd thought he was simply the best."

Many of the women wanted to dance with Matt and that made Milly, his dance tutor, very pleased.

Maria, the caterer, began dancing with Ponto after supper and then wouldn't let him go. Milly said later it was the happiest she'd ever seen him, apart from the day many years ago when she had taken him on as a ranch hand. She suggested Maria might like to cook and clean house at the Bar2X.

Just after midnight Cody Schmidt called in to advise that the three farmhands had sobered up enough to be taken to their homes. Milly invited him to stay and they danced before retiring to the porch where they talked and talked. They had known each other years earlier until Cody had enlisted into the Marines. They now found they had so much to talk about. 

Finally, around 2:00 it was time for some speeches. Milly returned the room and those with sharp eyes had seen she had been hand-in-hand with Cody until she walked into the room ahead of him. The Arrowhead district grapevine would run hot the next morning.

Milly said of Matt, "He came to me as a lost teenager and now I am sending him back home as a fine, accomplished young man. He'll be back one day, I know he will." 

She presented Matt with a small oil painting of a colourful scene in the Wind River Mountains as "Something to remember us by." People who inspected it gasped when the saw the name of the artist, a legendary landscape painter of the Midwest.

Other people gave him gifts and finally it was time for the Bridger's to speak. 

Martha tried to say something, but stopped, incoherent. Caitlin managed to get out what a wonderful companion he had been and that she would always remember him and started sobbing. Mother and daughter cuddled each other.

"There been too much liquor drunk here tonight, but never mind," said Lukas. "I reckon it's been a memorable evening. I am sorry to see Matt go, but he's got another life to live back in New Zealand. Matt, as you all know, saved my life, and I have got some black toes to remember what could have been had he not risked everything to save me. And even earlier tonight he handled another problem for me when I was knocked to the ground. I cannot reward him; one doesn't reward heroes as it demeans their feats. However, I want to give Matt something to remember me by, something that has been my greatest material possession. Ponto!"

Ponto came into the room carrying a heavy, ornate Western saddle, studded with silver trimmings.

"Matt, this was my father's. As a young immigrant with a wife and a child he worked as a cook on cattle drives and then became a cowhand. He won this saddle by taking out the Midwest rodeo saddle bronco championships a great many years ago. We the Bridgers give it to you to treasure and perhaps to pass on to your son that you may have one day. It has been an honour for the Bridger family to have been associated with two generations of the Curtis family living on the other side of the world. I pray that we all will meet again."

There was wild cheering, and Matt took the saddle from Ponto and raised it high into the air.

"Speech, speech," called the people.

Matt raised his hand, and the din subsided.

"Milly is right. I did come here as a teenager thinking that I was a misfit in any society. But the people and the horses and the good times and the wild times I have experienced in Wyoming have changed me, I'm sure for the better. I can only say thank you, thank you everyone. Now, at my football club when we had downed a few beers after the game, we used to group and turn to confront the visiting team with a challenge which is part of the culture of our native people called the Maori. It is best done by a large group of powerful men who look fearsome and rattle the windows with their chanting. But here goes..."

"More, more," called the delighted gathering, when Matt had finished the haka. He did two encores before slumping down on to a chair and downing a beer followed by a whisky chaser.

* * *

Matt headed out of Wyoming and spent two weeks touring before ending up in San Francisco to board the SS Mariposa on October 27, 1956. The newly converted passenger liner was making its maiden voyage to Sydney, via Honolulu and Auckland and Matt enjoyed watching the crowded and extremely colourful farewell on the wharf below.

On the second night at sea a ship's officer appeared beside Matt, leant down and whispered, "Compliments from a gentleman up yonder, sir. He would appreciate it if you would kindly join him for dinner."

"Excuse me, gentlemen," said Matt, to the three men he had been playing poker with earlier that evening. "It appears I am wanted by some toff."

"Please follow me sir," said the officer, and Matt obliged.

"Well, what's he been up to?" asked the oldest of the card-playing group as Matt's three companions watched the officer lead him away.

"Jeepers look at that," commented another in the trio, red-headed Lee Lewis, who was on his way to Australia to do a post-graduate study on vineyard soil types. "The captain is shaking Matt's hand and so is that distinguished looking character standing next to him."

Matt sat down and the silver-haired man, dressed in a tuxedo, as where all other men at the table except Matt, said to him: "I thought I recognised you from a photo I saw in the Evening Post almost a year ago. I enquired and the chief purser found out your name for me, confirming my suspicion. That was a very brave thing that you did and brought credit to New..."

He was interrupted. All the men at the table stood up, so Matt got to his feet. A fragrant of what he would come to know as sandalwood drifted to him.

"Good evening my dear," said Charles Sterling, the man who had been speaking to Matt.

"Good evening, Miss Sterling, said the captain, half bowing.

"Matt may I present my daughter Courtney. Courtney, this is Matt Curtis that man we read about months ago who tackled a runaway wheel somewhere in America and possible saved the lives of some children. Remember?"

Everyone at the table seemed to be interested in her response. 

"No, should I?"

Matt looked at the somewhat haughty young teenager, who was about to sit at empty place beside him. Their eyes met, and he stared. He thought, what colour were they? Violet. But nobody had violet coloured eyes.

"Why are you staring so Mr Curtis?"

Her rather curt tone angered Matt. To think that he'd left good company for this lot. He had to act.

"Excuse me, Madam. Captain. Mr Sterling. I must return to my companions. Good dining." 

Matt walked slowly back to his card-playing friends, wondering if the tingling in his back was the knives being thrown by that stuck-up bitch. He wondered which of the women at that table was her mother. Perhaps she motherless?

After dining and a short detour to the bar for brandies, the four men played poker until just after midnight. Empty beer bottles and an empty whisky bottle lay about the cabin. 

"Well, I think I had better go back down to my proper area," Matt said to his new shipboard friends, all of whom were first-class passengers. "It was good of you to let me see how the bigwigs enjoy their luxury."

"Come on, mate," said the Australian grazier's son. Let's pop into the night club for a quick one."

"He means a drink," chuckled the graduate scientist from Iowa.

They entered the large, dimly lit bar rather noisily. They quietened when several people hissed at them. 

A very thin man in a white tuxedo was playing a grand piano and singing a slow jazz number was a very large Negro woman. They were brilliant.

At the end of the number the lights brightened, and people clapped warmly. Matt's mates cheered and Matt impulsively stuck two fingers into his mouth and whistled shrilly. The singer threw back her head and laughed, then waved to Matt and said, "Thanks honey."

One of his companions thumped Matt on the back and called, "You'll be right tonight, mate."

Matt then found himself looking into a pair of unblinking eyes, violet eyes, right in front of him. Miss Sterling did not look amused and neither did her father and the rather nice looking woman, presumably his wife, who was sitting on the other side of the teenager.

The orchestra came back on stage and began playing a fox trot. A thin smile passed over Matt's face. Why not he thought.

"Madam," he said, gravely, to the woman he presumed to be Mrs Sterling. "May I have the honour?"

"Look here..." began Mr Sterling. But his wife, bored by the quiet time she was having, was already on her feet, reaching for Matt's outstretched hand.

"Let them go, daddy. You know how New Zealand men turn into clowns as soon as they are out of their country."

Matt flashed a dazzling smile at her, and Courtney flushed. She began watching lazily, her chiselled facial features expressionless until noting that Matt really could dance. Soon she was feeling envious of her mother.

Courtney was sipping her champagne cocktail when she heard the stranger say, smoothly, "Sir, I return your good lady to your safe hands. Why don't you dance with her?"

"Now look here..."

"Stop being so stuffy Charlie. I want you to dance with me. I insist."

Charles, looking at Matt darkly, walked on to the dance floor trailed by his appreciative wife.

"Exactly who are you Mr Curtis?"

"Oh, simply a homesick fellow returning home to his mum; all young men miss their mothers."

She smiled at the thought, and decided to amuse herself by talking with him. "Would you like a drink Mr Curtis?" she said, beckoning to a waiter.

"Sure, don't mind if I do." He lifted her cocktail to his nose, sniffed it, sipped it and grimaced. "Bloody lolly water".

She was outraged. Not only had he swilled from her glass but used disgusting language.

The waiter had arrived. "Please take this poor imitation of a cocktail away," ordered Matt, pointing to the half emptied glass. "Bring us two Blood & Sand mixes."

"Very good, sir."

"Your behaviour is terrible," said Courtney. "I think..."

Matt cut in. "I was looking at your eyes. Never in my life have I looked into violet eyes."

"What are you talking about?"

"In the dinning room this evening. You asked why was I staring at you."

"Oh really," Courtney replied. "I'm not used to being stared at."

"What a pretty girl like you? Can't say I believe that. I...oh, here come our cocktails."

"Blood and Sand; how interesting. Sounds of Middle East origin, don't you think?"

"Don't think, just take a sip and then you will have two choices. Take some more sips or just throw the stuff over me and tell me to bugger off."

"Have you been living in a man's world, with no ladies around, Mr Curtis? You act as if you have."

Matt took his wallet from the inside pocket of his jacket, pulled out a photo, and handed it to Courtney, who had just taken her first sip.

"Goodness, that really is nice, and packs some punch. What's in it?"

"Glad you like it... it's blended scotch, cherry liquor, sweet vermouth and fresh orange juice."

"Hmmm. Now who's this, what a lovely looking young woman? Is she a film star you met?"

"No, just one of the local girls I had living around me. She rides like the wind and drinks her whisky straight, though not much of it. And she can cuss." 

"Does cuss mean what I think it means?"

"Yes."

"Well you seem very sure of yourself."

"Is that so. Do you ride?"

"Yes."

"What rocking horses."

Courtney's face softened and then came a peel of laughter. "You seem to swing from being rather rude to being rather funny Mr Curtis, quite unpredictably actually. I thought by now you would have asked me to stop calling you Mr Curtis. As mother would say, you appear to be quite entertaining. Would you care to dance?"

"Well, well. It's taken you sometime to thaw out but don't take offence. I guess you get blokes trying to work you along all the time?"

"That equestrian reference, if indeed it is, seems inappropriate in the context of our conversation."

"What on earth are you two talking about," inquired Mrs Sterling, returning from the dance floor and puffing a little. Is Mr Curtis into animal sciences?"

"I don't think so, mummy," said Courtney, taking a quick look at Matt. "I am not sure what Mr Curtis is or what he does."

The three of them waited for Curtis to respond, but he simply picked up his glass and drank deeply.

"Oh, what's this you're drinking dear," said Mrs Sterling, picking up Courtney's glass and taking a hearty sip, before putting a hand to her throat and spluttering. "My god, it tastes like raw alcohol. But then again it seems quite smooth."

"Matt calls it a Blood and Sand," replied Courtney, allowing Matt to make eye contract when he'd just heard her use his first name. 

"Good heavens, that type of liquor ought not to be served to ladies," said Charles, stiffly. "Are you out of your mind, sir, serving a whisky-based concoction to my daughter?"

"Oh, don't be so stuffy Charlie," said his wife for the second time that evening. "Now, please order a round of them and let's hear Mr Curtis's story. I am sure it is going to be really fascinating."

When the drinks arrived Matt started talking. After an hour they moved to the late-night restaurant for supper. Matt continued, telling it why he'd been banished by his father to Wyoming and the colourful life he'd experienced there. 

Mrs Sterling, who after the second cocktail insisted he call her Eva, periodically interjected with "how thrilling", "how wonderful", "how amazing." 

Courtney listened, entranced, while Charles, stifling yawns, wondered how much of it was fiction.

Two evenings later the young couple consummated a budding shipboard romance. 

Aware that something was up, Eva said to her daughter who had yet to turn nineteen, "You are spending a lot of time with Matt. Is there something going on?" 

Courtney just smiled at her and wondered what her parents would say if she were to tell them that Matt was not a first-class passenger. Her father would turn scarlet and probably call for Matt "to be put in irons." 

She giggled at the thought.

The ship reached Honolulu where the weather was fine and pleasantly warm, Matt now being far from the bleak farming landscape of Wyoming where winter was beginning to set in. 

Most of the passengers went ashore and Eva invited Matt to accompany them, much to her daughter's delight. 

Courtney regarded this as acceptance by her mother of her daughter's wicked ways, while Matt had already sensed in Eva's eyes in recent days that their secret liaison was known to her.

The air was warm, the atmosphere very tropical in mood, colour and surroundings. The youngsters had fallen behind when the Charles and Eva stopped at a stall displaying rather attractive trinkets. They selected two items and were negotiating price when two men moved in, jostled Charles and rushed off with his wallet which one of them had grabbed from Charles' hand. 

Matt charged up and ran after the fleeing men. But they separated. Matt hesitated, not knowing which man to follow as both had disappeared into the crowd.

Charles's uncharitable comment to his wife was, "Some quick acting hero he's turned out to be, and now I've got to reboard the ship to get more money."

They began the return, walking through an area of bars and eating-places. 

Eva was walking ahead of Charles and noticed two men sitting at a table, drinking. She recognised the shirt of one of the men as being similar to one of the robbers. Then she saw Charles' wallet on the table. 

Bravely walking up to the men she demanded they hand the wallet back. They looked at each other and roared with laughter.

Eva reached to pick up the wallet. The smaller of the two men pulled out a knife from inside his shirt and plunged it into the table straight between two of Eva's fingers. She froze.

"What are you doing to my wife," demanded Charles, striding up to the table. The men calmly remained seated.

"Go home foreigner," sneered one of the men. But then he had a better thought. He picked up the wallet, and waved it at Charles. "How much you give me for this, foreigner?"

Charles realised that he and Eva were in a bit of a spot. Where was their White Knight? He felt someone come beside him, half-turned, and saw it was Matt.

Matt moved slowly forward and said to the petrified Eva. "Keep calm, Eva. Don't move."

A crowd had gathered surrounding them.

Matt had inched alongside Eva. The two men were watching him closely.

In a quick, easy movement Matt pushed Eva sideways with his right hip, pulling the knife free just as her fingers started to move. He spun the knife, catching it by the point of the blade and threw it hard at the man seated three feet away.

The weighted handle of the knife struck the man between the eyes and he fell back into his chair, clutching his face and groaning loudly.

His big scarred-faced companion lunged at Matt, shouting abuse. 

Matt handled the charge like a bullfighter. He swivelled out of the way, and then just as quickly stepped forward again as the charging man was flying past him and plunged his elbow hard into the lower back of his attacker, who fell to the ground screaming.

Matt retrieved the wallet pointing to the downed men shouted, "Robbers, robbers." People began to clap him. 

Totally in command he ushered Charles, Eva and Courtney away, saying "Hurry, if we get away now I don't think there were be any consequences. The police will find they have a big crowd of well-informed witnesses."

Shaking slightly, Charles felt admiration for their young companion. Matt's despatch of the second robber was executed brilliantly. "One would think this chap works in Special Ops," Charles whispered to Eva, who hadn't a clue what he was on about. She was probably busily thinking that Matt would be perfect as a son.

Back aboard the ship, Courtney spoke privately with her father, and came away from him smiling. Her father hadn't reacted at all when told that Matt wasn't a first-class passenger and agreed to upgrade him in status.

Courtney set up her easel and began painting a new shipboard scene in watercolours. She'd been drawing and painting since early childhood. From the age of eleven, when her last nanny departed and her mother spent even more time on the diplomatic social circuit in countries where they had lived, it became a useful time-filler. Her parents noting her emerging talent arranged for some private tuition, Courtney supplemented that formal coaching by meticulously copying birthday and Xmas card illustrations and taking scenes from books, experimenting with styles she'd studied in art books and also examining carefully the works of painters that were favoured by her tutors.

Coming face to face with her work for the first time, Matt thought her paintings were good, very good in fact. His knowledge of art was confined to oil paintings dotted around his family home. His personal favourite at home was of the head of a Maori warrior. The fact that Charles Goldie painted it was of no significance to the young man. Now, had it been a horse his eyes would have swept over it and returning slowly to soak in the detail in a professional-like appraisal.




Doomed Dynasty Pt. 01



"I'll get you to paint me one day," he commented, attempting to show his support to the hobbyist.

"In the nude, of course," came Courtney's sly reply.

"Shhhh," cautioned the young man, embarrassed and looking about quickly. "Somebody might hear us."

She expelled a peel of laughter and turned away. "I'll meet your after dinner. I like it when you are taking a real interest in me."

Matt was dressing for dinner when a message was delivered to his room from the chief purser. It advised that for reasons the chief purser could not disclose his status was being raised to that of first class passenger, with immediate effect. During dinner his personal things would be transferred. The undisclosed benefactor was, of course, Courtney's father. 

Naturally Matt was delighted, even more so when he noticed that the location of his new cabin happened to be in the same corridor as Courtney's, just across from it, in fact.

* * *

The Mariposa arrived in Auckland to a perfect dawn. As the ship rounded North Head Matt and the Sterlings exchanged farewells. He walked away hand-in-hand with Courtney. 

Eva sniffed, "He's such a nice boy, one of the few young men that I've seen Courtney regard with any interest. I quite fancy himself."

"Eva!"

"It's all right Charlie. I'm just teasing. I think you quite like him, too."

"Well, yes. I've gotten used to his abrasive manner. I think I better get the department to find out a bit more about him just in case this shipboard thing between carries on ashore."

Matt walked away from Courtney, who was drying her tears. 

How manly he looks, he really could have been a somebody, she thought. She burst into tears again. The only comforting thing was that Matt would be visiting her in Wellington in January and she'd watched him tuck her address into his wallet.

The early farewell was arranged because Matt was aware that his parents had come up on the overnight express from Wellington to meet him, and would be waiting on the wharf. At this stage he saw no reason to introduce the Sterlings to his parents and Courtney hadn't even suggested she'd like to meet them.

To Be Continued...



Doomed Dynasty Pt. 02



While the vessel was being manoeuvred into her berth, watched by a huge crowd ashore, Matt wondered if his father would casually ask him, "Did you happen to bump into a Martha Bridger?"

Matt had been away for two years and 344 days, according to his mother. If he had any misgivings about his parents being less that enthusiastic about seeing their son again he was mistaken.

His father had tears in his eyes and his mother was almost hysterical. Patricia was glad to have him back again, home in time for his birthday and for Christmas. She'd always known that ultimately Matt would drift out of her life, but never had she anticipated that he would be wrenched away so dramatically as he had been went leaving for America in disgrace. At that time she'd suffered the emotional loss that any mother or any other family member for that matter suffers when a family member dies, or is drafted to go to war. But the reassuring letters from Milly cheered her up no end that Matt was doing well in Wyoming.

Matt had noted little change in his mother, she was still slim, but her hair was greying slightly. It pleased him to find that her nature remained spirited and her smile was just as sweet as he had remembered it. The softness that he had always displayed towards his mother, especially when alone with her, quickly re-established itself. 

One evening soon after his return, Matt thought he couldn't remember his mother ever looking so happy. Patricia didn't move to touch him; she'd been caught staring at him and she smiled beautifully and said, "I'm grateful to have you back again Matt."

The reunion with his father had been different. 

On the wharf they had bear-hugged each other, rather over vigorously in fact, and their handshake was an unconscious test of strength. Neither yielded, though a shadow of pain flicked across his father's face before Patricia had called, "Stand aside Collier, it's time for a mother and son reunion."

As those excited greetings petered out, Matt took a close look at his father, confirming his initial impressions. Fearless Curtis had lost considerable muscle bulk, his limp had become more pronounced and his complexion had dulled. He had aged, considerably in the time they had been apart.

At the first opportunity Matt said to Patricia, "Mum is dad okay? He just doesn't... well he doesn't quite look like I remembered him." He'd struggled with his words, trying to avoid alarming his mother.

"He's accelerating into older age. He's played hard throughout his life and now he's paying the price for those excesses. Be warned, Matt. You behave exactly like your father, so much so that it's frightening. Everyone says you look more like me than him, but I see beyond those surface similarities. You image your father Matt. Try to avoid imaging his darker side my dear one."

Shaken by those words, Matt thought it was the most profound thing his mother had ever said to him. Perhaps now she spoke to him as an adult. So she knew his father's reputation was not all based on gossip and exaggerations; he wondered if she knew about the fading beauty Martha.

One evening, when Patricia had gone out to a fund-raising concert Matt did the dishes. Never in his life had he seen his father do anything domestic, apart from carving the meat. At least he didn't mirror his image to that selfish extent. He went to the front porch, where in the late-summer twilight his father had already poured two glasses of whisky and had his glass in his hand and held out the other. Matt though that this was the opportunity for which he had been waiting. He proceeded slowly.

"Dad we have talked about Wyoming and people we both know. Tell me, how did Ponto get that particular name? I often thought about it but never got to asking him, possibly in case I rattled skeletons."

His father shook with a belly laugh. "No, nothing would cause Ponto any grief. But I do know how he got his name, and am surprised that you didn't enquire. You would have found that you both had something similar in naming. On my second trip over there I found he was actually named Peter Rivers, though all the time I knew him, and I had met several of his very old friends, I never heard him called anything but Ponto. Then one day I picked up a letter from the mailbox and almost put it back for re-sorting, as it was addressed to Mr Peter Rivers. Milly was with me and that's when I learned his real name."

His father sighed, "Ah, those days. Milly told me that Ponto was part Indian, his paternal grandfather had actually been born and brought up on a reservation. Ponto had told her that when his grandfather became ill, he arrived at his son's family home on a small rundown block of land. He came on a pony with quarter horse breeding and even further back, Shetland pony origins apparently. His excited grandson, going by the name of Peter, loved horses and his grandfather's undernourished, small-boned mount particularly appealed to the youngster. 

"The old man, asked his grandson, who was only four at the time, if he liked the pinto. The boy said 'Pinto? Me Ponto'. From there it was just like you calling yourself Matt. Grandfather Rivers began calling the boy Ponto as a joke, and the name stuck."

By now Collier had poured himself another whisky. Matt could tell his mood was melancholy. He took the plunge, making an oblique probe.

"Dad, you visited Milly twice, but what she said, but she told me that she saw very little of you. She said something like, "You had met your perfect companion within days of your first visit. Who was that?"

Collier Fearless Curtis looked closely at his son. But his son gave nothing away, innocently studying the rim of his empty whisky glass. "Milly been shooting off her mouth has she?" he snapped.

Matt was fearless. Looking his father straight in the eye he said, "No. Actually it was Martha herself. I think she's still in love with you, or at least the memory of you dad."

Collier looked at his son startled. "Bloody hell, don't you ever say that to anyone, it would kill your mother if she heard that. I suspect that she knows that I had a bit of a fling when I was over there, but nothing more than that." He then growled, "And I want it kept that way. Right?"

"Fair enough, dad. But I would like to hear more. I reckon she's the most beautiful woman of her age that I have ever seen. And dad you want to see her daughter!"

Collier straightened, "She has a daughter?"

Laughing Matt punched him affectionately on the upper arm, causing Collier to wince. "She's not one of yours. She has the look of her parents and as you know Lukas is also blond."

"You didn't write about any of this in your letters?"

"No, and why would I be writing about a certain blonde woman?" 

"I suspected that Milly might have hinted something in her letters to mum over the years. I wouldn't put it past her stirring the pot a bit."

"Dad tell me about meeting Martha."

Collier sighed, and talked on for nearly two hours, pausing only to ask Matt to fetch another bottle of whisky. Matt returned with it quickly, eager to hear more. His father described their first meeting, at a dance at the time of the annual Rendezvous Parade, a cowboy-oriented get-together and carnival. His eyes fell on only one girl amongst the large number of them in the dancehall. She a striking blonde, dressed mainly in white, and was surrounded by a group of males of various ages. Collier pushed though the ring and boldly asked her to dance with him.

A young man standing closest to her, actually with an arm around her waist, told Collier to buzz off, calling Collier a fly-blown foreigner. 

Collier said he stood his ground. The man, bigger than Collier, brushed the blonde aside and took a swing at Collier who dodged it easily and came back with a heavy punch that collapsed his assailant to the ground. Just as Collier was beginning to feel really good, his eye caught a movement to his left. He turned just in time to see the smiling blonde hit him on the head with a bottle. 

Collier regained consciousness, lying on the ground outside the dancehall. He went over to the steps on his hands and knees and was sitting there, bent over with his hands on his temples, groaning when he heard this ever-so friendly voice say, "You poor boy." 

The girl whom he'd come to know as Martha brushed aside his hands and took a look at the spot when she had hit him with the full bottle of beer. She kissed it, and walked off without another word. 

"Women," said his father, shaking his head. "They're impossible to understand."

He continued the story. "Martha came over to Milly's the next afternoon. I shot out of sight into my bedroom. But Milly called me to come out, and formally introduced us. Martha said she had been horrible to me the previous evening and to compensate, wanted to take me out. I thought that was something special. Never in my life had a woman asked me out on a date."

Matt nodded. "Know what you mean, dad. Now settle in and I tell you about how I met a very forthright blonde called Caitlin."

Just before 10:00 Patricia walked in. Matt jumped to his feet, pretending that he's not been dozing. His father was well gone, mouth open and snoring lightly. Patricia noted the empty and half empty bottles on the table. "I see that you boys have managed to entertain yourselves."

"Right mum, we had a great chin-wag. Probably our best ever."

"That's nice. He really missed you when you were away. He's a hard man though he would never admit it. Come on, you go to bed. Leave him there. He'll put himself to bed when he wakes up after dreaming. What he dreams about when he's had a few drinks I'll never know."

Matt went off to bed, grinning. He thought it best that his father's dreams remain secret. He guessed that although his father was asleep in his chair, he mind was far away, cavorting about somewhere in Wyoming.

* * *

On the morning of Matt's twenty-first birthday he went with his parents to the family's law firm. 

Senior partner Bert Wheeler shook Matt's hand and congratulated him for attaining the age of consent. "You have grown into a fine looking young man Matt," said Bert. "And now I need you and Collier to sign these papers."

That done Bert handed Matt a cheque for £33,000. Matt had reached the age stipulated in his paternal grandfather's will when the money he left to Matt could be handed over.

"Treasure this moment, Matt," said his father. "Forever after it will you be handing over cheques to greedy lawyers."

Although it was only mid-morning, Bert went to a cabinet and poured lemonade for Patricia and three whiskies. "It's early but we need to mark this significant occasion for Matt," said Bert. He offered to invest the money for Matt, either on call or to lend it out to a trusted client at a higher interest rate for the purchase of a run-off property.

"Thanks all the same but I am determined to do my own thing Bert. I guess I can call you Bert now that I'm a man?"

"Certainly, Matt, and I will not be surprised if I continue to act for you on your own account from this day."

Matt nodded in agreement. 

He had noticed that Collier looked at him proudly when he turned down Bert's investment suggestions whereas his mother had looked a little apprehensive. Mothers always worry, thought Matt. He also knew Collier's thinking, 'Never leave your money in the hands of lawyers or bankers. Plough it back into the land or buy property.' That was Collier's policy inherited from his father. 

Patricia and Collier held Matt's birthday party in the town hall, hired at a heavily discounted rate, as Collier was the Mayor of Miranda.

"Almost everyone who is anyone in this town will be here this evening," his father told Matt. The three Curtis' were aware that this was the first public function attended by Matt since his return from Wyoming.

They needn't have worried. No adverse reaction to Matt was displayed. Word had spread during recent weeks about Matt's return. The local gossip was that he had emerged from exile as a reformed young man.

Matt's closest friend of his boyhood days, Merv Higgs, arrived from Auckland to join the celebrations. Merv, soon to commence his last year at law school, had grown a beard and Matt scarcely recognised him when he arrived unannounced. But seconds later they were noisily downing a beer and whisky chaser excitedly catching up on their years of separation.

At 4:00 the next day Patricia finally went to sleep, content that her son had just safely arrived home. He was with Merv, and both men were very drunk. After lunch Merv set off to catch the ferry to Wellington and then to take the night express train to Auckland. His parting words to Matt were, "Don't forget Matt, bricks and mortar. Goodbye Collier, goodbye Mrs Curtis."

"What a lovely young man," said Patricia. "It's a pity he doesn't live here any longer. What did he mean by bricks and mortar?"

"Oh that," said Matt. "It's the investment advice that the law firm he's working for during the university recess is giving to its well-heeled clients. It's their Number One investment recommendation."

"Well then, Matt, you'd better begin looking in the morning."

But Matt had already been looking, for the past six months in fact, knowing that his legacy would soon be handed over to him. That afternoon he entered a contract in partnership with his father's accountant, Alec Bishop, to buy the old Land & Grain Agency Building on the edge of Miranda.

The building was now used as a saddlery and an associated footwear repair business. The upper floor was disused. It was located in a prime position, a hop and jump off the town's main street backing on to the river, but needed upgrading.

"It's ripe for redevelopment," Alec had told Matt. "I had an engineer look at it and he reported it's structurally sound but needs a new roof and quite a lot of other overdue maintenance.

The accountant was pleased to take Matt in as a partner to own the building because the cost of the half-share of the purchase would leave Matt with a tidy sum to put towards his share of redevelopment costs. 

CHAPTER 5

In Wyoming and finishing dinner with Milly and Ponto in her ranch house one wet evening, Cody waited until Ponto had wandered off to the back of the house. He then delivered some bad news. 

"I ran into Commissioner Lacy outside the courthouse this morning, you know, Martha's uncle. Bad news, I'm afraid. Caitlin's got pregnant to that banker fellow in Switzerland and they got married at a small ceremony as the insistence of his parents. Apparently Caitlin wasn't feeling well and agreed to not having anyone there but immediate family. I know you were hoping to receive a wedding invitation from Lukas and Martha one day soon. It will be a real disappointment to you."

Milly sat stunned. She then swallowed, and flicked a hand over the corner of her left eye. Rising to her feet she announced, "I'm going to check on the horses," and left without saying another word. 

Cody, who only had a vague memory of Martha and had never met Caitlin, knew that Milly was hurt as she was always talking about the Bridger's and he knew she was Caitlin's godmother. She had been eagerly waiting for an invitation to the wedding.

* * *

Fifteen months after Matt returned from America, Collier 'Fearless' Curtis died aged sixty-five. Collier had been alone in the house, having returned from his weekly meeting with his farm manager. Over the years Faraway Farm had been sold down to become a mere 6300-acre sheep and cattle property

Finding the house empty, Collier went to the beach where he liked to wander about occasionally. He had only been there a short time when he collapsed and died. A guy walking his dog came across the body, awash by the turning tide. At first it was thought Collier had drowned, but the post-mortem revealed that he had died of a massive heart attack. 

It was a shock for Patricia, as her husband had shown no sign of illness and nor had he complained that day of not feeling well. Her grieving was brief as she was a very practical woman and had Matt to comfort her. It was the first time since he was a child that she had seen Matt weep, but he recovered well and remained close to her until after the funeral.

Patricia had always regarded Collier as her companion for life, even though she knew he had shared himself with other women throughout their years of marriage. Now he was gone, and she missed him more that she'd expected. She resolved to do everything within her power to make Matt a worthy successor to his father, establishing continuity of the Curtis dynasty based on Faraway Farm.

Patricia felt relieved that she no longer would have to act as Mayoress of Miranda, preferring to work for the community out of the limelight.

The day of the funeral dawned fine. When Matt brought a breakfast tray to his mother's bedside she asked him to sit down and hear her out.

"Your father is leaving you a considerable amount of money and all of his personal things," she told him. "A generous sum of money goes to Milly and then everything else goes to me. But tomorrow I want you to come with me to our lawyer. I will be instructing Bert Wheeler pending probate to prepare for the transfer everything in my name to you including this house, the farm, shares in the ski field and our investment property in Queenstown. All that I ask is that you allow me to continue to live in this house for as long as I wish and to divert a small amount of cash my way to cover living expenses and incidental expenditure."

"Mother!" exclaimed Matt, utterly surprised. He had not called her that for many years. "You don't have to do this."

"I know."

"But shouldn't you wait until I turn twenty-five or even thirty, until I have that so-called maturity and have learned more about managing financial affairs?"

"Matt, you are your father's son. You may not be aware how much you have learned from him and I feel if you are not ready now to step into his shoes, you never will be. You are a quick learner, and have a very active mind, rather too active I have found at times. We have numerous advisers ready to take fees from us, so you won't be running alone. As it has been written Matt seize the day!"

"Well, if you are sure thank you, oh thank you mother, I'll not let you down," said Matt, hugging his mother tightly, his emotions swirling. 

Patricia could feel his pounding heart against her shoulder, and smiled contentedly. A new era for the Curtis family had begun. Matt would now be a farmer in his own right. 

People began arriving in Miranda for Collier's funeral. One of the first cables from overseas had been from Milly, who announced that she and Cody were flying out and hoped to arrive just in time for the service. Patricia received that news of the imminent arrival of her much younger sister with great pleasure but with a frown said, "Cody, is that a misprint? Should not that person be Pinto?"

"No it definitely says Cody," replied Matt, rubbing his jaw thoughtfully.

"Well then who is this Cody? Do we know him?"

"No, you don't but I do; met him at my farewell party. He's an under sheriff, quite a bit younger than Milly and a bit flabby with a beer belly. He and Milly seemed to be getting along very well that evening. They had not seen each other for years. He left in '44 to enlist and lived elsewhere after the war ended. He returned to Wyoming to take up his new job only a week or so before my farewell party."

"How strange?" Patricia mused. "We've had letters from Milly since your return and she never mentioned him. Are they married?"

"I've got no idea, I don't even know if Milly is interested in having a man in her bed."

"Matt! There is no need to be coarse. We'll just have to wait and see. I can't understand why she would want to associate with a man again after what she went through."




Doomed Dynasty Pt. 02



"She occasionally has strong feelings towards particular men."

"She told you that?"

"Yes mum, you'd be surprised what the women in Wyoming tell you," said Matt, grinning.

A man would have to be on his toes to keep up with Milly, Matt thought. He looked at his mother. She had married young and would not turn fifty until next year. He wondered if she might re-marry. It wouldn't upset him if she did.

"A penny for your thoughts," said his mother. 

"I was thinking Milly would make a very nice partner for a caring man."

"Very well said Matt. I'm getting used to the idea that Milly has a real man at last so long after that tragically short marriage of hers. Wouldn't it would be wonderful if we find they are married?"

"I'm sure she'd not been able to hold back that sort of news from you." 

Matt poured a sherry for his mother, hoping the drink would get her off the Milly thing. Why speculate? Milly would tell them what she wanted to tell them when she was ready. 

In his pocket was a telegram from Courtney. She said her father had learned from an acquaintance in local government that his father has passed away. She would be arriving in time for the funeral and hoped to see him afterwards.

Unsure of whether he was pleased or not about her imminent arrival, Matt thought about their disastrous meeting when he had travelled to Wellington to meet her as they had arranged on their last night together on the Mariposa.

Arriving at the address in early January, he knocked on the door of the impressive home. Eva opened the door and hugged him joyfully. Ushering Matt inside, Eva called out, "Courtney you have a surprise visitor."

Courtney was indeed surprised. As she saw Matt she had realised she'd forgotten his arrival date arranged more than two months earlier. She waited until they were alone to tell Matt. "I am sorry, terribly sorry dear Matt, but I have inadvertently doubled booked myself. I am leaving on the ferry this evening for Christchurch to attend a wedding. Oh, I am so sorry," she said, moving over and kissing him.

Matt was annoyed but the annoyance turned to anger when a young man about his age entered the room. He already apparently presented Eva with the small bouquet of flowers she was carrying. He then said, Matt thought possessively, "Are you ready, Courtney? We mustn't be late."

Courtney made the introductions and suggested Matt should accompany her and Stanley to the ferry wharf. Matt delivered a curt refusal and Courtney left the room, crying.

"I say you were a bit rough with that response weren't you?"

Matt's instinct was punch the fellow, but instead he said evenly, "Please tell Courtney that I was late for another appointment and had to go, that's a good chap."

He called goodbye to Eva, who came rushing out. 

"Courtney has told me she has messed things up, she's so upset. Do you have to go?"

Matt nodded, and left the house.

"Please come again, Matt?" called Eva.

Never! Matt muttered, not looking back.

There was one other telegram in his pocket. Matt took it out and re-read it.

It offered formal condolences, apologised for not being able to attend the funeral, and then ended with a warm person note. "Often think of you. Hope to see you soon. Vikki."

On the first reading, Matt had thought that although that telegram was addressed to him it must have been meant for his mother. He didn't know anyone called Vikki. Then he remembered an old school friend telling him that Victoria Armstrong now called herself Vikki and was catering manager at the Chateau on Mt Ruapehu.

"Often think of you." Matt had read those four words again. He wondered what she was like now.

There was a huge turnout for the funeral, including many local body representatives as Collier was serving his third term as Mayor when he died. 

Patricia, pale but lively and seen to be greeting everyone warmly, was admired for her composure. 

A man dressed in black stepped forward as Matt walked down the steps from the church hand-in-hand with his mother. The man took off his black hat, bowed, and said: "Once again, my condolences, Patricia." It was the Rev Armstrong, now retired and recently widowed. He took Matt's hand, and clasping it in both of his hands he said: "Your loss is our loss Matthew. Your father contributed greatly to this community and there is an expectation that you will follow in his footsteps. I sincerely hope that you will. You appear to have grown into a fine young man."

Matt felt pressure on his other hand. His mother was squeezing it and now, for the first time in public, tears were sliding gently down her cheeks. For a moment Matt imagined he was bathed in a brilliant white light, but the absurd thought quickly passed. Even so, it was redemption, almost. He still had to come face to face with Vikki. 

But he forgot about Vikki as a soft hand slipped into his and instantly he knew who it was. Gazing at Courtney he said, "Mum here's someone I would like you to meet. This is my friend Courtney. Courtney I would like you to meet my mother Patricia."

"Friend? I didn't know you had a friend as beautiful as this young lady," said his mother. She knew some details as Matt had told her about his voyage and meeting a young woman called by the unusual name of Courtney. She was surprised to find that 'a lovely young woman' as Matt had described her was a mere slip of a girl, though a real beauty.

Matt laughed. "I don't tell you everything mother."

"And please introduce your aunt...and hullo Patricia," said Milly, arriving breathlessly with a man in tow. 

She hugged her sister who then burst into a huge smile. "Oh, Milly. You came. Now where is this man of yours?"

"First things first, Patricia. I'm waiting for my introduction to this sweet girl."

Matt responded. "Sorry about her horrible western accent Courtney, but this is my Aunt Milly who lives in Wyoming."

Milly kissed Courtney gently, stepped back and looked at her. Matt also stared, taking in the hear-shaped hairline, the well-cut long black hair, violet eyes and rosebud mouth. Courtney was elegantly dressed, wearing very high heels that made her almost as tall as Milly.

"I approve Matt. You certainly know how to pick 'em."

"Pick what Milly?" asked Patricia, slightly confused by the turn of conversation and Milly's impolite public inspection of Matt's friend.

"Oh don't you fret Patricia. Your boy's becoming all grown up."

Matt smiled at Courtney and explained to her, "Milly was born in this town, but she's a Wyoming gal through and though. Hard as nails but solid as a rock. Impolite too, but I admire her greatly. She rides a horse better than most men, ropes wild horses and what she does to bull calves is rather indelicate to describe here. But deep down, very deep down I believe there is some femininity to be found."

"I hope so," said a deep voice behind them.

"Oh, Cody, ever so sorry to ignore you. Everyone, this is my fiancée Cody Schmidt. Cody meet my family and Courtney who looks as if she might be joining the family very soon." 

Cody and Matt shook hands, slapping each other across the shoulders.

Matt watched Courtney blush, and thought how sweet she looked. Their eyes met, and slowly she averted her gaze downwards.

"Oh, honey have I embarrassed you?" enquired Milly, pressing along in her match-making role.

Courtney shook her head and smiled warmly.

Milly then formally introduced Cody to her sister and was disappointed that Patricia simply put out her hand to be shaken. There was no hug or sign of an affectionate greeting but then this was a sad time for Patricia.

"Come on Milly," commanded Patricia as soon as they left the church. "It's time we got refreshments going for all of these people who turned out to give Collier a grand send off. Their tongues must be really dry and I want to hear all about you and Cody and all of the other things you haven't told me in your letters."

Patricia led the way to the church hall when afternoon tea was to be served. 

Milly apologised for their late arrival, explaining their Cook Strait crossing had been delayed and when they arrived the church the service had just started but they managed to find seats near the back.

"You've come a long way and at least you heard the eulogies. Weren't they wonderful? You will have the chance to say your final farewell to your brother when we take Collier to the cemetery," said Patricia. 

Milly buried her face into Patricia's shoulder and started to cry. Her customary toughness had deserted her for the moment. But she quickly recovered.

As the drinks flowed, Milly herded Matt into a quiet corner. "She's lovely, Matt."

Matt nodded and shuffled his feet. "She's not my fiancée." 

"I guessed that but I feel the electricity between you two. I sometimes seem to twitch when I stand between people, and you two really got me going out there. Whatever it is between you two it's sparking."

"Well," said Matt. "I really got a twitch out there, I was almost ready to throttle you. I haven't considered extending or even continuing my relationship with her."

"But you're slept with her?"

Matt was about to deny it. Instead, he grinned and said: "I couldn't discuss anything like that with you. If it did it would be all over the grapevine tomorrow morning."

"I take that as a yes Matt. Now, the Bridgers are still somewhere in Europe and expect to be home for Christmas. But the news is that Caitlin is has married a young banker she met in Switzerland. I'm afraid she is lost to you Matt."

A great sadness swept over him. He had felt that Caitlin was born to be free, not to be tied down by anyone. But it was her choice. 

He sighed, and replied: "I wish her the best, the very best. She's a wonderful young woman."

"What a lovely thing to say, Matt. Now, getting back to Courtney; don't lose her Matt. That's all I'm going to say. Don't you think you mother is playing the role of a new widow perfectly?"

She withdrew, leaving Matt to his thoughts. His mind was in a mess, converging memories of Wyoming and Caitlin with memories of his recent voyage home and Courtney. Pressing his fists to his temples, he silently groaned, "Why do women cause a bloke so much grief dammit."

Well after midnight Matt took Courtney back to her hotel The Settlers' Retreat and stayed with her. 

Just before dawn he was pacing the floor. 

She awoke and went over to him. 

Without any warning, Matt proposed to her. 

Courtney went pale, and had to sit down. 

Matt went on to his knees, and put his head into her lap. 

She stroked his hair and finally said she must talk to her parents. 

"It's forever, Matt. We both must be very sure."

"That's okay," grinned Matt. "I can wait. Take a month if you wish. Race you back to bed!"

A week later Matt went to Faraway Farm for the customary end-of-month meeting.

He'd driven up the valley in his father's beloved workhorse, a post-war Willys Overland Jeep, undoubtedly the most recognisable vehicle in the district. 

There he spent much of the morning going over the farm accounts and schedule of work with the farm manager who'd worked for Collier for almost 30 years.

Dick Rogers had watched Matt grow up to become, as he was beginning to tell folk, "a real hard character, just like his dad." 

Matt had spooked him by detecting a couple of minor discrepancies in the books and noted fencing work was behind schedule.

"We had better smarten up our act, Dick," he told the manager who almost replied, "Yes sir" to the much younger man, before catching himself and saying, "Whatever you say boss." 

There was some tension between them, and Matt put this down to their age difference. He thought Dick was probably thinking 'the boy can ride a horse as well or better than any of us but he's only a boy'. Dick would want Matt to prove himself as a boss

That would be no problem, thought Matt, as he already on the way to proving himself to be a cunning boss. He'd noted a couple of other things, minor but nevertheless still swindles. He had made the snap decision to leave those items to discuss on another day, knowing that he should not push the older man too far too fast.

On the feeder road and waiting to turn on to the main road back to town, Matt watched a new grey station wagon being driven a little erratically. It seemed to be overloaded with boxes crammed inside and two wooden crates strapped on the roof rack. He muttered, "Slow down, lady, you're overloaded and unstable." 

He remained there for a couple of minutes to watch a top dressing pilot gracefully bank his aircraft after completing the dump and heading off to Olsen's farm strip to load more super phosphate. 

The station wagon had disappeared around a bend by the time Matt turned on to the main road behind it. He noticed the vehicle again nearing the end of a long straight. Then he saw it veer and crash into the concrete bridge abutment. 

He accelerated towards it, noting no other vehicle was in sight.

The front of the station wagon was buckled, the bonnet had sprung open and water was pouring from the radiator. The windscreen and the passenger's side window were shattered, and crates from the roof had been hurled forward, their contents spread across the road and probably down the bank towards the river.

Boxes from the back seat were now in the front seat and covered the slumped driver.

Matt jerked the lightly jammed door open and pulled boxes and loose items off the driver. There was a nasty welt on her forehead. 

Suddenly he recognised who the woman was Victoria er Vikki Armstrong. Then he saw blood oozing out of the left side of her chest at quite a rate. Sticking out of the flow of blood was a metal meat skewer. A number of them had spilled from a box of them lying on the seat beside her.

Breathing deeply, Matt fought his panic. He had a decision to make, to pull out the piece of metal and apply a tourniquet or try to stem the blood flow and rush Vikki to the nearest doctor's surgery? 

The problem was not knowing how far in the skewer had penetrated.

He needed to investigate. 

Matt tore open her dress, as gently as he could. He was relieved to find that she was wearing one of those American front-fastening brassieres. He pulled it apart and gently pulled the garment from around her until both ends were free of her body. 

Matt saw that the skewer had entered the side of her left breast above the nipple before cutting its way upward. He thought luckily the incision had missed her heart but he had no idea if arteries were threatened and decided he should not try to remove the skewer. He realised that Vikki needed of expert assistance. 

Sweat was pouring from Matt's forehead as he packed his shirt around the piece of skewer in an effort to reduce the blood flow. 

He ripped two strips of material from Vikki's dress, placing them over the pad made out of his shirt and tying them around her chest very tightly. Vikki was breathing heavily and occasionally was having what he thought were spasms. Although the blood loss continued it was not gushing as he imagined it would have had a main artery been pierced.

Still no vehicles appeared. Matt cursed. It was Monday, the quietest day of the week for traffic. He had no other choice. Vikki would die of blood loss if she stayed where she was. If he moved her it might injure her fatally, but then again it might not. He raced back and opened the back end of the Jeep's soft-top.

With immense strength Matt picked up Vikki and eased her out of the car, as slowly and as gently as he could. Taking care with his footing he carried Vikki along the road and slid her into the back of his vehicle. 

He drove off smoothly, not wasting time by going back and shutting the door of her car or clearing her strewn possessions from the roadway. Matt passed two doctor's surgeries without stopping, convincing himself that those doctors would have to send Vikki on for specialist attention anyway. 

He drove up to the hospital entrance, horn blaring. Medical staff rushed from the accident and emergency department and surrounded the vehicle. "Careful there's a metal skewer sticking into her chest," Matt said, shakily.

"Come with me, sir," said a nurse, talking Matt by the arm. "I think you need a cup of tea. Oh it's you Matt."

Matt looked at her. He was feeling a little unsteady. He saw it was his neighbour's daughter Bette Thompson.

"She'll be all right, won't she," he asked, well knowing nobody would know the answer at this stage. "She hit the Matu Bridge in her vehicle."

"We've got one operating room free and there are at least two surgeons on the premises doing their post-op rounds. She'll get the best assistance available."

Almost two hours later Matt was gently shaken awake from where he lay slumped in a commodious lounge chair. It was Bette.

"Crisis over, Matt. And she's asking for you. I told her who her rescuer was and she became ever so excited. Mr Packard the surgeon said he was amazed that you had managed to get her to us alive. He told Miss Armstrong if you had attempted to pull out the piece of metal her chances of survival would have gone. Mr Packard also wants to meet you."

Matt who's arrived at the hospital bare-chested, was wearing a hospital dressing gown. He'd refused the offer of a patient's regulation smock to cover his chest. "I'm not wearing that horrible thing."

The nurses giggled, and one said: "Would you like to borrow my blouse Mr Curtis?"

There was more giggling. Matt looked at the girl's chest and said, "Thank you, but no. It will be too big for me." 

More giggling and a senior nurse dashed into the room, tut-tutting to quieten her junior staff.

Vikki lay in the bed, without pillows under her head. She looked very pale and the ugly welt on her head was turning black. Bette had told him that Vikki was being treated for possible concussion.

"Hello, Matt. Being a hero once again? You saved my life. I understand, naughty boy, that you stripped my clothes off me, well, most of them. Did you like what you saw?" She stopped, forcing Matt to reply. 

"Hi Vikki. How are you?"

Bette and the nurse recording Vikki's pulse looked disappointed. They had expected a flirtatious reply to such a flirtatious question.

"Did you like what you saw?" Vikki persisted.

"Well, Vikki. I can confirm that you have grown quite a lot since I last saw you some five years ago," replied Matt, truthfully.

"Sorry Matt but we must go," Bette said. "Mr Packard is waiting to congratulate you and he shouldn't be kept waiting. He's a very busy man."

They went into Trevor Packard's office. Waiting with him were a reporter and photographer from the The Bugle.

"Oh no," groaned Matt. 

"Oh yes," grinned the photographer. "Mr Packard is allowing us to take a photograph of him with you and Miss Armstrong. And we will be returning a favour by sending a copy to The Ensign in Wyoming as they sent us good stuff about you when you were making a name for yourself over there."

"Look can I offer you good money in return for you walking away?"

"Tut-tut Mr Curtis," said the young reporter. "We are not permitted to accept bribes. You are destined to be front-page news tomorrow. Sorry but we must do our job."

"I think that I will have to consider buying The Bugle to keep my name out of the paper."

"Oh really, Matt? May I quote you on that?"

"No dammit. Definitely not. Now can we get on with it? I've got work to do."

"Just like his father," whispered the reporter Ali Packard to her father. "A really hard character."

Matt returned to the hospital that evening. Vikki was looking much better and asked him why he had come back. She looked disappointed when he replied: "The Transport Department people cleaned up the mess and had your car towed to storage at a secure place. Two traffic officers supervised the unloading of your cartons and other stuff and they are now under lock and key."




Doomed Dynasty Pt. 02



"I'm relieved to hear that," said Vikki.

"I've got all of my treasured recipes and collection of copper pans and heavy oven dishes amongst that lot. It would have been terrible had I lost them."

Matt sat beside her, charmingly declining the offer to lean over and see how the medical staff had attached a see-through adhesive dressing over her neatly stitched wound.

"You're blushing Matt," she giggled.

"Are you coming back to live here again?" he asked, to switch the conversation. 

"Yes. It's time to start up my own business and I couldn't think of a better place than Miranda because it lacks a decent restaurant."

"You'll do a bit of a freeze until you can change people's habits as this is not Little America," commented Matt authoritatively. "People here are accustomed to eating home-cooked meals at evenings, or taking hot food back to consume at home. It's a culture thing. American frontier people got their food supplied from chuck wagons when they were on the trail so guess what? They still eat out a lot, at diners and snack from food stalls on streets and in parks."

"My haven't you acquired a business mind and power of observation." 

"Observation comes from years of inspecting livestock.'

She laughed. I know it will be hard to change people's habits but people here see people in movies eating out just for the sake of eating out and with more and more New Zealand going overseas these days when they return they will want to eat out at cafes, I just know they will. The trend is happening right now in Wellington and no doubt Auckland as well. One can either be first, or follow the pack. My choice is to be the first in this town."

"Good thinking, Vikki. This town needs people with a little bit of get up and go. Where do you plan to set-up?"

"Well, I have not advanced that far yet. I need to look around. Have you any suggestions?"

"Not really, No, wait a tick. I've got a half-share in the old land and grain building on the riverbank. With the purchase we inherited a saddlers' and footwear repair businesses. But as the saddlers' trade throughout the country is virtually on its last legs, our tenant is moving out to merge with another similar business in another town. Do you remember the building?"

"Of course, it concrete with big timber beams and has a huge loft."

"Correct. What do you think? Could that be suitable?"

Vikki raised her left arm to begin the short period of exercises she had been instructed to do on the hour, every hour as she also had extensive bruising to her left shoulder. "I have extensive bruising on my shoulder," she said, looking at Matt sternly. "Mr Packard the surgeon reckons it probably was caused by you pulling me from my car. Are you sorry?"

"Yes, yes," replied Matt, looking at her unrestrained breasts jiggling as she moved. "You know I never intended hurting you, not even all those years ago when ..." 

He stopped, confused, trying to figure out why Vikki was trying to manipulate him like this.

"I know, Matt. I really wasn't referring to the past. But now that it has come up again I need to tell you this. I know it was an accident, and tried to tell father that. He was almost accepting that when his horrible sister, my Aunty Alice had her penny's worth and she led father by the nose. She could be a real cow at times, and on that occasion she was a proper beast."

"Goodness gracious," laughed Matt. "To think after all the hair-raising encounters I have had with bulls here and in Wyoming that I was virtually done in by a mad cow."

Vikki laughed and laughed, tears coming to her eyes. She stretched out her arms and said: "Come here your handsome brute. I want to kiss you." 

Matt, being the rough-honed gentleman that he was, obliged.

Later he drove into the town, pleased that Vikki had told him as he was leaving that she could be interested in taking a lease of space in the old land and grain building. He'd told her that he would present her with a proposal once she had inspected the property. If she were interested they could sit down and talk final terms with his half partner Alec Bishop. 

Walking along the main street to the bank Matt realised he was near the accountancy office of Young, Bishop and Franks. He decided to sound out Alec.

"Sorry Matt, but I don't see myself being interested in such a proposal. I think a restaurant is not a bad idea, but one run by a woman would almost guarantee that the business would be bankrupt within a year. I've been thinking when the saddler leaves we should refurbish the building into a quality variety store. The farming community is pulling in a lot more money these days, so we ought to do our bit to relieve them of some of it. What do you think about that?"

Although Matt found he couldn't get Alec to at least go over Vikki's plans with her and assess their viability, he kept on talking. 

Alec pulled out a bottle of whisky and two glasses, and they talked some more. Finally they shook hands, and Matt walked away whistling.

A couple of days later he returned to the hospital to see Vikki, but she had been discharged. The address Bette gave Matt led him to the Rev. Armstrong's home.

"Matt, welcome. Please come in. I was going to go over to your place this evening to personally thank you. I've just come back from a conference in Napier to find out about Vikki's nasty accident and how you rescued her. You acted splendidly Matt and I am ever so grateful."

He hugged Matt, making the nervous Matt nervous about being hugged by a guy but nevertheless pleased.

"It was nothing really," said Matt. "But she was worth saving, she's a lovely young woman." 

This time is was Clyde Armstrong's turn to look pleased. "Look, young fellow, why don't you call me Clyde, I'm sure Vikki would like me telling you to do so."

Vikki was lying in the sitting room, and Matt was relieved that she did not ask him to kiss her because her father was right behind him. He handed Vikki the plans of the grain and saddlery building, specifications of its construction and an estimate by a builder they had both been at school with Max Mead's estimates included the cost of turning the loft into living quarters and details of a suggested conversion of the ground floor into a restaurant. Thrilled by this unexpected display of support, Vikki cleared her hair away from her eyes and examined the documents.

"This is wonderful, really wonderful, Matt. But I am sorry, I just don't have the capital required for such extensive work."

"I could secure the money for you my dear with a mortgage on this house," Clyde offered, nervously.

Matt laughed, and scratched behind his right ear. "Finance is not a problem. Vikki would be the tenant and Southern Star Holdings Ltd would be the landlord. The landlord would finance and arrange the conversion in return for the tenant taking a specified lease. The actual rental would be based on current rental values which would take into account recent improvements to the building."

Looking straight at her father, Matt continued: "All that Vikki has to do is engage an accountant to work with her to plan how the business will operate, establish estimated outgoings and income and so on, with the fixed expenses including the monthly rental of the premises. You will understand this, as you would have been involved in working in with your lay people in the operation of your church and any other properties."

Clyde nodded, and said thoughtfully, "I see."

"And I see two men trying to set up a girl's business venture for her," snorted Vikki. "Men!"

Matt moved to head off a possible attack. "Sorry, Vikki. I was just putting your father into the picture. Everyone setting up in business needs support, and you will need to talk to somebody from time to time to check if you're keeping on track and what changes you need to make."

"Do you have advisers Matt?"

"Of course Vikki. At the last count, not long before dad died, I figured we had fifteen."

"That's sounds an awful lot," the retired clergyman said doubtfully.

"Well it's how it is. We have advisers from the Department of Agriculture, the Meat Board, of veterinary group, our stock and station agency, have our farm water tested, our pastures tested and people come to us about erosion control, maintaining our forestry blocks, providing weeds eradication programmes, and so on. Then we have advisers on taxation, general accountancy, investment and we even pay a retainer to a law firm."

"Goodness," said Vikki. "How complicated. I would like you to know that although I am not in that league I've had formal training in running a kitchen-based business operation. I am also experienced in working in hospital kitchens, at resort hotels and in catering, including being executive chef. So I guess I am quite well prepared."

"Sounds like it to me. I'll leave this stuff with you and will come and see you on Friday. You can tell me then if you are interested. No pressure okay?"

"I can tell you now Matt," she replied. "I'm very interested." 

Vikki licked her top lip and asked, "Matt, would you consider being my business adviser? You seem to know an awful lot. I would pay you."

He flushed, not from embarrassment but simply happy at being asked to do such a thing. But he responded negatively. "Sorry, Vikki. Not a good idea. I have financial involvement at the other end of your proposed enterprise through ownership of the premises. It could lead to awkward compromises."

Vikki beamed. "It's so lovely to hear you admit to that possibility Matt. As you know the folk say all the Curtis men are hard bastards. You have just shown yourself to be quite a softie."

"Hard yes, but whether we Curtis men are bastards can only be confirmed by our mothers," replied Matt, smiling. 

It was Vikki's term to flush.

"Sherry anyone?" asked Clyde. 

"It will be sherry for you and me, daddy, and a whisky for Matt I believe?"

Clyde shot a quick look at Vikki as if she hadn't called him daddy in years.

Matt asked, "How did you know that I drink whisky?"

"Everyone knows hard bastards drink whisky!"

Rev Armstrong almost dropped the heirloom crystal decanter in shock. He'd already heard his daughter use that awful word earlier, and now she had called Matt one to his face. 

He turned to apologise for his daughter's rudeness but found the two of them in a huddle over the sketch plans.

An hour later Matt stood up to go. Vikki looked at him, slightly puzzled. "Matt, you haven't said what your business partner in the property thinks about the conversion into a restaurant and anything about this finance company."

He mumbled something.

"Pardon, I didn't hear that."

"I think he said his partner was not in favour," Clyde said, now standing beside Matt, ready to accompany him to the front porch.

"Oh dear," sighed Vikki. "So where do we go from here?"

"There's no problem, let it rest," responded Matt, turning leave.

"But I can't, I need to know if I will get possession."

"You will."

"But how can you be so sure?"

"Because I've bought Alec Bishop's share in the property, I now own the property outright. I'm Southern Star Holdings Ltd."

"Goodness gracious, how fascinating, how wonderful!" Vikki exclaimed. "I know I could sell you part of my business to secure tenancy renewal as you would be my sleeping partner."

"V-v-ikki!" stammered Clyde.

"Oh daddy, sleeping partner is a perfectly acceptable business term. It means a silent investor who is an inactive partner in the business."

Matt stood looking at her. She cupped a hand behind her ear indicating she couldn't hear anything. 

"Is it okay if I give you my decision tomorrow?"

She nodded brightly. Matt strode over to her, lifted her hair away and kissed the fading bruise on her forehead very gently. He turned away before she could lay a hand on him, had that been her intention.

"Oooh yes, you can come to see me tomorrow."

Observing this from the doorway, Clyde looked at them thoughtfully.

"Goodbye Matt," he said, as Matt shook his hand and told him what a wonderful girl had had for a daughter. 

Clyde watched him walk away, whistling a cheerful tune. From school ground thug to the town's most eligible bachelor; what a difference less than five years can make in a person, he thought, grinning toothily.

Matt didn't go to see Vikki the next afternoon. Instead he drove out to the farm asked one of the farmhands, Merv Thomas' son Art, who was a school dropout, to bring in Matt's horse.

"I'll saddle it."

Half an hour later Matt was on the black gelding with a crooked white star in its face, heading towards the back of the farm. He had re-named the horse Fearless in memory of his father. 

Matt wanted to be in solitude because he was troubled. The complication occupying his mind was not business, not farming. It was a moral issue.

Fearless Curtis had drummed into Matt when he was young the same defiant philosophy that Fearless had heard repeatedly from his own father, "Always do what you think is right and to hell with the bigots and missionaries." It had been great advice, but he'd found it more difficult to apply in some situations than others.

His present dilemma was he was eager to help Vikki set-up in business, an act of contrition to repay her for the upset he had caused in her life at the time of his unintentional assault. There was no doubt that he could best discharge that mentoring role by operating at her flank as her silent partner. Perhaps he could find someone else to perform that role, but who? He pushed that consideration aside. He chose instead to concentrate on the fundamental worry. That was how could he be true to Courtney if he worked so intimately with Vikki when he knew he had carnal thoughts about Vikki?

Matt was aware that those of the opposite sex could present temptations that were difficult to resist. He'd had one or two occasions temptations had consumed him. In Wyoming for instance he'd had sex with both Caitlin and her mother, at different times of course. Martha had pursued him relentlessly and he'd yielded, not being his fault of course, and he'd been far from being disappointed with Martha. Those on the moral high ground declare that it is both honourable and easy to walk away, and they were welcome to those righteous beliefs. Those people presumably had never experienced one of those extraordinary encounters when a couple become captivated and lost their resistance to rising passion. It was how the system was supposed to work, wasn't it.

The rider began talking out aloud, although the nearest human would have been was beyond hearing Matt unravelling what was on his mind. "I'm inhabited by the Curtis' curse which is why we combat our weakness by acting resolutely in other directions," he muttered. "I'm not choir boy but neither am I an alley cat; I'm just a red-blooded fellow whose mind has now become shambles over women."

Fearless, given its head, picked its own route up the shale incline. 

"We bear a cross for behaving like this. The women call us hard, the men that we hurt call us bastards. It's a wonder that anyone would want to live around us, to be near us. A real wonder."

At the top of the ridge Matt dismounted and looked across the parched folding foothills. Further away were the snow-capped peaks of the much higher mountain ranges. 

That splendour took his mind off his mission for a moment, and he thought of his days in Wyoming when he rode or hiked into a similar landscape of foothills rising in mountainous ranges that in turn were dominated by the Rockies.

Some Angus cattle moved closer and closer to inspect the two intruders. The horse pretended to ignore them. They reached that invisible line that cattle not on a rampage seem to sense as being as far as they ought to go. So they stopped. 

Matt was pleased at their condition, it continued to amaze him how the cattle could look so sleek when confined to these slopes where grazing was limited to foraging amongst shale and rocks. As the half dozen steers drifted away, Matt's mind returned to his dilemma. Actually he would have not dilemma, he thought, if Courtney were to reject his proposal of marriage. Then if temptation came his way he would be free to deal with it.

"But what if she says yes?" he said, aloud. "Dammit, dammit. There must be an answer."

Perhaps there was but it didn't come to Matt that morning.

Horseman and rider moved as one during the descent in treacherous shale slides. Matt altered the distribution of his weight at times to assist Fearless maintain balance during some of the faster slides. Matt's father had broken his leg badly in two places many years earlier when taking on a slide like this. 

Matt remembered the story well. His father was a renowned horseman. On that particular day he was riding a hack because his usual mount was lame. Sliding through shale that was rock broken down over thousands of years of being frozen by snow and ice and then heated by fierce summer sun, the foot of his horse slammed against a larger rock anchored in the ground that was all but buried by the shale. 

Before his father could kick his right leg free of the stirrup the horse had fallen on to him, crushing his leg against another rock. Collier Curtis lay on the hillside all night in near-freezing conditions, bone protruding from the skin of his lower leg. 

Just after daylight Collier had heard a shot, and winced, as he liked all horses, even farm hacks. He guessed the searchers had found his horse and it, too, must have broken its leg, and so was put out of its misery. The searchers pressed on and eventually heard his call. As one of them cut open the leg of Collier's thick woollen trousers, exposing the extent of the injury that had everyone there amazed that he was conscious. Not only that, it was said that he had barked out, "I'll need a whisky, I'm thirsty."

The radio operator's message received back at the temporary search and rescue base was, "Jeeze he's not concerned about his broken leg. I'd be out to it, probably dead if I had stayed on this wind-swept hillside all night. We've not bred to be tough bastards like the Curtis's."

Matt grinned, the story was locked in his memory to be related to his own children, if he were to have any. His mother also had the newspaper cutting that contained the full report including that radio operator's quotation.

He and his horse completed the descent without incident and soon they were into the widening part of the valley, where the going was much easier. Matt stopped to look at a large plateau of recently top-dressed pastureland where later in the summer he would assist with the haymaking. The thought of haymaking turned his thoughts back to his haymaking seasons in Wyoming.

It was almost 9:00 when Matt knocked at the door of Rev. Armstrong's house, and only then did he notice no lights were showing. He was just turning away to leave when Clyde shuffled to the door. They exchanged greetings and Matt was told that they had been unpacking Vikki's stuff for most of the afternoon and she was now asleep.

"No problem. Could you please tell her that my answer is yes, I will partner her."

"Oh she will be delighted. It's a miracle that this has happened, Matt." Then casting his eyes upwards in theatrical fashion, the retired minister said: "Somebody up there is looking after Vikki."

Matt arrived home, and his mother had already gone to bed. He found his dinner under a slow warmer on the stove. Chewing a mouthful of peas and potato he came to his decision. He would say nothing about this potential two-women problem to anyone, especially not the women and certainly not his mother because he knew what her indignant reaction would be. 

He would wait to see what eventuated.

Milly and Cody returned from their tour down the West Coast, across to Queenstown and Wanaka, through the desolate Lindis Pass to Christchurch and back up the East Coast to almost Blenheim to rejoin Matt and Patricia on the farm where they spent two more days before flying back to America. 




Doomed Dynasty Pt. 02



CHAPTER 6

Eva Sterling sat on the couch beside her daughter holding her hand. "I definitely think you should say yes to Matt's offer of marriage, and daddy does too. Matt's a most interesting man and has enough behind him to take care of you very comfortably for the rest of your life. What else could you desire?"

"Try love and respect for starters mummy. I have no idea if he loves me. I know that he desires me but in marriage I am his for always?"

"Courtney some women never find love and some who do experience unhappiness and even hardship in other directions. Think about this, I implore you. Even to this day I am not sure that your father really loves me. He tells me that he does but the ardour of our marriage has long gone and I suspect that there have been other women, even recently."

"What daddy? Who on earth would be interested in him?" responded Courtney, trying but failing to imagine her father in a passionate embrace with a woman.

"You might be surprised. Women are attracted to men for different reasons but mostly I would think lavished attention and the excitement implicit in passion are behind many liaisons. Now, I want you to keep what I'm about to say very confidential. You are to mention this to no one. Promise me? 

The hint of something scandalous had Courtney aroused from her melancholy.

"Yes, I promise. Tell me, tell me!"

"Well I really suspect that your father and Elizabeth had an affair and it may still be continuing for all I know."

"What Aunt Elizabeth?"

Eva nodded and calmly straightened her hair.

"But, but she's not much older than I am. How disgusting!"

"What do you mean dear? Disgusting because she is much younger than your father or disgusting because she went to bed with him?"

"I... I really don't know. How could she, your sister! Wouldn't they have been breaking some kind of law?"

"I wouldn't know about that. I 'm just relieved that your father still sleeps in my bed."

"Oh mother. How could you? He betrayed you and me!"

"You have a lot to learn about men, and women for that matter my dear."

At that moment Charles strolled into the room, hands in his pockets. "Hullo, you two. You're having a very animated conversation."

Courtney burst into tears and raced from the room.

"What's troubling her?"

"Pre-engagement nerves I suspect."

"Then she has accepted?"

"No not yet. But I think she will. I've given her some things to think about."

The next morning Courtney phoned Matt with her acceptance. 

The couple talked at length and finally Patricia demanded he hand over the phone.

"Congratulations my dear. I've been here listening to Matt talking. I was naughty and wouldn't leave the room. What wonderful news and welcome to the Curtis family my darling. I hope to see you soon."

Afterwards, Matt sat drinking with his mother. She'd asked him to open a bottle of 'something special'. He was probed about the wedding date, what he would wear and what size diamond would Matt be buying and had he thought about the setting. 

He had replied negatively to each of those questions, wondering why she should be interested in such things.

When the bottle of red wine was finished, Matt rose and said he was going out.

"Out where?"

'Just out mother," Matt said kissing her. "Mother's don't ask big boys where they are going."

Matt went straight to the Armstrong's house. He just went there, knowing that he had many closer friends as well as relatives who would be delighted to hear his news. But he wanted to talk to Vikki.

Clyde greeted Matt and took him into the sitting room where apparently he and Vikki were settling in for the evening, listening to a concert on radio. 

He was about to ask Clyde if he could talk to his daughter privately when Vikki said brightly, "Oh you've come to take me out; how lovely."

"Er yes. We'll drive past the building. I'll take you through in the morning."

It was a fine evening, the last traces of the sunset in the southern sky being swallowed by the gathering darkness. They sat on a seat under a light on the riverbank eating fish and chips. 

Vikki recited some of the names she had thought up for the restaurant. Matt heard with astonishment one of the name, The Silent Partner.

"That's no name for a restaurant."

"I know but you rose to the bait."

"Why don't you call it what it is, a riverside restaurant."

"That's it," Vikki said, excitedly. The Riverside Café; absolutely perfect."

Watching Matt enjoying her response, Vikki noticed him becoming serious.

"Vikki, I've got something to tell you." Matt then told her gently that he was about to become engaged to Courtney. To his relief, Vikki's reaction was warm friendly and her delight appeared to be very genuine. 

"I saw her and your photo published in the newspaper at the Yates' garden party. She's lovely in fact very beautiful Matt. You are a lucky man. Now you'll have two women in your life," Vikki said, reaching for his hand and holding on to it. She sat back. "It's lovely being here with you and I know it cannot be like this again, but we will have our times together."

"But, but..."

"Shhhh Matt. I have this feeling and sense that you have it as well, that we're destined to become more than just good friends. But let's not rush it; let it just happen. Now, tell me about the ring, what your mother will be wearing to the engagement party and will it be here or where Courtney lives? Oh, how exciting for you," Vikki enthused.

Poor Matt. Right at this point he was wondering if he should phone Courtney in the morning and suggest they run away and get married as soon as possible in some quiet place. If he did that his mother, of course, would kill him, and so would Milly, and Eva Sterling. He heard a voice far away. It was Vikki's.

"Matt," she said. "Your eyes are closed and I don't believe you have heard a word I said. Do you want me to..."

He turned and kissed Vikki, long and deeply. 

Thirty seconds later they sat, holding hands and gazing across the river at the lights while catching breath.

"This is so peaceful," ventured Matt. 

Vikki didn't say a word. She was probably thinking although it was said around town that Matt was becoming a hard bastard just like his father, he certainly had a wonderful way of making a girl shut up.

Courtney and Matt had decided to have their engagement party in March or April, but agreed to leave it to their mothers to sort out the details. They would suggest that the engagement party should be either at Miranda or Wellington, and the wedding should be at the alternative venue to where the engagement was celebrated.

"This is good Matt. If we can agree on important things like this so easily we should have no problems in dealing with little decisions," Courtney said, having come over the strait from Wellington for the weekend.

Matt was a bit curious about that comment. What was the big deal about where the engagement would be held, or for that matter the wedding? His friends would go anywhere with him for a big party or his wedding.

It was Courtney who identified an accommodation problem: Matt's mother. "She sleeps in the main bedroom which I feel should be our bedroom," she began, carefully.

"She and my father slept in that room all of their married life!"

"I know, Matt, I know. But let's examine what could be done. "What if you had a new wing added as a self-contained unit for your mother? Of course, she'd continue to have the full run of the house. Could you and you mother afford to spend that sort of money?"

Questioning whether the Curtis family could afford to add a couple of room on to their house ruffled Matt. He was about to respond angrily when Courtney smiled at him tenderly and said, "I know I'm asking a lot, but will accept whatever you decide."

Aware that something had to be done, he placed his hands on Courtney's shoulders and said, "I'll discuss it with mother. Now is there something else we could be doing? Matt asked, reaching behind to grab Courtney on the butt and squeezed"

Mother reacted predictably when Matt raised the subject after he'd returned home from taking Courtney to catch the ferry at Picton.

"It has been my bedroom for more than 30 years Matt. I don't like this idea at all."

"Look, mother. Why don't we make alternations to the entire house, bringing it up to date? And we'll get your part decorated out in a superior fashion and it's your choice exactly how you want your part."

"Superior fashion?" echoed Patricia. 

Her son studied her face, noticing the slight hint of a smile. He knew she'd been won over.

Over the next weeks in telephone conversations and exchange visits, the two mothers agreed that the wedding should be fifteen months away, timed for the completion of building alterations to the Curtis' home, with a little allowance built in.

Patricia went to Wellington and was overwhelmed by the Sterling's home. It was beautifully furnished and decorated with quality furniture. On display were Charles and Eva's collection of gifts and astute purchases of painting, pottery and silverware, rugs and tapestries from around the world.

"These rooms were decorated and furnished largely based on the ideas of Courtney, even though the ministry had their own adviser," Eva said proudly.

Later Patricia learned that it was a Government-subsidised leased home, with Charles now deskbound in a very senior departmental position.

Eva returned with Patricia to Miranda and Eva thought and said it was a rather quaint town. Although the Curtis homestead called Aberdeen was large with some character and in a marvellous setting, she appeared to think it ought to be demolished and replaced with a modern structure worthy of her daughter. If she had thought that she'd realise her poor judgment when returning for the wedding a fourteen months later and seeing the wonderful job that had been done in extending and modernising the historic homestead. 

Finally the mothers reached agreement and informed Courtney and Matt.

Courtney was angry with her mother. "You must have buckled, mother, not getting the wedding here in Wellington."

"Actually, dear, Patricia got it by playing the trump card. I had proposed that we were willing to pay for a wedding at any venue in Wellington provided it was limited to thirty to forty guests on either side. Patricia countered by saying that the Curtis family would pay for the whole wedding, provided it was held at a marquee at their home, and we could invite as many guests as we wished. Her generosity will save us hundreds and hundreds of pounds."

"No limit, so I can ask everyone?"

"Yes dear. You will be able to enjoy your greatest day exactly as you wish though not in Wellington."

"That's marvellous of you mummy."

Matt drove to town, not at all concerned by the decision to have the wedding more than a year away. 

At home alone Patricia poured herself another sherry and thought with great satisfaction, that many years ago her mother had fought tooth and nail against Patricia's wedding being in Miranda rather than Christchurch but lost. Now it was Patricia who'd battled successfully to keep that tradition going for Matt's wedding.

Thinking about the local reputation of Curtis men as being hard bastards, Patricia said to her cat purring on her knee, "If people call Curtis men those objectionable names, what would they call Curtis women? 

"I was quite disappointed that Eva buckled so quickly. I think I could become a real hard lady if pushed."

Patricia found herself quickly warming to her prospective daughter. Protective as a mother, she'd originally thought that this young woman, who was only eighteen, was too young for Matt. Patricia ignored the fact that she'd only just turned nineteen when she married Collier, much to her parent's strong opposition. It was apparent that years of travelling and private tutoring had shaped Courtney into a confident, articulate and socially complete young woman quite advanced for her age. Before long Patricia concluded that the young woman had the attributes to succeed her as the matriarch of the Curtis family when that time arrived, as surely it would.

Matt's excursions from the home left the two women alone together for many hours. They talked of the wedding, generally bonding well in their thoughts and aspirations, with Patricia trying hard to maintain a moderately passive role. She enjoyed observing the excited bride-to-be. She was pleased to find how eager Courtney was to try to assimilate herself into the community and into the Curtis tradition. She asked for assistance to achieve those goals.

"You will find, my dear, that the Curtis family is generally highly respected in this community, though jealousies and grudges also exist which is understandable. This is a cross that all successful families have to accept. When I first came to Miranda I really thought of it as the Curtis town as Matt's grandfather and his father before him had been so influential in public affairs but the town really began to grow, watering down that influence even before Curtis and I had become Mayor and Mayoress. The days when the Curtis family was wealthier than the whole town have long gone and we had no regrets about that. A new economic order has become established, spreading wealth more evenly which is not a bad thing for the welfare of the country as the trend appears to be occurring throughout the entire country, It appears the times of the landed gentry are almost over."

Patricia said that Curtis men had embraced a pioneering spirit out of necessity. "Have you noticed how energised and ready to get cracking Matt is each morning as he prepares to set forth?"

Courtney nodded.

"There are people in all activities, in both town and country, with this energetic and enterprising approach but I feel that they are now in the minority as many people seem to be content either with what they are getting out of life or they have simply giving up trying and are just drifting along. I regret that pioneering spirit that has helped to make this country what it is today appears to be extinguishing."

Courtney said she could understand that. "There is something of a pioneering spirit in Matt and there is something almost mediaeval about him. But he'd not altogether a White Knight, perhaps more of an Off-White Knight."

Both women laughed, and Patricia squeezed Courtney's hand. 

"How can someone so young be so perceptive?"

Courtney's reply was expressed as a gentle shrug. She looked pleased, and wondered why her own mother found it difficult to converse with her like this.

Patricia pointed out that Courtney might find it rather lonesome at times as Matt, apart from spending time away at the farm during haymaking and other busy times, would spend hours reading his magazines and study papers on such things as animal health, pasture management and business practice.

"Matt's interest in self-improvement has come as a bit of a surprise to me," Patricia said. "Being locked in during those long cold months with his testy and demanding aunt in Wyoming has turned out to be his advantage. Matt and I occasionally engage in serious conversation, far too infrequently for my liking, though. He is aware that times are changing, and so must he. I know he wants to remain being a farmer, at least in name, but he's now interested in off-farm investments."

Having warned her future daughter not to expect too much socialising from Matt, Patricia added: "At the same time you do not appear to be the sort of person that will simply sit about waiting for him to come home. I think you'll be an inspirational influence on Matt." 

Courtney beamed, thinking that comment alone had made her visit very worthwhile.

"Oh darling, you must call me Patricia from now on. You are too lively and too sophisticated to be calling me Mrs Curtis."

The way they had appeared to come together so quickly, so easily, had made Courtney wonder if she was more compatible with Patricia than to Matt. But her fiancé arrived home just then, and that disconcerting thought flew from her head.

The next evening, Courtney was reluctantly drawn into an impasse between mother and son over their proposals for alternations to the house.

"What do you think, Courtney?" Patricia asked. "You have talent as an artist and live in your parent's home that I found to be rather impressive. Which of our concepts do you prefer?"

Taking a quick glance at the two lots of very basic sketches, Courtney preferred neither. Although there were differences between the two proposals, both involved minimal alterations. In Courtney's view the house required major remodelling with new extensions.

"Please, give me until tomorrow morning to tell you what I think. I would like to work on some ideas myself, if that is acceptable to you both."

"Of course it is, my dear, isn't it Matt?"

Matt nodded, wondering why Courtney was stalling when normally she was very decisive.

Next morning the three of them breakfast together and then Courtney helped Patricia clear away, telling Matt to remain seated. She was tired, having been working until almost 3:00.

Shafts of early morning sun reached into the room, creating a lovely environment for this event, their very first business meeting as an extended family. 

Courtney spread the six sheets of drawings on to the table. "I've been thinking about when I come to live here as Matt's wife. Central to my approach is trying to determine how we can live together as a united family while at the same time having parts of the house as our own dedicated spaces. These are only ideas. You two may have your own ideas or prefer to keep things the way they are. That's fine by me, but I take this opportunity if I may to try to stimulate your thoughts and suggest a style of living that I know you would enjoy. It will come at a cost, though. What I am suggesting will be expensive to undertake."

Matt and his mother looked at each other, nervously.

The Curtis home on the hill overlooking the beach, occupied the site of the original homestead in the days when Faraway Farm sprawled over 134,000 acres. Over the years much of the original land holdings had been sold, isolating the house from the remaining acres now on the other side of the town. Miranda itself occupied land that once was Curtis farmland. The long ago replacement homestead of Aberdeen had become something of a hotchpotch. Although comfortable to live in, numerous additions have produced a rather homogenous mess. 

Courtney was too polite to reveal her conclusion, that viewed from above it would look as if three separate dwellings had been rammed together during a severe earthquake.

Matt and his mother looked at the sketches with initial scepticism, but gradually came some approving noises.

Finally Patricia commented. "My own wing, I like that. And Matt said that I can have it furnished any way I wish."

"Oh, that will be lovely for you," smiled Courtney, earning a very warm return smile from her future mother

"I like the way that arriving vehicles can drive up under the veranda at the front door," Matt said.

"Portico," corrected Courtney.

"Whatever," replied Matt, his eyes now resting on a sizeable new room called 'Matt's office'.

"I like your idea of swapping the kitchen area with the sitting room," commented Patricia. It means that we can sit there looking out into the bay and have sun in the kitchen in mornings. This is really good Courtney." 

Courtney flashed her a smile, but she was awaiting Matt's considered response.

He picked up his coffee cup and drained it. "Well, I guess I better introduce you to the fellow who built the new house on the farm. He'll draw up the plans to submit to council. He'll do anything you say when I tell him you're my fiancée, at least I hope so. Some men around here don't like being told what to do by women. But if he digs his toes in like that I'll sort him out."




Doomed Dynasty Pt. 02



"Thank you Matt," replied Courtney, choking with emotion. "I'm confident I know how to get what I want from men."

Matt opened his mouth to comment on that, but thought better of it.

Patricia smiled. "You're not like you father. On any expenditure other than the farm he would turn the issues around in his head for days, even weeks before announcing his decision."

"Times are changing, mother. What's for dinner?"

Walking hand-in-hand along the beach later that evening, Courtney said to Matt: "Where's Patricia going to live when the builders arrive?"

"She'll just have to move from room to room to keep ahead of them I guess."

Courtney skipped ahead a step and turned to face him. "You worry me, Matt. If it had been something affecting one of your horses or precious bulls you'd have acted and found a solution. Patricia's you mother for god sake!"

"Don't worry darling. I'll think of something. Race you to the steps."

The next day Patricia celebrated her fiftieth birthday quietly, at her request, as it was just over two months after Collier's death.

She enjoyed breakfast in bed and enjoyed Matt and especially Courtney making quite a fuss of her. Courtney presented her with a beautiful wide-brimmed felt hat to wear when she was out walking.

"Our thank you my dear, it's what I need. I've been reading a report in the Reader's Digest that sun causes more damage to your skin that everything else combined baring cuts, burns or acid spills. I think I'll look quite smart in this."

There was a pause, with Matt showing no signs of handing over a present. 

Patricia appeared disappointed and probable thought it his way of saying there's a new woman in his life. As Matt was walking out of the room he tossed some keys that landed on her lap. "Happy birthday, mum." 

She disliked being called mum. Bewildered, Patricia said to Courtney, "I wonder what I'm supposed to do with these?"

"I'd go out to the garage to find out," Courtney laughed, guessing what this was about.

The word garage triggered an excited response. Patricia padded out barefoot, almost running. There in the garage in the place of her long-serving Morris was a new fawn Volkswagen.

"Oh," she gasped. "It's one of those Beetle things. They look ever so smart."

"Mother, what are you doing out here without your slippers or dressing gown... naughty girl," boomed Matt.

She turned and rushed into his outspread arms.

"Oh Matt! I love the look of it, but really, just a small gift would have done very nicely. It's the thought that counts."

"That's the way I look at it, too," Matt chuckled. "But then I though a nice little car would be just the ticket for someone who's devoted almost a lifetime to me."

The three of them walked back arm-in-arm to the house.

"Courtney's agreed to stay on for a couple of more days to give you driving lessons, as the new car is quite different to your old Morris. She'll be a far more patient and competent instructor than me."

Late in the afternoon five of Patricia's old friends with their husbands arrived for cocktails before going to dinner at the Riverside Café where Matt had ordered his mother's favourite food, a turkey roast followed by apple pie covered in thick Ayrshire cream. 

"It must be Ayrshire cream," Matt said when booking and ordering the meal. "Bill Withers has a herd of them. Mum will know if the cream is from some other breed."

Head waitress/manager Muriel Jones was prepared to do anything to please Matt. "I'll ring Barbara Withers right away. She'll drop some in to us as she's in town most afternoons." 

Muriel suddenly had an erotic thought about herself and Matt and Ayrshire cream.

"Are you all right, Muriel, you look awfully flushed."

"I'm okay, Matt," she said, unable to look him in the eye just at that moment.

* * *

Courtney returned home from a seven-day stay with Matt and his mother in late February, determined to prepare for change. She decided to spend the next year preparing herself mentally for marriage, particularly in getting used to the idea of having a permanent resident in her new home... her mother. 

Initially, Courtney had balked at accepting Matt's proposal of marriage, but she had her reasons. While her mother had kept up the pressure, wanting to see her daughter marry into money, old farming money, Courtney had been dwelling on Matt the man. Without doubt he had proved himself to be a considerate lover but she worried what would be her quality of life when the passion began to fade, as surely it would.

She thought about Matt who exhibited warmth and charm when meeting people whether or not they knew him but was the warmth sincere? Could he sustain a true friendship with her? Did he even think about such things?

Courtney had already learned that Matt soon tired of small talk and at times even with her preferred not to talk at all when they were alone. He would sit there, his mind on other things, making her feel excluded. It was up to her, concluded Courtney, to deal with that. She was not the sort of person who could live in isolation. Thankfully Patricia would be around for years to act as a backstop.

On her first visit to the Curtis' home, Courtney fell in love with the views that extended past the headland and far out into the moody waters of Cook Strait. The stretch of beach in view was virtually uninhibited, most people preferring the eastern end.  

She was delighted that the problem over the shambolic state of the house was being resolved. But another problem remained: the dog, an animal that Courtney described to her mother as "a wheezing and dribbling hound." Actually it was an old Spaniel. She'd suggested to Matt it should be put out of its misery, but he wouldn't hear of it, saying it had been Collier's loyal hunting dog and his father would have wanted it remain in retirement for as long as possible and continuing to have the run of the house.

She also was bothered about a deep-seated guilt. When she'd gone with a party of friends to that wedding on Christchurch on the afternoon Matt made his disastrous visit to her at her parent's home, Courtney had misbehaved. She spent the night on the return ferry trip to Wellington in the bed of the young man Matt had briefly met before they departed for Christchurch, Stanley Hoskings. 

It has just happened. They had been partying in his room, and late in the evening friends gradually went off until it was just Courtney and the host left in his cabin. Stanley blew into her ear and softly told her how beautiful she had looked as a bridesmaid, saying she'd been the standout. She then seemed to find his arms and allowed him to do what he wanted.

One day during this period of despondency, an unexpected counsellor and eventual ally came to Courtney's assistance, her mother's baby sister Elizabeth who was not yet thirty. By the time that occurred Courtney had recovered from her initial shock that Elizabeth had been one of her father's secret lovers and her attitude towards Elizabeth had returned to normal. There was a knock one evening. Courtney answered the door and Elizabeth hurried in to escape the wind-driven rain. 

"Hullo, darling, I've just dropped in to see Eva."

"They're gone to a departmental cocktail party to welcome the new American ambassador."

"Oh well. It will be more interesting talking to you," Elizabeth smiled. Then, looking closely at her niece added, "My, you look a little wan and unhappy. Something not right?"

That remark unleashed a torrent of words. Elizabeth sat and listened, injecting a few words of comfort from time to time. When the outburst petered out, Elizabeth looked at her niece kindly. "You tell me all of this, and my sister tells me it's going to be a marriage made in heaven. I really don't know all the facts, but it seems to me that she's exaggerating and you have let the little things that concern you balloon out of all proportion."

She sat closer to Courtney, putting an arm around her. "Let's talk about this. Yes, Mrs Curtis sounds to be a little dominating, but if you work hard on that you'll be capable of countering it. I can help you with that. I also think that your Matt sounds like a typical man. They like excitement, they like action, but when their life returns to normal they exhibit signs of boredom. Women cope with this phenomenon by creating greater diversity in their life."

Elizabeth continued: "I've had liaisons with a number of men..." 

"Including my father?"

Elizabeth was shocked. "What are you saying?"

"Mother suspects and has suspected for a very long time that you and daddy have...have. Oh, you know."

"Eva knows?"

"She is quite sure, though I don't think she has any evidence."

"My god, Eva knows."

"We have been pretty upset about it but she gave me a long lecture about men and now I don't feel so strongly fussed about you and daddy."

"Oh I've sorry, terribly sorry, Courtney. It finished a year ago. I've leave right now if you wish."

Grasping her aunt's hand, Courtney urged her to stay, saying that her mother had accepted the situation and gradually so had she. 

Elizabeth, pale and chastened, hugged her niece and Courtney hugged her back vigorously.

"I'll help you to cut through these misgivings you have about marrying Matt Curtis and I promise you this," Elizabeth vowed. "You will be empowered by the best people I know."

Elizabeth was a senior lecturer in English at the university and immediate past-chairman of the staff and administration liaison committee. She had numerous contacts suitable to call on to help Courtney.

Two weeks later Courtney was at the university at weekends, attending as a late enrolment on a course over six weekends for women in businesses designed to improve skills in assertiveness and to examine the perplexing and quite irrational workings of the male ego.

She enrolled in yoga classes two evenings a week, which Elizabeth said would assist her in both mind and spirit and encourage her to take control of herself.

Those programmes combined to provide Courtney with surprising increased awareness of herself and her self-confidence lifted accordingly. But the most rewarding immersion of all was being invited, as the only outsider, to join the fraternity of unmarried university women lecturers who each Wednesday revealed their true selves during their girls' night out revelry. At first, Courtney appeared to be odd-woman out. But soon she was dragged into the fold and would have appeared to the inhabitants of bars and clubs as being no different to those other women in the group they knew as "raving lunatics from the university."

A few weeks later, aunt and niece attended the regular girls' night out.

"God what a change we're making in you," Elizabeth said, almost in awe. 

Courtney had just told her that her mother had attempted to take over all details of the engagement party, virtually excluding Courtney from the planning. But the now more confident Courtney had stood up to her mother, not unkindly in fact, but nevertheless her stance and refusal to yield had resulted in her mother flopping on to the sofa in tears. 

"If you can do that to Eva, then that matriarchal Curtis had better watch out. She's about to be dethroned," Elizabeth laughed. 

"No don't say that," Courtney said defensively. "Wait until you meet Patricia. I think that even a hard woman like you will be impressed."

Looking at her aunt, vivacious and nearly always so happy, Courtney was suddenly aware that she no longer needed to sort through the possibilities of who her chief bridesmaid would be. She was looking at her.

The engagement party in mid March was a formal affair, held in the ballroom of a hotel in Wellington. 

In discussing their personal preparations, Courtney and Matt almost had their first real row. She had insisted that he wear a dinner suit because Charles and all of his invited male friends would be dressed formerly. 

"Over my dead body. You won't catch me in a penguin suit, my old rugby mates would never stop ribbing me." A compromise was negotiated. He went to the party, actually quite pleased with himself, wearing a white tuxedo and purple bow tie. From comments of the females in the entourage as family and friends leaving the bar of their hotel for the party venue, he half expected to see women faint in the street when catching sight of him. No one fainted but passers-by smiled as the group formed into a footpath congo. 

The ballroom was beautifully decorated and the Sterlings stood at the door greeting everyone. Eva, with two champagnes under her belt plus a Blood and Sand chaser, kissed Matt rather enthusiastically.

Courtney sighed and wondered if her mother would last the full evening. She walked away from her parents, linking arms with her fiancée.

"You look lovely tonight," Matt told her. 

"My darling bride-to-be. Let me see the ring."

The diamond flashed under the lights. 

He'd made the trip by ferry to Wellington to accompany Courtney to the jeweller's where she'd booked a special 'evening viewing' after shops had closed. Apart from the manager, they had the store to themselves. 

Matt had hoped that the inspection and purchase could be completed within an hour as the wanted to go to a re-screening of the western, 'The Man from Laramie', one of his ten best ever movies. But the cinema had emptied and was closing before the final choice was made; the ring had to be left for a slight adjustment for finger size.

"It will be back," muttered Matt, thinking of 'The Man from Laramie', but his comment was not quite understood.

"Of course I'll get it back, silly," replied his elated fiancée. "The jeweller said I could pick it up tomorrow any time after 10 am."

Matt kissed the pretty upturned face and 'The Man From Laramie' rode out of his mind.

An innovation at the party was a continuous supper, suggested by Vikki. She'd thanked Matt when he said she would be invited to the celebration but said she could not go.

She'd cut staff back at the restaurant where custom had tapered off after a busy first couple of months. Attending something as exciting as Matt's engagement party would have lifted her spirits, though she was glad she hadn't yielded to the temptation to accept. After all, Matt had not attended the opening of the café, saying it would be better to maintain a low profile so she cited the same reason for not wishing to attend his engagement party.

Their discreet kissing had become habitual and occasionally a bit of petting was involved, but nothing more than that. Matt always had Courtney half on his mind, and Vikki was in no hurry as she was confident that Matt would come to her eventually. 

Several times she had caught herself on the verge of saying "I love you Matt." She feared that such a provocative declaration might send Matt winging away from their tenuous romantic entanglement.

Vikki led another couple to their table, wishing that folk would come in large parties instead of in twos. The restaurant was having another quiet night and that was worrying; the saying in the trade was 'If you can't attract a full house on Saturday nights, it's time to walk'. She had no intention of quitting, but something needed to be done to get more people through the restaurant doors.

Meanwhile in Wellington Charles Sterling, looking very distinguished in his dinner suit and silver hair reflecting a just emerging avant garde look for men of having their hair razor-cut to provide a long, shaggy look; it suited him.

Charles called Eva to the stage, vacated by the band, and she walked up with a slight stagger. Her hair was beautifully permed and sequins sewn into her midnight blue dress caught the eye.

Next to be called up to be introduced was Courtney, who had chosen a light blue strapless gown and had a white stole that Elizabeth had bought for her draped over her shoulders. 

As most of the folk there were friends of the Sterling's almost everyone knew her and there was warm applause as she walked up to her parents.

Patricia was next to be called, wearing a gold lame gown that she had purchased that very afternoon. She, too, was warmly applauded when introduced.

Finally, Matt was called to the stage. 

One middle-aged woman called rather loudly, "Isn't he gorgeous?"

That unleashed laughter and then applause for Matt with some hearty cat-calling and whistling from mainly his ex-rugby friends who were determined to have a great boozy weekend in Wellington.

As to be expected, after Charles had thanked everyone for attending and for their generous presents, he called on Matt to say a few final words on behalf of newly engaged couple. 

Matt spoke confidently and finished by urging everyone to have an enjoyable night. As the cheering was beginning to die, a woman called, "Listen up everyone! Go to it, girl!" screamed Elizabeth, thrilled her niece was about to break a social convention by speaking uninvited.

Courtney spoke sweetly and with humour, thanking her parents, acknowledging the support that she was receiving from Patricia Curtis and also thanked Matt "for finding me." After the laughter subsided, she concluded: "In eleven months from now I'll be off to become a farmer's wife, and I'm looking forward to my new life. But you people of Wellington, rest assured, from time to time I'll be back!"

The Sterlings looked ever so proud of her, as did Matt. Patricia thought to herself, "She's gutsy."

Folk gathered around the happy couple, the eyes of most women resting on the triple strand of pearls around Courtney's slender neck.

"They are real pearl, are they not?" asked a tall aristocratic woman who was well be-jewelled herself.

"Oh yes, Lady Borthwick, they are. Matt selected them out of a catalogue and had them shipped here from San Francisco," Eva said proudly as Lady Borthwick said, "My word."

Returning home, Patricia found to her acute embarrassment a letter that she had started writing to Milly immediately after the engagement announcement. "Oh dear, fancy doing that. I really must be getting old."

She finished commenting about the engagement party, described her own wonderful birthday celebration and then finally wrote about her really big news, at least she hoped it would excite Milly to learn that her sister was soon to take to the air.

Ten days later, Matt's aunt in Wyoming received two fascinating letters that would wind her up like a clock spring. Walking out to the mailbox through mud after the long-awaited downpour arrived, Milly had expected to return with bills and more bills. Instead she found personal mail. Ignoring the rain, she leant against the post and rail boundary fence and read the first of two letters, the handwritten address of each she recognised with great delight.

The Bridger's were nearing the end of their second trip to Switzerland. Martha's letter announced the she and Lukas would arrive home on the twenty-sixth, now only two weeks away. Everyone was fine and they had attended the birth of Caitlin's baby, a beautiful blonde girl Anna, the only girl's name Caitlin's rather arrogant husband had liked. He had expected a boy because the first babies of his parents and his two married sisters had been boys. Martha wrote that Caitlin's so-called banker was only a senior clerical supervisor in the bank. "If only Matt had become my son!!!"

Milly opened the second letter and at the second paragraph when she whooped. Ponto thinking she was in trouble came running, actually limping as the previous day a horse had stomped on his foot, 

"She's coming, she's coming at last," screamed Milly.

"Who's coming?"

"My sister Patricia you dumbcluck. She's never visited here before. She's arriving at the end of May and hopes she can stay with us until after Christmas. I can't wait."

Milly finished reading the letter, and went inside and read it twice more. 




Doomed Dynasty Pt. 03



CHAPTER 7

By the end of May work on reconstruction of the Curtis homestead was underway. 

Three weeks earlier, Matt had returned from the farm early on Monday afternoon after he was advised by phone the building permit had come through and work would start immediately. He found building contractor Max Mead already seated inside the house rolling a cigarette after having completed a walk-through. Houses in the country were rarely locked when occupants left the property. Matt had used Max and his men on the conversion of part of his building into the Riverside Café and before that Curtis had Max built the new house on the farm.

"The Rover's a bit flash for you, ain't it Matt?"

"Want to try it out?"

"Nah, some other time. If we are going to rebuild this rundown relic you call home we'd better get into it. You said you wanted it finished and us out of here a full month before the wedding so we'd better not waste time."

"You could build a couple of new houses in that time," laughed Matt.

"That's exactly right, and that's what you are asking us to do here. The renovations and extensions are massive, and being the bugger that you're are you've screwed me down to agreeing no cost over-runs be passed on to you. If you hadn't given me the café job when I was going through a slow patch, really in need of work to keep my men on, I would have told you to go to hell. You're such a nice bloke, all grins and no heart," Max cracked, removing a bit of loose tobacco off his tongue. "I better light this thing up and look busy. Here come the boys."

An old Bedford had turned into the access track and was grinding up the rise to the house. It was loaded with timber, bags of cement, builder's mix, other odds and ends and tarpaulins. 

Perched on top of that load were two labourers with another inside the cab driving who was 'Misfit' Jones, a retired shearer.

"Good morning Matt." he called, as he pulled up. "Me and the boys are here to turn this dump of yours into a palace." 

Looking at his boss he turned again to Matt and cracked, "I see our tea-maker and bottle washer is already here."

Misfit whistled and a young Border Collie jumped from the floor of the cab and dived over Misfit's knees and out the open cab window.

"I told you not to bring that flea bag on to jobs as it's a bloody nuisance," shouted Max. "In fact I've told you that a hundred times, haven't I?"

Misfit's total deafness had returned. 

He turned his back on his boss and called, "Get movin' youse lay-abouts. Let's get this truck unloaded. The boss looks as if he's working up a real paddy."

"You'd better put the kettle on and get the cake out Matt. Sorry your mother's not here. We heard her scones are legendary," said the Max, scratching his butt.

"I'll try to get an hour's work out of them before smoko. Bloody Misfit he's so insolent but if it weren't for his humour we'd die of boredom. He's also my bloody wife's older brother, so sacking him would be the end of my you know what." 

Hands on hips, the builder looked at the house. "Misfit," he yelled. "Where should we start?"

"Wait your turn, Max. Can't you see I'm busy?"

Matt headed to the kitchen to do what he'd been told, to get morning tea ready. 

It was a local tradition on country jobs that the owner's provided lunch and all other refreshments. When they had been negotiating the building contract Max had tabled a list of the perks due to them.

"Bloody hell, Max you can't be serious. We must be the only district in the whole of the country where this queer practice exists."

"Matt," Max had said patiently. "Flood, hail, fork lightening or even an invasion of foreign troops we'll get your job finished on time and to your satisfaction. But we have to draw the line somewhere, if you don't..."

Grinning, Matt had interrupted, saying that he'd only been testing to find out how far Max could be pushed. "With no cost over-runs to pay we'll have enough in kitty to pay for morning and afternoon teas, lunches and a few crates of beer as well. You've got the job, let's shake."

When he arrived back home after closing the deal on a simple handshake, with the builder being responsible for all sub-trades, Patricia was eager to hear all the details. 

Matt told her what he thought she should know. 

"I don't think you should have agreed to us providing free refreshments Matt," she said sternly.

"Mother negotiating contracts is men's business. Now tell me, will scones freeze well?'

Patricia was horrified. "I'm not making scones for freezing even for those men. My reputation would be ruined." She looked quite upset.

"Only joking. I'll go to town each morning and get fresh tucker."

Three weeks after seeing Patricia off on her flight from Wellington to Auckland to catch her Pam-Am connection to Los Angeles, Courtney caught a flight across Cook Strait, excited about seeing progress on her new house. Already in her mind it was 'her' house. 

At the airport she saw the Land Rover and walked around it, pleased that there were yet no dents or missing bits on the new vehicle. But it was dreadfully dirty and the outside of it was grey with coated dust. When last she'd been driven back to the ferry terminal it was pristine green.

Where was Matt? A lanky youth walked up to her and said curtly, "Are you Miss Sterling?"

"And if I were?" she replied stiffly, thinking that he needed a bath, some decent clothes and his hair combed. Perhaps a doctor should look at his watery eyes.

That response made the 20-year-old straighten up. He'd been born and bred in the area and knew that even the Curtis women were tough. Here this one was not even married to Matt yet and she was talking to him bossy-like. 

"I'm Art and that's short for Arthur. I do odd jobs for Matt and work on the farm when he doesn't need me in town. He's asked me to be here to meet you and to take you back to the house. I was told to be very sure that I warned you to expect a big mess, a very big mess."

"Well thank you Art. Please put my bag in the back and let's go."

"Yes ma'am," said Art, bounding to her side to pick up the bag. "A nice trip over?"

Courtney smiled. Already she had one of them to heel. The toughest one, of course, would be Matt. He acted as if he had wolf in him.

"Matt is taking you out to the farm on Sunday."

Good gracious. Do even the worker's know one's personal business? "Thank you for that information Art. Now, what else do you know?"

As it turned out, Art knew quite a lot. One surprising disclosure was that while she learned about Matt's friends, all appeared to be men with two exceptions, Elsie at the bakery and Vikki at the café. She'd better look into that. 

"Matt seems to have a lot of men friends. Why's that?"

"Men run this world Miss Sterling and Matt is a great sort of guy. Guess who catches the biggest fish and rides the fastest horse and who's never been knocked down to stay down? Matt, of course. Other farmers around here live on their farm and work their guts out, but not Matt. He's one of the few to treat farming like a business and pays someone else to do the non-brainy stuff. Matt told me that."

"But there must be women around him as well?"

"Not really, except for his mum. Oh, sorry. And you."

"How strange. But you did mention earlier that woman at the baker and the one at the café?"

"Oh, them. Well Elsie Thomas's my mum and Vikki was the girl that Matt slugged at school and got drummed out for it."

"So she's Matt's age"

"Nah a year younger I believe."

"Why is he friendly with her if she was the person who got him expelled at school?"

"He saved her life, but you'll have to ask Matt for details. Because of the way he did that he was called a hero."

They drove up to the house. The corrugated iron roof had been removed, replaced with tarpaulins ready to be rolled over the bared trusses each evening. Mess was everywhere. 

A black and white dog bounded out of the old green truck on the lawn and circled them as they got out of the Land Rover. It looked cautious and friendly, with intense eyes. Courtney moved up to pat it. It headed away from her at blinding speed and circled her again. Just like Matt, she thought, surprised that she could think such a thing. And where was Patricia's cat with a dog around? She guessed that the Spaniel would be inside dripping saliva into its basket. She was later told that that Matt had "taken the Spaniel for a walk across the paddock and only one of them came back," whatever that meant. 

Patricia's Samantha had taken refuge in the Whitehead's home. She was told when phoning them they were happy to have her stay there until the builders departed. 

The cat came visiting some evenings, only to smell dog everywhere. These appeared not happy days for Samantha who probably was forced to be last in line at the Whitehead's who had two neutered tabbies, whose method of accepting her intrusion would be to totally ignore her, Courtney speculated; she knew cats.

Matt ran up to Courtney quite excited. He wore only boots, socks and brief khaki shorts and was wearing an awful old hat. He was carrying a hammer, was brown and his arm muscles rippled. 

What a specimen, she breathed. 

Earlier that morning Misfit had said to Max as Matt approached carrying some dressed timber on his shoulder, "Matt's lost some of that flab since he's be working with us. Bet his girlfriend will be licking her lips when she sees him strutting his stuff like this."

"Right, but you watch your tongue when she's around. They say in town she's a high-class dame, who's never worked and lived the life of Reilly with her parents circling the world. Her dad's a diplomat."

"Struth what does a diplomat do?"

Max pretended he didn't hear the question because he didn't really know the answer.

Though particular about her appearance, Courtney dashed into the arms of Matt, knowing that his sweat would soak in to her white cotton dress printed with big red poppies. The workmen stood by, grinning, Max looked at them sternly, putting an upright index finger over his lips to forestall any inclination for an outburst of cheering. Max's message was clear, because his next movement was to pull the same finger, now vertical, across his throat. 

Standing dutifully behind Courtney, who had one lower leg raised off the ground, was Art, with her sunhat that had fallen into the dust when she rushed at Matt... "Just like a cat on heat" he told other workers all agog at the farm the next day. "Initially I though she's was a cold bossy bitch, but she showed none of that when she rushed up to Matt."

At mid morning on Sunday Matt and Courtney walked hand-in-hand from the Land Rover to where the farm manager stood with two saddled horses. 

Matt had already asked Courtney could she ride, and the reply was "a bit." That modest reply should have alerted him.

"I'm not riding that," Courtney said, when the manager Dick Rogers went to hand her the reins of a solid farm hack, standing quietly, with its head down. It was dealing with flies with a lazy rhythmic flick of its tail.

The farm manager looked at Matt, who shrugged.

"Perhaps you should take your own pick Miss Sterling."

"Thank you, Dick. Please call me Courtney. You have a position of authority."

Matt grinned, knowing that Dick would now treat Courtney with utmost respect.

Dick beamed, probably thinking that little Miss Wellington seemed to be a rather nice lass. The stories about her must be just that, stories. 

Courtney stood at the fence, squinting against the sun, looking at the horses in the home paddock. "You said any one of them?"

"Not the roan and not the little black over there; it's a bit lame."

"What's wrong with the roan?"

"Nothing, but it's a bit of a jumper Miss ... I mean Courtney. "It can catch an unwary rider out by going over the fence when he's expecting to go through the gate."

"Then I'll have that one."

That little exchange made Matt smile. It brought back memories of his introduction to a horse in Wyoming that became his Chinook. 

The manager glanced at him, waiting for support. But Matt simply said, "Get the roan, Dick. She's ridden a bit and I'll keep an eye on the horse. Sorry about this."

"No trouble, boss," said Dick, glad that Matt had assumed responsibility. He was confident that Matt wouldn't sit by and let Courtney be turned into dog tucker. He grabbed a halter and rode off on the hack to bring in the roan.

The horse turned out to be a hand higher than Courtney had estimated from the distance. As Dick was saddling it up she walked to its flank and ran a hand down its rump. The flesh rippled but the horse made no attempt to lash out its leg. "Seems quiet, what's its name?"

"Boris."

"Unusual name for a horse?"

"Yep name of a villain in a paperback I was reading at the time we named him when he was gelded. He was a playful cuss and almost kneecapped me when he was freed. It was a malicious act of revenge, so Boris seemed a perfect name."

"Oh, I like that story. 

"Matt, Dick... if Boris and I get on well today, can he be my horse?"

The two men looked at each other, Dick shaking his head slightly to signal no.

"Of course, darling," replied Matt. "If it kills or mains you, I'll know that it was your choice."

"Matt! Don't be so awful." 

"Dick, I haven't ridden for a while so could be please hold Boris steady. It seems a long way up there." But in an instant she was in the saddle, bending forward to catch the reins.

The men watched he as she walked then trotted then broke into a canter down the farm track.

"She can ride, rather well in fact," Dick said approvingly. 

Matt didn't answered. If Courtney said she could ride he hadn't expected that she wouldn't do anything less than ride quite well.

She returned towards the men at a fast lope, horse and rider looking as one. Courtney than dug her heels in and leaned forward in the saddle, raising herself slightly.

"Struth she's going for the fence!" cried Dick. 

"Stay still, you might spook the horse," Matt said calmly.

Boris cleared the fence with ease and within yards was being ridden into a full gallop.

Dick looked at Matt, ready to apologise for being too edgy. But knew he needn't bother. The look on Matt's face was if Christmas had arrived.

On Monday morning Courtney returned to Wellington on the first ferry, pleased that the house reconstruction was reportedly on schedule, though it certainly didn't look like it to her. She was also pleased that Matt had been so lovely to her and that she now had a horse called Boris. 

She smiled recalling the look on the faces of Dick and Matt when she had commenced her run at the fence. She knew it had been a bit risky taking a strange horse in a jump that high, but she had been told it liked jumping fences. As for experience, she'd ridden in hunts in Britain and had played social polo in Buenos Aires so she was not exactly a novice horsewoman. In fact she'd be riding since she was seven.

CHAPTER 8

Friends and neighbours were invited to Milly's ranch to meet her sister Mrs Curtis, the woman whom had come from afar, being the wife of Collier and mother of Matt, two New Zealanders who seemed to adapt very quickly to life in Wyoming and were remembered fondly.

Some of the women heaped compliments on her, saying they couldn't believe that someone as feminine and slight could have been Collier's wife or was old enough to be Matt's mother. 

Patricia enjoyed these folk dropping in, recognising some of the names that her own menfolk had told her about, and whom Milly sometimes referred to in letters. 

Cody was back at his own place during Patricia's visit and Ponto now had his own kitchen/sitting room and bedroom attached to the stables. Builders had completed the frame and roof and Ponto and Cody finished off construction, becoming good friends in the process. 

Patricia spent hours talking to Ponto. He told her what his own father and grandfather had told him about life in the old days. 

Ponto also recounted the times he experienced with Curtis when they chased after haymaking jobs and then taking any work they could find when Milly had run out of jobs for them. He drove Patricia about in Milly's pickup, a new Chevrolet financed from her brother's large bequest. They visited some of the places Ponto had spoken about. 

His memory for detail was so good that Patricia began to feel that it was almost as if she had been there during those times. Never did Ponto mention anything about Martha, so Patricia resisted the temptation to ask about Martha and Collier. She was itching to meet the woman.

Milly had already met Martha in town and one afternoon said she was going over visit her. Patricia jumped at the offer to accompany her. As they drove off Patricia said: "Milly, after all these years I still regret you stayed on here like you did. At times I have felt so terrible, thinking that I failed you as a sister, knowing I should have come and fetched you home. It was a shocking way for your marriage to end and you were just a young girl. But when I learned how determined you were at rebuilding your life and how happy you had become I felt nothing but admiration for you. Tell me dear, how do you feel; do you feel that I failed you?"

"Just a moment, Patricia," Milly answered. She drove carefully beside a small number of approaching cattle being driven on the side of the road, her mind reeling at what Patricia had just said. Patricia and indeed everyone back home apart from Collier had only heard the 'cock and bull' story of her so-called failed marriage. 

Milly's mind went back to 1946 when a Department of Agriculture external relations officer had written to the Miranda Valley Business and Professional Association seeking a sponsor for a farm study exchange student arriving from near Arrowhead, Wyoming. Her aged parents, Charles and Sarah, had jumped at the opportunity to host a foreign student, and Amos Durham arrived at the Curtis' home two months later.

The three-month programme was a great success, and Amos went home praising the hospitality of the Curtis family. Shortly afterwards Charles receive an invitation from Amos' father Dean for Milly to stay with the Durham family during that New Zealand summer. Milly, who'd been Amos' constant companion during his stay, begged to be allowed to go, and finally her parents consented, virtually pushed into it by Milly's big brother Curtis. 

She had just celebrated her eighteenth birthday when she left for America for twelve weeks, at least that was the plan.

It was a typical winter in Wyoming, with successive heavy dumps of snow. One afternoon when Amos had taken his mother to a medical centre, his father Dean went into the bathroom where Milly was in the bath. He asked if he could join her and for some reason she could never fathom in later bouts of self-incrimination, Milly said just two words, "Jump in." 

Dean stripped and joined her in the bath. He later carried her to her bedroom and seduced her, Milly happily consenting. It was as if she was rewarding herself for the fact that never had Amos shown any physical interest in her, although he clearly regarded her as a close friend. 

The liaison between Dean and Milly continued. Her thoughts about that experience were interrupted with the need to converse with her sister.

"No, Patricia, you and Collier were far away, my parents were not up to long journeys. What I did was of my own making and I went into it with my eyes open. Of course I had no idea of the terrible events that were to follow."

Milly had said that deliberately, deciding it was time to tell the truth.

"Thank you for saying that Milly," Patricia said, still unaware that she was about to be told everything, nothing withheld. "I tried to express my feelings in my letters. I should have come with Collier to give you support."




Doomed Dynasty Pt. 03



"It's all right," said Milly putting out her right hand. Patricia grasped it, and kissed it.

As Milly steered the Chevy down towards the Bridger's ranch house she related how that exciting holiday stay of late 1946 turned into a nightmare, warning Patricia to keep calm as she about to hear something that might upset her. 

The Durham family and Milly were driving home to the ranch one evening. It was snowing, and very cold. As they came to a corner a truck came sliding over the road and clipped their car, quite gently in fact. But the car spun on the icy road and slammed into a tree, bringing it to an abrupt halt.

Milly, who'd been asleep in the back seat, escaped with severe bruising but Amos and his mother, Robyn, both sitting on the side of the car taking the greatest impact against the tree, were killed, Amos dying instantly and Robyn went within the hour. Dean suffered severe rib injuries, and was rushed to hospital along with Milly. 

One day while Dean was still recovering in hospital, Milly visited a doctor and found that she was pregnant. She had to decide whether to share her secret or to say nothing and return home, finally deciding her loyalty lay with Dean who was ecstatic when told the news, believing he had a family again.

As Milly turned the Chevy turned into the entrance leading to the Bridger's homestead, Patricia sat quietly, realizing something unpleasant was about to be related.

Milly took them back to 1946. She recalled cabling her brother knowing Curtis would handle the arrival of a cable better than her parents, saying that she had decided to stay on for a while. Nothing was mentioned about the victims of the accident or Milly's pregnancy. 

A month or so later Dean told Milly they were off late that month for a quick holiday.

Delighted, she asked where and was told Salt Lake City to get married, if she'd have him.

"I flew into his arms," Milly recalled, weeping with Patricia patting her shoulder. 

Dean's lawyer managed to get her application for American citizenship fast-tracked, pointing out that his client was a decorated war vet and his liaison with his bride-to-be had commenced when he was stationed in New Zealand during the war. It was true that Dean had been stationed in Wellington during the war but in fact he'd had no inkling of the existence across in the South Island of the Curtis family nor in particular of their young teenage daughter Milly. Milly made a declaration that they had been lovers.

She cabled her parents via Collier and understandably everyone was extremely upset. Collier would tell her in a letter he'd wanted to jump on the first available plane and "knock the bastard's block off." Instead he cabled asking for more details and when called to the Post Office to collect the reply was devastated to learn the full story from Dean. The long message must have cost a fortune to send an international communication in those days was expensive and fairly primitive. Saddened by news of the two deaths and angered by Milly's adulterous affair and with both Milly and Dean having deceived them, Collier threw up his hands, told his parents what they needed to know, and cabled his father's consent. Collier decided to shield even his new wife from the truth. He then had to comfort the weeping Patricia, upset and knowing there was no chance of attending her sister's wedding as the marriage would occur over the next few days in far off America.

Milly wiped her eyes, and Patricia followed suit, and waited expecting to now hear about the unhappy ending.

Milly said it was a very brief and tragic marriage. Two weeks after the birth of a beautiful boy, the baby developed and embolism and died a few hours later in hospital. Dean was beside himself in grief and two nights later shot himself.

It was a terrible time for Milly, but the community came to her assistance. She had decided to return home after the funeral but on the morning of the burial Dean's lawyer called on her and advised her that Dean had named her as his sole beneficiary. The Bar 2X ranch and all of Dean's other assets were hers. The lawyer said he did not expect any problems with any of Dean's relatives contesting the will because it was a perfectly explicit document. 

That evening she cabled Collier, advising him and her parents of what had happened, that she would never return home. Collier simply told Patricia and his parents that Milly was having 'a bit of a down' but was determined to stay in Wyoming forever. His parents were upset that their daughter was unhappy in that far-off land and by the end of the week Collier boarded an aircraft to commence his first visit to Wyoming.

Milly stopped the vehicle and turning opened her arms and Patricia, the softer of the two, fell into them, weeping.

"I'm sorry, Patricia for my part in the deception. My actions were of my own choosing and I suffered the heartbreaks accordingly. It suited me to remain deceitful and it was Collier's decision to withhold the information I gave him. I am indebted to the way that you and Collier supported me emotionally and above all the way you encouraged him to visit me. I now offer you a thousand apologies; being in love and then becoming desperate can encourage people to do some hurtful things. Remarkably, the one good thing about all of this was within days of Collier's first arrival he'd discovered he'd found a second home; he adored being here."

The two women increased their grip on each other and wailed in a great released of emotion.

"Hey, are you two coming out of that vehicle," called a broad-faced blonde woman of forty something, her lips parted by an enormous smile. "Hello, Milly dear. At last we meet Patricia, how wonderful."

Patricia climbed out of the pickup and was enveloped in a perfumed bear hug by Martha who was more than a head taller. 

Rarely, thought Patricia, had she seen such an open, welcoming expression as she saw on Martha's face. No wonder her husband had fallen for this American charmer. Any man would be in peril if she turned her eyes on him.

"My dears come inside. Lukas has gone off somewhere but I've got a special bottle of wine for this very occasion. Ladies let's get talking."

Well before it was time for Patricia to return home she found she was very happy; her grief over Collier had just slipped away. She felt she had truly regained Milly as her sister and now had a very wonderful new friend in Martha. Even better, she knew that in a few weeks she would be seeing them again at the wedding. 

The parting at the airport was lengthened by the late arrival of Patricia's aircraft, so there was time to talk about her visit and share thoughts about her. 

Ponto remained impassive while Cody told Lukas that looking at the scene of the sad faces of the women in front of them, dabbing their eyes, he could almost hear someone singing 'When the Next Teardrop Falls'.

"Curtis certainly picked a real lady for his wife," commented Lukas, who'd enjoyed many long chats with Patricia about literature, opera and international affairs. 

One evening when Martha, excusing herself from one the highbrow discussion to go out to make supper, Patricia said to him: "You know, I think I should tell you something I suspected about Curtis and Martha."

Lukas hushed her and said, "Let it be Patricia. Let's say nothing to spoil the magic of their times together." 

Patricia felt a great peace; she'd had a release of something deep inside her.

* * *

Matt couldn't believe the change in his mother on her arrival home. She seemed brighter and far more relaxed, more like she'd been when he was a young teenager. He was tremendously gratified, realising as well this would make it easier for his mother and Courtney to live in the same homestead.

* * *

On a rainy mid-morning in August, Vikki watched a woman drive up in Matt's Land Rover and dash across the street towards her. The owner of the Riverside Café knew who she was, though they had not been introduced.

"Good morning. I'm Courtney Sterling, Matt Curtis' fiancée," she said, removing her black Stetson and leather jacket, putting both on the coat-stand just inside the door. 

"Hello, I have been waiting to meet you. Welcome to the café. Coffee?"

Courtney waited until Vikki returned with a cup of coffee and a hot scone, which was left untouched.

"Matt has engaged you to cater for our wedding, although I don't know why. I thought he would have given the job to The Settlers' Retreat. He just went ahead without discussing it with me."

"Oh dear, men! Of course he should have consulted you, it's your big day. Never mind, just ask the hotel to do your catering. I hope you have a fabulous day." 

Startled, Courtney took out a handkerchief and gently blew her nose to try to overcome her confusion. She decided to ease back. "Oh, I had not anticipated that reaction. I honestly don't quite know what to say. I would love to hear why Matt let the contract to you."

"Matt and I go back a long way. I was a tearful little girl on my first day at school and I was left standing there at morning playtime alone in my misery. Then this boy came close to me and said, 'Big girls who go to school don't cry.' I'll always remember that. Matt was that boy and he became my first friend at primary school. We are still close."

Resisting the impulse to ask how close, Courtney said that invitations were going out to 280 people, so she thought that it would take the full resources of the hotel to cater for that large number. "That's why I was surprised that he engaged you."

"Well, all he said was 'Want to do the wedding?' and I nodded. I asked him about the expected number of guests, and he shrugged and replied that I should get the details and discuss the menu with you. I anticipated you would come in when you were ready, and here you are."

Perplexed that Vikki was so unbothered at being confronted, Courtney tried another tack. "I've stayed at The Settlers' Retreat and found their dinning room to be rather good for a country town. They could be difficult to match."

"I'm really not interested in competing against anyone Miss Sterling," Vikki said evenly. "I will present a wedding breakfast to a standard that the hotel has never achieved, and never will. I am a master chef by trade and have been in charge of catering for small art gallery openings to big events catering in excess of 1000 people to a sit down dinner. But that's beside the point, you don't want me involved with your wedding and that's fine by me."

"Oh, no; not at all. I'm so sorry. I was just caught by surprise. I knew nothing about you and I honestly thought that Matt had landed you with a job that might overwhelm you. I now rather think that's not the case. I'd like to start again: Hello Vikki, I'm Courtney Sterling. Please call me Courtney. My what a lovely café you have here."

"Hello Courtney. My God, it's true. The gossip around here is that Matt has found a stunning beauty from Wellington. This is the first time ever that I've known the gossip to be true. How do you do!"

They looked at each other and both burst out laughing.

"Look if it's convenient why don't you pull up a chair and tell me your menu ideas," Courtney said.. "I'd like to hear them."

During the days leading up to the wedding, farmland and bared hills were toasted by the sun and dried by the unrelenting warm airflows off the ranges. It was typical February weather for Marlborough with urban people enjoying some of New Zealand's best weather, farmers becoming increasingly grumpy and uneasy as the drought took hold.

As wedding guests descended on Miranda, numerous reunions occurred, none being more robust than Milly's arrival, with Cody, Lukas and Martha. The party from Wyoming had spent the previous two days at the Sterling's home. They accompanied the bride-to-be and her parents and chief bridesmaid Elizabeth to the Curtis's home.

Just as Patricia had been on her return from Wyoming, these VIP visitors were astonished at the transformation of Aberdeen. The old-style architecture had been retained but the new extensions had been integrated well and inside the home was spacious, light and beautifully colour-coordinated.

"My, your architects and colour consultants have performed a great service for you," Martha said.

"Architects, colour consultants? No the design and décor and furnishings are entirely Courtney's work and the builder just drew up the plans under her supervision," Patricia announced proudly. 

"Well, I'd be darned!" Milly exclaimed. "Big nephew has certainly found himself a little gem. Where are they?"

"They've gone tramping for a couple of days but will be home tonight," Patricia said. "They just wanted a couple of days to themselves."

"Hope they were chaperoned?" commented Milly, drawing some giggles.

Before the couple had left on their tramp, Patricia had spoken to Matt about pre-wedding day arrangements. 

"You can't stay here on the night before the wedding as it's traditional for the bride and groom not to see each other until the at the church on their wedding day," said his mother. "You'll have to stay somewhere else perhaps for both nights."

"The pub?"

"Yes, of course," said Patricia, not hearing him properly and assuming he would be sleeping at the farm. She was solving an accommodation problem; two of the bridesmaids could sleep in Matt's room and another on the sofa in his study.

Returned from their tramp and enjoying the lively reunion with the houseguests from Wyoming, Matt phoned his best man Merv Higgs at the hotel. Matt told him he'd be spending his last two nights of freedom at the pub.

"Oh that's great. I have a twin room so you can have the other bed. You better get down here as soon as you can," he urged. "Some of Courtney's mates have arrived and are getting stuck into the grog in the house bar, and there's one to spare. Looks a real goer, like all of her friends."

"Well, I don't know about that," Matt replied. "I'm almost a married man."

Merv laughed. "Who said anything about shagging, though that might be on, No, these sheilas are singing their little hearts out. We've having great fun. Get down here as soon as you can. Bye."

Matt packed a small suitcase, changing into his drinking gear, and picked up the black linen hanging bag containing his hired morning suit and accessories. He went to find Patricia to say goodbye.

"Courtney says she's got so much to do that it's best I bugger off or did she say go off? Can't remember."

Eying him dressed in a striped rugby jersey, shorts and sandals, Patricia said in surprise, "Are you going to do work at the farm?"

"Maybe I will, maybe I won't," replied her son, truthfully.

Milly and Martha covered his face in lipstick and Courtney brushed them aside to add her contribution. 

"Where are you off to?" Cody inquired hopefully. 

"Oh here and there," replied Matt, heading out of the door. He gave Cody a huge wink.

Just before 10:00 Cody answered one of the many phone calls that had been coming to the house. He managed the call without requiring assistance.

Fifteen minutes later a vehicle making the distinctive grinding noise like Matt's Land Rover arrived outside, and drove off seconds later. It was only then noticed Cody and Lukas were nowhere to be found. By midnight Courtney and Elizabeth had gone off to bed and Patricia and Martha were a little concerned. Cody and Lukas had not returned.

Milly took control. She went out of the room to make a phone call and returned with a huge smile. "They're safe, sound and probably getting drunk. I phoned the hotel and the duty manager confirmed that there are two Yanks there, both in cowboy hats, and surrounded by a bunch of females hanging on to their every word."

"Goodness I hope they will be safe," ventured Patricia. "Some of our local girls have a bit of a reputation you know."

"The manager also said Matt's there."

"Oh," said Patricia, relieved. "If Matt's with them they'll be quite all right."

Martha and Milly exchanged glances, raising eyebrows.

"You go to bed mum," Milly said. "Martha and I are off to the hotel."

"Be careful my dears. I understand it can get pretty rough there on Friday nights."

"Oh goodie," Milly squeaked. Grabbing the keys of her mother's car she said to Martha, "Slap on some lipstick, gorgeous and we're off. You're going to a party the likes of which you've never seen before."

They found a parking space some distance from The Settlers' Retreat, and heard the throbbing din before reaching the premises.

"We're house guests, room twenty-eight," announced Milly creatively to the huge man baring their entry. Milly eyed him unwaveringly and he pulled the door open for them without asking for further verification.

"Sorry about the din," he apologised. "Hope you ladies get a good night's sleep."

As the door closed behind them Martha grabbed Milly by the hand and giggled, "You've missed your vocation. You would make a great con artist."

They entered the public bar and Martha was surprised, almost shocked. She'd been to a few rowdy drinking holes, as she called them, but nothing like this. Men leaning against the long wooden bar were quaffing huge glasses of beer. Some were drinking beer straight out of quart bottles.

"Welcome to New Zealand. You're looking at a good old Kiwi country bash," Milly screamed into Martha's ear. Scream she had to, because the noise of the shouting and raunchy heavily amplified music was deafening.

Milly, eyes shining in excitement, returned with two glasses of amber liquid. "Try this," she shouted. "You'll not have had it before. It's called Pimms Number One Cup that our dear Kiwi blokes charmingly call Leg Opener Number 2. Their version of Number One is any drink with gin in it."

Martha beamed, enjoying that disgusting disclosure. She'd decided that she was ready to party, having already downed several drinks during the afternoon followed by wine with dinner. She grabbed Milly by the shoulder and pointed to a corner of the room, where a man lay half straddled over a woman, his hand obviously going towards a place that clearly identified him as being no gentleman. "Pimms Number One is beginning to work," she observed dryly.

Milly shrieked with laughter and pulled Martha through the revellers towards where people were watching something.

A great shout went up and a quite well developed young woman was hoisted on to a tabletop, naked to the waist.

"Cripes," said Milly in awe. "That's one of Courtney's bridesmaids. I thought they had gone to bed."

"A bit like at home in my younger days, except there's no fight." Martha had just said that as there was an eruption around the table where the strip had taken place. An angry red-faced young man had been trying to pass the stripper her bra and blouse when they were grabbed from his hand. As the young man went to recover the items of clothing, a punch was swung at him and a fight was underway.

Milly and Martha watched the two men battling away, most of the punches failing to connect. One of the brawlers picked up a chair. But before he could smash it on to his opponent a big fist dropped down on to his head, and he disappeared towards the floor.

"God Matt's dropped him," Milly squealed, flushing greatly.

Martha looked and saw Matt, standing and laughing, placing his arm around a slim blonde. Courtney had black hair. 

"Matt's having a little rest and recreation before his big day," commented Milly dryly. "She's one of Courtney's friends. Come on, we'd better camp down at this other end of the bar. I can't see our men in this crowd but they'll be here somewhere."

"Look, there they are," Martha pointed.

The two women pushed through and found two hard faced women wearing Cody and Lukas' hats.

"I'll kill Cody if that white Stetson is soiled," hissed Milly. "I gave that to him for his birthday last month."




Doomed Dynasty Pt. 03



Looking down, the women saw their guys seated at a table. Cody and Lukas had piles of money in front of them. 

Matt then arrived and began flexing his arms. 

The slender blonde was nowhere in sight.

"What are they doing? Martha inquired.

"They're engaged in arm wrestling. Matt's obviously doing the work and our guys are taking the bets. Jeeze look at the pile of money they have."

While they watched three men in succession sat down in front of Matt, each lasting only a few seconds before he bent their arm flat on to the tabletop.

The crowd around them parted as a short, burly Maori man aged about forty waddled to the table.

"Fifty quid!" he shouted. 

"I'm taking ten on Sonny."

"Five for me."

The two men locked hands, and pressure was applied. Matt's opponent resisted powerfully as his arm began to bend over from the elbow. He seemed unconcerned.

"He bales wool for a shearing gang," a woman holding a glass of what appeared to be Pimms, confided to Martha. "He's immensely strong."

The Maori slowly levered his hand back into an upright position, and then Matt's hand fell towards the tabletop. He managed to resist the downward pressure a couple of times but his hand was finally flattened.

There was cheering, money exchanged hands. 

The Maori began to walk away, the woman who'd spoken to Martha clutching on to him.

"A re-match for 100 quid!" somebody shouted. 

Milly turned as she recognised the voice. It was Cody, now standing and waving a bunch of notes about his head.

Matt shrugged and said "Why not?" He stripped down to his black bush singlet, a couple of women whistling approvingly. 

The big Maori came back and sat down on the chair with a thump, the frame groaning from the overload. His lady friend dug into her handbag and came up with enough money to add to Sonny's winning, taking his bet against Matt to £100. 

Cody dropped his handful of notes beside that bet.

A betting frenzy commenced, the odds offered of 5-1 against Matt winning being snapped up. 

Cody dipped into his own pocket and placed £100 on to the table, digging Lukas in the ribs, indicating he should follow suit.

"No, place it on Matt, you fool," urged Cody in exasperation.

Cody then walked over to Matt and whispered into his ear. He returned to his chair, his face expressionless.

The two big men went face to face, this time both wriggling about to get into their optimum position.

"Go!" shouted Cody, and the big match was underway. 

Most of the bar patrons and the bartenders were now gathered around the table, with shorter people at the back complaining that they couldn't see.

A small man with short white whiskers and a colourful handkerchief around his neck, was darting around the vacated tables emptying glasses of spirits into his half-gallon jar until a watchful barman spotted him and chased him out the door.

The old fellow, clutching his jar, yelled showing several gaps in his tobacco stained teeth, "My money's on Matt!"

Power was applied, both men breaking out into a sweat. 

The Pimms drinker was urging her champion, "Finish him now Sonny. He's easy meat!"

Matt suddenly looked up at the ceiling.

Noticing that, Sonny Pihama also looked upwards. As he did so Matt dug in and slammed the back of Sonny's locked arm on to the tabletop.

A howl of pain and despair came from Sonny.

"You bastard," his lady friend shouted. "You cheated. Call the cops."

Cody pulled himself to his full height. His right hand hovered over where his holster normally sat on his right hip. "I declare if was a fair bout. At no time did the winner unfairly interfere physically with his opponent. If the cops are called you're all spend the night in jail on charges of illegally betting. Now clear off!"

Milly was delighted. She was seeing her man acting with the authority needed for his job as under sheriff. Her heart melted.

Pushing through to Lukas, Martha whispered, "Come on, we'd better get out of here before the rioting starts."

But that retreat was unnecessary. 

A beaming Matt stood up and shouted, "Barmen get back to your posts and serve from the top shelf from now on. It's time my guests got down to some serious drinking."

There was a rush to the bar, leaving Cody and Lukas free to stuff banknotes into their pockets.

Matt picked up Sonny's lady friend, who was almost passed out, placing her on a nearby sofa. 

Half-bowing to Martha and Milly, Matt said, "Ladies, please join Sonny and me for a couple of drinks. I expect you'd like Pimms?" 

"You bloody Curtis's," Sonny growled. "Everyone says you're hard bastards but Matt, I'll say this, you fight fair and you know how to look after your victims."

During the rest of the night, even through an alcoholic haze, Milly kept a proud eye on her nephew. A continuous stream of men came up and shook his hand, and women kissed him, mostly quite immodestly. 

Comments Matt received were mostly very complimentary, although the word bastard kept cropping up.

"New Zealanders seem to use the word bastard a little bit differently than we do back home," Martha hiccupped. And I'll say thisss. What Mills sssays about this Pimmsss ssseeems to be the truthzzzz. My leggggs are openniiiiiiing."

Matt delivered the foursome from Wyoming back home just before 4:00, the noisiest pre-dawn arrival ever experienced at Aberdeen.

He returned to the hotel, exhausted, ready to sleep for at least twelve hours. But the bedroom door was locked, and muffed calls ordered him to go away. His best man had company for the night!

Matt slumped to the floor where a maid found him in the hallway an hour later when beginning her preparations for the new day. She called the night porter and they dragged Matt to the linen room. "Could you report me as having gone home sick," she told the porter. "I'm staying here to keep him safe. This is Matt Curtis!"

Next morning, Patricia was surprised. Only she, Courtney and Elizabeth were up bright and early. Perhaps the Americans had consumed too much alcohol before dinner last evening?

"Shouldn't we wake them up for morning tea?" she asked Courtney at 10:00.

"I wouldn't advise it," Courtney warned, who'd been woken around 4;00, at first thinking that an invasion was underway. She looked out and saw what was happening and fell back into a restful sleep.

It was generally a quiet day, but houseguest seemed to come alive again after Patricia handed around drinks at 5:30. Matt arrived a few minutes later looking remarkably fit and well. Milly, who went to the door to welcome him, looked at his neck and whispered, "You'd better do you shirt right up, naughty nephew. I can see her teeth marks on your neck."

An enjoyable evening followed with everyone but Matt holding back on their intake of alcohol. He barbecued thick Angus steaks that had been resting in a mixture of kiwifruit, raisins, onions and oyster sauce, an eating sensation that had the American visitors drooling.

"It's nothing, just good Kiwi tucker," Matt chuckled, as the compliments were heaped on him. "Mother has made something that'll really floor you."

They were eating at a long table on the lawn under the oak tree. It was hot, not a breath of wind so iced water was the most popular drink.

Patricia walked from the kitchen carrying on a tray an enormous Pavlova, surrounded by meringue cases filled with crushed strawberries that had been soaking in a hazelnut liqueur. The top of the two-piece Pav was coated in grated chocolate and between the two pieces of the creation was a thick layer of chilled passion fruit syrup.

"Oh, my god," cried Martha, wide-eyed and slapping her hands against the middle of her bust. "Have I died and gone to Heaven?"

Ever so pleased, Patricia put the largest piece on Martha's plate.

Matt was not served desert. His father used to say that only ladies and poofters eat desert. As a young boy Matt had no idea was a poofter (homosexual) was but didn't want to become one, so never ate desert thereafter.

He astounded Vikki the day before she opened her restaurant when she offered to personally cook him his favourite meal.

"Pea, pie and pud," he replied, meaning meat pie, peas and mashed potatoes.

"And that's your favourite meal?' Vikki had asked, in disbelief, just as Courtney had done shortly after she'd met Matt and heard him complain about "the tucker" being served aboard the Mariposa as being too rich and fancy and she'd responded by asking what was his favourite food.

"Milly, for the life of me I can't understand why you chose the hard life of Wyoming over this little piece of paradise," commented Cody, as everyone sat under the starry sky drinking iced-tea.

"Home is where you put down your anchor," she replied. "I do love it here, and always will, but my anchor is affixed to a piece of land faraway from here."

"And what about you Matt?" asked Courtney. "Are you ready to follow your fancy wherever that might take you?"

Matt looked out into the bay and said quietly, "If I had to chose I'd chose to die on that beach just below us."

Everyone laughed, except Patricia. A chill swept through her so she went inside to fetch a cardigan. 

Gradually everyone drifted off to bed reasonably early, leaving just Courtney and Matt together in the summerhouse in the rose garden.

He left just before midnight. 

Good boy, thought Milly, checking her bedside clock, you have left just before the start of your wedding day. Patricia will be pleased. I wonder how Ponto is getting on at the ranch without me? 

CHAPTER 9

Not all of the 266 guests who accepted invitations to attend could fit into the Methodist Church for the wedding service. At least twenty of them waited under trees for their first glimpse of Mr and Mrs Matt Curtis.

As expected, Courtney was a lovely bride in white lace over white satin. Her dress, stopping just short of her knees, caused a mini-sensation amongst the womenfolk who thought it rather daring. But everyone could see that the bride had beautiful legs above her white satin shoes.

The church service went without a hitch, the bridegroom easily finding the ring that Cody had thoughtfully placed through a spring-clip hanging from a loop around Merv's neck.

Patricia thought it was a wonderful ceremony, the couple standing so lovingly together. Wish you were here Curtis, she mouthed to herself, as their friend Charlie Whitehead deputised for Curtis to give away the bride.

The wedding party and closest relatives gathered on the steps of the church, and then moved off to the side against a backdrop of trees for more wedding photographs. 

The midday heat got to the bridal party men in their grey morning suits but they survived and kept their jackets on until the official photographer called, "That's all, folks."

Matt then led the charge of jacket-carrying men and a few women down the street to The Settler's Inn, where barmen already had poured cold beers for them. 

Fifteen minutes later, acting on instructions from steely-eyed Patricia, the proprietor Rex Mills sounded the dining gong and announced, "Time, please, Ladies and Gentlemen of the Wedding Party you've wanted up at the Curtis home."

Matt led the way out to waiting buses (Matt was a shareholder in the trucking firm that also ran local buses.

It was hot in the huge marquee, but the drinks were chilled. People called the food 'amazing', with some more specific comments, such as "haven't tried this stuff before, it's good." That person was eating fried squid rings. 

Many of the local people, brought up on leg of lamb and often mutton, couldn't believe they were eating sheep meat when they tasted the entrée of rack of lamb which was followed by a choice of baron of beef or crayfish mornay surrounded by a selection of other seafood.

Nova cuisine had arrived in Miranda Valley. Actually it had appeared with the opening of the Riverside Café but very few locals had entered that establishment.

Some light and very idiotic entertainment followed presented by the gang who worked on the upgrading of Matt's house. Builder Max Mead took the part of Matt in the skit conceived by Misfit Jones, who played Max. The negotiations on the contract for the house additions and renovations had perks being the sticking point, with 'Matt' finally agreeing to install a swimming pool for the building team plus parking a mini tanker of beer on-site and having the three-course lunches served by scantily-dressed women. Misfit had roped in Matt's odd-job man, Art, to act the part of Courtney. 'She' was far more buxom than Courtney and she had acquired an awful gutter accent and swore like a shepherd with wayward dogs. 

Guests laughed so much that when it was over long queues formed at the toilets.

The speeches were short, Matt had insisted on that. 

He told one clean joke and when he started on another what obviously was a little risqué Patricia interrupted him, icily saying, "That's enough Matt." 

That drew a round of applause countered by boos from tables where Matt's mates and a couple of their rather loud women sat.

Vikki was out in the caterer's tent supervising her staff, mostly experienced part-time catering staff she had recruited from distant larger centres. She'd hired a large refrigerated van and as the afternoon got hotter there was no shortage of volunteers wanting to retrieve food from its icy depths.

Muriel Jones came running up the Vikki and said, excitedly, "When the telegrams had been read the bride got up and spoke. She thanked Matt's mother and her own parents for making this such a wonderful day for her and then she gave special thanks to you and urged everyone to eat at the Riverside Café which she said was the best restaurant outside of Wellington. People were thumping their tables when she said that."

Thanking her for the news, Vikki, brushed perspiration off her brow with the end of her apron, also wiping away a couple of tears.

"The cake," somebody shouted, and Vikki went in with a large knife with a bow around it and signalled to the master of ceremonies. He called for silence, and everyone looked at the tiered cake standing on its own table in front of the bride and groom. 

Just as the MC called the bride and groom to go over and cut the cake there was a small explosion. The cake collapsed and streamers shot up into the air from it and a siren inside the cake stand shrilled briefly. Guests, many of whom had sat open-mouthed when the cake collapsed, laughed and cheered when realising that they were witnessing an exploding cake stunt. Misfit Jones was the culprit. He'd undertaken to erect Vikki's newly purchased kitset carport on the side of her father's house in return for being allowed by stage his dubious prank. 

Vikki later thought that her consent must have happed during a moment of madness, but all was well. As she wheeled in the real cake she was greeted with cheers and compliments from well-lubricated guests, the buzz created by the exploding cake was still filling the marquee.

The celebrations continued almost to dawn.

Early that afternoon the newly-weds joined other wedding guest to catch the ferry to Wellington. 

Matt and Courtney went on to Auckland to sail to Hawaii for their honeymoon.

* * *

Meanwhile, in Wyoming Caitlin had arrived home from Switzerland with her baby but without her husband. Told her parents were in New Zealand for Matt's wedding, she cried and cried. She tried to call Matt's farmhouse to speak to her parents but there was no answer as everyone had left for the church. He should never be getting married, she though. He was meant to remain a free spirit. 

The next day Caitlin went over to visit Ponto, expecting that he'd be lonely. But no, he was the happiest she'd ever seen him. He called, "Maria!" and a motherly looking part Italian woman emerged from the house. Casually draping an arm over her shoulders, Ponto made the introductions. "Maria has been working here for some months now. Milly decided she needed someone to help in the house. Maria helps out with my cleaning as well. We've become great friends." 

As he said that Maria looked up a Ponto and Caitlin thought that was a rather intense look for just a friend.

As they were chatting Ponto told her that Cody Schmidt, the under Sheriff, had gone to New Zealand with Milly. He added, "Cody is now Milly's man, he lives here." 

Caitlin was startled. "My god, what has Milly been putting in the soup?" 

Two weeks later Caitlin receive a letter from her lawyers, confirming that progress on her instructions to seek a divorce from her husband Sepp Plum on favourable terms, and for Caitlin to retain custody of Anna, were progressing satisfactorily. 

Soon she would be free of the man who had revealed his darker side after marriage. She was tough, and had withstood the irrational and at times rather frightening behaviour from her husband for two and a half years. Then one day during an argument he'd lunged at her in a number of feints with a kitchen knife, laughing until he collapsed in tears.

After Sepp left for work the following morning she packed and took herself and Anna away from the beast. 

As the days passed, Caitlin flourished in the familiar surroundings of her childhood home, and being with people who happily related to her and Anna. Soon she was herself again and felt old urges returning. She commenced an affair with the man that her father had left in charge of his ranch. 

The manager, Luke Rogers, revealed to Caitlin that he had been left money by his grandmother and he intended to move on to Colorado to look for a suitable ranch as soon as her father returned. He asked Caitlin to go with him, but did not pressure her to make a decision. 

Caitlin decided to wait until she could sit down with her mother and seek her advice. 

She and Luke rarely left the house.

A week later Martha and Lukas returned from New Zealand, delighted to be reunited with their daughter and to see their granddaughter again. Martha was pleased but surprised that Caitlin seemed so well after her marriage breakdown but within a few hours had seen enough of the body language between her daughter and Luke to conclude that she should no longer be surprised by Caitlin's bouncy behaviour.

Luke was paid off and left one evening without a fuss, watched by Martha and Caitlin who was holding Anna as he shook hands with Lukas. 

When he waved at the women Martha shot a curious look at her daughter to read her reaction, but Caitlin was calmly looking at Anna and attempting to get her to wave her chubby little hand at the departing Luke.

The emotional attachments of young people seemed to be far less binding that in my younger days, thought Martha.

The next day she visited Milly and the two women decided to have a welcome home party for Caitlin at Milly's place. 

The guest list they drew up contained the names of three unattached younger men.

"Caitlin needs this sort of support," said Milly and was rewarded with a big smile from her friend and neighbour.

A month later a pickup arrived outside the Bridger's home well after midnight.

Martha answered the door. The caller was Luke.

Over coffee he told her that he had bought a small cattle ranch and was working each day from noon to dusk on the neighbouring and much larger farm of an elderly couple. 

Six hours earlier that evening, the couple had sold him their property at a most attractive price in return for them being allowed to stay on in their house for as long as they wished. He said, "The two farms make quite a large spread so in time I'll be comfortably off. I've come for Caitlin and Anna if Caitlin wants to live with me. Do you think she will?"

Tears streaming down her face Martha took him by the hand and simply said, "Be kind to her Luke. I'll go now and make you up a bed."




Doomed Dynasty Pt. 03



Next day after lunch Caitlin and Anna drove off with Luke. Lukas and Martha stood hand in hand, waving goodbye.

"She's the happiest she's been for a very long time, just like the days when she and Matt were together," sighed Lukas.

Martha burst into tears and reached out to be hugged.

To Be Continued... 



Doomed Dynasty Pt. 04



CHAPTER 9

The honeymooners returned to find the drought had broken, and the land throughout the Province of Marlborough at the top eastern end of the South Island of New Zealand was slowly regaining its greenness. 

Next morning, at their first morning tea as a household of three, Matt had just sat down. Patricia was pouring tea to eat with their scones when they heard the Land Rover arriving. 

Matt was itching to go. 

Casually he said, "That'll be Art bringing the Rover back for me. I'll have to go to the farm soon."

Out of habit Patricia almost said to her son, "Go now if you wish," but accepted she had been supplanted in the pecking order. She continued pouring the tea and was delighted to hear Courtney say, "Go now if you wish. Your mother and I have so much to talk about. Say hello to Boris for me."

Aware that he'd just arrived home with her new bride and to his lonely mother, Matt hesitated, looking at the door, looking back at the women, and returning his gaze to the door again.

"Go!" commanded Courtney. 

Away he went.

In the weeks that followed the two women settled into routines that dovetailed well. Without a word being said Courtney realised that whenever Patricia closed the door to her accommodation wing she was signalling that she wanted some time on her own. Courtney adopted a similar retreat for herself and was pleased how private her own part of the house became.

"Your mother and I have adjusted, just like two newly-weds," she confessed to Matt over a brandy nightcap. 

Of course, Matt being Matt spoilt this serious moment of orderly domesticity by jokingly saying, "Does this mean you're leaving me to move in with mother?"

"You dirty old man," yelled Courtney, leaping at him and beating his chest with her fists. But she, too, was joking. Her act allowed her to snuggle up to be kissed.

Arriving home from the farm the next evening, Matt watched Courtney running out to him, waving something. 

She's really is a lovely young thing, he thought.

"Matt, Matt," she cried, holding out a price of paper. "Look, it's a cheque for thirty pounds from Mrs Sampson. She came over to chat to Patricia this afternoon and liked the painting I'd just completed of a rose from Patricia's garden. She knows about art Matt. I offered her the painting but she said only if I accepted payment. It's the first painting I've ever sold. Oh Matt, I'm so happy," she gushed, darting around him in tight circles. 

Walking into the house she asked if she could set up for painting in part of the glassed-in porch at the back of the house.

"Let's talk and see what mother says," said Matt. "It's also her house."

"Mother says yes," said Patricia, coming out of the sitting room where she'd been doing needlework bathed in the setting sun. What do you think of your clever wife now?"

Taking both women around the waist, Matt walked them into the sitting room. "Now you guys sit here and I'll pop down to the cellar and find something special. Let's celebrate." 

Four months later the normally usually placid Courtney had become rather scratchy at times. One morning Patricia look her by both hands and with a gentle smile said, "My dear, I believe you are pregnant."

"How on earth do you know that... I haven't had morning sickness, or anything like that? replied her astounded daughter. "Actually, I think I'm losing weight."

"Something about you has changed, nothing that I can see, perhaps I just sense it. But I wouldn't have said anything unless I was confident," smiled Patricia, wondering if she would be privy to the discussion on possible names for the newcomer.

Courtney decided to say nothing to Matt in the meantime.

The next day when Matt was away trucking eight yearling bulls to a farming friend in North Canterbury, Patricia and Courtney were in the shade of the oak tree on the front lawn drinking homemade lemonade.

"It's very nice, as good as I can make it," complimented Patricia, allowing the iced drink to trickle along her tongue.

"That's lovely of you to say that. What else can you teach me?" 

Patricia looked at the beautiful face across from her; so relaxed, so trusting, so full of life.

"I can tell you this my dear. Matt will be a very kind and generous provider for you, but he will not give his all to you. He's simply not that kind of person."

"I think I understand what you are saying Patricia. I've found that out already."

"Good, very good. Understanding in a relationship is so important. You know, many women have husbands who don't share themselves fully; it's really nothing to worry about."

"Then what do you see as the problem?"

"My child," Patricia replied, "I feel I should tell you that rarely will you find yourself immersed in a discussion with Matt that sends your mind soaring. He's one of those men who when among other men of similar ilk seem to communicate in fragmented sentences, even in grunts, which they seem to understand remarkably well. The trouble is arriving home try to communicate like that with us. To put it kindly, they have to be re-educated. Unfortunately, Matt stubbornly refuses to be socialised by any woman, even his own mother. He's basically a primate but one with some smooth edges who can exceedingly charming and a generous provider as you well know."

"Aye, yes I do. And you've summed up very well some of shortcomings in communication between Matt and myself. So, what's the answer?"

"It's simple. Concentrate on the alternatives. Befriend and foster associations with women in your environment. You'll need them to vent your frustrations, to talk about your problems, and to engaged in stimulating dialogue. Developing such trusting relationships will add to your quality of life."

Courtney remained in deep thought for a few moments and then said: "I am really thankful that you, Matt and I are living together as a family Patricia."

Patricia flashed a bright smile. 

The next evening when Matt arrived home he found the house in darkness, but when walking from the garage spotted candlelight through the dinning room windows. He entered the house, called out but there was no answer. 

A roast dinner was almost ready, judging by the smells floating from the kitchen. He found Courtney on the sofa, asleep. He woke her gently. She pulled him down by his shirtfront and kissed him passionately.

"My word, is it our first half-year wedding anniversary? Ah no, that can't be right. And where's mother?"

"She's gone to stay the night with the Thomas's in town. I didn't know until she told me yesterday that you and Elsie were born a day apart at the maternity wing of the hospital. She says you have always been great mates."

"Yeah that's for sure. She's been a great mate. But she's stopped drinking now because her husband Cyril is almost an alcoholic. I haven't seen much of her since she tossed in the booze." Matt grinned, "Once she was the best tabletop dancer you'd ever see, no matter how many glasses of Blackberry Nip she'd downed."

"Matt! You know that sort of low-life behaviour is beyond my understanding."

"Yes I know. But don't go calling Elsie low life. She has a heart of gold and would do anything for you."

"Oh I'm sorry Matt. I didn't mean it that way. It's just the behaviour I was referring to."

"I understand. But mum usually doesn't disappear for the night without saying anything. And why would she want to sleep at Elsie's when she's got a perfectly good bed here?"

"Give me a moment."

Courtney returned from the kitchen with a tray containing two glasses and a bottle of sparkling wine.

"Cripes. Mum can stay away more nights."

"Listen Matt, I went to see Dr Mackenzie this afternoon and he's confirmed I'm pregnant."

Matt who'd been reaching for the glass Courtney was pouring for him froze. His hand stopped in mid-air began to shake. "Struth what can I say?" 

"Well for starters, you can say what a clever girl I am, and how clever it was of your mother to know before either I or Dr Mackenzie did."

"Patricia told you?"

"Yes."

"People around here use mum a lot. She can tell when bitches and cats are pregnant and..."

"M-a-t-t," wailed Courtney, "For goodness sake!"

His natural charm returned. He picked Courtney up into his arms and waltzed her around the room, reciting, "We're going to have a baby, we're going to have a baby."

The morning sickness that Courtney appeared to have escaped finally arrived with vengeance. Bouts of it lasted eight to ten hours. She became possessive of Matt and there were times he just had to escape to the farm for a couple of nights. He enjoyed sex, but now when he reached out for Courtney with that thought in mind she would jump out of bed and go off to make a cup of tea. It was this frustrating period that drove him into the arms of Vikki, quite by accident. 

It happened late at evening, on his way to the farm ready for an early start the next morning. He called at The Settlers' Retreat for a beer and just started his second drink when someone came to the door of the house bar yelling, "Fight, there's a fight on at the café."

Matt joined the rush for the door, not to fight or to even be a spectator; he wanted to see if Vikki needed assistance.

Because of his farming fitness plus the excessive arm-bending exercise of regulars who stayed largely immobilized over the bar, he was first of the barroom exodus to enter the café. Matt had noticed one of the big windows was shattered with a café chair lying on the footpath. 

The fight was still in progress, and what he saw amazed him. Four women were battling it out. A huge woman of about thirty with enormous upper arms fell to the floor, out cold. A thin browned haired woman in leathers and a blue and white dotted scarf around her neck staggered backwards, her nose in a bloodied mess caused when she'd head-butted the big woman. The two other women, in their earlier twenties, were in normal dresses. The top of one woman's dress had been ripped open and was hanging around her waist as she pulled the top free. 

Nice figure, thought Matt as he watched her pick up a wine bottle. The other woman with her head down in front of her was flailing her arms but mostly missing her target.

Then Matt saw Vikki, standing by them shouting, "Stop it! Stop it!" She was ignored.

Other diners had left their tables for a closer view, some of them adding to the bedlam with their shouting. 

Vikki, who'd seen the woman pick up the half-filled wine bottle, rushed at her and smacked her on the side of the jaw. The woman's eyes rolled up and she slumped to the floor. 

Matt thought Vikki must have hit her with a weight or something, but then he saw Vikki open her hand and wring it with her other hand, painfully. There had been nothing in her hand! Vikki spun around with a malevolent look in her eyes. 

Go Vikki, Matt breathed excitedly. But the other woman scampered out of the door to the jeering cries of onlookers.

Vikki was very upset, so Matt shooed her behind the reception desk and took over. Recognising many of the clientele in the room he was confident they would respond to him. "Vikki's sorry about this, folk," he said. "She ought to charge you double for the entertainment. "Those who wish to leave now, do so; you'll not be charged for your meal but don't ever return because Vikki can't tolerate disloyalty. Those who do stay, you'll have to pay for you meals but each table will receive a complimentary bottle of wine."

"Oh Matt, you're ruining my business," cried Vikki, but she need not have been concerned. Not a person left the room and some of the hotel patrons who'd rush over to see the fight sat down to order a meal to qualify for a complimentary bottle of wine.

"You pack quite a punch," Matt said in awe, as he went up to Vikki. If Courtney had seen the puppy look in Vikki's eyes she would have suffered more than a prolonged bout of morning sickness. 

Matt saw the look and felt his stomach churning. He went to the phone and called a glazier to come and replace the broken window.

Just after midnight in her bedroom in the loft above the café, Vikki was thanking Matt for his assistance the best way she thought would please him. She had been waiting for this encounter, patiently waiting for two years and almost nine months and she concentrated on delivering a top performance.

When Matt arrived home that night, Courtney noticed that his moodiness seemed to have gone. A suspicious thought hit her. She put that aside and said brightly, "I'm a little better. Patricia visited her old friends Mrs Ropati who has great knowledge of Maori herbs and ancient remedies. She mixed something up for me and it appears to be working."

Matt was pleased, as it concerned him to see her off-colour. Perhaps his sex life might soon be back to normal. He also thought of suggesting to Vikki that perhaps they should meet at the café for early morning coffee or whatever when it suited her on days when he had business in town but he thought it might be best not pulling those two women together.

Left alone, as Matt went to read in his office, Courtney's thoughts drifted back to her suspicion. She now fully realised what her mother had mean some two years ago when she said about her husband, "At least he came back to my bed." She'd thought it was rather disgusting that some men were unable to cohabit exclusively with just one woman, one woman for life. But if Matt was not worried about this, why should she?

She had trouble accepting that thought. If Matt were honourable and loyal to her she would not be placed in such a difficult decision. Tears came to her eyes. She dabbed them dry. Why was it that women like Vikki inevitably offered men, married men, their bodies? Why couldn't they go and find an exclusive partner for themselves instead of poaching in someone else's territory?

It's not that Matt had any excuse to wander; she had accommodated his demands whenever they came, well, almost. She had not been receptive over recent weeks when she felt so dreadful. Anyway, what could Vikki Thomas offer Matt that his own wife couldn't give him? She resolved never to speak to that woman again. She began to weep and dozed off, void of answers to the questions in her mind.

Waking later, Courtney felt a little better, in fact a little sparky. Perhaps she was getting back to normal.

"You'll need a loving father little one, you really will," she crooned, massaging her belly. Right, she thought. Here's a tough one for you, my girl: can you accept Matt sharing himself with another woman, if that was what he was doing?

She felt tearful again. She imagined seeing a quizmaster, standing on front of him, and being asked to pick one answer, Yes, No, Maybe. "Maybe," called Courtney out aloud.

"Yes, I'll be coming to bed shortly," Matt called from the office.

"Maybe," she whispered. "I picked maybe. Am I that much of a fool?" Well, if there had to be another woman in the background, why not Vikki? The redhead was attractive, kept herself very tidy and in fact was quite a classy woman and didn't appear to be a loud mouth, so could be expected to be secretive.

Working towards a decision, Courtney tried another approach. Matt tended to seek sex rather too frequently for her liking, although usually she enjoyed the act immensely. With someone else in the picture, but not intruding into their life, the situation could, well, be quite advantageous to them both. 

"Brilliant!"

"What's brilliant?" asked Matt, walking into the bedroom.

"Nothing to bother you with, dear," said Courtney, wriggling her toes while waiting to snuggle up against him. After a gentle bout of intercourse Courtney slipped off to sleep still in Matt's arms.

Matt lay awake contented, his thoughts drifting about. It worried him how rapidly times seemed to be changing. Both Collier and his father had provided a very satisfactory life for themselves and families as farmers. Their monetary wealth, their independence and certainly their self-generated happiness had come from their principal asset... land ownership. 

Matt believed that in inheriting that legacy he was in a privileged position to generate even greater wealth but in which direction would real wealth come from? Like his forebears, Matt had started learning from an early age that few things come easy. Farming was a great life, though bad times were never far away. He'd seen his father return home exhausted, red-rimmed eyes set into a smoke-blackened face from fighting grass fires which destroyed fencing and reserves of grass shut up for winter grazing.

Grim times could arrive as the aftermath of a frenzied killing spree by marauding dogs in a paddock of ewes and lambs, an occurrence that no farmer really became used to. Looking at animals with throats ripped open, some still kicking feebly, those farmers would feel their own vulnerability and harshly question their standards of animal husbandry. Then there are the times of collapsing market prices that spread gloom over the farms and into the urban community. But life still goes on and better times invariably lay ahead for folk who could stick it out waiting for recovery.

"Look after the land and it will look after you" is the wording engraved on a tray on the sideboard in the Curtis's home. Reading that wording when touring the house for the first time, Courtney had commented: "What a wonderfully simple philosophical statement. Who had that engraved?"

Neither Patricia nor Matt could answer that. Once both of them had asked a similar question and not received an answer that satisfied their curiosity: it was simply a Curtis heirloom, origin unknown.

Waiting to fall asleep, Matt's mind went back to his days on the ranch in Wyoming where Milly had taken him under his wing. He could hear her now... "Put aside that magazine Matt. What is it? Oh, no not more stuff about cars! Come over here, you need to learn about doing the accounts. You'll be running Faraway Farm when Collier retires so it's no use waiting until that time comes to learn the rudiments of the paperwork side to farming."

Reluctantly putting down his 'Practical Motor Mechanic' magazine, Matt sat down beside Milly, the near-freezing wind rattling the windows behind them.

A few minutes later a rather surprised voluntary tutor said, "Good boy. How is it that you know all this?"

"Don't know really. Except that over the years I sat beside dad when he was shuffling papers and I asked questions. And Alf at the rugby club used to get me to sort invoices into order when I was the only one around, and he'd tell me what he was doing and why. I've also read up a handbook 'Basic Accounting Practice' I think it's called. It's in my bedroom at home."

"What else do you know that will be of use to you?" inquired Milly.

"I know plenty about keeping vehicles running and have picked up even more knowledge over here."

"You have indeed, sweetie. Aaron says his bailer has never worked so well since you had a tinker with it."

"A tinker? I had to use a sledge hammer to restore alignment of the take-up mechanism."

"Whatever. Anyway, he wants you back next summer and wonders if you can call over soon as one of his water pumps is playing up. I told him that you worked on our supply to the barn and it's really fixed now."

Matt told Milly that he'd not been good at making small talk. His mother did not like sitting alone when Collier was away so Matt soon learned that simply being in the room with her at nights was sufficient. He only had to answer the odd question as she knitted or listened to the radio. He used those opportunities to read. He had told Milly that he'd tried to suck up information like a vacuum cleaner.

Matt wiggled his toes as he began thinking about the softness of Vikki and how surprisingly proactive she'd been.

All he could say was it had been worth the wait. Really worth it, in fact...and off to sleep drifted a very tired Matt Curtis.




Doomed Dynasty Pt. 04



* * *

Patricia had said months earlier that her new grandchild would be a boy. Patricia wasn't always right and she beamed when holding her blue-eyed granddaughter, thinking she looked like her, becoming a little testy when she heard Courtney say she thought Stephanie looked exactly like she did when she was a baby and then becoming quite frostily when Courtney's mother arrived and declared that her granddaughter had many of her features. Patricia had been extremely disappointed that the new arrival had not been male but become besotted when almost a year later a healthy quite small baby born in mid-May 1961. He was christened Reece Collier Curtis. 

Matt had opted for Laramie instead of Collier, but was outvoted, indeed chastised by Courtney and his mother to even thinking such a name. 

Even Vikki had said to Matt, "God, no. Don't call him that. He'd be teased about it for the rest of his life. If he doesn't want to ride horses or brawl he'd hate you for giving him the name of Laramie." 

"You might be right. I'm already a bit worried about him," confided Matt. "He is not showing any signs of bounciness. He just lies there and sulks, blowing bubbles; no sign of aggression unless he's hungry."

"Oh you big oaf," laughed Vikki. "Give him more time before you begin to judge him. If you had wanted a son with the breeding to hammer the stuffing out of people, you should have married me."

Matt looked down at her on the bed as he began dressing, thinking there was some truth in what she was saying. 

The whole Curtis family went to town one wet Friday. The two women and two babies went to the movies. Matt called in at the hotel to see if any of his farming mates were lining the bar. It was always a good time for a chat, but the bar was practically deserted.

"Most of the regulars have wandered up to the auction Matt," said the barman, looking up from the racing page of the newspaper.

Waving a thank you Matt went up the incline of the main street to Alf Perry's Produce and Property Auction Rooms. He spotted Sarah Mullins, who had a poultry farm on the edge of town.

"Good afternoon Sarah. Thinking of buying a real farm," Matt grinned.

"Only if you bankroll me, you clown," laughed Sarah, a quite wealthy woman who dressed in old smocks and looked as though she hadn't got two coins to rub together.

"What lot is this?

"The old cheese factory. It didn't attract a single bid when it was offered three months ago and now the lawyer for the Percy Smith estate is trying again."

This time the auctioneer dropped his call for an opening bid so low that he attracted two bidders, but eventually one pulled out and the other could not be coaxed to offer more. So once again the building was passed in. There was a brief discussion between the auctioneer and the farmer who'd made the closing bid but he shook his head and walked away looking relieved.

"Excuse me Sarah," said Matt. He strolled over to where the stooped, white-haired lawyer was talking to auction house owner and real estate agent Alf Perry. On the spur of the moment Matt had decided to try to buy the aged building. It was too large for most people wanting premises for a business and would cost quite a lot of money to bring it up to the Council's current building standards; but he recognised its potential.

"Afternoon Alf, Mr Cooper. Alf, can you disclose what the reserve on the factory was?"

Alf Perry looked at Lester Cooper. The solicitor nodded his approval. "£35,000."

"Good lord!" exclaimed Matt. "Is there a box of gold stashed inside it for the lucky buyer?" He turned and began to walk away, very slowly.

"Hold on a tick Mr Curtis. Do you have a proposition for me?"

Matt wheeled and faced Lester Cooper. "The structure really needs demolishing, but as it sits backing the wharf it will become quite desirable in time. I could go up to £20,000."

"Thirty and it's yours."

"Twenty-two with £5000 down and the remainder in twelve months', interest-free."

"Good heavens Mr Curtis. Do you think the beneficiaries are a charitable organisation," sniffed Lester.

Alf Perry whispered something to Lester.

"Good day gentlemen," said Matt, striding back to where Sarah Mullins was talking to another woman he recognised as Ida Butler. He talked to them, his back to the two men he'd just left.

Sarah was both nosey and smart. She realised that Matt had not been talking to Alf Perry and Lester Cooper about the weather and noticed that they were talking, both looking at Matt's back. "So you're after the old cheese factory," she said. 

Before Matt could reply she informed, "Perry is speaking strongly, I think Mr Cooper is folding... yes, he's shrugged and is walking away. And here comes Alf Perry, all smiles and has his clipboard out in front of him. It's safe to look now."

Matt looked at her, grinning. "May I buy you late lunch, Sarah and you too Mrs Butler? If Sarah's right, it's my lucky day."

Thirty minutes later although the café kitchen staff had closed, Vikki was preparing a meal for Matt and his two ladies. 

"It's very nice of you to go to all this fuss Vikki. We were terribly late, sandwiches would have been quite acceptable," said old Mrs Butler, who was Sarah's aunt.

"Oh don't you fret Mrs Butler. I do all sorts of things for Matt," replied Vikki, looking at Matt wickedly. 

Sarah caught the look and sighed as if thinking why younger women had all the luck.

Driving home late that afternoon, Matt realised that he was in need of an early spring flush to fatten stock that he'd could quit before the dry weather to reduce his bank overdraft. The deposit he paid at the auction rooms had increased his overdraft by $5000 and his bank manager had warned him a week ago that he was at the absolute limit.

Arriving home whistling, he was asked by Courtney, "Who fed you canary seed?"

"Bought the old cheese factory after it failed to sell at auction today," he announced.

Placing her glass of wine down, Courtney counted three. She had almost shouted what that old dump, what on earth did you buy that? You'll lose money on it. Instead, because Matt rarely discussed business with her, she asked, "I guess you have plans for it?"

"It's the location, the location dear," interjected Patricia.

"That's right mother, one of the best locations in town," replied Matt.

"You're doing very well for a young man still only in his mid twenties Matt Curtis. Your father would have been proud of you," murmured Patricia, as if almost speaking to herself.

Courtney was cheered by that comment.

* * * 

A few days before Patricia's election unopposed as president of the region's Women's Division of Federated Farmers, Courtney took her to the larger town of Blenheim to buy two dresses. 

One purchase would be a gift from Matt to wear at the meeting where she would be inducted as the new president and Courtney was giving her the other to wear that same evening at a soiree to be held in her honour at Aberdeen. 

When preparing the invitations for printing, Courtney decided to broach a possibly very delicate subject. "You know Matt, this name of our home of Aberdeen. It's a bit odd in this day and age. Should we be thinking about changing it?"

"I don't really mind it, though if you do want to change it you'll have to get by mother. But please wait until I'm well away from here before you engage with her," he grinned. "I don't think you've ever seen Patricia when the balloon goes up."

"You mean she can get aggressive? But she's always been ever so sweet... always."

"I'm warning you, Courtney. Some sweet old ladies can hide very large fangs."

When Madam President came out on to the lawn just before 5:00 ready to join Matt and Courtney to welcome arriving guests, Matt let out a piercing wolf whistle, sending their neighbour's dogs off into a barking frenzy.

"You look absolutely gorgeous Patricia. Rather queenly in fact," enthused her daughter.

"Thank you, Courtney and Matt, thank you for your display of enthusiasm but there is no need to act like a street larrikin." 

She was wearing a full-length deep purple brocade gown with a stole of the same material, matching black shoes and evening bag and her silvery hair was combed into a French roll. Above the wide scalloped neckline she wore a substantial diamond necklace and matching drop earrings.

Courtney had seen the necklace for the first time when helping Patricia with her hair, calling the necklace a wonderful treasure. 

"I thought you'd like it, it was mother's."

"I can't wait to see you come out wearing it," Courtney cried. She made no further comment, knowing that Patricia scarcely ever mentioned her mother or father. 

Matt had told her not long after they met that Patricia's mother died when giving birth to her. The only other child, her brother Tim, had died in a racing car accident in Argentina when he was twenty-two. It was a subject best left buried. 

Forty people attended the celebratory soiree including all of the WDFF committee and their partners. The remainder were mostly Patricia's old friends, some of whom were quite old.

A marquee had been erected on the lawn but guests preferred to stay out in the open as it was a very muggy evening. Courtney found herself talking to a lively lady who informed her that she'd gone to school with Patricia in Christchurch. Taking the plunge, Courtney asked Helen what Patricia had been like as a girl.

"Rather unhappy I'm afraid. She and her brother lived with her aunt and husband and their five children, all boys who teased her, hurt her or ignored her. But she survived and she toughened up. In fact, at high school she was one of the fastest runners and the most aggressive hockey player on the field. She soon got the name 'Tom Boy'.

"Where was her father?"

He was heart-broken after he wife's death and a few months later he was found hanging in the kitchen. Mrs Braithwaite-Green had meant everything to him. It was so tragic.

Courtney was awestruck. 

"Do you mean Sylvia Braithwaite-Green, THE Sylvia Braithwaite-Green?"

"If you mean the English artist yes."

"Good heavens. Do you know where her paintings are now?"

"Probably scattered around in the UK but the ones she did in New Zealand are in galleries and private collections in Canterbury and Otago. Only one of her paintings ended up in Patricia's hands, but she didn't really want it so one day she was offered a direct swap and accepted."

"What painting did she receive?"

"Goodness, don't you know? It's that Goldie inside, you must see it several times a day. Goldie paintings are regarded as art treasures these days and you only have to look at the expressions of the face and detailing to know why."

"Oh what a wonderful story... how romantic."

"I don't think it was for Patricia or her mother," sniffed Courtney's informant.

Late that night Courtney asked Matt to tell her about the Goldie painting in the hallway.

"It's something that mum picked up along the way, but neither she nor I like it all that much. We were rather amused when you first arrived and made such a fuss about seeing it. I would have thought you would have focused on the Gully landscape out in the garage loft."

"What? An original Gully Matt? I must see it. Oh my, a Gully and a Goldie originals!"

"So?"

"Aaarrrgh. Go to sleep, Matt!"

* * *

There was acute grief in the household one morning when baby Stephanie was found not breathing, no medical explanation being offered apart from "It's just one of those explicable things." It was a very sad funeral, a huge turnout. Matt took a week to recover; Courtney's grief forced Patricia to emerge strong and resume running the household.

Courtney, eyes sunken from hours sitting up watching over her son sleeping soundly in his cot. These vigils caused her to lose weight and her humour and gaiety left her. Doctor Mackenzie confessed he could do nothing for her, it was just part of the grieving process but Matt, having dealt with horses with ailing foals, came up with the answer. He shifted Reece's cot right up against Courtney's side of the bed, rigging up a soft night-light. Within a month Courtney's confidence had returned and it was she who asked Matt to shift the cot back into the nursery. It years to come she'd conclude, though never to admit it until the author commissioned to write the family history asked the question. He was told yes the wrong baby died. 

* * * 

Five years later, shortly after 8:30 one morning Matt, Courtney and Reece emerged from the school office where enrolment had taken place. They watched Reece step on to the playground.

"Good luck and have a lovely day," called Courtney proudly.

Pride would not describe what Matt was feeling. He watched the slim figure of his under-height son tentatively stepping away from them. How can a Curtis be so skinny, so short? Matt wondered.

A girl even shorter than Reece came up to him. She said something.

"How lovely, he's made a friend already, and typically for a Curtis, it's a girl," Courtney joked.

The sound of crying reached them before Reece did. "She said I smell," he sobbed, clasping Courtney around her legs. She looked at Matt helplessly and he simply shrugged.

"Never take crap from anyone," was Matt's advice. "Did you tell her to go to hell?"

"M-a-a-tt," wailed Courtney.

The five year old's first day at school was not the beautiful event both parents had imagined. At lunchtime Courtney phoned the school to see how her son was getting on. She could hear a small conference going on in the background. Then the school secretary returned to the phone.

"He's fine now, I'm told."

"Oh what's happened to him?"

"A bigger boy in his class took a dislike to him and whacked him across the head."

"And hopefully Reece offered no retaliation?"

There was another short conference in the background.

"No, he didn't hit back."

"Thank you. I'll be there at 2:30 to pick Reece up as arranged."

Rolling her eyes when putting down the phone, Courtney though that she mustn't tell Matt what happened and she would ask Reece not to mention the incident. If Matt learned about Reece's failure to hit back with interest he'd be hauled off to take boxing lessons.

On Friday both parents arrived at the school to pick up Reece. 

The infant mistress was there to meet them as well as other parents of new entrants

"Reece is doing well," the teacher smiled, brushing back her fringe loosened by the dry wind off the hills. "Look, there he is with his new friends."

The parents were pleased. 'New friends' rang in their ears like bells ringing good tidings. Among a small group of six was Reece. Courtney was pleased. They all looked clean and bright and were playing well together.

"Oh, Matt," she said. "Look at them. It's so beautiful."

Matt was already looking and thinking, well that's a start; he's on his way. However, he'd noticed all of the 'friends' were what he would term runts. The better developed new entrants were either on the climbing frames showing off or were chasing their mates in an aggressive game of tag, screaming happily. 

As they got in their vehicle, they heard one of the bigger boys say with envy, "That's Reece in that Land Rover." 

Matt felt good watching Reece flush with pride.

When Reece was six and a half his parents took him to the Miranda Pony Club's open day to introduce him to pony riding. Unfortunately, he howled and backed away, not wanting anything to do with the animal, a Shetland pony. 

Courtney hurried the sobbing youngster back to the safety of their Land Rover. Matt stood unmoving, his face darkened. 

"I've fathered a coward," she heard her husband mutter and something told her that thought would remain with Matt for the rest of his life.

However, a couple of weeks later Reece produced a glimmer of hope within his father. They had been playing cricket on the lawn with a tennis ball. Matt was bowling with a gentle under-arm. After a while it occurred to Matt that his son had hit every ball back to him. When they had last played? Probably three months ago. On that occasion Reece had produced the usual result, hitting or at least snicking no more than one out of three of balls bowled.

"Should I bowl some faster ones?"

Reece replied yes, without any hint of nervousness. The ball arrived at him faster and he returned them back to the bowler unhurriedly and with confidence. Matt bowled mixed-paced deliveries, with a similar result, although one ball did get through to dislodge the bails.

"No stay there. I don't want to bat just yet," called Matt. He wanted to try something else. The bowling was done from a single stump. "Reece do you think you can hit the ball back to me if I change my position a bit?"

"I think so. Most of the balls seem to be coming to me so slowly."

That comment shook Matt. The child's timing was better and it appeared from his last comment that he was seeing the ball coming on to the bat a lot earlier than in the past despite being bowled some reasonably fast deliveries.

Matt bowled and jumped a couple of paces to the right of the bowling stump. The ball came off the bat straight to his legs. So bowling the next delivery Matt darted out to the left of the stump, and Reece hit straight back to him. A variation was called for. Matt bowled a faster ball but remained at the stump. The ball was hit back firmly and with one bounce landed into his hands exactly over the stump.

"Good, very good, Reece. I think you have really come on since we last played. How is that?"

"Dunno dad. Except at most playtimes at school we play softball (a form of baseball played with a softer ball)."

Reece wanted a turn at bowling and performed without any noticeable difference from when last they'd played together.

"Hit one over the house dad."

Matt obliged and when Reece trotted off to look for the ball, Matt pulled up the stumps and put the gear away. Walking inside and passing Courtney in the kitchen Matt gave her a playful smack on the rump.

"My word, was that you whistling?" she asked. "What's brought all this on?"

"I think Reece's go it."

"Got what."

"The eye of a batsman."

"Oh that's nice," offered Courtney. She hadn't a clue what Matt was on about.

"I'll run the bath for Reece tonight if you wish."

Had Matt spent too much time out in the sun? Courtney couldn't remember the time when he'd offered to do that. "Yes do that; I'm grateful."

Next day father purchased a new bat to go into the Christmas stocking for his little cricketer. 

While there were promising signs of Reece developing, another member of the family was beginning to shine. Patricia and Courtney were sitting in the garden one morning having coffee. She said to her daughter, "I must say, my dear, you are now producing some beautiful paintings of flowers in our garden. Would you mind if I took some of them to the WDFF meeting tomorrow. It is our Arts Day."

"Yes, if you wish; I hope they will come up to the division's standard."

"Of course they will. Nothing there will touch them. If I'm right about that, what if members want some of them?"

"They can have them, I have boxes of them, though I must say I recently had the feeling that I had emerged from my apprenticeship."

The following afternoon Patricia arrived home and waited impatiently for Courtney to return home with Reece who had swimming coaching after school. She jumped up as she heard the car approaching.

"Great news, great news," called Patricia, so excited that she ignored Reece's greeting. 

"They simply loved your paintings. And they all went in a flash as soon as I announced they were for sale."

"For sale?" Courtney queried.

"Look!" shouted Patricia.

Courtney and Reece saw a small wad of banknotes in Patricia's hand.





Doomed Dynasty Pt. 04



"There's more to come, as not all of the buyers had enough money on them. I took sixteen unframed paintings and one framed painting and all sold, the sixteen for £10 each and the larger framed picture fetched 20 guineas. The girls just clamoured for them. I bet I could have doubled the price and sold them all."

"I don't know what to say, except thank you. I am very flattered."

"Flattered be damned," Patricia exploded, quite forgetting her commitment to avoid using bad language. "You said yourself this morning that you felt that your apprenticeship is over. It's time for you to start painting commercially my darling."

When Matt arrived home he was happy, very happy for Courtney. He didn't say it but was amazed that women would queue up to pay £10 for a painting of a single flower head.

"Well," said Courtney. "I'm sick of doing flowers. What should I paint next?"

Before either Patricia or Matt could come up with a suggestion or two, Reece pointed to the sitting room window and said, "Paint that!" They all looked through the window to the glorious beach and ocean view. 

At 9:00 the next day, after taking Reece to school, Courtney began a trial sketch of the view through the closed window. A few days later she was in the bank and the manager took her aside "For a quiet word." 

Courtney thought he would be trying to get her to persuade Matt to switch banks as she'd done. She preferred the much nicer interior of her new bank. But no, the manager had seen the painting by Courtney that his wife bought home a few days ago.

"It's very good, in fact very, very good, Mrs Curtis. "Now, see that huge wall behind the tellers? I'd like you to sketch something for me that could become a painting to hang on that wall. Whether or not I find the sketch acceptable I'll pay you £10."

"I don't do large paintings, only little ones."

"Look Mrs Curtis could you paint something the size of a postage stamp?"

Courtney nodded.

"Could you paint something the size of a whole envelop?"

"Yes of course."

"Well, then, what's stopping you painting something ten times or fifty times the size of an envelope?"

"Well, Mr Hampton, technically..."

"Oh, let's not get too involved in details Mrs Curtis. May I suggest that we start with a sketch, say done on a sheet of foolscap. Would do you have any difficulty with that?"

"No. I already have something underway. I could bring it to you in the morning."

"Excellent, shall we say 9:45 in my office for coffee?"

That evening Courtney sized up her best sketch on to a sheet of foolscap, titling it 'At Peace'.

Next morning Courtney had coffee with Archie Hampton. He kept looking at the manila folder she had placed on the desk in front of her. When the coffee tray had been taken away she pushed the folio over to him.

Courtney studied Archie's reaction. He touched his horn-rimmed glasses twice, rubbed a finger down the side of his Roman nose and drummed the fingers of his left-hand on the desk. She was confident that he liked what he saw, but why was he now pursing his lips?

Archie closed the folder, and pushed the folder back to Courtney. He cleared his throat and said, "Excellent, Mrs Curtis." Drumming the fingers of both hands on his sturdy and very scarred oak desk Arch looked at her and inquired, "Could you do this as a water colour, when framed, measuring roughly sixty inches wide and say forty inches in depth?"

Holding her breath Courtney nodded.

"I'm willing to back my judgement about you. I will pay you £250 for your painting. You may take as long as you wish to complete it, but not too long I would hope."

Courtney almost fell out of her chair. Her tongue seemed to swell, so she held out her hand and the bank manager shook it. "It's a deal," she gasped.

It was Matt's turn to gasp when told that evening of her commission.

Five weeks later the painting was hanging in the bank chambers. A photographer and reporter Ali Packard from The Bugle rushed over to confirm what people were talking about. They found a slightly stylised view of part of Main Beach, muted blues, greens and browns with smatterings of white providing an arresting effect.

"Gawd, it looks good. Pity we can't print in colour," said the photographer, taking a shot of the painting that would appear right across page two of the next day's edition. Bank manager Archie Hampton's beaming face appeared in the centre foreground of the photo.

For the next couple of days Archie himself stood at the entrance to the bank, handing out account application forms to people coming to see the painting. Representatives from two rival banks sheepishly accepted the application forms, knowing that the manager had recognised the enemy.

"Passed your bank today," said Matt, at the dinner table. "So many people there I though the bank must have been robbed; took a look for myself. Your painting sure looks great hanging up there and you should have heard the compliments people are making about it. Bet most of them know nothing about art."

"And that would include you my son," sniffed Patricia. "You're now only taking an interest in her work because she's famous."

"Steady on Patricia, "Courtney smiled. "One commercial painting doesn't make me a success story."

"You will be famous, mark my words," replied Patricia.

Courtney went off to answer the phone. She returned, looking very happy. 

"The town clerk wants me to call in tomorrow to take me to lunch. He wants to talk to me about doing a painting of the exterior of the Council Chambers and Town Hall in what he calls my unique style."

"Wonderful," enthused Patricia. 

"Council's money is good, take it," Matt said. "Pity they are not as enthusiastic about spending it on getting rid of potholes." 

CHAPTER 10

In the winter of 1967 Patricia was laid low by influenza. An associated chest infection had weakened her and so she was on medical orders to stay in bed for at least two weeks, possibly longer.

Courtney was constantly at her bedside, with her patient not at all happy about that. "You've got your commissions to work on. Just leave me Courtney. I'll be quite all right left alone. It's not only the Curtis men who are tough characters."

Falling behind with her orders for paintings, Courtney discussed her dilemma with Matt. He listened but offered no solution, Courtney decided to apply a little pressure.

"Can you help out by staying with Patricia three afternoons a week?" 

One can always rely on Matt to be blunt. "No, I can't; up to my neck in work."

The disappointment on his wife's face produced an immediate re-think.

"Why don't you get a temp in?"

Courtney looked apprehensive, although pleased that Matt was at least making an effort. She had no idea about how to locate and appraise anyone interested in coming in to help out on a temporary basis. It was the sort of thing Patricia would know about, and would do well at as she was a splendid example of the archetype countrywoman but Patricia was in not state to be saddled with this problem.

"I'm not quite sure of how to go about recruiting temporary help," Courtney confessed.

Glancing at his wife, wondering why she had intelligence to burn yet often seemed to struggle with mundane things, Matt threw her a lifeline. "If you don't know then ask somebody who does. I would go over to the Thompson's if I were you and ask Bette. The hospital is always using temporary staff at peak times and she's probably involved in that sort of thing. If she isn't, she'll know who is."

"Oh Matt, thank you. That's brilliant."

Courtney kissed him sweetly on the top of his head and went to the kitchen to make him coffee. She knew that Bette was on night shift at the hospital that week, so would catch her before she left for work.

A few days later the problem was solved. 

"A young woman named Sophia Lorenzo is coming to do some light house work for us," Courtney told her mother. "Bette from next door knows her and can vouch for her."

"You mean we're hiring someone to sit with me when you and Matt are away?" asked Patricia, incredulously.

"Something like that," smiled Courtney. "Now don't you fuss. If it works out we should try to keep her on. I'm getting very busy and you are too with the presidency of the WDFF. She has a car and told me when I was talking to her on the phone that she would love to take Reece to school and to collect him."

"Lorenzo sounds very foreign," Patricia frowned.

"She didn't sound foreign on the phone."

The next day the Curtis home had a new helping hand. Sophia was short, very plump and filled the house with her laughter. After she'd been introduced to Patricia and left the bedroom after an exchange of pleasantries, Patricia whispered to Courtney, "I think she's gorgeous."

After Matt asked Courtney, "Did you need to hire such a fat woman?" and was smacked on the hand for being so rude he, too, was quickly won over. Ten minutes later, in fact. He'd been thinking of going into the kitchen to get coffee when Sophia arrived at his side with coffee.

"Here you are handsome. Just call me any time you want a drink."

Matt thought he should suggest to Courtney and mother they keep Sophia on. Handsome? Did she really think he was handsome?

Acceptance was not straightforward for young Reece. When told the next morning that Sophia would be taking him to school in her little red car he objected.

"She can't"

"Why can't she?" asked Courtney.

"Because."

Mother and son had reached a familiar impasse but Patricia had no problem dealing with it.

Adopting her deepest voice she commanded: "Reece Collier Curtis, go and get into Sophia's car, but first kiss your mother and me goodbye!"

He went out like a lamb, but moved into the back seat and sat sulking.

Sophia entered the car and without looking at her passenger and said, "Oh, today we have a dear wee baby in the back seat. I was expecting to have a big schoolboy sitting beside me."

She sat there, looking straight ahead. The back door opened, and slammed shut. The passenger door beside her opened, and slammed shut, with a big schoolboy sitting beside her.

The driver shrieked with laughter when Reece sullenly commented: "I think I know why you don't have any children."

On the way to school Sophia taught Reece the first two verses of 'Waltzing Matilda'. The tune fascinated the young boy and he learned the rough meaning of some new words including billabong, Coolibah tree and billy.

"How come you sing that song? Mum says you're from Italy."

Sophia laughed. "No, I think you may have misunderstood her. My parents were from Italy but have lived much of their live in Australia. I have lived all of my life in Australia but we love things Italian. Do you understand?"

Reece shrugged. "I think you are funny, and very happy."

"Why thank you sir. And now may I ask why you did not want me to take you to school?"

Silent for a moment, Reece finally said: "Because my friends will think that I have a new mother."

Concealing her mirth, Sophia patted him on the knee and said, "Just tell them that I'm your mistress." At that she clamped a hand over her mouth. "Whoops. You didn't hear that, did you Reece?"

Reece dutifully shook his head.

"Look, just tell them that I'm your personal maid. It means I have been hired to feed you, do your washing and clean up after you. Do you understand that?"

Reece nodded, and said, "My maid. I like the sound of that."

Later that day Courtney, Patricia and Reece were at the table looking at Reece's handbook he'd bought home from school explaining metrics; New Zealand was to switch to decimal currency in early July.

"This is written for children. I can understand it so easily," said Patricia, who'd lived a lifetime using Imperial measurements and currency based on the English Imperial system. New Zealand had been established as a colony by the British.

Courtney had little trouble adjusting, having lived in numerous countries in her younger day with their different currencies.

Matt came into the room and asked what they were doing. "Hmmm," he said. "I bet the country will switch back to pounds shillings and pence before the end of the year because people won't be able to cope." 

Of course, time would prove him wrong on that prediction because the younger generations would know nothing but metric measures and metric currency.

Next morning when Reece was ready to leave for school, Courtney asked would he like her to take him. 

"Nah, I'm waltzing to school with Sophia," he said, leaving his mother perplexed. Understanding came when the two got into the red Fiat and commenced singing 'Waltzing Matilda'.

A bonding was underway between a boy soprano and an ebullient contralto, though neither would make it to the stage.

* * * *

A wave of new prosperity was being enjoyed throughout most of the country, and even the pessimists were edging away from their earlier doomsday predictions that "It cannot last." 

Even in Miranda's commercial centre there were signs of increased investment, with three shops being demolished and replaced by architecturally designed structures and other premises were receiving face-lifts and interior improvements.

Matt had gone into the Riverside Café for a cup of coffee, knowing that Vikki had taken the afternoon off and had gone off on a picnic with two of her girl friends. He was seated alone when someone called, "Hullo, Matt. Do you wish to be left alone or may I join you?" 

Looking up Matt saw it was Archie Hampton, manager of the bank Courtney now used.

"Take a seat Archie, no charge."

The banker smiled. 

The two had met in The Settler's Inn singles snooker final the previous year. Archie had won, quite comfortably in fact, to take the £50 prize. However, by the night's end most of that had gone in drinks and he and Matt had virtually been 'last men standing.'

"Haven't seen you at a snooker table since last year," Archie said.

"Nope, got such a thrashing last year that I've taken up croquet."

"Is that so? From what I hear you have been too busy for play, that you're building up quite a nice business empire."

"Is that so? From what I've heard your bank was on its last legs until my lady came along in put one of her paintings on the wall to pull in new customers for you."

"No wonder the ladies like you, Matt. You've got such a silver tongue. But seeing you here has given me an idea. How would you like a free trip to Wellington with a hotel room for three nights thrown in?"

"And the catch is?"

"Your only commitment will be to declare in your written reply to the invitation I will send you that you are a prospective new investment client of our bank. That's all, and I place emphasis on the word 'prospective'. You walk away, we still pay for your trip and with no hard feelings."

"Is your bank overloaded with money?"

"Well, we've got a bit awaiting new clients. You see our new managing director at head office who comes from Orange County, California has new ideas in marketing, one of which is we go out looking for clients. Over in America they target prospective clients who appear to be climbing the money list."

"Well, bugger me. At least one bank is emerging into the real world. But why the invite to Wellington?"

"We're staging an intensive two-day investment symposium, invitation only and definitely no Press. It's really big time, Matt. We're bringing in three specialists from overseas who will present papers, and some of our international investors have also accepted the opportunity to come to rub shoulders with their New Zealand counterparts. That's why we're not including spouses; it will be lectures and forums followed by dining and then continuing social interaction until you drop. What do you say?"

"When is it?"

"Three weeks from next Tuesday the twenty-seventh."

"Hmmm."

"You've got nothing to loose, plenty to gain. It may even lead you to becoming a millionaire but don't quote me on that."

Near the end of that month Archie drove Matt and Ian Owens, the major shareholder of the huge farming enterprise High Country Pastoral Holdings, to the Blenheim airport for the short flight to the capital to attend that seminar. Also boarding and heading for the symposium were Archie's principal from the bank at the Blenheim along with a property developer also from Nelson and an American agronomist doing research for the New Zealand Government throughout the top end of the South Island.

Over drinks that evening Matt told the agronomist that when on the Mariposa a few years ago he'd met a red-haired American crop researcher who was going to Australia, an astute poker player.

"Remember his name by any chance?" asked Roy Flynn.

"Yeah Lee, um, Lee Lewis."

"Well, fancy that. You'll see him in the morning. He's arriving late tonight and will be one of the presenters. He goes round the world advising Governments on crop management problems and introduction of new species. He's a really big shot these days. So he also plays poker? Never knew that."

At dinner the symposium director handed out a huge bundle of papers to attendees, asking them to read as much as they could before morning. Matt didn't think he needed to read anything, preferring to chat in the bar after dinner. But by 10:00 there was no one left in the bar so he wandered off to read something from the pile of magazines on the coffee table in his room. Clad only in his underpants, Matt was reading on top the bed when there was a tap on the door. 

That will be the director, checking up to see if we're reading our stuff, thought Matt. Well, he can go and get stuffed. Striding to the door Matt flung it open. His eyes widened. Standing in front of him was an attractive woman, with long blonde hair and wearing a very tight-fitting blue cocktail dress.

"Hullo, stranger; I thought you might like to take me out for a drink, but I can see that your choice is bed. I guess I'd better come in."

She brushed past Matt, and sniffed just under his chin. "Nice after-shave."

Matt was at sixes and sevens and couldn't even remember if he'd put on after-shave that day. He looked to where his trousers were, quite some distance away. Perhaps he should act as if he were fully dressed.

So he shut the door and said, "Elizabeth; nice to see you."

"And nice to see so much of you darling."

"Er, excuse the state of my undress. I'll put my clothes back on."

"Oh, I wouldn't race to do that Matt. I'll call for some drinks and snacks. What's the room number?"

Matt was uneasy having Elizabeth, Courtney's aunt, in his hotel room with him half undressed. He'd better get the woman out of his room.

Elizabeth seemed to read his mind. 

"I was at Eva's yesterday and she mentioned that you would be staying at this hotel for a few nights. I didn't show any interest and I haven't spoken to Courtney lately. How is she?"

"She fine," mumbled Matt, thinking that she was probably feeling a lot better than he was right now. It felt as if the room was heating up. 

There was a knock at the door and Elizabeth responded, returning with a bottle of brandy, ice and a variety of mixes. She put them down on the coffee table and turned to Matt.

"Oh, you poor boy. You're perspiring." She began removing her clothing. "It's hot, let's take a shower."

Matt stared as Elizabeth removed her top and then pulled away her bra to free her breasts. They were bigger than he'd expected and he rather liked heavy hangers. He licked his lips and adjusted his rising erection, noticing Elizabeth's sly smile of approval. Well if she wanted it up her, she could have it.

Elizabeth knelt in front of Matt on his chair and unzipped him and pulled it out gently and then began to lick it. He was astonished. It had taken him more than six months to get Courtney to get her to suck his dick and she'd only do it after having had a few drinks. Although Vikki took him into her mouth she only gobbled the head of his dick.




Doomed Dynasty Pt. 04



Elizabeth looked up at him and said, "Don't worry if you ejaculate into my mouth. I swallow semen."

Matt's mind reeled. Even Vikki, who considered herself very forward, was fearful of him blowing into her mouth. 

Looking up at him, her eyes appearing huge, Elizabeth took him into her mouth and began mouth-fucking him.

Ooooh it was magnificent. Besides sucking she was also playing over him with her tongue and then she performed the impossible, or so Matt thought. She took the entire length of his cock into her mouth. Looking down he saw her lips were finally at rest against his groin and balls. Holy smoke.

She squeezed his balls and as she was pulling off him she grated her teeth over his dick until they hit his cockhead.

Matt fired.

She gurgled.

He fired twice more and she came up grinning and panting. "Christ Matt, are you trying to drown me?"

He was either proud or horrified; he didn't know which and said stupidly he had more to come and hoped she was tight."

He was astounded when she smiled sweetly and said, "If you want it tight give it to me up my ass."

God, who did she think he was? A poofter? 

* * *

The symposium was very informative, but much of the material and discussion was of little relevance to Matt. It was Lee Lewis who made the biggest impact on Matt, particularly with two of his comments.

The first was, "The biggest gains, and the biggest risks, in making money out of horticulture is getting a jump on the pack by learning what the next big thing is and this also applies to agriculture." 

But the most thought-promoting comment came later, "It doesn't matter if you're just a little guy or leader of a team from a giant multinational corporation. It's the search and find process to secure suitable land which ultimately will be an economic bonanza in specialised food production. The bullion rolls in to those who hold the best, more desired, pockets of land when the equivalent of ye olde gold rush begins. Remember that!"

Who could forget such a fantastic piece of advice? But Matt was taking no chances. He was scribbling down those two little gems to tuck safely away in his wallet.

At lunch Matt strolled up to the VIP table and stopped in front Lee who looked up at him. Lee's red hair had faded, but not his freckles, and he'd packed on the weight.

"Mariposa some years back. We played poker."

"Hi buddy. Forget your name, but not your face."

Matt introduced himself and Lee remembered: "You were pulling the money off us until you lost concentration by going after the young chick, you cradle snatcher. How are you?"

"Great but look, can we get together sometime this evening?."

"Let's do that. Eight thirty, suite 13A. I was going out to dinner with the panel but that's now cancelled. Say Matt, do you know any bunnies we could take out on the town?"

Matt gave him the thumbs up sign, and walking off thought that he's phone Elizabeth to plan a suitable evening out for them, and ask her to bring a nice lady for a lovely American gentleman who looked ready to party.

Returning home, Matt sat in the 12-seater aircraft next to a shabbily dressed man who spent the entire flight with his thin and very elongated face almost buried in his Bible, muttering passages from time to time. 

That was fine, as it gave Matt the opportunity to review the past few days. It was great that Lee would be coming over to spend all day Sunday with him. He thought about their great night out and how strange it was that one could let loose with strangers far more easily than with one's spouse and friends.

Lee's blind date turned out to be a sensation! Barely 5ft 2in, a peroxide blonde with a pert mouth and makeup around her eyes making he look at if she'd walked into a door. Her unrestrained upper body jiggled under her top and her very short skirt revealed a pair of legs that Elizabeth had told him ought to be modelling stockings and pantyhose in magazines.

Di didn't drink and didn't smoke but according to Elizabeth, she did everything else. The energetic blonde took Lee on to the dance floor when a long rock 'n' roll medley began; when it ended she led her near-exhausted partner back to the table. 

There was something else about Di that really rocked Lee. He learned from Elizabeth that she was Dr Dianne Lusk, with a PhD in geography from a university in Texas.

What was it, Matt thought that caused the electricity firing between two people to weaken before very long? He though of Courtney and he being at a club with two friends; they would chat for time as a group; then pauses in the conversation would occur. When that happened the conversations would split, with the woman talking about womanly things and the men talking about well, nothing of importance mostly. Was it that he was boring and mixed with boring people? 

Matt thought about Elizabeth at the club. He didn't particularly like her and wondered what she thought of him.

Courtney loved him, he knew that, and he'd adored being with her in their earlier days together and now he thought they fitted together like a glove. She had never really been passionate, always clinging to some reserve, but he had no problem with that.

But why was there no fire between them, even if she needed a couple of drinks before allowing herself to let herself go in public like rocking and rolling like crazy. Di had certainly not been restrained, acting as if there would be no tomorrow. She'd danced so hard that sweat had made the black makeup around her eyes run down her cheeks, making her look quite comical. She'd taken a quick look in a small mirror from her handbag and said, "I look like a vampire, but so what? I'll fix it up later. Come on, Lee. Let's dance."

But would a woman like that be a good mother, and a caring partner for an equally caring partner? Possibly not but then people can change. And what, change into a solid, unexciting housewife married to a solid, unexciting husband who sneaked looks at luscious femmes who looked as if they had men like him for breakfast? And why don't unexciting housewives look over the fence at times? Perhaps they do. Matt wondered if Courtney had ever thought about it, though he doubted that she'd played around. He'd kept her too satisfied for her to do that. Or did he?

Cripes, thought Matt, he was getting myself all tied up, better think of something more positive. He thought of the woman he didn't particular like, Elizabeth. 

Boy was she all over him at the club. At the table she'd touched his face, stroking it gently, nibbled his ear, blew into his ear. And when they were talking she'd slipped out of her shoe and gently rubbed her leg up his leg until she worked it right up and rested her heel on his old man. Incredibly, she sat there, innocent as you like, chatting and nodding and smiling as if she was on a church picnic; except when she parked her foot on his lap. He jumped when she reached there and looked at her. She gave him a huge wink. Cripes, that made him hornier than anything else she'd done to him.

She knew he didn't like doing rock 'n' roll, as he could be a bit clumsy at times in trying to do some of the moves. He'd told her that he felt as if he were a danger to other dancers, being a missile verging on flying out of control. She laughed, and didn't press him to rock. A slow dancing medley occurred from time to time and Elisabeth would lead him on to the dance floor. Holding him closer, much closer than when he danced with Courtney, she would grind her pelvis against him until he could feel the heat rising between him. Boy was that erotic. He'd seen it happening in films and had wondered how those guys hid their erections.

Another thought occurred to him. How was it that hot women seemed to go after married men and in Elizabeth's case even her close friend's husband? Surely there are enough unmarried and unattached guys about who were not getting enough action, or any action at all?

In fact, Elizabeth amazed him. She'd hunted him down like a dog and was ready to hump him without even asking him if it was okay by him and without inquiring whether he preferred foreplay. Perhaps that's why he didn't particularly like her. She had no real depth to her, nothing secretive or alluring. Bang, bang. Thank you Bill. Bang, bang. Thank you Stephen. Bang, bang oh, it's you again Bill. Sorry.

Yes indeed. And that's another thing. Why did she come expressly looking for him when she had the whole university, with hundreds of men, almost right beside her bed? Cripes, that's it. She's after the men of other women she knows to be in competition with those women like a mini-Olympics. She's the modern version of a gunfighter in the Old West, putting notches on his belt to register every score.

What number are you up to Elizabeth. Eighty? Eight hundred? Eight thousand? You are a busy, busy girl. Hope your parts all hold out. Hold it buddy. That can't be correct. I've blown my bang, bang theory. If I had been correct she would have declined to be with me on the second night, right?

The small aircraft was flying low, giving passengers a clear view of the sounds. Matt was idly looking at the lacework of bays and islands when he jerked up with a sudden thought. She'd gone out with him to see her next target for a one-night stand, lucky Lee, putting her into competition with Di!

Matt smiled as the plane came into land. On Sunday he would sound Lee out about Elizabeth. He would ask him outright, in fact, had she come to see him after their great night out at the restaurant and then the club. Perhaps he would even say that Elizabeth has predatory tendencies. Lee might be unable to resist commenting on that.

Driving to Miranda, Archie asked his guests if they had any more to say about the symposium.

"As I told you earlier, Archie, I found it very worthwhile and you can tell your masters that if you wish," responded Matt. "I have some good ideas running around in my head."

"Big ideas require big money."

"Yes are you offering?"

"Maybe. We're quite flush at present and so I have to shift some on."

"Can I join the queue?" asked Ian Owens. 

"Yes, as soon as you are banking with us. A big investor like you won't be required to queue."

"Sounds just like at the races. I get invited into the member's lounge every time I go, and I'm not even a member," laughed the gruff owner of 215,000 acres of rolling hill country and lessee of 173,000 acres of high country basically tussock land on which his company's Merino sheep thrived provided stocking rates were kept low.

"Bankers in this country are beginning to adopt that sort of approach to their business clients," said Archie. He spoke confidently as if feeling both men would soon be banking with Southern Cross.

Courtney flew out of the door to greet Matt, hugging him tightly. She was jumping around a bit, almost imparting the impression of a pelvic rub. Matt thought it was unwise to let his imagination run away. She hugged him again and whispered, "I've really missed you and can't wait till I get you to myself."

"I'm sending everyone off to town."

Courtney broke away and laughed, "A lovely thought, Matt. But let's go inside. We're all waiting to have dinner."

He was delighted to find how well Patricia looked, completely recovered from her prolonged bout of flu. "Where's my present?" she asked, mimicking what he used to ask her when he was a boy and she returned from a trip away from home. The teasing question did not catch out Matt as he had presents for her, Courtney and Reece in his suitcase.

"Oh, Matt I almost forget," said Courtney arriving in the dinning room carrying a tray of seafood entrees. "You friend Lee Levi..."

"Lewis," corrected Matt.

"Whatever," replied Courtney. "He phoned to ask if it would be acceptable if he brought a friend over with him on Sunday. He's seems very nice. Who is he, and why is he coming?"

"Oh, you have seen him before, the red-haired guy on the Mariposa in the group I used to hang out with. You told me he reminded you of that movie actor Van Johnson you had a crush on when you were young."

"Don't exaggerate Matt. I said I liked him!"

"But liked him enough to get that far-away look in your eyes when talking about his films with Esther Williams."

"I guess I really did like him. Anyway Lee from the boat, I remember him. He was a bit of a tease and quite a charmer."

"That's Lee. Hasn't changed expect that his hair's not so red and he's developed a gut. Did he say who he was bringing?"

"Yes Dr Lusk. Why does he need a doctor to travel with him? Does he have an illness?"

Matt nearly choked on a piece of scallop. He shook his head and Courtney diverted to coax Reece into eating his entrée.

Thinking that Courtney had probably pictured Dr Lusk as a middle-aged man carrying his medical bag and telling Lee that he needed more rest, Matt had decided to let Courtney be shocked at meeting the Bombshell face to face. He'd have his camera at the ready!

Patricia waited until her son had a mouthful of steak when she said, "Matt, Courtney and I think that we should offer Sophia a permanent live-in position. What is your opinion?"

"Dad," piped up Reece. "They're already asked her, and she said yes but only for a year."

The three adults looked at the youngster who was pushing aside his pet hate, green vegetables.

Matt was the first to speak. "And what else do you know about this?"

"Mum told her that you'll get Max the builder to make the area under our garage roof into a bedroom with its own bathroom."

Matt shot a look at Courtney, who was looking downwards, both hands supporting her head. His mother didn't look any more comfortable.

"What else Reece?"

"Sophia has found a boyfriend. It's Art!"

Looking at Reece, her mouth hanging open in surprise, Courtney said: "Reece Curtis, how could you say such a thing?"

"Because it's true. We sometimes go into town on the way home and stop at the landing. We sit under the trees and Art comes along carrying afternoon tea he gets from his mother's shop. He sits with us and they hold hands, talking so softly that I can't hear what they're saying."

"Do they wander off and leave you alone?" asked Courtney, looking worried.

"No."

Patricia said smugly, "So that's why Sophia asked me how to loose weight fast and why she's wearing more make-up. She's got a man to impress. Isn't it lovely?"

The other adults looked at each other. Matt offered that she couldn't go wrong by hitching up to Art. He then laughed. "I can picture them now, beanstalk Art and her. They'll look like Laurel and Hardy."

"Who are they?"

"They were comic film stars Reece. Your father's just been silly. But be a good boy and don't mention this to Sophia."

"Can I tell her that's dad knows about her and Art?"

"I don't think so, Reece. She'll tell us when she's ready. She may not even think we need to know."

When Reece left the table to go outside, Patricia said: "My, don't we have some interesting around the table conversations. Do you approve of our idea about Sophia?"

"You mean will I endorse your decision don't you?" Matt grumbled. "I guess we better work out how to convert the loft into living quarters."

That gave Courtney her cue.

"I've already done a sketch for Max, based on accurate measurements, and he said he'll try to phone you tonight with an estimate and said it won't cost you and arm and a leg."

"Thank you, Courtney," Matt sighed. "I can see that I am surplus to requirements around here."

Closing the door to his study, Matt made a phone call to the farm. "Hi, Art," he said. "I got back home this afternoon and found no Rover. What's the story?"

"Gosh sorry, Matt. I borrowed it last night to take somebody out. I didn't think you'd mind. I was ready to bring it back this morning when I got a call to take some cement out to the farm. Then when I got here Dick has some jobs for me to do and after that invited me to stay for dinner which we've just had. I'll be right over."

"Nah, leave it till the morning. Pick me up at 5:00. I want to see what your lazy buggers haven't been up to."

"Righ-te-oh."

"Oh, Art."

"Yes, Matt."

"You haven't been shagging sheilas in the Rover have you?"

"Matt! Sophia isn't that kind of ..." 

His voice trailed off.

Matt chuckled, "See you a sun up, you horny toad."

At the airport on Sunday Matt snapped the photo he wanted when Courtney met Dr Lusk. To say that surprise showed on his wife's face would be an under-statement. Di had bounced from the chartered light aircraft ahead of her red-headed escort. She was wearing a tight top with a deep vee, white with printed colourful squiggles printed at random. Her shorts were plain white, also tight, and very short. They had exposed buttons down the front, similar to a man's fly. Below the long expanse of uncovered but very shapely legs were gaudy red and white cowgirl boots. If that was American fashion it hadn't reached the shores of New Zealand until Di's arrival, Matt thought. She looked stunning,

Lee watched her tottered over to Courtney on those cute little boots.

"Hullo you must be Matt's wife," said Di, waving to Matt who was standing off to the right with his camera. She had to stand on tip-toe to kiss Courtney on the cheek.

"Matt could have told me that you were no fuddy-duddy doctor," laughed Courtney.

"That I ain't Mrs Curtis."

"Oh, please call me Courtney." She appeared to already know she was going to like this woman.

"Hi, there, I'm Lee."

Courtney put out her right hand but Lee ignored that. He kissed her and hugged her warmly. 

"Great to see you again lovely girl. We were so envious of Matt on the boat, each of the three of us wishing we'd got to you first. It didn't surprise me to learn that you guys got married. I'd never had let you get away either."

"Just ignore half of what he says Courtney. Americans have almost as much blarney as the Irish," quipped Di, snaking an arm around her man.

Matt trotted over and greeted the visitors warmly. My, thought Courtney, it looks like those two men have become real buddies. After lunch the men took off to the farm, as Lee wanted to "see your spread on the back of a horse."

"We call our place a farm, and the really big sheep properties behind it are called stations, don't ask me why."

Dick was waiting with Matt's new chestnut, continuing the name Fearless and it was worthy of the name. 

Saddled for Lee was a small black part-thoroughbred mare called Fleet Wing. Lee looked at his mount pensively, but when he found out the mare's name he asked Dick, "Does that name mean what I think it means?"

Dick nodded and Lee's face brightened.

The rode through the valley and Lee was full of questions, about the size of the valley, whether the river flowed all year and did it ice up. 

Matt had replied the valley was dusted by snow at times from late autumn through to early spring, with heavy falls at times, but the river never froze over. They turned their horses when they reached Matt's boundary line on the valley floor and climbed a short distance until coming to a very long gentle slope. 

"We call this the 17-acre paddock and make hay from it each summer. My father and his men and hired help worked over three years to remove the exposed stones from it."

Lee looked around, asking the direction of the prevailing winds over summer and autumn and what were the air and ground temperature ranges at those times. He then jumped down and looked closely at the ground, scuffing a small hole with the heel of his boot, exposing gravel.

"Only a skin of top soil and then soil and gravel mix I'm afraid," said Matt.

Lee got back into the saddle. He pointed to the gate at the top end of the paddock. "Give you a five second lead in a race to the gate, twenty bucks goes to the winner."




Doomed Dynasty Pt. 04



Matt nodded. "Be like taking candy from a kid. I should be giving you the head start."

"What on that donkey?" laughed Lee. "On the count of five, go."

On five, off went Matt, grass sods spurting from under the flying hooves of his horse. 

Lee counted to ten then dug in his heels and felt the power of Fleet Wing. "Damn, I've miscalculated," he puffed, as Matt neared the gate. But Fleet Wing responded to a couple of flicks of the rein ends to the neck and further accelerated. The mare slid to a stop inches from the gate, the winner by half a head.

"Shucks, you may be a rotten rider but you've got a gutsy horse there Matt. Thought I wasn't going to get you for a moment."

"Can't believe you'd give me a head start. Fortunately for you Fleet Wing is so good, better than I realized, actually."

"Cut the crap Matt. I'm a rancher's son and was riding horses before I could walk, probably as you were. Look at the difference in our weight. With me being shorter, leaner and more handsome than you I was bound to have a big advantage. I also happened to notice that Fleet Wing showed hints of good bloodlines."

"Well, congratulations. Around here we always let visitors win," Matt lied. "Collect your money from me when we get back home."

Riding back to the farmhouse Lee said: "Do you ever think of selling this land?"

"Why are you going to make me an offer to unsaddle me?"

"Be serious for a minute Matt. My suggestion is this. Whatever you do keep those acres on the flats until the boom comes for horticultural land and I can promise you it will comes within ten years, even less, and..."

"It's already started. There's quite a bit of activity to the north-west around the Blenheim. People are buying up land to plant grape vines, steadily pushing up prices."

"If it started, then watch it go. You and other landholders will be amazed if a land rush really gets underway," Lee said. "You get the occasional earthquakes in New Zealand, right?"

"Yep scares the crap out of tourists like you. Why do you ask?"

"The hay paddock looks to me like the remnants of the upheaval of an ancient glacial structure. I can't think of any other reason why that piece of relatively flat land should lie like that and be totally surrounded by quite rugged terrain."

"Don't bet on being right buddy," said Matt. "The valley floor is just below that ridge over there and that's probably the floor of your ancient glacier if there was such a thing."

"We're probably on the button about the valley being cut by a glacier Matt, and it is a fault line. But it would have been some thousands of years older than the one I'm suggesting has left an imprint through being tossed up on to your hillside by a massive earth movement."

"You're serious about this, aren't you?"

Lee touched the front of his borrowed Stetson with a finger, including his head a little. Matt interpreted that as a cowboy's salute.

"Jeeze," he said. "I'm not going to tell anyone about what you've just told me. If I quoted you I'd be locked away in a mental institution."

"Well, if they do lock you up, see if you can borrow books on geology to get yourself released," smiled Lee.

"Touché I think that's the right response. You've got me in pretty deep here. Shall we talk something that I know about? The science of barroom arm wrestling could be a good start?"

"As I was going to say when advising you to keep the river flats, I want you to get soil tests done on your hay field or paddock as you guys say. When you get the results send a copy to me, and I'll send you back a report from my guys. I've got a hunch about the look of that land and the way it lies. I think what you have there are seventeen acres that have the look of a potential gold mine either for intensive cropping or fruit growing or perhaps grapes. But this is only a hunch, right now. I need the results of soil testing and to have more information about annual weather patterns and water supply."

Matt had a useful thought. 

"My farm manager Dick comes up here almost every day and has done so for at least twelve years and I know he keeps quite a detailed farm diary. He's always been nervous about rainfall on the hay paddock because it can get pretty dry up here from late spring onwards. By autumn these hills are as dry as a bone."

"Excellent get Dick to write out full details of weather patterns that he's noted on the 17-acre block, including extremes in snowfalls, wind velocity and temperatures. Tell him why we want this information as that will motivate him to be thorough."

They rode on down, Matt looking back involuntary, knowing that the distant hayfield would be obscured by a ridge. He'd never thought of growing anything else on the big paddock other than hay. He wondered about buying more riverside land.

As they drove back to join the women, Lee casually remarked, "By the way, I told Di not to mention the name Elizabeth, or any hint of her. She understood the request."

"That was good thinking, Lee. I had a wild thought that after I left Wellington for home you may have had a nocturnal visit from that very woman."

"I did and we had a couple of drinks. I could tell she was after something more but I was exhausted, and was thinking that I ought to show some loyalty to Di."

Matt grinned. "Would loyalty have been on your mind had Di not have humped you dry?"

"My friend, I cannot comment on that concept in fear of incriminating myself."

Several hours later Courtney and Matt waved goodbye to their visitors whose charter aircraft took off right on schedule at 8:00 to take off before darkness as the local strip was not equipped for night flying.

"I really like Di, Matt but she was a little too much full on for your mother. Is Lee married?"

"Glad you enjoyed her company. As to your sneaky question, I cannot comment on that in fear of incriminating Lee."

"If my question was sneaky, then that's a slippery reply Matt. I was just testing. Of course he's married. I noticed as soon as we met this morning he was wearing a wedding ring. If that wasn't enough, Di told me he was married to a most difficult woman." 

"Oh," said Matt, staring straight ahead as he drove.

"Matt," asked Courtney, placing her head against his shoulder, "Am I difficult?"

Wily by nature and forced to be careful because of his adulterous activity, Matt answered easily, "You are far too lovely and sweet to be difficult, my true love."

"Now you're been a real smoothie. But I like it. Tell me more."

* * * 

Shortly before Patricia's birthday, she found Courtney in the glassed-in back porch that everyone now called Courtney's studio. Courtney was working on a painting of a girl on a horse riding at full speed into a ford across a river. It looked nearly finished. 

A photo of a woman on a big horse was clipped to the easel. Taking a closer look at the photo Patricia could see that the figure in the painting was not a self-portrait, in fact it looked very much like her but in Courtney's style there was not enough detail for her to be certain.

"That's lovely. Who are they?"

"They're impressions I see in my mind, though the horse is my beloved Boris. That's the only photo I have of us."

"And the rider?"

"Nobody really."

"Nobody?"

Courtney looked embarrassed. "Well actually it's you, at least my impression of you when you were a young girl."

Intrigued, Patricia stepped right up to take a closer look. It was flattering of Courtney to image she could have looked a thing of beauty like that in her late teens.

"I want that," said Patricia abruptly. "I'll pay two hundred dollars, it's really good."

Courtney looked startled. "I'm sorry, truly sorry but it's not for sale."

"Why not."

Courtney looked embarrassed, and said, "Because Reece asked me to paint you something for your birthday. This is it. He tipped his money box over and asked me how much was there. I counted almost $10. He said, "Take it mum, go and get started. I took $2 to allow him to feel that he'd paid for your painting himself. You weren't suppose to see it until Saturday."

"Oh you two darlings," Patricia gushed, moving forward to hug her. "I've got the best daughter and grandson that anyone could have. I won't tell him that I have seen it."

* * *

In the spring of 1971 Matt rode up alone to the hay paddocks where the owner of a 33,000-acre neighbouring sheep station, Sam Ranger, has arranged to meet him.

"I've got something on my mind and need to talk for you," said Sam with a distinctive gravely voice. 

Sam was some thirty years older than Matt and periodically blew his top over boundary fences, alleging that Curtis cattle were to blame for broken lengths of fencing.

"The posts have rotted, they need renewing," Matt would counter.

"Your cattle are the culprits, your responsibility."

"I don't want to row with you Sam. Should we call in an arbitrator?"

The idea of being asked to pay half the fees of some clown from the town to tell Sam what he already knew, that the posts were rotten, would end the discussion. Sam was frugal, and he wasn't going to start to pay people to tell him how to run his business.

"See you, Matt, you hard-ass bastard," he would say, terminating the conversation without any sign of malice.

Matt would stand there frowning, looking at the phone and wondering why Sam had called in the first place. Perhaps he was lonely?

On this occasion Sam said, "I need to see you. It's important."

Matt was not bothered about the possibility of wasting his time because he planned to ride on and see if his men had renewed the posts in the section of boundary fence that Sam had been going on about for the past two years. 

Arriving at a simple solution, Matt had driven over to Sam's stack of new posts one Friday morning when he knew that Sam and Edith Ranger would have gone to town. Friday in town was called 'Farmers Day' because farming folk converged there on that day to buy provisions, farm supplies and to yarn with other farming people.

Forty posts had been taken without Sam's permission and Matt's contribution was to bear the cost of labour to clear the old fencing away and erected its replacement.

He'd told Courtney about it and she'd looked startled. "It's what we would have agreed to do, anyway," Matt said, hanging his battered hat behind the kitchen door.

"But Matt, you could go to jail for doing that. You've trespassed on to his property and illegally removed his property."

"Nah wrong," countered Matt. "We farmers hop across each other's property all the time. It's customary and it is only trespassing if you have been warned to keep out. And it certainly wasn't stealing. The posts are being rammed in on the boundary of his property. If he wants them back, he's free to dig them out but I can't image him doing that and having his half-starved sheep racing into our better grassed property for me to phone him up complaining and threatening to shoot them. No jury in the land would convict me, at least no jury made up of a majority of farmers which is what we get in this district."

Courtney shook her head, wondering if he's got his bush lawyer logic from his father.

Sam was leaning against a fence post rolling a cigarette when Matt rode up and let his horse wander off to graze alongside Sam's bay mare. The horses greeted each other more civilly than the exchange between the two men who simply exchanged nods.

"See your men are working on the boundary where your cattle have knocked down the fencing."

"Yeah. Hope you took a good look and saw the rotted posts they've removed."

"I saw one of two were affected slightly."

"Should have put your glasses on," Matt sniggered.

"Don't need 'em, expect to read the phone book. Where did the posts come from?"

"Oh round and about."

"I thought so your cheeky bastard. Fancy having you for a bloody neighbour."

"And similar sentiments to you, my friend," grinned Matt. "Now may I go?"

"No, no. I've got a proposition to put to you. Read this."

He thrust out a sheet of paper torn out of a school exercise book.

Matt took the page from the nicotine-stained fingers, looked up and the sun, and checked on the horses.

"Aren't you going to read it, then? Or do you want to borrow my glasses." Sam chortled at his own wit while Matt's face remained expressionless.

Sam let Matt read the figures and notations for a couple of minutes. "What-yah think?"

Matt took his time, knowing that Sam's anxiety level would be climbing rapidly. He looked to check the horses again and then pointed to some grew clouds creeping over distant peaks. "Rain?"

Sam looked as if he were about to explode. 

So Matt slowly folded the paper and put it into a pocket in his vest. He turned and whistled and his horse slowly wandered back to him, pretending to eat more grass as it came. Sam's mare followed.

Tightening the girth strap and climbing up on to his gelding, Matt looked down to Sam and said, "Give you a ring tomorrow."

Looking pleased, Sam nodded a farewell and carefully extinguished his cigarette butt on the top of the fence post. He rode home whistling whereas Matt rode down the valley in deep thought.

The next evening the three members of the Curtis family and Sam and Edith Ranger met at the Riverside Café, arriving at the same time.

Vikki greeted Courtney warmly and when she went to kiss her Courtney stiffened, and immediately wished she hadn't done so. 

Vikki thought, "She knows, but how?" She glanced at Matt but knew he would not be the type to confess adultery. 

Matt was introducing the Rangers to their waitress for the evening, Muriel Jones.

Courtney learned nothing when Matt and Vikki had greeted each other, Matt kissing her as if he'd been greeting a second cousin and Vikki keeping her hands to her side. 

Vikki met Courtney's unblinking gaze with a faint smile, thinking that there goes what could have been a wonderful and enduring friendship. Vikki excused herself and moved off to greet other arrivals. 

The café was crowded, thanks to Matt's suggestion that a page of home-style dishes should be added to the menu. It had worked. He also believed that some new patrons had come hoping to be in the middle of another cat-fight.

Glasses perched on his nose, Sam tried to fathom the menu. "I can't figure it out."

Courtney was helpful. "Some of those are French dishes," she explained, and translated them fully, supplementing the brief written description.

"Don't think I could eat any of that stuff," Sam said, looking at the doorway. 

Edith also looked disappointed, pulling her shawl tighter around her shoulders as if getting ready to leave. 

"We're red meat people when we eat out," Sam explained.

"Don't worry, my old-fashion neighbour," said Matt cordially. "Turn the page and you'll find ye olde cuisine of Miranda, for example, bacon, sausages, eggs with chips or optional mashed spuds or perhaps a slab of thick steak with or without garlic, onions, mushrooms, mashed spuds and peas and even venison."

Edith and Sam looked ever so grateful as if Matt had just thrown them a lifeline.

Vikki arrived with a bottle of complimentary sparkling wine and glasses and took their orders. 

Matt was his usual self. "I'll try this new dish," he said, pointing to Baechaoffe. Hearing that it would arrive in a pottery dish Edith wished she'd made that same choice.

Delicately sipping her wine, Courtney put down her glass. While everyone else at the table waited impatiently for her to get on with it, she re-read the menu and ordered in fluent French. Everyone was impressed but Vikki, who offered alternative sauces also equally fluent in French.

"I'd knew you'd lived in France for a while, but didn't know you spoke the language," Matt said, looking at Courtney in surprise

"There are a lot of things you don't know about me yet, my darling. I can converse quite well in Spanish, Italian and German but there's no opportunity to do so in this community."

That moment of enlightenment was broken by Sam. "Can you teach us to swear in those languages Courtney?"

Vikki rolled up her eyes as she collected the menus, the reaction noticed only by Courtney, who smiled. The woman did have some class, she thought, and a good sense of humour. Perhaps she ought to develop an arm's length relationship as Vikki could be someone worth conversing with in this culturally barren part of the country. Yes indeed, she thought, as Sam called out loudly, "Waitress, can you pour tomato sauce over my steak." 

It was Muriel's turn to roll her eyes in despair.

Over coffees and liqueurs, Edith said to her husband: "We'll have to come here more often, I rather like the atmosphere and the food is wholesome." 

"Well Matt," said Sam expansively, rubbing his hands together. "Are you going to accept?"

Their host dug inside his jacket and pulled out a small folded piece of paper that was the back of one of last year's Christmas cards.

Sam snatched it from Matt's hand. His eyes bulged as he read the short piece of writing on the card. Without speaking, he pushed the note across the table to Edith. 

She gasped, and managed to say, "My."

Leaning back on his chair, Matt was studying the ceiling and noted two flies were preparing for take-off. Not a great sight to see in an eating establishment, he thought.

"Bloody hell Matt," fumed Sam. "I gave you a price for you property which is 10% above valuation. You now reject it and smart-ass me by giving me this bogus offer for my property. You've wasted our time by inviting us here tonight."

"I'm not into making false offers Samuel. My offer is good and, incidentally, it's 10% above valuation as I guessed that you, being a miserable bastard, wouldn't accept anything less. "Am I right?"

Pushed into a corner, Sam stalled for time. 

He drained his brandy glass and motioned to the barman to bring him a refill. He knew he didn't have to make a decision right then. But Edith butted in.

"Sam, don't be hasty by rejecting the offer out of pique. It's a great offer; we can repay our mortgage and have heaps of money over. You know I have always dreamed about seeing Buckingham Palace and visiting the great homes and gardens of Britain. Your two greatest wishes are to go gambling in Monte Carlo and to watch a baseball game at the Yankee Stadium. Say yes Sam!"

Slumping into his chair like a beaten man, Sam wondered what the word pique meant. What a strange word to use. He then thought about his dogs. He'd have to leave them. And his horses. And leave behind the hills he loved so dearly.

They were all looking at him.

"I think it's a miserable offer."

"Sam!"

"All right, all right, Edith. Don't get your knickers twisted. Matt tentatively yes, but I'll need to discuss your offer tomorrow with Ray my lawyer. Perhaps we'll be shaking hands by tomorrow night."

"Fair enough," replied Matt. "Hope the rain comes tonight. Edith, I think you look like you need more sparking wine." Looking slyly at Courtney Matt turned and called to the barman, "Garcon!"

After taking possession of the Sam's very large Golden Hills Station later that year, Matt worked long and hard with his men integrating the two properties and fine-tuning practices to improve to increase productivity.

The purchase of the Ranger property had quadrupled the size of his land holdings. He would have preferred to convert the whole lot into a cattle station. But sheep or deer were the only choice in high country where conditions became very severe at times; cold, snow and ice in winter and extremely hot dry summers with drought conditions sometimes extending throughout autumn.

At the time of the Ranger property purchase there had been no significant horticulture development in the valley. Then it occurred in pockets and then began to take off. In just one month Matt had two real estate agents asking if his river terraces were for sale.




Doomed Dynasty Pt. 05



CHAPTER 11

Being the only child in a home with paths and a long driveway it was natural that Reece had spent a lot of time on his tricycle with trainer wheels and then graduating into riding without those outriggers and then into 'a real bicycle!' as he called in when getting his first two-wheeler. For his fourteenth birthday Reece received a racing cycle; he was ecstatic. 

"Now you keep off the roads, just ride on the footpaths as you have been doing with your other bike," Courtney ordered.

"But mum, this is a road racing cycle with special tyres. They're probably puncture on rough ground."

"Well I don't know," replied Courtney. "What is your opinion Matt?"

Although reading a borrowed copy of the 'Rugby Almanac' Matt had been half-listening to the mother-son discussion. "Ride on the beach Reece; it's almost two miles of straight sand to Jackson's Point and return."

"But dad," protested the youngster. "My new bike, the salt will turn it to rust."

"Wash it down thoroughly each time you come back home," Matt said, peering over the top of his book. "It will be hard on the tyres and the spokes will probably rust where they go into the rims. Come to me when you think you'll need new tyres or replacement wheels."

"Thanks dad. Goodbye mum," called the boy. For the next two hours he cycled the beach. When he returned, Matt supervised the cycle washing process and told his son that the resistance of soft sand why cycling would increased the strength in Reece's legs and help build stamina.

Patricia and Courtney watched them. "That's the most attentive I've seen Matt with Reece in a very long time."

Courtney replied she'd been thinking the same thing.

When Reece had put his cycle away in the garage after towelling it dry, Matt called him over to where he'd been drawing on a piece of paper on the kitchen sink. 

"Today you've been just messing about, riding quite fast but still really only going on a bike ride," said Matt. "This is what I want you to do. See this plan of the beach? It's only rough I know, but you can see where I have drawn in landmarks, these long bits? I want you to ride them at a fast, steady clip so that you finish each one of them just puffing a little. Then I want you to accelerate into each of these much shorter distances at a full sprint, then drop back to the steady clip again, and keep repeating that for the one mile, turn and come home repeating the process. Over time you'll do it faster and faster. Try to set a lower time each week. Tomorrow I'll buy you one of those stop watches to place around your neck like runners use."

Reece looked pleased. "Can I go out and try this now dad?"

"No it's almost dinner time," interrupted Courtney.

"Go for it son. If she doesn't save your tea I'll take you into town for fish and chips."

Reece raced away on his first run that was designed to gradually build up his stamina and speed. Matt thought that's what ought to happen, not knowing the first thing about cycling. But in the old days successive ruby coaches had drilled him and the other forwards in that fashion, over much shorter distances though. 

Matt timed Reece's first return run over the 2-mile distance. In at the end of two months Reece's time trial was a full two minutes faster.

In his second year at high school Reece was riding in the A-team as one of the reserve riders. At the end of six months he was being selected to ride in inter-school events, then at a provincial level and in his third year he was riding in the South Island championships. 

He was runner-up in the secondary school national cycling 10-nuke championships in his final year at school.

When Reece first went to high school he travelled by bus, eliminating one of Sophia's principal jobs of driving him too and from school. This had been anticipated so it was she who told Courtney that she wanted to finish up after Reece's last day at primary school.

"Oh we'll be so sorry to lose you," cried Courtney, hugging her.

"Go on, you'll soon have a cleaner in here who'll make your home look spotless."

"Maybe so but we'll never find anyone with your wit and infectious happiness that filled our house whenever you were it in," Patricia said.

"Oh don't say such a lovely thing. You'll make me cry." Sophia burst into tears and the other two women also began to cry.

Minutes later they were laughing again as normal. 

Sophia handed both women envelopes. They were invitations to Sophia and Art's wedding later that month in Sydney.

"Oh Matt will be glad to learn about this," said Courtney.

"I'm sorry Courtney he already knows. Art had to tell him so he could book the aircraft seats and hotel rooms."

"Yes, I suppose that had to be done as it will be close to Christmas," said Courtney. "It's just as well, really, as I would not enjoyed having to tell him that he's losing Art."

* * * Not long after returning from the wedding in Sydney, Matt received a call from one of his pals from rugby days who sold farms for a real estate agent. Jeff asked Matt to lunch to meet clients with an interesting proposition. They agreed to meet next day.

Jeff at 6ft 5in and weighing 220 lbs including beer belly, greeted Matt warmly. They had played rugby together for years. Jeff then introduced Philip and Kristin Burton from South Australia, a couple in their early fifties, viticulturists. At the mention of the word Matt believed the partners he needed had arrived.

The four of them inspected the river flats Matt owned and Philip practically yawned when Matt took them up to look at the hay paddock until his wife, who'd originally come from Austria, scuffed her foot in the ground to expose gravel and she practically wheezed and gasped, "Oh my."

Matt looked at her in admiration and said, "You know more than you let on?"

"Yes I do have a degree in soil science." 

Matt went to his vehicle and pulled out the old reports on the soil tests that included thirteen years of weather data for the 17-acre block  handed them to Kristin. She flicked through them and said, "Tonight we must have dinner, yes? Please bring your wives to our hotel."

That night a deal was made. A legal agreement would be drawn up creating an entity to be known as Miranda Golden Hills Viticulture Ltd, to come into effect as soon as Matt had the river flats and the 17-acre hayfield surveyed off and ready to be legally vested into the new company along with a contemporaneous agreement that an access road be formed and sealed up to the hayfield and water rights secured. The land would be valued and cost of road works added and Matt's other two partners would invest a similar amount into development of grape vines. Once that input reached the value of land the company would then raise capital to continue development. 

When Jeff and Matt went out to relieve themselves of processed beer, Jeff punched Matt on the shoulder and said, "Mate, this will be your most productive investment venture by far. It will take many years before Marlborough is really taken seriously as a wine-growing region but it will happen. Mate let me know when you are ready to sell shares to raise capital because Sue and I and probably our parents will want to buy in."

"Nice to have a mate who can see through the pessimism that blinds so many people," Matt said. "Thanks for bringing these South Australians to me. Kristin told me they intend leasing their winery and grape fields and coming to live here to start afresh."

* * *

It kept happening for Matt. Early in the New Year the handing over complete ownership of The Settlers' Rest was completed. There had been a delay because Rex at the time of selling his shares to Matt suddenly decided that he didn't want to continue on as licensee but was willing to stay on as a barman on wages. 

It was Matt who suggested that Mary should apply for the operating licence. She was thrilled to be asked, but replied that Rex would not want her for his boss. She put her reservations to Rex who simply said, "No worries." 

The necessary applications were made and all the required licences were issued in Mary's name as Matt had appointed her hotel manager. He advised her that he was thinking about demolishing the hotel and rebuilding a replacement, but continuing bar operations in temporary licensed premises during reconstruction.

Pleased with that progress, Matt still had a problem to resolve, finding a suitable replacement for Art. He'd put feelers out and attracted responses, but the most promising looking young men were seeking career positions, and those who weren't looked lazy or untrustworthy or both

One day as he arrived in the guests and staff-only car park behind The Settlers' Rest, he saw one of the women who had ended her shift apparently having trouble starting her car. Matt went over to the spotless black Zephyr Six to help. "Having trouble?" he inquired, and added, "Oh, hello" when realising it was Isobel from hotel reception.

"Good afternoon Mr Curtis. No problem really. I think two of the spark plus leads are shorting, probably they are perished. So the motor is only running on four pots. I'm taping them until I can get a new set in the morning."

They chatted about their mutual interest in vehicles and after the motor was running without missing, Matt went off into the hotel where he found Mary Mills working on paperwork in the manager's office. After exchanging pleasantries, Matt asked her: "Isobel Whatishername who works here ..."

"Isobel Florence"

"Yes, is she any good?"

"What at Matt?"

"Her work you wicked lady. Her work."

"Excellent, in fact I would go so far as to say exceptional. We're lucky to have her. She's working here to get experience and enough money to go off and train in hotel management. Now, are you thinking what I'm thinking?"

"Look Mary, I've never met a guy yet who knows what women think."

"... that she'd be a good replacement for Art?"

"Hmmm. And men think they're smart. All right, yes. Tell you what, if she accepts she can stay on here working when I don't require her and I'll pick up fifty per cent of her wages."

"Sixty per cent."

Matt scowled. "No wonder you're running this place Mary. You're hard as nails. I guess I'd be wasting my time offering fifty-five per cent?"

Mary sat drumming her fingers of one hand on the desk. 

He shrugged, so she said, "Let me know how you get on Matt. She'll not tell me anything, Isobel is very discreet."

At 10:00 the next morning Matt was back in the manager's office. Mary and Isobel had already started on the coffee and muffins. Matt outlined an offer to Isobel who initially looked very startled, almost confused. Gradually she relaxed, listening very carefully.

"Well?" asked Matt, removing the chocolate topping off a muffin and biting into what was left.

"Yes but on two conditions?"

"And they are?"

She looked at Mary, and Matt anticipated her thinking. "No Mary stays. If you can't say it in front of Mary then I would be very disappointed in you."

Isobel flushed. "I wasn't thinking about myself, Mr Curtis. I just didn't want to cause you any embarrassment."

"That's very sporting of you Isobel but my hide's as thick as a car tyre. Let's hear it."

"Number one, I think we should trial the arrangement for one month. And two, I...well... as you probably know Mr Curtis folk around here say you are a very hard man and drink a lot and have something of a reputation as being... um... very attractive to ladies."

"Well I'm more interested in what you think of me as a prospective employer Isobel."

"If you promise me you won't regard me as a sex object Mr Curtis I'd willingly work with you."

"For me," corrected Matt.

"With you," replied Isobel, defiantly. 

"As you wish. As to your other concerns, no trial, so accept or reject my offer and two, I never regard any woman as an object; but if you fear that I may be interested in having a personal relationship with you I am sorry but at present I have all I can comfortably manage and I can assure you that I will defend my honour whenever I am alone with you."

"Mr Curtis!"

"Oh, come on Isobel. Cut the crap. I am offering you the opportunity to work um with me."

Standing up and brushing off muffin crumbs, Matt issued an ultimatum, "I'll give you forty-eight hours to advise me of your decision. If it's no there'll be no hard feelings, nothing will change."

"The answer is yes Matt. I suppose I may call you Matt?"

"Yes and thanks for accepting. Could you meet me at 1:00 today for lunch at the Riverside Café and we'll talk about your new responsibilities. You come too Mary, as you ought to have input because we're working this thing as a partnership."

Both women nodded.

After Matt left, Mary said, "I was rather surprised you brought up that personal relationship thing."

"Well he has this very powerful presence Mary which I find a little scary. I thought if I was working with him directly and in all sorts of situations he might consider he owned me and take advantage of me."

"Oh my dear. You have quite a lot to learn about men and especially Matt Curtis. If you though he was joking in implying that he would have to be on guard about advances from you, then you really are innocent beyond belief. But don't worry. Though you're blonde and beautiful you are very slim; the women who gossip to me about him reckon he prefers meat on the bones."

"Would you have accepted the position had you been in my shoes Mary?"

"Cross my heart Isobel. I would have jumped at the opportunity and adopted my best Marilyn Monroe accent and told him, 'I'm willing to do anything for you Sire, anything."

Both women burst out laughing.

Patricia went into a near-spin when one of her friends phoned to ask if it were true that Margaret Florence's young daughter was Matt Curtis' new personal assistant. She broke the news to Courtney at least that what she thought she was doing, but Courtney already knew.

"He told me last night," she said. "He was really worried that I might be upset if what he called 'the grapevine' distorted the situation. Matt said he'd interviewed thirteen male applicants and not one was suitable. He then found Isobel from hotel reception right in front of his eyes. She was a perfect fit for the role."

"And you believed him?"

"Yes and I still do."

"And so do I," said Patricia stoutly. "Curtis men don't openly make fools of themselves."

The next morning Isobel arrived in the Land Rover to pick up some papers from Matt's office. Courtney and Patricia insisted that she should join them for morning tea, which she did gladly.

As she left Isobel said sweetly, "Matt said that you would ask me to stay for morning tea, that it would be a second job interview for me, and that I must tell you this. How did I go?"

"You passed with flying colours," said Courtney, kissing the pretty 22-year-old. "Welcome aboard.

* * *

On a splendid spring afternoon Matt arrived home early to change. When awaking that morning, Courtney had told him that she wanted to take him out for dinner as she had something to discuss. No she had answered emphatically, Patricia would not be accompanying them.

That reply put Matt on alert... a sharp answer and Patricia not coming... they must have fallen out and Courtney was going to tell him she wanted her mother to go and live somewhere else. Bloody hell, why can't women go out on to the lawn and have it out just like men would. at least real men. Funny thing about that, though, you don't hear much about punch-up between men these days. That's bad, because if men don't get it out of their systems they'll be early candidates for heart attacks, reasoned Matt Curtis, bush philosopher.

"May I take no answer to mean acceptance?" Courtney had asked over the breakfast table. Patricia had not yet appeared.

"Sorry dear. My mind just wandered off track a bit. Yes, I'd like to be taken out."

"I'd like to leave around 5:00."

"Struth that's a bit early. We'll be the only ones in the café at that time."

"We're not eating there tonight. I have booked a table at Fisherman's Wharf."

"Cripes that's an hour away. Nobody goes that far to dinner."

"Oh yes they do Matt. When daddy was based in London he flew with mummy in a chartered aircraft to Paris with a group of people for dinner, and that returned home late that night and that was many years ago."

"I can't imagine people doing things like that, what a shocking waste of money."

"There's a lot of things that people do that you don't know about. I've been thinking that we should take a trip. I'd like to show you places like London, Paris and Rome."

His face twisted in horror at the thought.

Leaving for town to collect his mail and do some banking, Matt clipped the side of the garage when backing out the Land Rover. He scarcely noticed the slight bump, he was too busy muttering, "She's on to that European thing again. She won't want to visit farms, just art galleries to drool over what she calls the Great Masters. Well, she's got a Great Master at home who'd like to visit farms, great rugby grounds, rugby museums and perhaps even take a look inside a brothel, just a look, mind you. Some of the guys as the club reckon the best ones are awesome."

The vehicle slipped over the cattle-stop between the huge concrete posts holding the heavy wooden gates that hadn't been closed for years. Either Matt was operating by instinct or the vehicle passed though out of habit because at that point he was still driving without due care and attention. Only the flashing of headlights alerted Matt who swung on to his side of the road as he turned out of their long driveway.

Mike, the sandy-haired rural mail delivery driver, thrust his head out of the window of his van and with a big grin yelled, "Pissed again Matt?"

Matt cheerfully gave him the obscene version of a two-finger salute. Believing that Courtney would be a bit uptight because of her problems with his mother, Matt arrived home early, and had showered and was dressed ready to go at 4:45. There was no sign of his mother. 

Courtney said she was pleased about his prompt arrival, but nevertheless did all the things that a girl going out has to do and finished ten minutes after the hour. Almost a record for promptness, thought Matt, checking his watch for the fifth time in fifteen minutes. 

She finally emerged. "It's my shout tonight, I'm taking you," Courtney said from inside the invisible halo of an exotic fragrance that surrounded her.

"Perfume's lovely," he offered, as they walked to her old Sunbeam. She never liked going in the "dusty and dirty" Land Rover when dressed up.

"It should be, you bought that perfume for me."

That puzzled Matt. "I can't remember buying you perfume?"

"That's because I know what you think about buying birthday presents, so I just charged it up to our account at the pharmacy."

Blast, thought Matt, he'd forgotten her birthday and so must have his mother. Perhaps this is what triggered the disagreement between them. Without thinking before opening his mouth he said, "When was it?"

With a sigh, Courtney replied: "It was yesterday, Matt, and you went to the farm before I awoke and you returned after I had gone to bed."

"Oops, I thought it was tomorrow," Matt lied. "Happy birthday for yesterday darling."

"Why thank you. I'm glad I've got you. So many other husbands forget their wife's birthday," Courtney replied, smiling at him beautifully. 

During the drive to Picton, Courtney managed to tell Matt about other couples who'd travelled overseas recently and how everyone had concluded they had received great value for their outlay.

"How much does it cost to go to Europe?"

Another great smile danced onto Courtney's lips. "I really can't say. Heaps, I guess. One has to be rich to afford to go there in style."




Doomed Dynasty Pt. 05



"Really?" was Matt's response.

Courtney's heart fluttered detecting a hint of interest embedded in that word 'really'. She was quite sure about that.

The restaurant was lively and noisy, and Matt was enjoying himself. The owner's wife came over. She knew Courtney; how she knew her, Matt had no idea. They didn't say because they were busy talking about the weather and then their children.

The owner came over and kissed Courtney on both cheeks. Matt tensed, his jaw jutting outwards just a bit, but he stayed seated, noticing that Courtney had actually pulled the bloke's head down to be kissed. 

Matt was too surprised to draw any conclusion, but then Courtney introduced Tony Tancred. 

For a small man, he had a surprisingly firm grip. Matt thought of trying him out with a power handshake but then the man's wife was standing beside them and Courtney was introducing her as Raquel. 

Matt instantly focused. Courtney winced when Matt responded with "That's a funny sort of name" but then went on to redeem himself by adding, "Rather exotic I reckon."

Raquel curtsied to the best compliment she had received in weeks and turned up a cheek towards Matt. He deduced that she wanted to be kissed, so did so. 

Then the woman turned the other cheek. Cripes, thought Matt, she's game. He kissed her cheek gently, trying to smell if her perfume was as good as Courtney's. But the fragrances were kitchen smells and possible sweat, or perspiration, as Courtney would term it.

Tony went off and returned with a bottle of wine, a red from France.

"Oooh," was Courtney's response as she glanced at the label. "This is a great wine, Matt."

"Nothing's too good for our beautiful silent partner," Tony said, picking up Courtney's hand and kissing it with a flourish.

Matt's head snapped around. He'd been wondering if he should taste the French plonk when Tony had made that last amazing remark. 

Courtney reached out and touched his arm just above the wrist. It was a habit of hers and Matt had come to learn it was a "down Rover" signal. He eased back into his chair and smiled at Raquel, making her slightly uncomfortable that his eyes were fixed on her bosom when his wife sitting right alongside him. 

Matt had wanted to ask what they meant by 'silent partner'. But he had been closed down by Courtney's obedience signal. So he had automatically slipped into another thought, well Raquel knew what it was. She smiled, noting the look in his eyes and said "Enjoy!" then hurried back to the kitchen, her face beginning to match the colour of her flaming red hair. 

Matt thought she'd meant the wine, but then again...

Tony also left.

Matt turned to look at Courtney, and without further prompting she quietly told him that she had invested in the business, ignoring Matt's astonished look. It was quite a story: Tony's mother had visited lawyer Reginald King in Miranda to collect some documents for a sick friend. She had inquired about the painter of the picture of roses hanging behind him in his office. That led to Tony's mother contacting Courtney. A commission resulted and then a month later after seeing his mother's new acquisition, Tony phoned and asked Courtney if she could do a painting of their restaurant.

"I recoiled at the idea," she told Matt. "But Tony was persistent. He was emphatic that he did not want a chocolate box image but rather the interpretative style I use in my garden paintings."

"A distortion of reality style?" offered Matt.

Courtney smiled, and continued. "I delivered the painting to him, in now hangs in their home. 

"I was invited to stay for lunch and they told me the restaurant was going well but they needed a cash injection to install a completely new kitchen. As we talked about other things my mind kept coming back to what you were always telling me, that leaving money in the bank is bad, investing in property is good, investing in a good business is even better."

"I do say some wise things at times"

"Well, yes, dear. You do. Anyway I had that $8000 in the bank that Uncle Harold had left me..."

"Your rainy day nest egg."

"Yes my nest egg. Well, I ended up investing that money and $3500 from my sale of paintings into their business. That got me a 15% shareholding of the business and so, as you look around here, you're seeing part of me."

Matt was staggered. She had invested $11,500 in this restaurant. He looked around. It was almost full, but he couldn't see it being a solid investment in rented premises sitting on an otherwise disused wharf.

Sensing his concern Courtney offered. "We also own the building which has only a $3400 mortgage on it and a 15-year exclusive lease of the wharf."

That made Matt sit up. "Well then, I think perhaps you have made a good decision but why didn't you seek my advice?"

"Do you seek my advice on your business dealings?"

"Ouch!"

"Exactly!"

"So, you brought me here just to give me that little surprise about your business independence," said Matt, sucking on a toothpick and looking unsmilingly at his wife

"Oh Matt, of course not. Tony let the cat out of the bag quite unexpectedly. Our agreement was that I would remain a secret investor; I suppose he just assumed that you were fully informed."

"Why did you bring me here then?" asked Matt sulkily. "Trouble with mother?"

"Why do you say that? Patricia and I get along beautifully. It was just that Tony and Raquel have asked me what you were like, so I thought I would bring you here and you could meet them and then I could have my quiet little talk to you about the hotel."

"The hotel?" Matt replied warily. Did she want him to sell it? 

For the next fifteen minutes they talked quietly, Courtney revealing a side of herself that Matt had come to know in the last couple of years was lurking. She was bloody magnificent. 

Most women he dealt with, including Vikki, seemed to be a little short when it came to commercial nous. But, surprisingly, Courtney was giving a good impression that she knew what she was talking about. After revealing some interesting glimpses of concepts for fitting out the new hotel she then sat back, looked at him over her coffee cup and asked what was in it for her. He joked that she could do it for love if she came up with anything acceptable.

"No Matt, the joy of doing something to occupy myself usefully, as you put it, is not enough. I want money, good money, working for you. I have developed artistic concepts and therefore I wish to be paid as a professional consultant."

"But you are my wife."

"Yes, I am. The wife of a pig-headed man who now has to make a monumental decision; if you want me to work on the hotel project Matt I'll have to be remunerated handsomely."

"Can I have a moment to think?"

"Of course."

He went to the toilet, passing the kitchen. Raquel had her back to him, bending over to remove something from the lower oven, but Matt didn't appear to notice. He emerged from the toilet still in turmoil but as he walked back towards the table he looked at Courtney sitting there so elegant, so outstanding. 

He knew that she had a great brain, but where the hell did she get a business brain? He virtually discussed nothing about business with her. And how did she get him into a position like this? Matt felt that he was over a rack.

"Better dear," she said, solicitously, running an eye over his trouser front to check that the zip appeared to be done up. When Matt was thinking hard he could become forgetful at times.

"I've come to a decision."

"Oh is it something that I would like to hear?"

Blast the woman! Why did she speak to him like that? Was she going through one of those changes in life that women have? Well she didn't like being patronised or excluded, so what about talking to her like a boss talks to a prospective sub-contractor?

"Courtney."

"I'm here, Matt," she replied sweetly.

"My proposal is this: I require you to submit outlines of your concepts to the architects. the chief architect actually Billie Joss. If she decides that the project needs you and your ideas, then rather than pay you an hourly rate, I'll offer you seven-point-five percent of gross amount we have budgeted for the interior fit-out. That's a lot of money."

Matt had estimated that a professional consultant from Wellington would have cost him roughly twelve-point-five per cent of the gross, so he decided if the architect chose Courtney if she liked her concepts that much, then he would be saving money.

"I would prefer that than an hourly rate, and in fact was going to suggest it if you had difficulty in coming up with an offer. But seven-point-five sounds a wee bit like penny pinching, Matt Scrouge McCurtis. I would think twelve would be more attractive to me, but this is our first job together, so I'll settle for a straight ten per cent."

"Eight per cent."

"M-a-t-t!"

Matt clenched his fists. He couldn't hit her, he didn't want to hit her, never would. But what could he do? "All right, ten per cent."

She practically leapt over the table at him.

She kissed him heartily. Embarrassed, Matt looked to see if anyone was watching. Everyone was!

"I paid while you were at the gents. Take me home," she whispered.

Matt thought that was the most sensible thing his wife had said all night.

A week later architect Billie Joss arrived in Miranda to inspect the site and the neighbourhood and to go over Courtney's submissions with her. 

She stayed for two nights at their home now about to be renamed The Palms, taking some time off to visit the farm with Matt.

The renaming was finally achieved through patience and adroit management. Several years earlier Courtney had put feelers out about a possible name change for the historic homestead. Matt had been only lukewarm about it and had warned her to expect a possible hostile response from Patricia.

Counting on the fact that she'd remained subservient to the older woman and they had developed a virtual 'mother daughter' relationship, Courtney had waited until the moment was ripe. It came when they were sitting at breakfast, waiting for Billie to join them.

"I've been thinking," Courtney announced.

"Oh dear, that sounds bad for us mother."

"Let her have her say Matt. It is she who's usually listening to us."

Courtney began, "The world around us is changing and I think that we also have been changing. The biggest change that has occurred here in my time is the extensive upgrading of our home."

"I'd like you to consider changing the name of our home to The Palms. Matt says you won't agree to that Patricia. I want to develop our garden into something truly beautiful and in full consultation with you both, especially you Patricia."

"But we don't have any palms," protested Matt. 

"We will soon, very soon," replied Courtney.

Patricia sat as if her back had arched and an emphatic 'No' formed on her lips. Then she cringed when Matt, her silly Matt, said, "Whatever." Where was his loyalty, his sense of history? 

Then Patricia saw the excited look on Courtney's face. She thought, this young woman has enriched her\ life and treated Patricia as if Patricia were her mother. She was now emerging as a mature woman and beginning to take on Matt when he stepped out of line. Actually she'd never much cared for the Scottish name that seemed to be an inappropriate transplant such a long way from its namesake. 

"I can see she's cracking," laughed Matt, looking at his mother.

Patricia looked directly at Courtney whose eyes were fixed on her, appealing.

"All right, I'll support you on one condition."

"And that is?" Courtney asked nervously.

"That neither of you will suggesting changing the name of Faraway Farm in my lifetime."

"Oh no, we'd never want to change the name of the farm. Faraway is such a lovely, regal name, isn't it Matt?"

"Whatever," said Matt. He disclosed he'd always thought that the name Aberdeen was a stupid name and for that matter Faraway was little better. He would have named the original station Amber Hills or something associated with local geography. Even a Maori name would have been better than a transported Scottish name. However, he promised his mother the Faraway name would stay."

Early that afternoon a truck came grinding up the drive. Behind the wheel was the grinning face of Misfit Jones. On the back of the truck were the first four of fourteen palms and a dozen olive trees that a month ago Courtney had requested a large nursery in Blenheim to procure for her. 

Billie the architect returned to the house following a thorough inspection of the hotel site. After late lunch Matt took her on a tour of the farm. Returning after a very satisfying day and developing quite a crush on Matt who charmed her with his country-boy simplicity, Billie got down to business with Courtney and her submissions. It was a short meeting, as Billy had already made her decision. However she had six changes to discuss, all quite minor.

Anticipating that the job was hers, Courtney contained her excitement from her voice but was given away by flushed cheeks.

She's a smart lass, thought the older woman...they are a most interesting couple.

Billie found Courtney to be no pushover. After some discussion Courtney agreed with four of the suggestions but said she was opposed to the other two suggested changes and argued strongly to support her stand.

Billie sighed and decided four out of six was a good result. She told Courtney that she'd recommend to Matt that her submissions be accepted.

She watched, fascinated, at Courtney's reaction. A deepening pink flush rose up her face and yellow flecks in her green eyes flashed. Courtney raised her hands delicately and swept them through her long hair. The lips of her wide mouth trembled slightly and then broke into a beautiful smile as Courtney said, "Thank you, Billie. I will always treasure this moment."

Well, there's bound to be a celebration, thought Billie. She'd better go and have a soak in the bath. But before she could move Courtney looked at her sweetly, and said, "Oh, by the way Billie, there is just another wee point I'd like to bring up. In my humble opinion I think the exterior design of the hotel is a little out of character for the town which is a rural servicing community now and for in the foreseeable future. No, I should be more emphatic. It's really quite out of character. Would you think that's a reasonable assessment?"

For a moment the professionally trained and very experienced woman was stunned. Recovering she defended the design of the facade, chin thrust out. The eyes behind her red-framed glasses hardened. But just like Matt had discovered, she found that she seemed to be sliding downhill as the discussion continued. By golly, she thought, I'm dealing with a smiling assassin.

Finally Matt was called into the room. 

The good news was that Billie had chosen the best of three proposals for the fit-out. He was told the scheme submitted by Courtney was the best, better than the submission of another consultancy and even superior to the scheme devised within her own practice.

Matt said he was delighted, and he was. He wondered, though, why Courtney looked a little apprehensive. Being Billie's preferred choice should have sent her over the moon.

"Courtney and I have been discussing the exterior design and we agree that a redesign should be undertaken."

Looking like a bull ready to charge Matt drew in a sharp breath and said, "Go on." He clenched his fists. Billie's eyes widened, but she pressed on.

"We think the columns and arches should go and the over-all impression should be updated colonial, more in keeping in the character of the town, don't we Courtney?"

Courtney nodded, relieved that Matt appeared to be relaxing.

"Funny," he said. "I have been thinking that I am a little uncomfortable with the exterior design. It had been described to me as suburban Wellington."

Ah-ha, Billie thought. Courtney's already had a crack at him over this as Courtney had used that same phrase 'suburban Wellington design' to her barely ten minutes earlier.

"Then you think we should go back to the drawing board?"

Rising to his full height, Matt looked at the architect straight in the eye. "How much?"

Billie resisted taking a couple of steps backwards to be closer to Courtney. "Well, not too much really as the changes are largely cosmetic. The working drawings are almost completed but can be changed without too much fuss because the basic structure will remain intact."

"And?"

"Probably it will cost around $1500 in man hours. We can absorb that amount because this is quite a big project."

"And I won't have that sum slipped into over-runs or anything else?"

"Oh no, definitely not," Billie lied. 

Courtney regarded that as an assurance while Matt knew Billie was lying.

"Come on Billie, we're taking Courtney out to celebrate her first commercial contract. Your shout, of course."

"It's my pleasure. Courtney and I will need time to get ready."

Brushing her hair Courtney thought how rude it was of Matt to say his guest would pay for the night out, but fortunately Billie had been very charming about it. She then wondered if cost of the dinner would be buried in the architect's fees that Matt's company would be paying.

Walking out to the Land Rover, Courtney thought the name The Settlers' Retreat was a quite inappropriate name for the new hotel. It should be called...she halted, thinking that dear old Matt had been pushed hard enough for one day.

* * *

On Matt's birthday, December 4, 1977, the new hotel, renamed the Miranda Regal Hotel, opened for business at 10:00 and curious residents came to inspect the facilities. 

Mary had decided to have an open day to get what Matt called 'nosey parkers' in and out of the premises in one day, instead of having them wander in over a much longer period.

The regular drinkers in the public bar made discouraging comments such as "This is too flash for us" and "A bloody palace for Lord and Lady Muck" but none left to find more basic amenities at the town's tavern.

Before the day's end it was generally agreed that the enormous curved mahogany bar was nice to look at and 'bloody comfortable' to lean on.

"A bloke could sit here all day," commented a regular sitting on one of the soft bar stools. But no one took any notice of him as sitting in bars all day was his thing.

Everyone who toured the public rooms admired the solid rimu cabinets, the woven to order dark blue and red-flecked Feltex carpets and most of all the spectacular concaved ceiling in the dinning room complete with tiny winkling lights to represent the Southern Sky.

Everyone who had worked on the project attended a formal dinner the night before the official opening. Builder Max Mead and his foreman Misfit Jones performed one of their famous sketches, persuading architect Billie Joss to join them which she did against her better judgment.

"We'll feed you lines and you're brainy enough to think of responses on the fly," Max assured her. "Here, having another glass of bubbly. It does wonders for confidence and generating quick thoughts."

Max played Matt, who wanted to replace the old hotel with the shearing shed from the farm as a tax dodge. But Courtney (Billy Joss) wouldn't accept that when asked for her opinion.

"I think you should get that beautiful young architect from Wellington, Billie Joss, to design something really special. She's world famous for her loo structures."

And so the hilarity continued.

At the end of the evening Matt approached the threesome and said, "I want you guys to perform that skit tomorrow night."

They were appalled. 

"But Matt, this is just something we do for the boys and their wives. We frig around unrehearsed, use bad language and sometimes utter plain nonsense," protested Max.




Doomed Dynasty Pt. 05



"He's right, bloody oath," chimed in Misfit.

"Oh, Matt. I just couldn't do it. Some very influential people will be here and you have invited representatives of The Bugle. No, sorry. I just can't do it."

Matt gave Billy a wide smile, showing his big teeth. He put one arm around her and poured her another glass of sparking wine. "You were great tonight, Billie."

"Was I, was I really?"

The next evening Mayor Rowlands unveiled the plaque commemorating the opening of the hotel. 

The eighty-seven invitees plus the hotel's first two guests who had arrived at 8:00, sat down for dinner in the dinning room and the adjoining lounge where temporary tables had been set up.

Joining Matt, Courtney and Patricia and the Mayor and Mayoress at the official table along with the Billie Joss and her husband and Max Mead and his wife were the Curtis's neighbours, the Whitehead's and Thompson's and Bette Thompson.

A trio from Nelson played chamber music, and Vikki Armstrong and most of her staff from the Riverside Café had been called in to assist with the catering.

During the meal Matt was seen to be whispering something to Bette and she went off.

A little later when the trio resumed from a break, there was a loud descending peel from a keyboard. Bette had joined the musical group and from them on the music was up tempo popular music.

Between courses Matt stood and rapped a spoon on his wine glass, sending bits of shattered glass across the table and on to the floor. He announced that a short item was follow.

Max came in wearing Matt's familiar Stetson that was several sizes too large for him, followed by Misfit in Max's building gear. They turned, and called, "Courtney!" 

In trotted Billie wearing Courtney's painting smock now liberally smeared with house paint of different colours. She had a large artist's paintbrush pushed through her hair and resting on her ear. Her face was smeared with paint and her two front teeth were blackened.

It was a credible performance, with many of the guests in near hysterics. 

"Encore, encore!" called the guests including Mayor Rowlands exhibiting a rare sense of humour.

The three players went into a quick huddle. They had not anticipated this. Max then announced, "Our next and FINAL item is about Courtney introducing Matt to the subtleties of foreplay, she having to use rugby terminology to get through to him."

Then came the second of two revelations for husband Cedric Joss. The first had been to see his wife acting stupidly in public. The second, and quite astonishing, was that he'd never seen his wife, in private let alone in public, indulge in antics and dialogue that almost bordered on the obscene. Cedric cringed at first, but looking about him he could seen everyone was really enjoying the show, laughing and even yahooing. Cedric saw the real Courtney wiping tears from her eyes and Matt confiscating the camera from The Bugle photographer.

The last guests left at 3:30 am.

Late next morning the hotel's first two guests paid their bill. They then revealed that they were from the 'New Zealand Holiday' magazine doing on undercover article reviewing the facilities of the new hotel. 

They told Mary, "You facilities are great and they'll get a 3-star plus from us which is great, really great, for a provincial town hotel. We'll also being doing a sidebar article on the official opening that started so predictably and then gradually degenerated into a most memorable evening of shambles and laughter."

The Bugle that afternoon published a front page picture of the mayor declaring the new hotel opened, and reported his speech in full plus some of Matt's comments. 

The article described the new amenities as "something that will place our town on the tourism map." A footnote stated: "Further pictures and story page 3."

Matt turned to page 3 and his eyes bulged. There were three pictures of the previous night's skit, one showing Billie sliding Max's hand on to her exposed brassiere, the caption reading, "Much softer than a rugby tackle, dear, and try not to knock off that pointy little thing." A fourth photo showed Matt wrestling with The Bugle photographer. The caption read, "Mine host Matt Curtis seizes The Bugle photographer's camera to gallantly defend his gorgeous wife's reputation but was unaware that our reporter also had a camera."

The accompanying article described the skit as "something that will go down in history as one of the funniest amateur theatricals ever presented in this town."

"The bitch," growled Matt, in an uncomplimentary reference to reporter Ali Packard. "This is outright scandalous." 

The telephone beside him rang. He picked it up. The caller was Amy Ingledew, owner of The Bugle.

"Well thank you Amy. I'm glad you enjoyed last night. Me upset by The Bugle report today? Er no, not at all. Bit of a gas, really. Top marks to that Packard girl for her enterprise."

Minutes later the phone rang again. It was Courtney.

"Have you got the paper, Matt?"

"Yes, I've seen The Bugle. Excellent coverage for us."

"But have you seen page three?"

"Yes."

Courtney seemed to be rather uptight. "It was a bit embarrassing."

"You are a bit embarrassed, why?" 

"Well, the whole thing was a bit risqué."

"Oh, I guess the next day it does seem a little bit coarse."

"Now Matt I don't want you to take any retaliatory action."

"No I'm not out to kick ass if that's what you mean. By tomorrow it will all be forgotten."

"At times like this I wish I had your simple beliefs, Matt. I suspect that I will be the subject of some ridicule for some time to come."

"Nah, don't worry about things that won't happen. By the way, Courtney, what exactly does foreplay mean?"

"Goodbye, Matt."

* * *

Six weeks after the opening of the hotel and it had settled into trading Matt pushed an envelope across the table to Courtney.

"What is this?"

"Your reward for being a good girl."

Courtney opened the envelope excitedly and then screamed, "Ohmigod. These are tickets to London for a three-week holiday. Oh Matt, my darling. How fantastic. Here let me kiss your. Oh my darling. Will you visit galleries and museums with me?"

"Yes providing you see some big-time sport and visit a brothel with me."

"Oh yes, anything," Courtney said, much too excited to really focus on what Matt was saying.

Matt's comment had left his mother gaping.

The holiday was a great success. They returned with Courtney loaded with new clothes and trimmings while Matt returned a little more knowledgeable about culture and ready to tell his mates how he and his wife had been shown through a brothel in England and on in France. The big punch line was that the madam of the French brothel was sure she recognized Courtney!

To Be Continued



Doomed Dynasty Pt. 06



CHAPTER 12

Anticipating another dry summer in 1979, hinted by abnormal wind direction patterns, and with his commercial investments and ambitions decreasing his interest in farming, Matt has his entire extended Faraway farming property re-surveyed and put up for sale apart from 2000 acres of the original Strathmore Farm on the valley floor and upper terraces extending up to just beyond his manager's house.

The real estate agency engaged by Matt to sell the 37,700 acres predicted considerable interest would be shown in the offering. Courtney was thrilled to hear that, but Matt cautioned, "Only when the hammer falls will anything matter."

The auction was held in December on a Friday, still known as Farmers' Day', the preferred day of the week for rural folk to do their shopping and other business in town.

As the auctioneer dealt with a flurry of early bids, the rising price forced out many bidders until only a neighbouring farmer and one from Hawkes Bay faced off in a bidding war.

Finally the North Island bidder signalled defeat.

The auctioneer called for further bids, but none were forthcoming.

"I'm holding the bid of Mr Ellis for $2.15 million," called the perspiring auctioneer. "Going, going ...

Mrs Ellis clutched her husband excitedly. He remained poker-faced.

"Two point one five," came the shout from a new bidder.

There was a gasp from the crowd.

"Well, that was a close one," called the auctioneer. "I have a new bidder."

It was not really a surprise to Matt. He'd noticed the man in a suit and red tie from the outset, and picked him as a buyer's agent. 

Although the fellow hadn't made a bid until now, he'd been watching proceedings very intently

Scully Ellis called "Two point one six" but buckled when the red tie man raised an index finger when the auctioneer called "Two point two."

"Going, going gone to High Country Pastoral Holdings Limited," called the auctioneer.

At that identification of the buyer, the face of defeated bidder Scully Ellis broke into a wide smile. He knew that his own station now lay between two High Country Pastoral properties. It would only be a matter of time before someone representing that company came knocking on the door of his homestead.

"Oh, Matt," gushed Courtney, as the auctioneer's hammer fell. "We're millionaires."

"Steady on,' he replied, holding her tightly and grinning. "There's a mortgage to be repaid."

"What will you do with what's the money you get?"

"Oh, I'll think of something. In the meantime would you like a new car, something really flash?"

Courtney smothered him in kisses. "I'll love looking for something suitable. What will you buy for yourself darling?"

"My old girl will do. I'll know when she can no longer do the job."

Pleased that Matt was loyal at least to his mother and his ageing Land Rover, Courtney thought again of her tragic loss. Farming was such a cruel life Courtney had sobbed two years ago when agreeing to Dick's request to let the vet put Boris down 

She'd remembered after her engagement telling her mother how it had pleased her to find that their maturing cattle were sent to better pastures for finishing off. That spared her of the thought of them going into the freezing works, bellowing in terror or at least that was what she imagined happened.

But in contrast with the hard times she adored watching their Angus cross calves prancing about in abandonment. But best of all were the lambs in paddocks beside roadsides. She would sometimes stop to watch them dance like novice ballerinas. 

As Courtney waited for Matt to come back from signing papers with the real estate agent and auctioneer, the image that had just come to her triggered an idea for a painting: the managing director of the Farm Mutual Insurance Agency had ask her to come up with ideas about a truly rural scene for hanging in its boardroom. 

Courtney visualised the gambolling lambs being watched by some beef cattle, pigs, horses and a rooster but knew that the final concept would show only gambolling lambs with perhaps with some beef cattle in the mid background and steep hills behind them. 

She thought the managing director of the insurance agency would be bound to commission a painting like that.

Although city bred and for much of her life until marrying, Courtney had come to love the dramatic seasonal changes of country life, finding them emotionally fulfilling. The separation of seasons seemed much more defined, more dramatic than in the city where the seasons seemed to merge almost unnoticed until one suddenly grabbed for a coat in autumn or went for the first swim of the season in late spring.

Enjoying such drifting thoughts Courtney began to reflect that a dramatic change had occurred in her own life. She no longer thought as a city girl or even as a reluctant transplant. Somewhere along the journey she'd transformed into a countrywoman.

That evening Matt took his mother and Patricia to an Italian restaurant in Blenheim. During pre-dinner drinks they laughed about Patricia's reaction some three months earlier when Matt had announced he was going to sell most of the farm.

"You'll selling your birthright," Patricia had stormed.

She calmed down when Matt patiently explained that the prime area of land. the heartland of the original huge holding established by his great-grandfather and named Faraway farm, would be retained.

Next morning a phone call brought news for Courtney. 

She went out on to the terrace where Patricia, wrapped in her tattered old dressing gown, a Christmas present from Matt more than ten years earlier, was battling with a crossword puzzle in her 'Woman's Weekly' magazine.

Matt walked up to them and saw the worried look on Courtney's face. "Bad news?"

"No it was Dick at the farm. He no longer needs a horse now that you've sold the steep hill country. He was going to sell it, but wondered should he keep it on for me to ride."

"Oh you must, you loved riding," cried Patricia. "Don't you agree, Matt? He nodded, and leant over to see how far his mother had got with the crossword.

The lines in Courtney's forehead retreated. 

"I'll phone him back now, Iceberg is a lovely mount."

Matt was thinking of his chestnut Fearless. He'd spoken to Scully Ellis at the auction and Scully had agreed to take Fearless as a gift for his young grandson. So for the first time in his life, actually since he was five and a half, Matt was without a mount. Well these things happen.

Three days later Courtney arrived home very flushed. 

"Drinks," she yelled. Matt already had the wine uncorked as he'd assumed the agency would accept Courtney's proposal to paint a large mural on a wall of its boardroom.

Courtney said proudly, "The board of the Farm Mutual Insurance Agency in Wellington accepted my proposal and agreed to pay my price."

"How much?" Matt asked.

"I asked for $26,000 and they accepted. It will be a mural, across the entire wall and will take me fifteen days I guess. I'll stay with my parents. I can't believe they accepted my cheeky demand."

"These things happen," Matt said.

"And you're worth it," Patricia added.

"Yeah, said Matt. "You really ought to put your prices up for your paintings."

* * *

The time arrived for Reece to leave home to be his own man to attend university, allowed him to distance himself from his domineering father with whom relationships almost always seemed to either hot or cold, rarely pleasantly tepid.

Matt was off-hand when his son was preparing to leave and thereafter showed no sign of missing him. He'd informed Reece that he had arranged a monthly cheque to be deposited into Reece's bank account and for the boy to phone him if he needed any assistance. They shook hands like two strangers and when Reece looked back to make his final wave only Patricia stood on the driveway, wiping her eyes. 

It was, however, a momentous occasion for Courtney and she chatted excitedly to her son as she drove him to the bus depot. 

For most of the past two years she'd looked forward to this time but was apprehensive that Matt would intervene at the last moment and say something stupid like, "No, we're not going to waste money supporting him at university; it's time he got a proper job."

However, that fear dissipated when Matt, hearing Reece talking to her about his aspirations, joined the conversation about study options and whether he should attend university in Christchurch or Wellington.

It was probable that Matt knew the answer before asking the question, "Why don't you take an agriculture course at Lincoln College?" 

"No, dad. I want to go after a business degree."

"Whatever it's your education," Matt had grunted.

Courtney and Reece exchanged pleased glances. That was almost acceptance but not quite. One could never be sure about Matt and his use of his veto.

Patricia was aware that Reece would be the first Curtis to attend university. However, she was of the opinion that her grandson was more of a Sterling than a Curtis. The Sterling seniors were both well educated and Courtney had never stopped educating herself. 

Mothers tend to worry when their children leave home, and Courtney was no exception.

"I hope Reece sticks at his studies and just doesn't think he's at university to concentrate on upskilling as a playboy," she worried. 

"He'll be fine," comforted Patricia. "Reece knows where he'd going." 

Unfortunately, her optimism was misplaced. 

After enrolling at university for his selected courses, Reece headed for the special interest activities to register for cycling and scuba diving. 

At the cycling booth when he gave his name he was informed he was already on the university cycling team. Although nobody knew him personally, the selectors knew his success in cycle racing. He was chuffed.

A month of two later Reece won an inter-university road race and after joining a local club won the club championship and the first of many regional titles and ultimately a couple of university national titles that he defended successfully for two more years.

Two days after Reece's departure, Courtney decided to begin to look for a replacement car to cheer her. As the sale of the farmland finally completed, there was considerable surplus money available for spending and reinvestment. 

Courtney's choice was finally between a second-hand Mercedes convertible and a V8 Rover sedan. She thought that she'd get a second opinion and asked Patricia, knowing Matt would automatically opt for the Rover whereas she wanted a considered opinion.

"Take the Mercedes," urged Patricia, after looking at both vehicles and going for a short drive in each.

"The three of us could never comfortably travel in the Mercedes, although we always have Matt's Land Rover or your car."

"Courtney!" said Patricia, sternly. "Set yourself free!"

A few hours later the red Mercedes sat in Courtney's place in their garage.

Matt's spending spree was far larger.

First, he gained approval to build an extension to the town almost disused wharf to tie up a small launch he'd purchased to go fishing. He didn't tell anyone at home about the boat as he didn't think the women would be interested in something that had stale fish odour embedded into it. He hired Cyril Thomas, a work shy but once skilled carpenter to refit the boat. Elsie hoped the job would lure her husband away from his favourite resting place, the tavern. 

When Sea Urchin had been upgraded and put to use, Matt still didn't tell Courtney or Patricia. He placed Cyril on a retainer to be on hand to do odd-jobs on other property.

The launch was used to go on quiet solo cruising or fishing trips. Often he would take a couple of mates fishing, with bottles of beer consumed usually out-numbering the fish landed at the wharf. On the occasional night he and Vikki would slip down the river and over the bar when Vikki would then take over the wheel while Matt barbecued late dinner at the stern. 

Yet another investment involved persuading Cyril's wife Elsie to take over the vacant lease of the Miranda hotel's kitchen and dinning room. Matt undertook to lend her the money to set-up and enter into the contract. Elsie had tired of managing the bakery and had long yearned for the chance to run her own business.

"I'll run a good operation for you, " she promised.

"I know you will," replied Matt. "Do you think I went after you for that unlovely body of yours." 

Elsie screeched with laughter.

The largest investment involved Vikki. 

One morning when they were lying together on the thick carpet in her lounge above the café, Matt asked, "What is your attitude to direct business competition?"

"Pretty neutral I guess. It could even be stimulating if things didn't get dirty. Why do you ask?"

"Well, I've purchased the vacant land next to this building. I'm going to erect a new structure that will be a little longer than this one. I reckon the best option for tenants would be a take-home food place, a shop offering specialist foodstuffs and cooking equipment and at the far end, another restaurant."

"A sort of food centre?"

"Quite, what do you think?"

"What kind of restaurant?"

"Chinese because they are gaining popularity in the big centres."

"Excellent idea. Residents and people passing through the town will have a real choice. I like the idea. Thanks for seeking my opinion."

"I'm getting busier and busier Vikki. Although I now have downsized the farm I am into other things and all the time am looking at new business opportunities. I reckon I should get into land development."

"You should indeed. There's money to be made in subdividing land for intense redevelopment."

"Right and you think like me," commented Matt. "Vikki would you consider running Southern Star Holdings Ltd? I'll pay you $450 a month to manage the two properties and look after the paperwork, it will only involve a few hours each week."

"I don't quite know what to say."

"Try saying yes."

"Yes but we need to sit down and work out what my commitment would be. You are a very kind man to do this Matt."

"Don't kid yourself buxom lady. We're both in business for the money."

"Oh Matt," said Vikki, stretching. "There are more things to life than money. Kiss me."

"How can a gentleman refuse such an offer?" 

Vikki saw the dark glistening eyes lower towards her face: she squirmed in anticipation.

* * *

During long weekends and university holidays, Reece usually arrived home with a different female companion, as did his best friend Phil Crown.

In most instances Patricia and Courtney were not at all impressed. Courtney attempted to discuss her concerns with Matt.

"This girl Liz Reece has brought home with him. Her bed was not slept in at all. She moved straight into his room. She looks very common don't you think?"

Matt looked as if she was wasting his time. "Let the boy be Courtney. He's enjoying the best years of his life."

"That may be so but in this house we have standards."

"Come on Courtney. The eighties are almost upon us and now virtually anything goes. He'd probably humping the stuffing out of her at university so why can't he do the same thing at home? This is also his home isn't it?"

After exchanging brief glances with Patricia, who looked at her approvingly but had tactfully not taken part in the conversation, Courtney returned to reading her historical novel about a queen with her insatiable lust for young boys.

To her relief, she never saw that "very common" looking young woman again. But others came and went, none of them coming close to having qualities Courtney would call 'ladylike'. However one upside was the youngsters livened up the house and at times that resulted in some great impromptu parties.

One afternoon Patricia stood at the sitting room windows looking down on to the beach where they could see Reece and Phil with three females who were fellow university students.

"My goodness," she called to Courtney. "Come quick and look at this, the sluts!"

Courtney came running. She saw that Patricia was shaking. 

She could see that the three women were topless. Phil Crown seemed to be removing the bikini bottom of one of the girls. The other two were leaning over Reece, their heads touching, and clearly they were licking Reece's penis.

"My God, come away Patricia! You have no need to upset yourself by looking at this revolting exhibition. Have they no shame?"

"I've seen canoodling before, though two on to one is a new one for me. Can't we stay and watch?"

"Patricia!"

"Oh, all right you spoil-sport."

From their first week together at university, Reece and Phil had enthusiastically sought the company of the opposite sex. As both were good-looking and apparently ready to spend good money for a good night out, they had little trouble finding partners.

One afternoon midway through his second year at university and knowing the morning shift at the hospital would have ended half an hour ago, Reece phoned a nurses' hostel and arranged with the trainee nurse talking the call to be ready with five of her friends to be picked up at 8:00 that night to go to a party.

"Oooh I could arrange more if you'd like?"

Reece was tempted, but said, "No, six of you will be just dandy." 

He was pleased about the brilliance and audacity of his deception. He and Phil arrived at the hostel in Reece's beaten up 10-year-old Jaguar. Climbing out of the vehicle Reece walked around, running a speculative eye over the girls in their party frocks. "You and you. Jump in. The other guys will be along shortly, one of the cars wouldn't start."

Of course no other cars would be arriving, simply because no other guys had been told that four rejects would be available for the taking. It was a really mean thing to do, thought Phil, but his pang of conscience was short-lived. On the other hand Reece gloated at his audacity to sort out the best looking prospects.

At the end of the evening the two girls submitted to some heavy petting in appreciation of a wonderful night out. Later, when driving back to their shared flat Reece had said, "I reckon Ruby was ready to go all the way. How was yours?" 

"She led me get to her breasts, but kept her legs clamped together."

Knowing that Reece rarely dated the same girl twice, two nights later Phil went on a formal date with Ruby. Just as Reece had said, she was ready and willing to share herself fully. The two lovers they were inseparable for the next 18 months. 

Reece often went out with them, always with a new partner. 

One Saturday afternoon when Phil had gone to the hostel to pick up Ruby as arranged, he was informed that she'd resigned from nursing and gone away. He was handed a farewell letter from his sweet Ruby. 

Later Ruby wrote again, with no return address, saying that she'd given birth to a daughter but never wanted to see him again, although she would write occasionally. She had called the baby Phyllis is memory of him.

Two years later Ruby softened her attitude and wrote that she wanted Phil to see his daughter once a year near her birthday. Phil returned home disappointed after the first reunion. He told Reece that Ruby had refused to allow him to even kiss her, but readily handed Phyllis across to him. She declined money towards their support but told Phil that if Phyllis wanted to go to university she'd ask Phil to assist with the costs of his daughter's higher education. 

"This has shattered me," Phil told Reece, in despair. "But I accept Ruby's wishes. It's the terms that her parents have imposed if she is to continue to live with them. They insist that she has nothing to do with me whatsoever. 

At the end of his third year of study when notification of his final pass results arrived, confirming that Reece had obtained his bachelor's degree in business administration, he said hopefully to his family, "I hope you guys have got a great present for me. Some of my mates' parents are allowing them to go on a cruise to the islands involving non-stop gambling, booze and babes." Phil would continue on at law school.




Doomed Dynasty Pt. 06



"Oh Reece," said Courtney in dismay. 

Matt nodded to her and she went inside and returned with an envelope. "This is from your father, grandma and me. We believe you deserve it."

Matt torn the envelope open and found a return air ticket to France and a cheque for $8000.

"We thought you ought to go to the heartland of road cycling racing," said Courtney, gasping from within the enthusiastic hug. 

"Gosh, oh neat! Thanks and thank you grandma," he said, turning to grasp the hand of smiling Patricia who was sitting beside him.

"Just before the money runs out we want you to head back home."

Reece rose and leaned over and kissed her. "Thanks mum. 

He turned to his father, "And thanks especially to you, dad. Without you I don't think I would have become hooked on cycling."

Matt grunted. He believed that Reece would be better off looking for a good job. It puzzled him to hear Reece mention gambling would allow him to stay on longer. He'd shown no interest in playing cards with him. He shrugged and listened to his son rave on about French and Italian stars in international road cycle racing.

After twelve months in Europe, Reece returned home early in the loaded down with cycling trophies and cycling gear. His mother and grandmother, who hugged him tightly, warmly welcomed him but he was disappointed that his father's attitude towards him hadn't changed.

A brief handshake and a curt, "I guess it's time you began looking for a job" was the extent his father's greeting.

"Oh, give him a chance to settle in Matt," scolded Courtney.

"It's all right mum. I already have a job and start Monday."

Matt pricked up his ears. "How did you swing that?"

Reece said that he was in London and read an ad in the locally produced The New Zealand News. He responded and the managing director of the company, who'd timed the advertisement for his bi-annual visit to European money market executives and financial advisers, had conducted interviews at his London hotel.

"So you had some competition?"

"I certainly did dad. There were six of us including a senior banking executive. But although lacking in actual experience I got it because of my degree and my reasonably high profile in Europe through cycling and I was the only New Zealander applicant.

"But I think what swung it was that the chairman had accompanied the MD and sat in on the final interviews, He asked me if I was related to you and seemed very pleased when I said your were my father."

"Really, who was he?"

"Ian Owens of High Country Pastoral Holdings. He's the company's largest shareholder."

"Old Ian eh," said Matt. "I owe him one."

"Where will you be located? Close to home I hope," inquired Courtney.

"No mum, our office is in Christchurch." And looking at Matt he added, "And that's where I'd like to be."

That comment passed over Courtney's head. She said, "Reece I guess you met a large number of young women. Anyone special?"

"There was one, a stunning Australian girl who's an international swimsuit model. We spent a weekend in Geneva and she paid. We didn't see each other after that because she's on a gruelling schedule in both the north and south hemispheres. She phones me occasionally but there's really nothing in it."

"We will meet her?" asked Courtney, excitedly.

"I said there's nothing in it mum. Let's get off the subject ... how have you been keeping, grandma?"

CHAPTER 13

By 1984 the money was rolling in for Matt and his sleeping business partners. He'd become chairman of the Miranda Business and Professional Association and Mayor Ashley Rowland had asked Matt to stand for council at the forthcoming by-election. 

Matt declined. He did not state his true reasons but he thought Mayor Rowlands and a number of his cronies on the council were too complacent, too manipulative to best serve the interests of business and ratepayers generally. He didn't want to waste his time and energy opposing the council's anti-progressive majority.

Max Mead had done a great job on the duplication of the Riverside Café building. The larger new structure was indistinguishable with the upgraded exterior of the much older building. All four tenants were trading well.

But the smooth-running life for Matt would soon be disrupted.

In late autumn the ongoing summer dry broke with a spell of continuous rain. 

An exceptionally heavy fall in the remote area of the headwaters of the Miranda River caused a rockslide that partially blocked the water flow. Then one night the water pressure behind the blockade burst through and a big surge swept down the river towards the sea. Sheep and cattle on low-lying land upstream were swept away and drowned but no property other than farmland and forestry was endangered until the surge reached the town.

Matt was in his office in the hotel when he heard shouting. He rushed out to investigate and saw that there appeared to be trouble down at the Riverside Embankment. He grabbed his jacket and raced to investigate.

"It's a flash flood, Matt," cried Cyril Thomas. "I think the launch will go."

Quickly assessing the situation in darkness, illuminated partly by the overhead wharf lighting, Matt could see the water was several feet above normal, actually lapping the wharf decking.

The stern of Sea Urchin, his 22 ft launch, had swung out into the main force of water and its normally loosened stern mooring ropes were under immense strain.

Fortunately Matt's Land Rover was parked by the café. Matt rushed off and drove it back to the wharf. Cyril helped him pull the wire rope from the winch mounted on the front of the vehicle.

"I'm going aboard," shouted Matt. I'll go to the stern and throw you a line. Tie it to the wire rope and I'll pull it aboard."

Cyril signalled that he understood.

Matt hauled the wire rope aboard and secured it. He then returned to the wharf and slowly, very slowly winched Sea Urchin back parallel to the wharf, timing his short burst on the winch to coincide with mini surges in the water, which by this time was quickly dropping in level. 

Eventually the launch was back against its berth.

With the crisis almost over, Matt went aboard to re-check that the moorings were secure.

There was a big thump against the stern of the boat. Matt looked over the side to see what it was. 

It was a tree trunk. What he didn't see was a limb attached to the stump rising straight out of the water. It thumped Matt on the head and passed on. For a moment Matt's fall was arrested by the boat's aft railing, but he slowly toppled over the railing into the floodwater. 

Cyril had seen Matt go overboard, and rushed forward of the launch. He saw Matt floating away, head down in the water. Although Cyril was known as a wastrel, he didn't consider himself a coward or a hero. In this instance he just knew the right thing to do. He ripped off his jacket and dived into the water. His feeble swimming strokes were enough to propel him over to Matt just as they disappeared beyond the illumination of the wharf lighting.

Vikki, who'd heard Matt's Land Rover start up and roar off, had gone out to see what the noise was. She had spotted Cyril, heard him should "Matt" and then saw him jump into the swirling water.

"Matt, Matt!" she screamed, running towards them. 

But when she arrived at the edge of the wharf there was nothing to be seen.

The bridge, she thought. She climbed into her Escort panel van and went off at high speed to the town bridge. 

There she found two firemen and a council works supervisor looking down at tree trunks slamming into the bridge. Fortunately the piers were protected by v-shaped pieces of heavy steel which could knife through smaller trunks arriving at speed, leaving them to pass clear of the pier on the water flow.

Vikki gasped out what she'd seen happened.

One of the firemen shone his torch upstream.

Shortly afterwards he shouted, "There they are, two heads!"

They saw two white faces turned towards the light. Matt had a gash on his forehead. Cyril released one arm from around Matt to wave for help. But all those on the bridge could do was to watch helplessly.

Cyril saw that they were being swept on to the pier, and turned to protect Matt from the impact. They thudded into the steel protection panel, and Cyril screamed. 

Those on the bridge rushed to the downstream side.

They saw the two men had parted, both struggling feebly to reach the river bank as the river widened at that point, decreasing the flow rate of the floodwater.

The three men on the bridge stood and watched.. But Vikki jumped off into the river and swam towards Matt.

He shook his head, apparently telling Vikki to assist Cyril. 

Fifty yards later the water swept them on to a shingle bank and they were safe. 

Vikki pulled the barely conscious Cyril to dry land, and saw that a bone from his right leg had pierced his trousers, blood was flowing everywhere.

Matt crawled up to Cyril who by this time was unconscious.

The three men who'd been on the bridge watching this drama arrived in the council supervisor's light truck. 

They were unable to render first aid but lifted Cyril, Matt and Vikki on to the tray of the vehicle and rushed them to the hospital.

Vikki protested that she had a business to return to but was ignored. Her face was bloodied although as it happened not as a result of injury: the blood on her was from Matt that had coated her when she kissed him frantically as he lay exhausted on the shingle bank.

It was fortunate that the civic emergency alarm, a continuous series of short bursts on fire station siren, had alerted townspeople, sending off-duty medical people rushing to the hospital and other emergency services people to their posts.

Vikki was quickly cleaned up and allowed to go. She did so after checking on Matt who was being admitted for observation for possible concussion, the wound on his head had already been stitched and bandaged. 

She was not allowed to see Cyril.

Before the surgeon, Mr Packard enter the theatre where Cyril was being prepared for him, he phoned his daughter Ali, a reporter on The Bugle, to come and interview the heroine Vikki.

A few minutes later he was back on the phone. He asked for and got Elsie's verbal permission to amputate her husband's right leg just above the knee. The surgeon assured her that the multiple bone fractures and complete shattering of the knee joint were so severe that there was no other alternative. 

Elsie rushed to be at her husband's side, but stopped to sign the consent for an amputation that was about to start. Later, when reunited with Cyril, she stroked the side of his face and crooned to him, "Thank goodness you are alive."

Meanwhile Vikki was downplaying her role to the reporter. 

"The real hero is in there," she said, pointing to the post-operation recovery room, naming him as Cyril Thomas.

"What, the town drunk?" retorted the shocked reporter.

The journalist lowered her eyes in embarrassment when she saw the angry look on Vikki's face. "Sorry I was out of order saying that."

She redeemed herself the next day when her front page article in The Bugle trumpeted Cyril Thomas as a great hero, assisted by another brave rescuer, Vikki Armstrong, proprietor of the popular Riverside Café.

Courtney had returned to the hospital late that evening to take Matt home. She read him the article.

Matt shook his head. "Vikki, I can understand her diving in but Cyril not Cyril. Makes you wonder. Some people have more to them than what you think."

"I think you should look after him well Matt."

"Agreed and I will."

Six months later when Cyril had mastered the use of his artificial leg, he began work at the Miranda hotel, doing part-time maintenance work. Matt had purchased a second-hand Japanese electric cart for him that could pull a light trailer. This allowed Cyril to do odd-jobs at other locations, including at the old cheese factory which was used for market days and some potters and other artisans had taken space to set up permanent stalls. Matt had also purchased a replacement house not far from the cheese factory for the Cyril and Elsie Thomas. Their former two-storey home was now unsuitable for them because stairs were difficult for Cyril.

Matt sold their former home for them and topped up the proceeds to $100,000 and that was placed in a trust fund for Cyril, with Elsie and young lawyer Phil Crown named as the trustees.

"Oh Matt," cried Elsie. "You have been much too generous to us."

"What price is a guy's leg Elsie? If it had been my leg that was mashed, and by rights it should have been, I reckon the loss would have been worth much more that the help I have given Cyril and you. Where is he?"

Elsie smiled with pride. "It's Wednesday night. He's down there at the bowling club each Wednesday and Friday nights calling the numbers for Housie. The club's functions manager reckons he'd the best caller they're ever had and better still, Matt, Cyril's off the booze."

* * *

Two years after that terrible accident and Matt's close shave, the business community was concerned about a build up on the shingle bar at the river mouth. A constant run-off of heavy rainfall during winter followed by the spring thaw of snow on the ranges had pushed the river level at the town to near-record heights.

It was being predicted that the stage was being set for the "mother of all floods" to one-day pour through the business area.

As chairman of the business and professional association, Matt led a deputation to ask the Miranda District Council, formed in 1979 with the merger of the district's county council and the Miranda Borough Council, to recruit contractors to excavate a wider channel at the river mouth.

"The increased water flow of the next flood will scour away more of the shingle bank. Problem solved."

That submission was supported by a hearty "Hear, hear" from the deputation.

Mayor Ashley Rowlands looked with narrowing eyes at Matt, the man who had declined the Mayor's invitation to stand for a vacant seat on the council. 

"Mr Curtis, I presume in giving that advice you have engineering qualifications or at the very least have consulted a civil engineer?"

"No to both points, your worship. But I am a practical farmer and have been involved in many construction projects including irrigation and controlling flows of waterways. We appeal to the council to act decisively and with great urgency on this matter."

"I would imagine that by controlling flows of water ways you were referring to the bad old days when farmers and probably your father blatantly manipulated river and lake water resources for their own selfish purposes?"

Matt's face darkened. 

The mayor's remark produced laughter around the council table and even smiles within the deputation standing behind Matt.

"Yes, I did. Just as your own father did," responded Matt, now bristling.

"That remark was uncalled for," said the Mayor, angrily. "I request that you withdraw it." He glanced across to the press tables and saw the two reporters had their heads down, writing furiously.

"I can't take back the truth."

"Very well, Mr Curtis," said Mayor Rowlands, looking at the big clock in the council chambers, gifted by Matt's father, who'd also served as Mayor. "Please retire with your deputation. We invite you to return at 2.30 to hear of our decision. Would the public and the press also leave these chambers."

As Matt returned behind the deputation an hour later, he looked at 'Pick Nose' Rowlands, as Ashley had been called at primary school. He really didn't need to wait for the decision because the victorious look on the Mayor's face said it all.

"I wish to inform the deputation that the Council has decided on a 7-2 vote to defer this matter for nine months when the estimates will be prepared for our construction programme for the following twelve months. That is all."

Matt rose to his feet. "This is a decision that represents a black day for local government in this community," he said, unemotionally and slowly to ensure that the reporters got it word for word. 

That wording would be repeated as a banner headline across the front page of The Bugle next day.

Outside the Council Chambers after that ill-fated meeting, Matt addressed the deputation. "The Mayor and Council have ignored us and will have to live with their decision. I say we must fight on."

"Right Matt," cried Spencer Talbot, proprietor of a stock and general goods carrying firm, with 18 trucks and seven buses, and president of the Rotary Club. "We're right behind you all the way!"

The group gave three cheers to Matt.

Flushed, the farmer-turned businessmen decided to reward his small band of supporters. He called, "Let's eat at the Riverside Restaurant. I'll pay."

Another three cheers sounded, irritating Mayor Rowlands inside the Council Chambers who'd just opened the liquor cabinet to serve drinks to his councillors.

Throughout dinner, Matt was in a jovial mood, demonstrating that he was not at all concerned at the setback and refused invitations to tell the assembly what he really thought of 'Pick Nose' the Mayor.

He finally got home just before 1:00 am.

Sleepily Courtney welcomed him home with a lingering kiss. His breath was tainted of red wine and she caught a waft of a fragrance him that thought was probably the same perfume that Vikki used. 

Matt began to recite the events of the afternoon meeting with the council and the dinner afterwards, but minutes later he noticed his wife had fallen asleep.

Matt was a worried man. The town was in danger and that included his own properties along the riverfront and probably the ground floor of the hotel. Muttering about the need to come up with a solution he went out into the living room, poured himself a whisky with a little water, and sat down in his favourite chair which had been his father's chair and before that his grandfather's chair. He fell asleep for almost 30 minutes and awoke, quite refreshed. His mind was clear. Thinking about his father and grandfather, he asked himself, what would they have done?

A minute later he was in possession of the solution, and went to bed a very happy man.

Two days later Matt went to the farm where he got his farm manager, Dick Rogers, to help load the farm bulldozer on to the old Thames Trader truck with its reinforced tray. 

That evening shortly after 11.30, with the town streets deserted for the night, Matt drove the truck through town and headed for the beach. No one lived right on the beach at that locality because it was reserve land. The tide was out and surf was pounding the beach, which would mask his noise.

He unloaded Little Lionheart and drove the bulldozer out across the tidal flats and began widening the gap in the shingle bank. Little Lionheart chugged away at that job and then was moved on to lower the nearby stretch of the shingle bank. 

Three hours later the tide had turned and soon was streaming up the river. With the white water from breaking waves obscuring his vision, Matt miscalculated and ran Little Lionheart down the far side of the shingle bank and into deep water. The motor of the submerged bulldozer died, and Matt swam a few strokes back to the higher part of the sandbank. Knowing that the task was all but completed, he went to the truck satisfied and drove home.

Early next morning, Mayor Rowland, wearing striped pyjamas, was spreading marmalade on to toast for his current girlfriend, a newcomer to the Council's typing pool, when he received a telephone call for the town clerk. He'd been given the number to call in dire emergencies.

"I think this is one of those emergencies," said the official, apologising for the intrusion.

The Mayor turned the colour of the red stripe of his nightwear as he received the briefing from his official who had seen changes at the river mouth during his morning walk with his dog.




Doomed Dynasty Pt. 06



"Right I'll go down now and see for myself."

He quickly dressed and kissing his rather pretty lover cautioned her, "Now don't be late for work."

It was 7.45 when the Mayor arrived at the river mouth. It was half an hour from ebb tide, so he could see the extent of what he would term "vandalism" and on the other side of the shingle bank was the offending bulldozer, partly submerged.

To say the Mayor was angry would be an under-statement. He struck the bonnet of his car with his fist and then kicked the wheel savagely, hopping away and howling in pain.

The council's chief engineer drove up. His cheerful "Good morning, Ashley" instantly turned to custard. 

"Don't good morning me!" ranted Ashley. 

"Get a tow truck and get some of your men down here fast. I want that bulldozer retrieved and stored away under lock and key as evidence. I'm going to throw the book at the bastard who did this, and you and I know who that is."

The engineer, Tim Wellings, a British immigrant who'd only been with the Council for a few months, had no idea who the mayor was talking about. But he found out when the country edition of The Bugle rolled off the press at 1.30 pm and copies were distributed to council executives.

There was a big photo of the mayor on the front page, standing on the shingle bank as the bulldozer was being pulled past him. The widened gap in the bank could be seen in the background.

The banner headline across the page read: "Midnight Mystery Man Widens River Channel." Beneath that was a quote: "Mayor: I'll Get the Blighter Who Did This!

No allegations were made against any person, although the Mayor hinted, "The finger points at the deputation who met the Council earlier in the week." 

Readers who reached the bottom of the article would have been intrigued by this final paragraph: "Asked by The Bugle reporter if he had any knowledge of the phantom bulldozer driver, Matt Curtis, well-known and respected farmer and local businessman replied that his lips were sealed. He declined to comment further."

Shortly after 8:00 that evening Matt was called to the door of his home. Standing there were Sergeant Chivers and a constable from the Miranda Valley & District Police Station.

Matt invited them in. They declined the offer of a whisky.

"We're here on official business Matt. This is Constable Childs."

"We know each other, used to play rugby together," said Matt, perfectly at ease.

Clearing his throat, Sergeant Chivers said, "Matt, it has been established that the bulldozer salvaged from the river mouth earlier today is owned by Curtis Pastoral Holdings Ltd and is usually domiciled on your farm. Your farm manager denies having any knowledge of where the machine was on Tuesday night and what purpose it was being used for. Unless we get further evidence, we are satisfied with his explanation but may have to charge him with being 'an accessory before the fact/."

Matt realised that he would have to confess. "No, don't do that. It was me and totally me who drove that bulldozer on Tuesday night at the river mouth."

"You confirm that it was you, and you acted alone?"

"At the river mouth, yes, correct on both counts."

"I'm sorry Matt, but I must ask you to accompany us to the station for further questioning and it is likely that charges will be laid."

"Oh, don't turn into a pedantic copper Charlie. You worked for dad when you came out of the Army and it was he who persuaded you to join the Police Force. You know Curtis's don't run away and don't promise anything unless they truly mean it. Let's delay this thing until tomorrow. I promise you that I will turn up at 10:00 or sooner if you require, and I will cooperate fully with you. Okay?"

Charlie Chivers nodded. "See you at 10:00 then. Better bring your mouth-piece."

They left, and Matt had already decided not to be accompanied by his lawyer although he would seek legal advice throughout. He intended to defend himself, and portray himself as a martyr versus the big powerful and stonewalling Council that was willing to put its whole town at risk. He smiled, but that smile vanished when his mother came storming in, followed by his white-faced wife.'

"Matt," said his mother in the voice she used to speak to children. "Never in my time in this house, and daresay never in my parent's time, have the Police been compelled to come here on official business. We suspected you knew something about this deed but it never occurred to us that you would be so reckless, so stupid to do such a thing. We're shocked."

"Oh mother, don't get yourself into such a paddy. Sit down and listen to my side of the story and then you may think that little Matt is not such a larrikin as it would seem."

Matt reached out to comfort her, but she stepped back and Courtney put her arms around Patricia. 

"We'll listen, Matt. But it had better be good," Courtney said.

Matt sighed. Bloody women. Why when a man does something borderline do they have to speak to him as if he were a little boy. He couldn't imagine adult female children being demeaned in that way, yet there were some pretty bad girls around.

He commenced his explanation and talked about possible outcomes including the 'judge and jury' might make it quite clear it was not acceptable any longer for grown men charging around trying to do knightly deeds.

"No matter what you say, you're in real trouble Matt. Mayor Pick Nose Rowlands is the vindictive type."

"Pick Nose?" said Matt, surprised. "I didn't know you knew that awful nickname mother."

"You'd be surprised what we women know about the men in this community of ours," she said grimly.

It was Courtney chance to be helpful, "Father has at least two friends who are Queen's Counsel and he also knows people in high places in Government administration."

"Now, that could be very helpful, thanks for that dear."

Next morning Matt was quite chirpy. He ate breakfast and the time finally arrived to drive to town. Courtney wanted to accompany him, so he agreed, upsetting her momentarily when he joked, "You'll be able to drive the car home when they throw me in jail." 

His mother came out in her dressing grown, and immediately resumed her mother-small child relationship. 

"Matt Curtis. Go and get changed into decent clothes. You can't go to this business at the Police Station wearing a football jersey. It just isn't done in families like ours."

Minutes later he returned, wearing a grey suit made out of exported New Zealand Merino wool which had come back from Britain as very expensive cloth. His mother's tailor had imported the cloth to make the suit as one of her presents to him on his 21st birthday. She approved, but thought it now looked rather small on him.

Constable Childs' sister Erin worked as a sub-editor on The Bugle and so it was no coincidence that Ali Packard and a photographer had been alerted and were loitering outside the Police Station when Matt arrived.

"Should we drive around to the back?" suggested Courtney.

"No park here," Matt said.

When the reporter and photographer swooped on to him, he allowed his photograph to be taken. Then when Ali asked him if he had anything he wished to say, he replied: "I expect I will have my day in court. If anyone on the Council thinks the Curtis's roll over when threatened, they'll have quite a surprise coming."

Patricia was pleased to see Matt in the car when they returned. She was sure that he wouldn't be held in custody but after they had gone, being left alone in the house, she wasn't so sure any longer. She hugged Matt with surprising vigour. He was surprised that she had hugged him. Apparently the bad little boy was partly forgiven.

Two hours later a happier Courtney trotted out to Matt who was working on the motor of the Thames Trader. With no bulldozer available, the truck was not required at the farm.

"Great news, darling. I've been talking to daddy and he put me on to his snooker partner at the club, Henry Honeybone, QC. He seems such a nice man and has agreed to become involved, although accepting your intention to defend yourself. The deal is this: He'll come over on Friday afternoon and stay. His hobby is hiking. So he wants you to take him into the headwaters of the Miranda River on Saturday and as you tramp you can discuss your case with him. Then he wants to dine out that evening at a very good restaurant we have here. He's heard about the Riverside café from several people in Wellington. Isn't that great for Vikki?

"Oh, I don't think she'll be impressed by a Queen's Counsel."

"No, silly. That people in Wellington know about Vikki's restaurant. She is becoming famous."

"Yes, she will be pleased. You'd better tell her."

"I'll leave that to you, Matt," Courtney said stiffly.

Then she remembered something else that HH had delivered as a piece of bad news. 

"I'm sorry Matt, but the QC says although you have been summonsed to Court on Monday on one charge, that could simply be an initial charge. Another charge or perhaps several may be laid when you appear in Court."

"Fine I was prepared for that. Our family has a tradition for the law; we're bush lawyers from way back."

Now with a QC in the wings, Courtney had confidence to smile at her husband's playful sense of humour. Her father didn't exhibit humour like that. In fact many men seemed to be rather dour. Matt was fun to be with and was a good provider. She hugged him, getting some grease on her chin.

"Like to come to bed?"

Matt jumped as if he's been shot, knocking his head on the open bonnet of the truck.

It was only mid-afternoon and for the first time he'd known her Courtney was propositioning him and never had they indulged in sex outside the hours of darkness.

He'd received a call to arms than not even a cad would refuse and nor could he! In the rushing to follow Courtney he struggled to take off his overalls, catching a foot as he tried to pull the leg free, tripping and tumbling to the ground. His wife turned, and assessing what had happened, laughed merrily. Matt had not heard his laugh like that for a very long time. He also was aware of other reasons why Courtney was so happy. She had been attending meetings of a breakaway group from the Women's division of Federated Farmers, or the WDFF as it was called. The focus of the new Culture for County Women Organisation (CFCWO, was on stimulating the rural women in cultural things rather than in farm politics, jam making and humanitarian services.

Patricia was disappointed that Courtney was turning her back on the WDFF but she was rather taken by the ideals of the spin-off group. She was pleased that Courtney had been elected to the inaugural committee. 

At this point Courtney's artwork was turning into a small business. Wealthier women were asking her to paint a scene from their gardens and she was having trouble keeping up with the inflow of commissions. Money was also flowing in for her.

* * *

At the initial Court appearance Matt pleaded not guilty to each of the five charges laid against him. The book in fact had been thrown at him as they related to vandalism, breaching rivers control and foreshore protection legislation, endangering the public, illegally parking on a beach and using a vehicle improperly in a public place. 

He was advised by the Court to seek legal representation.

When Matt's day in Court finally arrived eight weeks later, he drove through the main street and commented to Courtney: "Town's busy today."

"Yes indeed," she said, noting that townspeople were looking at them as they drove past.

Although feeling humiliated, Courtney reached out and clutched Matt around the upper arm. Had not Patricia pointed out, when talking about 'the old days' that Curtis women had always stood by their men through thick and thin. She assumed 'thick and thin' really meant misdemeanours or really big trouble, and right now her husband was into it up to his neck.

"Good luck, darling," she whispered, as Matt was directed to the holding room where defendants were required to assemble.

Matt's case was third on the list. 

After the preliminaries were completed, with Matt confirming to the Bench that he was aware that he was entitled to legal representation but would appear for himself, the prosecutor made a surprising announcement. 

He asked for permission to withdraw the serious charges relating to breaches of rivers control and foreshore protection legislation. He said he was acting on instructions from someone higher up, and the judge ordered accordingly.

Matt's private reaction was that his father had demonstrated influence on 'people in high places'.

That withdrawal was a relief, as HH had said that Act posed a real threat to anyone attempting to defend breaches because that legislation had 'real teeth.'

The lawyer representing the Council, the father of one of Matt's ski club friends, called a number of witnesses who included a taxi driver who had recognised the truck passing through the town on the night in question, although he had been unable to identify the driver as he had been parked some distance away. He was certain only one person was in the vehicle. 

The final witness was the Mayor. His account of the deputation meeting with the Council was accurate, totally unembellished in fact. He became more emotional and irrational when describing to the Court what he had seen when he arrived at the river mouth.

When counsel asked, "What were your thoughts when you saw the extent of damage to the shingle bank?" Matt jumped to his feet, calling "Objection!"

The prosecuting lawyer looked amused, challenged by a layperson on one of the most innocuous questions he'd asked.

Asked for the grounds of his objection, Matt replied, "Counsel's reference to 'extent of damage' is improper or is the word inadmissible Your Honour? The expert opinion already given was based on 'significant changes'. There was no mention, none at all, to damage being done."

Solicitor Reginald King looked at Matt in astonishment.

The decision came with no hesitation, "Re-phrase you question, Mr King."

At that point the Court, Reginald King, Matt and even Mayor Rowlands accepted that one of the remaining charges that of vandalism had been effectively nullified.

Two down, three to go, breathed Matt.

Matt asked only two questions when the opportunity came to cross-examine the Mayor.

"Mr Mayor, what is your definition of vandalism?"

"Wilful damage to property."

"Mr Mayor, when you and your Council were discussing the deputation's submission, had you alone or you and the Council received any report on the state of the shingle bank?"

"No."

"Thank you, no further questions."

Reginald King called Matt to the stand. Matt repeated the oath confidently, and stood strongly looking directly at counsel,

The expected barrage of questions came. 

Matt admitted to having taken the bulldozer to the river mouth. He denied parking illegally. He admitted bulldozing the channel wider and cutting down the height of the shingle bank.

The public in the Court laughed at Matt's reply to the question, "Why did you abandon your bulldozer at the river mouth?"

"The water was deep and I was too tired to carry the bulldozer back to the beach."

The hint of a smile appeared at the corners of the mouth of the District Court Judge.

The experienced and foxy Mr King took the opportunity of that diversion to slip in a question aimed at getting Matt to recant. "Did you think your unlawful act of damaging the shingle bank would go unnoticed and, secondly why did you carry out that act under the cover of darkness?"

Matt: "Your second question first, I'm usually free most nights."

There was laughter and the Judge looked sternly at Matt and coughed into his hand.

Matt took the cue, "I also believed that the Council would not like seeing anyone doing such deferred work on its behalf while its own staff were concentrating on essential tasks such as sweeping streets and emptying rubbish tins."

Mr King: Your Honour? 

His Honour: Mr Curtis, does one detect a facetious component in that reply? 

Matt: It was not intended as such, your Honour. I see it as the truth. 

His Honour: Very well. Please proceed Mr Curtis.

"In reply to the first part of counsel's question, I regarded what I did as a laudable action of a responsible citizen with the resources to carry out such work; in no way did I regard it as an unacceptable act to this community, though it may well have been presented as that by an embarrassed Mayor and Council. I said it before and I'll repeat it for your benefit Mr King. I was not involved in damaging the shingle bank and channel. To ensure that you fully comprehend what I am saying, I was involved in enhancing them."

There was a buzz through the courtroom and some applause.

"Order, order in the Court," cried a Court official.

Matt called himself as a defence witness. 

He explained the concern he had felt at the increasing level of floods in the past two years and was aware that the channel at the river mouth had narrowed and the shingle bank increased in height over recent years, thereby slowing the exit of downstream river flow. He said the Council's twice yearly survey would establish that as fact. It was significant that the Council's counsel had not presented such crucial evidence for the benefit of the Court.

"I did what any red-blooded New Zealand with a pride in his community and concern for the physical safety of its waterfront inhabitants and waterfront property would do when faced by a monolithic, uncaring and stonewalling body we call the Council. We have a tradition in the country for DIY, do it yourself. When our submissions to urgently activate the Council failed, I resorted to DIY and perhaps was entitled to think that a grateful Council would acknowledge my enterprising citizenship. But no, Goliath chose to go after David to crush him."

Finished, Matt stood there waiting for Mr King to commence his cross-examination. But Mr King lay back in his chair studying the ceiling.

His Honour said, "Stand down, witness." 

Matt then called for his only other witness.

"Would Timothy James Wellings please take the stand. 

"Timothy James Wellings," called a Court official.

As the Council's chief engineer stepped forward the Mayor seated behind Mr King tapped him on the shoulder and whispered something to him. The Mayor was red-faced and counsel looked very annoyed.

At Matt's request, the engineer was declared a hostile witness.

"Why are you appearing here this morning?" Matt asked.

"Because you subpoenaed me at 9.45 today."

"And why was that?"

"Because you wanted me to describe in detail that on May 15 of this year I had personally produced a discussion document, a copy of which I have in front of me, in which I recommended that remedial work be done at the river mouth as soon as possible as the build up of shingle being swept down the river was impeding the outflow, posing a possible danger to the town in the event of a major flash flood which we experience from time to time."

The document was lodged with the Court as evidence.

Matt: Thank you Mr Wellings. The witness is yours, Mr King. 

Mr King questioned the witness at length about his engineering qualifications and experience, but that yielded nothing to his benefit.

He asked: Why did you give this confidential Council information about your report to the defendant?" 

"Earlier this morning Mr Curtis came to my office and asked had I ever reported to the Council on the need for remedial work on the shingle bank. I replied yes, because it was the truth. I was aware that we were entitled to discuss in general terms with any ratepayer any matter which has not been classified as confidential."

"Did you hand over the report to him?"




Doomed Dynasty Pt. 06



"No and he left my office. He reappeared almost an hour later with a subpoena in which I was instructed to appear here in person this morning and to bring my original report of May 15 in its entirety."

"Did you attempt to discuss this with your superiors?"

"Yes, but the Mayor and chief executive had already left for this hearing."

Mr King thought for a moment and then asked, "Surely the Mayor has the authority to time the presentation of reports and recommendations to Council as he thinks fit?"

"Yes."

At this point the judge interrupted proceedings, and ask Mr King and Matt to approach the bench. There was a short discussion and Mr King returned, walking with his head down slightly, while Matt looked very relaxed.

"I have informed counsel and Mr Curtis that it is my view that we had proceeded far enough in this matter in all but one count, illegally parking on the beach," said His Honour. "Earlier I consented to one major charge being withdrawn. From what the Court had learned this morning the charge of vandalism cannot be upheld as no evidence has been presented to prove the actions of the defendant fell within the definition of vandalism. The charge of endangering the public would clearly fail as evidence established that no other person was in the vicinity, not structures were created which would be a public danger and the abandoned bulldozer which could have provided a hazard was removed on the instructions of the Mayor before any member of the public had arrived on the scene either in a boat or on foot."

"At the outset," said the judge, looking very serious, "I was of a mind to order the withdrawal of the improper use of a vehicle charge because it appeared to be spurious and improper in this particular context. After hearing the evidence thus far I am satisfied that the defendant used the bulldozer skilfully and very effectively to have completed such major excavations and cutting down the shingle bank in such a short time. I find that no improper use occurred."

"I must say that I view seriously some conflict in evidence of one witness over whether or not he had had received profession advice about remedial work at the river mouth before the defendant took the admitted actions which are the subject of this hearing today."

Mayor Rowlands and Mr King had their eyes fixed on the judge.

"In view of my decisions which I am in the process of delivering, I do not proposed to declare Ashley David Rowlands an unreliable witness or to take the issue of his conflicting evidence any further."

The relief on Mayor Rowlands's face would have matched his expression had it just been announced he'd won the top prize in a lottery draw.

"That leaves just one charge, parking illegally. 

"Evidence presented satisfies me that signage states that no vehicle apart from council vehicles or emergency vehicles may enter the reserve at the river mouth and along both sides of the river for some considerable distance. 

"Counsel told the Court that an audit had established that such signage and the prohibition itself were properly imposed, following all guidelines and a report to that effect was lodged by counsel as exhibit G. However, when I was conferring with counsel and Mr Curtis, appearing on behalf of himself, a few minutes ago, I was told that the defendant was in possession of a legal document that gives the three pioneering families who between them deeded that reserve land to the nation, unrestricted access in perpetuity to the beach. According to the defendant's verbal claim there is no restriction in that document, drawn up in the 1920s I was told, as to how access can be made. Therefore, I am adjourning this case for thirty minutes to give the defendant the opportunity to return and present to the Court that legal document. This hearing is adjourned."

Matt hurried out of the back of the courthouse, taking a shortcut to his solicitor's office. He returned with the document and a copy for Mr King. 

The Court resumed and the judge, confirming that Exhibit J did indeed avoid imposing any restricting on the Curtis, Thomas and Whitehead families in accessing the beach, He dismissed the charge of illegal parking. 

"All charges against the defendant had either been withdrawn or dismissed. Therefore the defendant is free to go."

People in the Court stood and clapped as Matt walked out with Courtney. 

In his chambers, ready to attack chicken pie just delivered from the Riverside Cafe, the Judge smiled. A smart fellow that Curtis chap, he concluded. Probably would have made a damn good criminal lawyer as he thinks like one.

Stepping out into bright sunlight, Matt and Courtney were staggered when the crowd gathered in front of the courthouse went wild.

An old school chum, Brett Wilson, vice-president of the Miranda and District branch of Federated Farmers shouted, "Run for Council at the forthcoming elections Matt."

Laughing, Matt thanked him but said he was not interested.

The retired shearer and builder's foreman, Misfit Jones, standing right in the front line of the crowd, stepped out, turned to the crowd and shouted, "Matt Curtis for Mayor, Matt Curtis for Mayor." 

The crowd of some seventy-five people took the heavy-handed hint and began to chant "Matt Curtis for Mayor, Matt Curtis for Mayor."

The noise attracted Mayor Rowlands to the window in the office of his lawyer Reginald King. 

The corner of Mayors top lip curled and he wiped sweat dotting his brow. 

Reginald came up beside him, summed up what was happening, and commented,  "Doesn't look good for you Ashley. Clever bastard, that Curtis. Should have chosen law as his career. Not only did he wriggle out from under us today but he managed to get that little shit of an engineer coming out looking lily white. I would advise you not to take any retaliatory action against your Mr Wellings, at least not until all this has blown over. Shaft him and Curtis will be after our blood."

Reginald looked at the painting behind his chair, a scene from his wife's rose garden painted as if it were on a coastal cliff top, although the sea was two miles from their home. 

"Keep it safe, Reggie darling," his wife Liz had cautioned. "I believe it will be judged to be a significant work of an acclaimed artist one day. The artist is Matt Curtis' lovely wife."

'Reggie Darling' looked thoughtfully at the acrylic painting, although not really seeing it at all. Matt Curtis needed to be cultivated to ensure that Bell, King and Isaacs were to retain the contract to do the Council's legal work after the local authority elections later in the year. A light flashed in his head. Got it, Murray Isaac's wife Helen was an art collector. He'd ask his partner Murray to get his wife to nominate one of the Curtis woman's paintings in the Sampson Brewery National Art Awards. That ought to do the trick, especially when he passed on the news to The Bugle and invited them to photograph and publish the painting in his office as an example of the woman's talent.

As it happened, Courtney was also beginning to be noticed away from her easel. 

She had been selected to go as one of the Miranda branch's two delegates to the inaugural South Island conference of the CFCWO. The other delegate was an automatic selection, branch chairwoman Lucy Lancer. 

In Lucy's opinion Courtney would be the obvious choice to succeed her as president so should be groomed to the post as she may even advance to the national executive.

Courtney had told Matt the news about being elected as a delegate to the conference in Christchurch when he came on to the back porch which now was entirely taken up as Courtney's studio. 

"That's a credit to you, darling," he said, patting her on the shoulder while looking at the conflict of colours he'd remember being taught at art class at school never to use together.

"Will you come with me to Christchurch? 0ther husbands accompany their wives to conference apparently and have a great time."

"Yep," was the automatic response. 

Courtney took that to mean 'Yes unless a better offer comes along', but at least half a yes was better than an outright rejection. She accepted Matt had never been in a subordinate position to a woman, possibly not since late childhood.

Although mildly interested in his wife's mini elevation in the world of country women togetherness and desire to be immersed in culture, Matt was baffled. He was trying really hard to make sense of her current painting. It looked like a real garden scene but yet it still looked to be an utter shambles or what he once had opined as "a distortion of reality." Courtney almost had hysterics when he offered her that interpretation but she since had told him it was rather good description and began to occasionally use it herself to non-artistic people in social conversation when asked to describe her style.

Two weeks later in his new 'town office' at the hotel, Matt read in the just-delivered Bugle that a deputation had called on him to implore him to stand for the mayoralty. "Typical newspaper crap," he muttered. "No deputation has been to see me."

There was a knock on his office door. 

"Come!"

Leaning back in his chair, feet on the desk and reading the newspaper, Matt looked up. Instead of Isobel from hotel reception who acted as his secretary, it was that crazy woman Josie from the hair salon, and behind her were Beryl from Fashion Clothing and Jake from Plumbing Wholesalers and others crowded behind them.

The penny dropped. The deputation had arrived. Some smart-arse had given an advance story to catch today's edition of The Bugle.

"Reading Playboy, eh Matt? Josie exclaimed loudly. 

She looked strange, being dressed in her best. Usually she wore trousers and T-shirts emblazoned with wording such as 'Too Hot to Handle' or 'Desperately Seeking a Real Man.' There was little formality about Josie. 

"We want you as our Mayor Matt. Here's a petition signed by almost 300 people. Three hundred people can't be wrong."

"Smarten up will yah," she continued. The photographer from The Bugle will be here in a minute to photograph us with you and to take back your acceptance speech. Here it is, I've written it for you."

Matt cupped a hand over his eyes, rubbing his forehead, and said, "Oh, hell!" 

Just as he looked up under that cupped hand, photographic flashlight filled the room, freezing that pose in time. The Bugle photographer who shot that picture was pleased he had something alternative to the usual cheesy acceptance pose.

Matt did something he thought himself incapable of doing: he capitulated. He blamed that on something that was buzzing around inside his head, the family motto of Curtis men: "Always do what you think is right and to hell with the bigots and missionaries." 

It did seem that the timing was right.

He grunted, "Oh, heck, I guess so."

Josie dumped her big frame on to his lap, smothering him with kisses. 

The camera clicked again and Matt instantly caught the eye of the photographer who signalled back with a raised hand, "I surrender, it will not be submitted for publication." 

At least not until he left town, thought the photographer, looking at Matt's bulging biceps as he easily lifted Josie off him to ease the weight off on his overloaded swivel chair.

The women at Aberdeen came racing out to welcome Matt home. Numerous phone calls to the house had alerted them to the news. 

He swung his excited wife into the air and then went to do with same with his mother, who backed off, laughing and said, "Get away from me you fool."

Courtney continued dancing about, whispering to herself, "The Mayor and Mayoress, Mr and Mrs Curtis." Matt seeing her curtsey guessed what was going on in her mind.

"Before you meet the Queen of England and the Commonwealth on her next visit here sweetie, we first have to win an election."

Patricia was immensely proud of her son and told him that no one would have been more proud than his father. She wandered off to her suite to converse, as was her habit as least once a week, with her late husband.

Matt took the women to the Riverside Café for a quiet celebration. But that didn't happen. Instead there arrival created bedlam, with the waitresses carrying meals to empty tables having to call people away from the ring gathered around the Curtis table accepting drinks from the unlimited supply that were being ferried to Matt by the grinning waiter assisted by waitresses. 

Matt's women folk, including Vikki who discretely remained in the distance apart from giving Matt a welcoming congratulatory hug, enjoyed the buzz of the spontaneous outburst.

"He'll be the best leader this town's ever had," confided Helen Isaacs, who looked at Patricia and added, "but let's not forget the massive contribution made to this district by your late husband."

She then whispered to Courtney that her painting of Liz King's rose bushes, which hung in Liz's husband's office, had that very day been sent to Wellington to the selection panel choosing the 100 paintings, etchings and drawings to go before the judges of the Samson Brewery national art awards. 

"Oh Helen," cried Courtney, who knew her socially. "Why didn't you tell me you had suggested to Liz to do that?"

"Because you may have tried to stop me," Helen replied, sweetly. 

"You are so modest and refuse to accept what a great talent you have. I know that the selection panel will accept your work; I just know it will. You will then receive an official entry form and at that point you have the opportunity to withdraw the painting if you wish. But I urge don't do that Courtney. You will find that recognition will drive you on to new levels of achievement."

Walking away from the somewhat dazed Courtney, who was enjoying one of the greatest moments in her life in deep thought, Helen felt pleased with the outcome.

In her opinion Courtney had an outside chance of taking out the top award.

To Be Continued



Doomed Dynasty Pt. 07



CHAPTER 14

In the spring of 1986 local body elections were held throughout the country. There was more than usual interest in the mayoralty contest in the Miranda District, a two-candidate race.

Anyone coming into the town could have been forgiven for thinking the incumbent mayor was being elected unopposed. Posters of an artist-enhanced photo of him were visible throughout the commercial area and were scattered around the rural district as well. A huge banner of Mayor Rowlands was stretched between the two-storey dry cleaner's shop, that he owned, and the three-storey office building opposite, that he also owned.

There was nothing promoting Matt's campaign anywhere in sight. 

To the dismay of his self-appointed campaign committee Matt asked them ever so nicely, to disband. "Please, just do what I ask. You'll read about my reason for this request in my one and only advertisement in The Bugle."

"But Matt," whined Josie Landers, committee convenor, "Rowlands is spending all day and into the night phoning folk, calling in old favours. And his campaign committee has people organising a door-knocking campaign to extol his virtues and emphasising why he needs another three-years to complete the initiatives he began introducing two terms ago. And yet you're insisting we do nothing."

"Absolutely. Do nothing." 

Matt was going to add, gently, "Or else." But thought it best not to say that. It didn't matter, though. The stern look on his face gave the message loud and clear.

He was very aware everyone knew manipulations occur at election time, and then general apathy sets in until its election time again. People do some stupid things as election campaigns enter their final stages, like throwing missiles at speakers or toppling candidates' 'Vote For Me' signs.

Late one Friday evening, a week before polling day, someone fired two rifle shots in the middle of town. A parked taxi driver hopefully waiting for a fare to appear, heard the shots and called the police. They rushed to the scene, batons, handcuffs and their notebooks at the ready.

Nothing was found. That is nothing until Sergeant Chivers happened to look up at the man he despised Mayor Rowlands, depicted on the banner gently moving overhead in the night breeze. 

"Cripes," he said. "Hey everyone, I found where the bullets went through."

'Everyone' consisted of Constables Ted Jakes and Alan Hunter plus Sam Smith, who slept above the hardware store and who had rushed up to join them, swinging a pick-axe handle and the night watchman at the timber yard, Phil Dumpster accompanied by his ugly brute of a dog. Silently the men admired the precise execution of the rifleman. Both eyes of the depicted mayor had been replaced by neat circles, bullet holes. 

As one, the men looked beyond the scene of the 'assassination' and saw that the bullets would have travelled on to harmlessly fly into undeveloped land on the rocky outcrop across the river because the main street veered left at that point where the river curved towards the town wharf.

"Bloody great shooting," commented Constable Jakes. "Think it was Matt?"

"Don't believe so," replied the sergeant. "Matt fights fair unless he's out-numbered. There are only two candidates in the election for mayor so he's not exactly out-numbered, is he?"

"Matt's wife. Can she shoot?" inquired Constable Hunter.

"She's too much of a lady to do this sort of thing," replied Sergeant Chivers. 

"Vikki."

"Whose Vikki and what's her connection?" inquired Constable Jakes, who recently transferred to Miranda.

Sergeant Chivers made a direct order: "Put a sock in it Jakes."

"Misfit Jones?"

"A likely suspect Phil and his boss Max more likely so. But let's leave sleeping dogs lie.

A photographer from The Bugle arrived out of nowhere and seemed to be remarkably well briefed. He conferred quietly with Sergeant Chivers.

"Boys, stop any traffic that comes along," he said to the two constables.

The photographer moved his vehicle into the middle of the street, parking a little back but parallel to the banner. He limbed up on to the roof-rack and exposed half a film taking shots.

One hour before The Bugle was to come off the press, the Mayor stamped into the editor's office and slammed the door behind him. Shouting could be heard.

Minutes later the editor called in the news editor and chief photographer and said to hold the front page. He wanted the photo of the gunshots through the Mayor's image pulled.

"But Tony, we've only got crap left," said the news editor.

"Well pick the best piece of crap to replace it with, " snarled the editor. "If we're more than ten minutes late you'll be held responsible."

The photographers gathered around their chief, searching through rejected photos and looking for something useful that had come in from overseas. But there was nothing of relevance.

"What about this one?"

The group looked at the photograph of Matt, the white of one eyeball showing vividly, as he looked up entirely devoid of expression from under his cupped hand.

"Great photo Spud. Could win you an award," said a colleague.

The chief photographer took another thirty seconds, drumming his fingers on the table.

"Let's go with it," he barked. 

"It's our replace. Go, go! Matt will kill us for using it, but our blasted editor will kill me if I publish crap. I've decided to postpone my execution!"

"Bugger me," said Mayor Rowlands, looking at the big photograph on the front page.

"My photo was removed but they have replaced it with this awful one of Curtis. Bloody awful of him, isn't it? It will cost him the election, although I have it won already." 

The executives gathered around him obediently nodded in unison. 

At that stage none had read the caption, written by the news editor who once worked on a London tabloid newspaper where everything was written with a twist.

Ten minutes later Isobel from the hotel reception counter delivered Matt his copy of The Bugle.

"Bloody hell," he thundered. "I'll personally castrate that bloody photographer and tar and feather the frigging editor."

"It isn't a great photo of you Matt," said Isobel nervously. "But I suggest you take a look at the caption first before completely getting off your bike."

She turned and fled.

Although not accustomed to doing what he was told by females, especially one from reception who was all lipstick and little else of note, Matt started reading the caption. He winced at the typos (he called them spelling mistakes) and being unaware they resulted from the replaced page being rushed into print. 

The time saved by not reading and correcting any errors allowed the newspaper to just make the scheduled services waiting to deliver the country edition to outlying areas. Corrections were made in the 2nd edition, commonly called the town edition. 

The uncorrected first version read:

'Mayor candidate Matt Chj-urtis completes a prayer, a request to his Maker that, if elected, the good people of Miranda will not crucify him for getting things done, reforming the way in which the council relates to its ratepayers, and kicking butt if Council staff fail to measure up.

Matt has a reputation for spilling blood and guts when he's angry. He's angry and ready to spill his own bllllood and guts for the people of the Miranda Dustrick. 

We on the Bugle would like to root for Matt, but understandably our management does not allow us to express political opinion. Never mind.

We also cannot express the opinion that his lovely wife Courtney has the qualities to be an outstanding mayoress. 

But what we can say is that we on the Bugle believe absolutely our communityii can spot a White Knight when they see one. – Peter Reynolds, News Editor.'

Matt's mouth fell open. "Read this, he said to Courtney, who had just walked into his office, ready to be taken to a cocktail party at 5.30 at the library sponsored by the Universal Travel Agency that was pushing a 'Visit Marlborough' promotion.

She reacted instantly, "God, what a horrible photo of you, Matt. You ought to be able to sue them for thousands for this."

"Read what it says underneath the photo."

Courtney read some of it, glanced up at Matt, and quickly returned to devour every word. "This is great, in fact marvellous except for the typos. This Peter bloke has a delightful cynicism to his style."

Matt phoned The Bugle and asked to be put through to Peter Reynolds. He wanted to thank him for his sly piece of writing.

"Why thank you, Mr Curtis but we shan't be speaking again. I'm presently cleaning out my desk. I have been fired for acting in complete disregard to editorial policy, insubordination and using the newspaper to achieve my own naked ambitions, whatever that is suppose to mean. I'm history Mr Curtis."

"Listen Peter, stay at your desk. Just give me one hour and I'll have a rescue effort underway."

"But Mr Curtis er Matt. I've been told to clean out and clear out as quick as I can."

"Stay at your fucking desk Peter. The cavalry is on its way."

Not waiting for Peter's confirmation, Matt phoned his own solicitor but he was away in Nelson and his backup man who occasionally dealt with Matt was home with a migraine.

"Another lawyer? Another lawyer?" fumed Matt.

"Why don't you try Liz's husband, he works," offered Courtney, fascinated to watch Matt acting like this. He was acutely focused and she could almost feel kinetic energy radiating from him.

"Who the hell's Liz?"

"The woman I told you about who has entered on of my paintings in a national awards competition. Reggie King's wife."

"Bingo, he'll do, although he isn't the best at watching his back when engaging in a courtroom stoush. 

"Here it is, found his firm's phone number."

Within two minutes the two men had exchanged pleasantries and were down to business.

"Know anything about unjustified dismissal and other employment stuff, especially where to find loopholes?"

"Y-e-s. I once specialised in contract law. But why do you ask?"

"I need you to help a gutsy journo from getting bowled out the door. Can you meet me outside The Bugle in fifteen minutes?"

"Well, no. I'm sorry, but I have a client waiting outside my office right now and two more appointments after that. I could fit you and your distressed person here at, say, 6:00."

"Look Reggie. We don't really know each other and I recently beat the crap out of your in the courtroom."

"You did not," said Reginald, indignantly. "I was aware that three of the charges were shaky, but the Mayor insisted we go with them. But we lost because we faced a Judge known for coming out a batting for the little guy."

"Reggie, that's crap, and you know it. Cancel your appointments and get the hell over to The Bugle. You have enough grey matter in that handsome head of yours to know that you sure as hell cannot afford to refuse me on this. Need I say more?"

"See you in fifteen minutes. Bye," said Reginald King, picking up the phone again and telling his PA to come in with his appointment book.

Shaking her head, Courtney looked at her husband. "Matt, you cannot roll people over like that. People have feelings and there has to be give and take in business."

"You are so right, dear. But I find that rolling people over, as you put it so suggestively, works best for me. I'll be back inside thirty minutes and that gutsy fellow at The Bugle will be sitting safely at his desk again."

"Well, good luck Matt. And something tells me that you'll be back here within thirty minutes with a big smile on your face. You're in your element Matt. But I don't understand why you operate your business dealings when you come into town from this rather grotty old building. Why did you shift your town office from the hotel?"

"Some of the stuffy people I deal with don't like going into hotels."

"Oh, I can understand that. My you do have a hidden streak of sensitivity plus sensibility don't you?" 

"Huh? Oh, didn't I tell you. I now own this block of buildings, having taken up old options dad negotiated when taking over the mortgages. Take a look at the file over these while I'm away. It came in yesterday from the architects. We're going to clear the site and rebuild a department store, just a small one, with a men's outfitters, women's dress department, women's lingerie, china department, kitchenware department and baby and child's department. It will be three floors with the town's first lifts being installed. I was going to ask you to take charge of the décor and furnishings. The architectural team seem to think we're a Wellington suburb and their sketches are crap. We're small town and over here and need design to reflect that. Would like your ideas. Must rush."

Courtney regained her composure. Matt Curtis owning the hugely valuable site without saying a word to her until now and having the foresight to pick exactly the type of retail development so lacking in this town. "Your secrets, your secrets Matt," she mused. "What else should I know about you, your habits and your dealings, dear husband?"

She fetched the file, got behind the desk, hitched her black cocktail dress above her knees and sat down. 

"Courtney Curtis, interior decorator and furniture and fittings consultant to the rich and famous." She repeated those words that should be on her business cry again out aloud. 

She regretted that Matt hadn't taken her out, wined and dined her and to the sound of some romantic music had gently asked her if she would consider adding her considerable talents to his growing business empire. He would have ended that proposal, kissing her hand, by saying that she would be on a considerable salary with a guaranteed five per cent, no make that ten cent, of gross profits Matt's company made on projects in which she was directly involved.

"But oh no. He simply says, 'Here, take a look and see what ideas you can come up with'. He adds, 'By the way, I own this entire site since heavens knows when. Was going to tell you about it but it just slipped my mind. Bye'."

"Blasted men," snapped Courtney, picking up the file and throwing it at the door. 

The door opened, and a surprised young woman in one of the jackets they wear in reception of the hotel looked at the mess on the floor, and looked at Courtney with concern.

"Everything all right in here Mrs Curtis."

"Oh, yes, oh hi Isobel," smiled Courtney sweetly. Matt asked me to look over this file. I picked it up and it fell from my grasp. Silly me."

"Here, Mrs Curtis. Let me pick these plans and papers up for you. I really like your dress. Are you taking Matt out somewhere?"

Are you taking Matt our somewhere? "You're my kind of girl, dear," said Courtney, giving Isobel a dazzling smile.

Matt trailed by Reginald King stormed into the editorial offices of the Bugle at 4:30 pm.

"Just a minute, sir, You can't go in there," cried a young blonde woman behind the reception desk. "You need an appointment."

Ignoring her, Matt pounded once heavily on the door conveniently marked 'Editor', flung the door open and walked in.

The startled editor, writing his editorial for the next day's paper at a side desk, swung round in his swivel chair to face the intruders.

"Mr Ludlow, I'm Matt Curtis ..."

"Yes, I know who you are. Good afternoon Reginald. Now, perhaps you can explain the reason for bursting in here like this?"

The receptionist called from the doorway, "Do you need assistance Mr Ludlow?"

"No thanks Penny. Please shut the door."

Penny sat nervously at her desk, the shouting behind the thick door gave little clue about what was being discussed.

Five minutes later the two men emerged and walked off, both smiling at her.

Outside the building Reginald said to Matt, "Well, he folded pretty quickly once he accepted that he was on shaky ground over that dismissal. You've got what you came for Matt, reinstatement for Mr Reynolds."

"I guess so."

"You guess so? Couldn't you be a touch more enthusiastic," laughed Reginald.

"Play a lot of poker Reggie?"

"Goodness gracious no. I'm not into that sort of thing. Why do you ask?"

"That editor prick had the look of someone who thought he was holding a winning hand."

"Oh, come on Matt you can't read people like that."

"Whatever you say Reggie. Let's grab a cup of coffee. There's something I want to talk to you about. it will only take ten minutes," said Matt.

Reginald looked at his watch. "Right but only for ten minutes."

That late afternoon and evening, readers of The Bugle mostly mirrored the reaction of both Matt and Courtney, recoiling at the picture of Matt, but chuckling when they read the caption.

Inside readers found a half-page advertisement about Matt and his election policy. 

'ELECTION NOTICE: MATT CURTIS AS MAYOR'

'If you vote me in as your new Mayor I promise to eliminate procrastination from all Council activity and that the Council will publish its own quarterly newspaper to inform ratepayers of recent developments and regularly provide an updated schedule of upcoming areas of Council spending.

The time had come to convert the Council from being a political gathering of mostly old yes men by voting in men AND women candidates AND some younger candidates to create the Council into a model business operation with emphasis on performance and giving ratepayers good value for their dollars paid to the council.

Change and progress will not occur overnight, but it will occur: I promise you that.

Promises are one thing but one person alone cannot maximise Council performance. It takes a team. I urge you to elect a team of councillors that have the desire to take administration and the delivery of works and services in this neck of the woods into a big leap forward.

I leave it to your judgment, as voters, of which of the two candidates seeking the mayoralty position is best qualified and focused to lead that renaissance.

Other than this sole election notice, I will not be wasting time and money becoming involved in waging a mayoralty election campaign.

If you want me, elect me.

Matt Curtis, known for widening the river mouth and saving the town of Miranda.'

Shortly after dark that evening Matt received a telephone call from Peter Reynolds, thanking him for arranging 'a stay of execution.'

"What do you mean?" demanded Matt. "When King and I left your editor's office less that four hours ago we had an assurance that you would be reinstated."

"I'm afraid it's not quite like that, the editor's cancelled his instant dismissal after taking me back on as he had undertaken to you that he'd do. But an hour later he issued me with the required one month's notice, declaring me redundant. 

"The position of news editor will no longer exist from that time and I've been informed that no suitable alternative vacancy exists and so I'll be paid off along with redundancy pay."

Matt's voice went husky as fury gathered within him. "I'll call Reggie King now we'll fight this."

"I've already been to see Mr King and handed him the letter of termination. He told me we can fight it but it will be a long fight with probably only a slim chance of winning."

There was a long silence. "Are you there Matt?"

"Yes Peter. Sorry I was thinking. There's something else to try. I'm really going after that lily-liver editor of yours."

"He's been around the traps Matt. He's no push-over and always has lawyers in sorting out problems."

Matt laughed. "Lawyers tend to get in the way of finding a quick resolution Peter. They are basically conservative and concentrate too much on not losing, which is not quite the same as concentrating on winning. I'm about to try to fire a rocket up the trouser leg of your Mr Swanson Ludlow."

A fortnight later Matt called on the owner of The Bugle at her home.

Mrs Ingledew enquired about how his election campaign for the mayoralty was going and asked if he was seeking financial support. His negative responses to both questions surprised her, making her curious why then had he sought the appointment to call on her.




Doomed Dynasty Pt. 07



"A slice of Madeira cake or a lamington Mr Curtis?"

Tea and cakes in mid afternoon was not Matt's idea of an acceptable substitute for a cold beer and sausage from a bar food warmer. But he was after something.

"Thank you, Mrs Ingledew. A slice of cake, please. My word, this cup is extremely dainty. I like fine bone china."

Amy Ingledew had already realised her mistake in giving this big man with enormous hands a cup from her late mother's precious tea set. She waited nervously for Matt to return the cup to its saucer before passing him the piece of cake.

"Well then Mr Curtis. You haven't come here to tell me that the garden looks lovely or perhaps it will rain tomorrow. You haven't been inside this house since Maurice died."

A believer in meeting accusations head-on, even if they were thrown as delicately as this one was, Matt replied, "That's true. I really miss him, and the great times we had at the club. I'm here to talk business with you, with your consent of course."

Well, he's not one to beat around the bush, thought Amy, which is probably why Maurice had liked him. When Matt was a teenager his father had appealed to Maurice to teach Matt how to play snooker, as more often than not Collier's attempts at coaching ended up with father and son verbally brawling.

Maurice had great patience and eventually Matt was regularly beating Curtis at the game. At the end of their first year together Maurice and Matt won the Miranda open snooker championship and played together competitively for almost twelve years until Maurice's fatal heart attack when he was at a South-East Asia and Pacific newspaper proprietors' conference in Hong Kong.

"I wish to make you an offer for The Bugle Mrs Ingledew."

For a moment Amy looked at her wedding ring locked on to her finger by arthritic swelling, then she replied.

"Why?"

Bugger, thought Matt. He'd not rehearsed a reply for a direct one-word question. Tell her the truth.

"Because I want to get rid of the editor."

"But you know I can't do that. Swanson is my son."

"I know that but we can still negotiate."

"I'd like that. One of my friends has told me that you are a formidable opponent in business Mr Curtis. So please begin."

Matt sniffed, and gave her a wide grin.

My god, thought Amy, he certainly looks as if he's used to getting his own way. But Matt, despite that big bad wolf grin, surprised her with his next comment.

"I would not like to take advantage of you Mrs Ingledew. We should adjourn and resume at your convenience when you have your advisers present."

"No wonder Maurice liked you, Matt. You're a good boy. But now cut the crap and begin talking. I was running a military field hospital in Italy when you were in short pants so expect to leave empty handed."

There was no way Amy was going to sell The Bugle or even water down her shareholding. She eventually planned to hand it over to her daughter Jules, who headed advertising and management operations and Jule's husband Swanson, who she recognised was slowly maturing as an editor.

An hour later Matt drove off with a verbal agreement, to be drawn up into a contract and signed later that week. He would pay $10,000 for a seat on the board, and the company would give the departing chairman a $10,000 golden handshake.

Amy had told him that the board was not driving the company hard enough for her liking, so Matt's interest was rather timely.

"I appoint the chairman and the new one will be you," she had said. "Now, what about Swanson?"

Already that was no longer an issue in Matt's mind. "That chairman will advise the editor that his personal vendetta against Peter Reynolds must stop."

"And you were prepared to outlay something approaching $2 million to buy The Bugle just to do that?" Amy asked, incredulously.

"Yes, he was acting unjustly against an employee who'd over-stepped the mark a bit. Instead of trying to sack him he should have giving him a good dressing down or even taken him outside and thumped him."

"Oh, Matt. You must upset Patricia talking like that. Besides, people don't behave like that these days."

"Don't they," replied Matt with a grin.

"I can see that my son is going to have to grow up rather quickly," smiled Amy.

Matt said, "Oh there's a couple of things before I go. One, either you call me Mr Curtis or invite me to call you Amy ..."

"Call me Amy from now on Matt. And the other thing?"

"I wasn't going to 'throw two million' at a donkey. I know a great deal about the business performance of The Bugle Amy. I would gladly have held on to it after dealing with the editor. My first priority will be to look at the problem of circulation slippage; we may have to consider converting The Bugle into a free community newspaper or perhaps better still switching it to a morning newspaper. Worldwide overseas evening newspapers have been hit by the development of television. We can also expect greater competition for advertising revenue from radio stations."

Amy nodded approvingly and said, "I like the way you think Matt." 

* * *

At the elections in October, the incumbent mayor and three of his councillor cronies were voted out of office. Matt won the mayoralty with a substantial majority and three of the new councillors were under thirty years of age and two councillors were women.

Patricia and Courtney virtually had to drag him out to go into town for the announcement of the results on Saturday evening as Matt had been watching a golf programme on television featuring some of the greatest players of the past 100 years.

The local radio station interviewed Matt live and then The Bugle team had its turn. The photographer had Patricia hugging Courtney with Matt looming over both of them. He thought it was a funny way to photograph them for the newspaper, but when The Bugle came out on Monday afternoon it became clear why that had been positioned that way. 

'Former Mayoress Welcomes Daughter as New Mayoress' was the banner headline.

Matt was pleased about that, describing it as "a nice touch".

He was less pleased with the article under the smaller heading, "Landslide Win for New Mayor Matt Curtis." It claimed his act of cutting a wider gap through the shingle bank at the river mouth had ensured that the outgoing Mayor and Councillors who acted against him vindictively would be bulldozed out of office.

"Election Day was Matt Curtis' finest hour. He enjoyed his revenge and distained to shake the hand of outgoing Mayor Ashley Rowlands."

Matt shook the newspaper, and growled: "That's bullshit; it was Rowlands who refused to shake my hand when I said to him, no hard feelings."

Sipping her tea Patricia put her cup down and read the piece that had upset Matt. "Don't worry, Matt. The Press often get things wrong. You'll get used to that. When Collier had a couple of problems with reporting when first elected he said he'd knocked a couple of heads together in the newsroom and rarely had problems after that. Oh I didn't offer that comment as advice Matt."

"Don't fret, mother. My hands are tied. The Council reporter and the paper's chief reporter are both women. I'll just have to storm in with bouquets of flowers and wearing a big fat smile."

The following month Matt and Courtney were installed as Mayor and Mayoress and Matt and the councillors were inducted into office at a colourful ceremony. 

Courtney was pleased to have been consulted about the floral arrangements and the guest list to the invitation-only civic dinner that followed.

Watching with pride at the back of the crowded Council chamber when the chief executive officer draped the Chain of Office around Matt's neck were Vikki and Elsie Thomas, whose joint operation, Miranda Functions Catering, had been engaged by the Council to provide the banquet that evening.

"Aren't you ever so proud," whispered Elsie.

Vikki nodded, tears forming. So, Elsie was another she knew? Who else? Did it really matter? She reached for Elsie's hand and held it, feeling a little emotional and very much alone just at that moment.

The next week The Bugle announced that prominent businessman Matt Curtis had been appointed chairman of the company owning The Bugle and from the 1st of November The Bugle would switch from afternoon to morning publication and distribution.

* * *

Late one night almost a year after their election triumph, Courtney lay beside Matt. As normal after sex Matt had quickly drifted into light sleep after patting her on the butt and saying, "That was nice."

Propped on an elbow, Courtney lay almost over him, checking out his hairline, his facial features. As she gently stroke down the bicep of the arm nearest to her, she felt a twinge of arousal and smiled.

"I've become the initiator quite often these days, and it seems that you simply love that, she murmured. "Tell me your secrets, your deepest secrets, and those inspirations locked in that big solid head," she crooned, aware that her talent as a hypnotist was absolutely nil.

Dreamily Courtney's gaze drifted down her husband's chest. Both slept in the nude from late spring to early autumn. Those violet eyes suddenly dilated, and fixed on a small red lump near his left nipple. It was suppurating. With her pulse rate quickening she found two more small red lumps that she'd never seen before. One had a scab on it, the other looked inflamed, but was not weeping. They definitely were not warts or insect bites.

"It's off to Doc Mackenzie for you, my boy," Courtney said, switching off the light and attempting to subdue her concern. She'd come to understand her husband very well, with Patricia supplementing with an input of her knowledge of her son ... 'You can suggest, but it's useless trying to push him'.

Over coffee the next morning (Matt's breakfast consisted of one black coffee then usually he would call into the bakery and buy two meat pies for morning tea) Courtney primed her husband for a medical check that he did not know he was about to undergo.

Other advice from Patricia before Courtney was taken to the altar had been, 'You have to lead Matt into making his decisions you want him to make; it's the only way'.

"Matt I'm really worried."

That triggered Matt to tune in 100 percent.

"What's the problem, what can I do to help?" was the protective response. His eyes flicked around the kitchen as if searching for an unknown threat to his wife.

Courtney went behind him, and leaned over him, her head against his head. 

Matt's nose correctly identified the scents of recent mouth-wash, hair spray and her distinctive odour. He also detected a faint scent of fear but the ability to interpret the exact nature of that sensitive signal had long died with the passing of his ancestors, so he was unable to do anything but wait for more verbal output from his mate.

"I've noticed a couple of nasty-looking spots on your chest Matt. That worries me."

"Oh those," he chuckled, patting his chest. "Old flea bites."

"They're not and I think you know that," Courtney said, coming round to face him.

The laughter had gone from his face. He couldn't hold her gaze and felt compelled to please her.

"I'll got to Doc Mackenzie soon, let him check me out."

"You do that Matt. The longer you leave it, the longer I'll worry."

Later that morning Matt was talking in bed to Vikki. She jumped in alarm when he told her of the conversation between himself and Courtney earlier that morning. She rolled him over and carefully looked over his back, then examined his neck and forehead, saw the three spots he pointed out on his chest, and then looked down both arms, placing a finger in one space as she completed her scan.

Lifting her finger, she said: "Here's another one, Matt."

"At least I don't have then all over me."

"Matt Curtis. This is no laughing matter. Go and see Doctor Mackenzie."

"You're as bad as Courtney. Nag, nag, nag."

"Tell you what, Matt. You go and get these spots checked out and I'll get out my old school uniform again. I'd said we're getting too old for that sort of caper, but on the other hand you seem to have never really grown up. What do you say?"

"I'm out of here," said Matt, jumping to his feet and reaching for his clothes. I'm off to see doc."

"Matt it's usual to phone for an appointment."

"Not for me it ain't. We're distantly related and he and dad were in the Home Guard during the war. He even brought me into this world."

Matt walked into the Mackenzie's kitchen where the semi-retired doctor and his wife were arguing over crossword clues.

"Good morning young Matt," greeted Mrs Mackenzie. "Tea and a scone?"

"No thanks, but thanks for the offer."

He waited for the grumpy old doctor to acknowledge his presence.

"What's a seven letter word starting with 's' Matt? The clue is 'fornicator'.

"Seducer" said Matt, without having to pause to think.

"Bingo, you're right," said the doctor. With a leer, he continued: "How is it that you knew that?"

The Mackenzie's looked at him expectantly. But the awaited reply, perhaps a confession, did not eventuate.

"Doc I need to see you. I may have a medical problem."

The Mackenzie's looked at each other, both raising their eyebrows.

"I have a busy schedule, but I'm sure I can push you in at the head of the queue."

Iain Mackenzie examined the three skin blemishes on Matt's hairy chest and the one on his arm. "Hmmm. I'll whip a piece of the larger two on your chest and get it tested. The others will keep for a while."

The surgical removal was completed quickly. Local anaesthetic was not even offered as both doctor and patient were aware that Matt's tolerance of pain was exceptional.

"I'd like to get you a thorough routine examination Matt, and take urine and blood samples. It's several years since I've had the opportunity to check you over."

Matt stripped to his underpants.

"Those too, Matt. Bugger me; you wear floral patterned underwear. You!"

"Birthday present from the wife," mumbled Matt, sheepishly. "Why do you want to check my gear? It's functioning well?"

"Very well I hear," said the doctor. Remaining silent for a few seconds he said, "Give Vikki my compliments when you see her. She's a fine woman."

Frig me, thought Matt. He does the old codger know about Vikki and me? He's not even her doctor. Then it occurred to him that Courtney was his patient, had Courtney been talking to him about her suspicions? Or was that her certainty without actual proof?

"I said please cough."

The doctor, wearing gloves, was holding Matt's testicles. Matt coughed, and complied with another request to cough once more.

"That coughing caper is just a trick we used in doing our medical checks in the Army," his doctor said. "Actually we learn very little from it, but sure as heck it made our patients sense their vulnerability. They would wait, scarcely able to breathe, to learn whether or not some sort of catastrophe was happening to them. We actually learn the most by flipping the dingle over and back and rolling the testicles around a bit. You appear to be fine down here, perhaps looking a bit worn out for its age but it's still looking fine." 

The old Scottish doctor, who liked to vent his dry wit on his patients, added, "Look after it, Matt. It's the only one you've got and they don't make them like that any more."

Matt gaped at him.

"Turning around Matt and bend over," said Doctor Mackenzie, drawing his right hand glove up almost to his elbow and allowing the stretched rubber to snap back loudly. "Now, let me complete my inspection of your plumbing. How many times a day do your bowls move, or should I say, how many times an hour?"

The doctor was enjoying himself immensely, dealing with a patient that his wife called "a randy old bull, just like his father."

Dr Mackenzie was confident that the sample to be sent to the lab would not be malignant growth. He was not so sure about the very immature growth on Matt's right arm though. 

A three monthly check on that would be in order. He'd phone and tell Courtney that because as sure as hell Matt would not telling her that he needed to return for periodic checks.

Matt cringed as he felt the first touch of the rubber glove. 

He wished, he fervently wished that right at this second he could transport to the top back boundary of his farm in complete isolation from people, especially old Scottish doctors skilled in the art of mindless mental and physical torture. 

His knees began to knock together as the rubber glove began to move forward.

"A medical supply rep called yesterday and gave me a sample of this new lubricant I've got on my glove. Something useful that's come out of Space Age technology. It's so damn good that he said it can be used to make water go uphill. You okay Matt?"

His patient was unable to answer. Matt had his mouth clamped shut as his teeth were beginning to chatter.

CHAPTER 15

In early November Reece called Courtney to tell her he'd won a substantial sum of money at the races and in a poker game and was taking a month off work to go to France and meet up with old acquaintances.

"Are you gambling heavily?" was the concerned response.

"No, I only throw a few bucks at it now and again," lied her son, laughing.

"Oh, I'm relieved to hear that. Will you be seeing Chase?"

"Probably not. I haven't heard from her for three or four months. Anyway how come you remembered her name?"

"It's a most unusual name, and you are my son. Besides, I have seen her photograph several times in magazines. She's incredibly beautiful Reece."

"You reading women's magazines!" retorted Reece in surprise.

"I know but after Patricia showed me a photo of Chase in The Australian Women's Weekly I began buying some fashion magazines and found photos of her, sometimes a whole series of them. How does she keep so slender?"

"Cocaine helps."

"Matt!"

"That was a joke, mum. I've gotta dash. Will phone you from France. Give my love to grandma.

"And Matt?"

"And dad."

* * *

Courtney answered a phone call just after 1:00 am.

"Who is it?" asked Matt sleepily.

"Hush, it's Reece," replied Courtney. She'd not heard from Reece for three weeks and had been worried.

"Yes, dear... that's nice... What! What today! Oh Reece, how could you!" Courtney began weeping uncontrollably.

"What's up, son?" asked Matt, taking the phone.

"Look, dad. I've got to rush. I've told mum I'm getting married this afternoon to a gorgeous Australian girl... got to go now."

"Never be late for your wedding," joked Matt. "Rather a surprise but good luck son."

"Thanks dad. Tell mum we'll be home soon. Bye."

"Well," said Matt, to Courtney who was drying her eyes. "You got me going there for a minute, I thought something terrible had happened."

"Oh, Matt!" she wailed, starting a new outburst of tears.

"Goodness gracious, what is it?" asked Patricia, sweeping into the room in her long nightdress.

"It's Reece he's getting married in London this afternoon to that famous model Chase. The wedding is timed to catch tonight's TV news and the weekend newspapers.

Patricia started crying, "Tell me more; tell me more."

"I'll go and get tea with a dash of whisky," said Matt, disappearing out of the bedroom. Never one for women's tears was Matt. It made him feel, well, rather inadequate.

Ali Packard from The Bugle woke the household at 7.30 am next morning, asking them for a background on Reece as requested by the New Zealand Press Association. Tim Scott the photographer would be with them shortly to take their photo holding a photo of Reece.

"Absolutely no comment until we've seen a transmitted copy of the photo of the wedding from London and the accompanying story. You must have it by now."

"We do Mr Curtis. I'll be on my way with it in a few minutes."




Doomed Dynasty Pt. 07



The duo from The Bugle arrived, with the wedding photo. "Please excuse us for a couple of minutes," said Matt, closing the sitting room door on the reporter and photographer.

He went into the office where Courtney and Patricia were waiting anxiously.

Matt looked at the photocopy of Reece's wedding picture, with the bride closest to the camera. 

"Isn't she beautiful," sighted Courtney. "How could they have got married without us being there?"

"She's a fine looking woman," replied Patricia, who wondered what that complexion would look like exposed to the Blenheim sun.

"Too skinny for my liking," commented Matt, truthfully. He read the caption story.

"It says she's Chase Ireland a famous Australian former champion swimmer and international model who has just announced her retirement. Her parents in Sydney are very wealthy and the parents of her husband are a very wealthy farming family from New Zealand. They met at a disco in Stockholm.

"I didn't know Reece had gone to Norway."

"Sweden," corrected Courtney, trying very hard not to burst out weeping again.

"Whatever. Perhaps he was in a cycling race over there. Come on, ladies. We've kept the Press waiting long enough. They have deadlines to meet."

* * * 

The abruptness of Reece's marriage and how Courtney had been terribly upset about it, crying herself to sleep over the news, unsettled Matt. He could not understand why the little bugger could have done such a thing to his mother and grandmother.

It didn't bother Matt personally, though a proper wedding at a proper time would have allowed the families to establish a relationship. By why hurt women who seem to go all gaga over weddings?

Riding a farm-quad out to check grass growth, or rather the lack of it, on the farm allowed Matt to become introspective, which was something he rarely did.

It seemed that Reece had never quite measured up to expectations, thought Matt, and it was not all one-sided. As a baby Reece would never relax in his arms when he was distressed. But within a few moments in his mother's arms, hushed by her soothing sounds, he would fall asleep. As Reece grew, the distance between them widened. It was noticeable and everyone including himself had assumed it would stabilized normally in time. But it hadn't.

As Reece became a little older it became obvious that he hated being chased, and cried when left alone during the game Hide and Seek. He was fearful of water of deep water and became almost hysterically when placed him in a dinghy and it began to rock.

Jeeze, what a disappointment as a kid, thought Matt. 

Before Reece turned five Matt realised that he would not have a son he could teach to box, wrestle and tackle hard in back lawn games of football. It hurt him deeply when Reece rejected horse riding, utterly destroying his dream of having a son beside him riding up country with their skis and camping gear on a pack horse. Instead, feeling hopelessness rather than seething malice, he watched his wimpy son being tutored in drawing by his artistic mother and learning to play elementary tunes on the piano under the affectionate guidance of his grandmother.

"A girl in boy's clothing." he once uttered in despair after one whisky too many.

Total humiliation came when he and Courtney went to the school late one afternoon to discuss Reece's progress with his teacher. Ionic Chambers had described their son's comprehension, his artwork and oral and written language as being well advanced for his age, but went on to say that he appeared to be poorly coordinated physically and unfortunately lacked enthusiasm for any physical activity in the playground or in structured activity whether it be medicine ball games or using sports apparatus. 

He remembered cringing when thinking that Ionic may have given that assessment to her husband, Clive Chambers. Clive had been one of Matt's liveliest rugby mates, a front-rower who'd earned the nickname of 'Thumper'. Ionic had cheered Courtney by saying that Reece had excellent social-interaction skills and had many friends at school. But the axe fell again, when she added that when asked about his interest in sport generally, Reece had told her that he would much prefer to be in the library reading.

Stopping the farm quad, and looking down into the river valley, Matt smiled. After Ionic had said that he'd thought for a moment that perhaps Reece was not his son. But in his heart he knew that was an absurd notion, He knew that since their marriage Courtney would have been absolutely faithful to him because that was her character.

That evening he confided his frustrations to his mother. Initially she'd been shocked to hear the report.

"Let him be himself Matt. Let him be himself," she'd said.

He stormed out of the room, slamming the fly screen behind him.

A couple of nights later, when concern about Reece had eased, Patricia had told him that she remembered her own guardian, a brilliant pianist with a beautiful singing voice, being very upset. She despaired that Patricia was going to become engaged to Curtis who was bereft of any signs of cultural interests. 

The three of them had chuckled about that but Patricia had to spoil that moment by adding, "I wonder what Courtney's parents thought about you when you began buzzing about their daughter?"

Matt started up the motor of the quad, and turned towards the gate in the fence line: "The problem with you, Reece, is there's too many of you mother's genes in you and none of the Curtis's toughness."

Patricia was home alone four nights later when Reece phoned. She congratulated her grandson and said Chase looked to be a very lovely young woman and asked when would he be returning with his new bride.

"Whoa, whoa, grandma. Let me get a word in. Thank you for your congratulations. I expect a lovely present from you when we see you, which should be in about three weeks. We're in Chicago right now, where Chase used to be based. The media is going wild over us grandma. Chase and I are exhausted. Please pass me over to mother."

Told that Courtney and Matt were out, Reece said he had to rush, said goodbye and cut the call before Patricia could deliver her next question. That's not like Reece, she thought. He's always been so considerate.

Courtney was upset that she'd not been home when Reece called. "When will he call again ... what you didn't ask?" commented Courtney in exasperation. Patricia simply held up her hands in an empty gesture, saying "He hung on me, I'm sorry."

Next morning Courtney cheered up when a reporter from 'The New Zealand Women's Weekly' called from Wellington saying that she and a photographer were chartering an aircraft to fly in to Blenheim in a couple of hours' time. She asked Courtney if she and Matt could drive to Blenheim airport and be interviewed there.

"I'll bring my husband if I can find him," replied Courtney, breathlessly.

"That's fine, Mrs Curtis. It's really you we want to interview. Your son married to Chase Ireland it's a really big story for us."

Courtney was over the moon. However, she wasn't so excited at the airport when the reporter revealed that Chase was six years older than Reece.

"What's your reaction to that Mrs Curtis?"

Courtney had lived among the diplomatic corps for most of her early life. "Reece's is very mature for his age, so I don't regard age difference as being a problem. Anyway it's only a couple of years or so difference."

The next afternoon Courtney was home alone when the phone rang. "Mrs Curtis?" inquired a honeyed voice that Courtney instinctively knew was her new daughter."

Matt was brassed off when he learned that she'd called. "I missed the airport interview and I missed talking to my sweet new daughter. Why can't these people call at nights when a man's a home?"

His bleating was ignored, but he and Patricia were interested in Courtney's news. It was true, the couple had re-established contact at a disco in Sweden where Reece had gone with some mates on a short holiday. He'd been partying fairly hard and was almost out on his feet. Chase had motioned to him to sit down beside her. He fell asleep and she ended up nursing him across her lap. A few people she knew said how lovely they looked together. A few minutes later her driver called on her mobile phone saying he was waiting outside as arranged. Reluctantly she had to wake Reece, and offered him a ride home.

Courtney halted. "You may not like this next bit Patricia."

"Don't let that stop you, my dear."

"All right. She offered Reece a ride back to his hotel, but the driver got the message mixed up and they arrived at her hotel. Chase said she asked Reece up to just one drink but they didn't even get that drink. As the door of the room closed they fell into each other's arms and ... well, they didn't emerge for two days. Her manager was frantic. She was due back in Chicago to renew her modelling contract. The manger pulled her by the shoulder, ripping her dress. Reece told him to back off and the manager told Reece to butt out. So Reece hit him, knocking him to the ground."

That was the only bit that appealed to Matt.

Courtney continued. "Chase told me that she was really angry with her manager, saying 'You rotten dingo, stick your contact. I'm retiring from modelling and we're going to get married'. Reece simply said. 'Yeah.' Outside the hotel she had said jokingly, 'Was that a proposal?' and Reece had told her that yes, he loved her madly."

"That's very romantic," said Patricia, dabbing her eyes.

"It was she who proposed I reckon," muttered Matt, wondering why a flash model would want to marry his son.

"Don't be pedantic Matt," said Courtney defensively. "Anyway, Chase said that she was sick of the pressure of maintaining her international career and had been thinking about a quite life. When Reece had come back into her life from living in one of the quietest countries in the world, it seemed destiny that brought them together. She thought she would like to marry and live in New Zealand."

"Well that sounds a little far fetched," commented Patricia.

"I think the word for it is bullshit mother."

"Stop it you two," ordered Courtney. "This has become a fairytale romance."

The family told no one about their son's marriage, but soon after The Bugle hit the street the phone at The Palms rang again as soon as each call terminated and people started arriving at the door. The tempo picked up again later in the week when 'The Australian Women's Weekly' was delivered to local outlets. It had a huge spread of photos of the wedding

It began all over again when three weeks later Reece returned home with his bride. People swarmed at them, including people from his past who came out of the woodwork.

* * *

The signs were not good for Reece ever returning to his home town to settle. Late that first night as Reece watched Chase lying in the bath she told him that she thought that his grandmother was 'a grand old lady', his mother was 'rather a dear' and his father appeared to be 'somebody really special'. "But Reece," she complained, "This house ... the quaint little town ... I could never live here."

"Well, darling," replied Reece. "I'm not thinking of leaving my job in Christchurch for the time being so you will be happy there; we only need to come up here on the occasional weekend. Christchurch has some good restaurants and is close to ski fields and to Queenstown where you say you once did a model shoot there and found the place charming. We could look for a much larger apartment than my present pad that you could decorate however you wish. How about that?"

"Sounds wonderful, darling. Now come here and kiss momma. Ouch, your stubble hurt."

The relationship slipped slowly downhill from that moment. 

Chase proved to be rather self-centred as was Reece. He began to spend nights gambling, smelling of smoke but was never drunk. 

Eighteen months later Reece had tired of Chase. 

And Chase? She was just tired. Her marriage was going nowhere and she was tired about Reece whining on about having a baby.

A problem for Reece was that he was spending more money than he was earning, and Chase agreed to contribute $2000 a month. But Reece was trying to reverse an unlucky gambling streak, so soon he was asking Chase for even more money. She refused, screaming at him that he needed professional help to curb has unhealthy interest in gambling.

He phoned his mother, and she said she would send him $1000 but most of her money was tied up. She suggested that he approach his father for a loan if he needed money that badly but Reece shouted, "God no and don't breath a word of this to him. He'll think I'm a failure to add to what he already thinks about me."

One night in a bar after leaving a poker school, Reece found an acquaintance at the bar and after a couple of hours was told that he could make good money by dropping packages off to businessmen.

"You mean drugs, don't you?"

The man replied it was best that question wasn't answered, watching Reece closely.

"We do I start?" asked Reece, brightly. He was excited and believed that his life had turned an important corner because this high-risk sideline paid big money. 

* * *

On a windless Sunday morning Matt and Courtney were to be guests on a cruise in the Sounds on the Tancred's new boat, the Cresta Dora.

Matt had been told they were going out into the Sounds with the Tancred family.

That surprised Matt. 'Family" implied that the restaurant couple had children, or perhaps other relatives were coming. Courtney, of course, had seen them frequently, often popping in to see the parents when she was in the vicinity.

At the restaurant Matt was introduced to Felix Noel Tancred, nineteen years old, and Belinda Rhone, aged eighteen. 

"Queer names for kids, Felix and Rhone," commented Matt.

"Shhh, they'll hear you. Felix is Raquel's father's name. Raquel is an Australian, from Sydney, and Tony comes from a small place in Kent in England. They met when they were working in France to perfect their culinary skills.

"And they fell in love in the Rhone Valley where they went for a dirty weekend."

Courtney looked startled. "It was something like that. How did you know about Rhone?"

"Easy. Foodies love to go to Provence and the Rhone Valley is nearby."

For a moment Courtney looked at Matt's head. Was there a developing brain under all that mass of bone? She also noticed that the number of grey flecks amid the black were increasing.

"You're never indicated any knowledge of France before apart from mentioning it when the All Blacks have been playing rugby there. We did visit Paris of course during our short overseas tour."

He shrugged. "I've been reading a bit." 

Like a trout accelerating to leap out of the water after a fly, Courtney began her run. "Why?"

"Well, we're go back to France some day, won't we?"

"Oh Matt, I love you," shrieked Courtney, leaping at him.

"Come on, you two," chuckled Tony. "Passion develops out there on the water, we're still walking along the wharf.

Tony was pushing a wire mesh trolley called a 'dolly', half filled with everyone's boating gear and provisions.

Slipping out of Courtney's hug, Matt looked along the short wharf. There was no launch there other than what looked like a smartened up fishing boat, about 60ft long. He read the name on its stern, Cresta Dora. Fancy naming a boat after a bottle of wine!

That same vessel that Tony called a launch was indeed a former commercial fishing boat. It was heavy and slow, powered by a beefy diesel engine. Once aboard Matt opened a hatch and looked down at the engine, recognising it as a marine version of the Caterpillar that had powered his restored Little Lionheart.

"It chugs alone, all day and all night, never missing a beat. The boat itself costs a small fortune to maintain, but I'd never part with it," Tony said proudly, hooking his sunglasses down off the peak of his sunhat.

Walking through to inspect the facilities Matt was impressed. Full headroom in the saloon and in the master cabin as well. He thought of the comparison with his own launch, powered by a 10hp Ford petrol engine. It was cramped and he still occasionally knocked his head when entering the cabin. Once inside he had to walk with knees bent to avoid further collisions with the cabin top.

They cruised down the main body of the Sound at nine knots heading into a lifting breeze. But sheltered inlets on either side looked like silvery green-tinged arteries with steeply rising bush clad hills, occasionally rimmed by coves. The inlets looked frozen in time, as if they were paintings.

"You should be painting these scenes," Matt called to Courtney.

"He's right," said Tony.

Raquel, who was the only one wearing what Matt still called togs, had observed they were far too small for her, added her voice. "At least try it Courtney".

"All right, I shall one day soon."

"This calls for a celebration," laughed Tony, appearing with a bottle of chilled wine. He had been trying to think of an excuse to open a bottle but had been cautious because of a possible reaction from the women. It was, after all, only 10 o'clock.

A leisurely ninety minutes later two emptied wine bottles lay in a recess beside the adults. The teenagers were inside at the saloon table playing cards. 

Remembering the name of the launch, Matt asked, "Isn't it unusual naming a boat after a bottle of wine?"

Raquel erupted into laughter. 

"Mum's away," commented Felix.

The day was heating up and Tony had taken his shirt off. Matt noticed that he was quite muscular 'for a little guy'. He mentioned that later to Courtney and she told him he'd been trained as a commando when in the British Army to perform special duties during hostilities abroad.

Tony explained the reason for Raquel's mirth. "She was bought up on wine unlike you Kiwis who in those days apparently only drank wine on special occasions, and we came to know why," he said, screwing up his face.

"In France and in Germany Raquel chased after their top wines to broaden her palette at least that was her explanation. We returned to Australia and after a year, still without opening our own restaurant, we crossed to Auckland in February 1962 on a short holiday. On our first night we dined in, at the so-called Grand Hotel. We told our waiter we wanted a bottle of New Zealand's best white wine. Whether that what we got or not it was, I am not certain. But he presented us with a label called Cresta Dora. I tasted it and thought, well, it's passable. I'm really a red man myself."

"Me, too," confided Matt. 

Tony thought they had that in common then. He'd noticed the way Matt had handle things when it was his turn at the wheel, standing like a giant ancient mariner. He'd also noticed Matt's furtive glances at Raquel but hoped that would not lead to problems. He smiled at his next thought. Big bastard though, wouldn't like to have to feed him every day.

"And what happened," enquired Courtney, anxious to hear the punch line.

"We'd already had a few drinks in the bar beforehand, and Raquel was in the mood to party. So instead of her usual dainty way of drinking wine, she took a hearty swig and promptly coughed and shot the lot over our table. It caused quite a stir. The maitre 'd came charging over, looked at us with real concern, and asked me, "Is everything in order, sir?"

Raquel, still coughing, said something like, "No, it's bloody well not all right. I've just been served kerosene."

"Mum doesn't usually swear," said Felix loyally. 

The adults looked towards the saloon. The teenagers had gathered at the entrance, apparently to hear the story.

"Well at least not in front of children," giggled Raquel.

"And that was the end of the story?" asked Matt.

"Almost," replied Tony. "The maitre 'd clicked his fingers which was unnecessary because our waiter was cowering right at his side. He said something and out waiter came running back with a bottle of wine and handed it to his manager, who expressed extreme apologies and wondered if this bottle of imported wine 'would be satisfactory to madam'. 




Doomed Dynasty Pt. 07



"Madam glanced at the bottle and nodded, almost killing herself in laughter at the poor imitation of a first-class European maitre d'. It was a bottle of Sancerre... went beautifully with our fish."

"From the Loire Valley?"

"Aye," replied Tony, as if Matt had made a normal wine drinker's response. "The bottle was offered to us with the compliments of the hotels, much to the envy of other diners around us who had been watching our little circus with great fascination."

Courtney said nothing, though enjoying the story. She was thinking that Matt's comment about Loire really did indicate that she'd married a late developer.

They lunched on a beach then the two men retreated into the shade aboard the launch.

Noisily the shore party returned almost two hours later.

Almost not surprised, the women noticed a new bottle had been opened, this time French champagne.

"Can we have some?" Raquel asked coyly. "Or is that special occasion stuff only for bored men?"

"It is a special occasion," said Tony grinning. "Matt is taking a half share in the boat, which means we can build that pavilion you're always wanted."

"Oh Matt," cried Raquel, jumping on to his knee and kissing him.

"Why?" asked the astonished Courtney.

"I thought you needed a solid base to paint on," said Matt, pretending to look sheepish. 

Actually he was thinking no more bruises to his head because this boat had headroom to spare. He added, "It's also the kind of boat that a women who drives a Mercedes ought to be seen on rather than our miserable little pop-pop boat."

"That's very generous of you, Matt," smiled Courtney. 

She chastised herself for wondering if it were Matt's way of getting closer to Raquel. But that reprimand lasted but a second as her next thought was to think that it would be a hideously expensive outlay for a bit of sex on the side. It never occurred to Courtney that big men really do aspire to have big boats.

* * *

Making greater use of Vikki's talents as a property manager had removed a lot of 'rubbishy things' as Matt called them, off his shoulders. He saw himself as being a doer, not a bookkeeper and maintenance man. The mayoralty took a great deal of his time but much of that work involved planning or commissioning works with long-term ramifications.

One morning, with everyone else in the house still asleep, Matt went down to the beach right on sunrise. He found this to be a good time to do his thinking. Several things turned over in his mind, but what emerged at the forefront was a beautiful image of Raquel. Why was she there rather than Courtney, or his mother? Matt was vaguely aware that a healthy sex drive was at the centre of his interest in women, although he also enjoyed their company and especially liked those who didn't mind being teased. He was not what he would describe as being excessively promiscuous in his external relationships. Since his marriage he'd not desired to stray beyond his comfortable relationship with Vikki. That liaison with Elizabeth had, well had been her fault really.

Clearly, the number one female in his life had been his mother. She asked very little from him and never ceased to try to make his daily life comfortable, and to happily influence the way he interacted socially without being intrusive or patronising. She'd always seemed to be ready to listen and contribute when something worried him a role that his father had seemed to ignore.

While Collier had been something of a legend in the district for being a hard man and accomplishing some amazing feats, Matt realised that Patricia had achieved similar status among woman in the community, perhaps also more men than he realised.

She was acknowledged for her leadership, diplomacy and general care-giving. It was she who had revived the farm help relief scheme and provided facilities in her own home to allow Plunket to continue operating its services to mothers and new babies while its premises were being rebuilt after an arson attack.

School provided him with a different sort of relationship with females. He had his share of kiss and giggle encounters. 

Whacking Vikki across the mouth was his real introduction into the complexities surrounding relations with the opposite sex. He'd been rather frightened by the group of girls who assisted Vikki to her feet. Most of the cluster had looked at him with contempt. It was a new experience because until that moment he'd enjoyed a high rating in popularity at school. But even more riveting was that image of Vikki that burned into his brain. He remembered the incident well. There she was, blood pouring from the gash along from her mouth, trying to break free from the collective clutches of her friends. Tears streaming Vikki had reached out as if trying to embrace him, crying, "It was an accident, I'm sorry, Matt. I'm sorry."

"Hush, Vikki, you don't know what you are saying," soothed one of the girls holding her as his best friend Merv Higgs led him away. Matt knew he'd lashed out involuntary but also knew that he should have been capable of pulling his swinging arm away from striking Vikki. Had not the cricket coach praised him repeatedly for his great eye-hand coordination?

At home, when attempting to explain his misconduct to his parents, Collier moved to physically strike him. But Patricia stepped in between them, crying, "Oh why, Matt, oh why?" The question confused him. He simply did not know why. And why had Vikki been so desperate to get near him, calling "I'm sorry, Matt. I'm sorry"? He'd felt a great urge to go away and hide. Curtis was already thinking along the same lines, knowing he needed to send Matt away until this embarrassing thing blew over. It would never do to have the Mayor's son being called a girl basher. 

It was the Wyoming triad of Milly, Martha and Caitlin that restored his confidence to be his natural charming self when in the presence of women.

Strangely, it was his hard-nosed aunt who influenced him most. He soon was full of admiration and respect for her. Milly, who cussed easily and seemed to be almost manly in the company of males, could switch roles seamlessly. When a woman called on her Milly would quickly prettied herself up and he'd find himself looking a version although a not perfect replica of his mother.

They talked together a great deal, far more that he talked to his mother at home. Gradually he began to get a greater insight of his aunt, perceiving that she was neither as confident as she appeared nor as simple as she made out. He'd accepted the more they talked to each other the better chance he would have of understanding Milly and generally learning about women. He know realised that this had been his introduction to character traits, mood swings and other emotions and also some unidentifiable nuances that Milly had called personal idiosyncrasies that he would have put aside in the too hard basket.

His young aunt awoke him to traits within himself that he'd never bothered to think about. She threw her arms around him in delight one evening when he asked, 'Vikki's strange behaviour; do you think she had a crush on me?"

"Yes, without doubt, Matt," she had replied. "I have been waiting for you to ask me that." He couldn't understand to this day why she seemed to be so pleased about that. It was sort of logical to think that about Vikki. He recalled Milly saying that obviously he was getting to know local females and "should make hay while you can if that's what you're doing because some lovely lady will get her hooks into you and that will be the end of your days of erotic friendships."

That, of course, just goes to prove that even women did not always get it right. It was true that when he met Courtney he thought he'd found the one woman who he could live happily for the rest of his life, requiring no other female... ever. He loved Courtney as much as he have ever loved his mother, perhaps more, and he thought at that point his wandering ways had ended.

The fact that he committed adultery during his Courtney's pregnancy, a selfish, poorly timed liaison that would have earned him a hard time from Milly had she learned about that, was difficult to explain. He certainly did not love Courtney any less after having that liaison with Vikki and continuing it to this day.

Turning into the farm track leading to the stables and sheds, he thought about Martha, a woman who enjoyed absolutely being in the company of couth men as she called them. She had to explain the word couth to him, doing so sweetly without embarrassing him for his lack of knowledge. Over several meetings she display in her sweetness, humour, being a new dimension of womanhood to Matt. She was far more outgoing than his mother or Courtney and much more feminine. 

Of course he'd told Courtney during their days together on the Mariposa about assaulting Vikki and they had discussed it in great detail. 

Stopping outside the cattle yards, he suddenly thought of Raquel Tancred. In a way she had captured residency in Matt's mind, quite unexpectedly. He was enchanted by the way she moved, the way she looked. He was fascinated by her sensuality. Only once before had Matt met any woman quite like Raquel and that was Martha. 

Raquel spoke to him perfectly at ease as if she had known him all her life. Did she have the hots for him? Difficult to know. He knew Raquel had spotted him looking her over. She could scarcely miss looking as him as at 6ft 3in, with broad shoulders, a broad chest and muscular arms he towered over her husband. He was proud of his physique and still tried to stand very erect but was aware that he was ageing.

Raquel was quite beautiful. Would she see that he was handsome? No, not at all. His face was scarred and his hair was neither black nor brown, a mixture of black, brown and grey in fact and pressed almost flat by the variety of hats he wore in carrying out various pursuits. He knew though that Vikki once told him that the memorable thing about his face was the dark green and slightly hooded eyes, eyes that rarely looked other than brooding. He though Raquel, the lovely, beautiful bodied and sexy Raquel whom he'd watched the first time they had met writing down orders in her notebook with the top of her tongue just visible from between her lips. Jeeze! He hoped she wasn't so old she'd lost her interest in sex.

Matt's time for reflection ended abruptly.

"Bloody hell Matt," called his farm manager. "You gone to sleep in there? We need to get a start on drenching and culling."

Getting out of the vehicle, Matt made an unaccustomed resolution, deciding Raquel was off limits. She's become Courtney's best friend after Patricia. He must not harm that friendship in any way.

"Right, Dick," called Matt happily. "Let's get at 'em."

The next day Matt heard from Doc Mackenzie that Matt's biopsy results were basal cell carcinomas that should be burnt off. Matt said he'd call in that evening on the way home. When the Doc had done that he looked at the spot on Matt's arm and said, "I think you ought to go to hospital and have a surgeon remove that. I don't like the look at it but we have the advantage of acting with it early."

"Give me a couple of snorts of whisky and whip it off now Doc."

"I really don't think..."

"Well Doc you won't get me near a hospital."

Doc Mackenzie went off and called his wife in to sterilize some instruments and he went off and returned with the whisky bottle. They all had a shot and then he gave Matt three more.

"Right prepare for a local anaesthetic Matt."

"Just get on with it Doc. I've taken my anaesthetic internally."

CHAPTER 16

Returning to Christchurch to live with Chase, and aware of her expensive demands, Reece made contact with his former contact who was director of distribution for a dealer involved in some unnamed product or products. The guy welcomed Reece back into his operation as Reece being a businessman and looking like a businessman was the perfect courier to deliver 'product' to businessmen.

This sideline business went well, producing good money for Reece and while the risk was high he was hugely rewarded for the small amount of time required to make deliveries.

Then it all came unstuck. Reece's supplier was arrested after a police drug squad sting and Reece came under surveillance because there was suspicion he might also be working for other suppliers. One afternoon Reece was taking three of his employer's digital back-up tapes to an off-site storage centre when he was apprehended and taken to police headquarters where he was searched and questioned.

Of course he denied the suggestion he'd been a drug courier as absurd. He demanded his right to call his lawyer and because the police examination of the tapes indicated they were genuine tapes and not dummy receptacles packed with cocaine or some other drug he was allowed to go. 

But when Reece returned to his office he was called to the office of the chief executive where he was grilled intensely. Apparently a disgruntled detective had phoned the company to advise the CEO anonymously that Reece was a suspected drug courier.

Reece described the accusation as absurd but to no avail. He was offered six months' salary in return for his resignation plus normal termination benefits. The company chairman, Ian Owens, was called in and told Reece he was free to go as soon as he had tied up loose ends.

Ian told his CEO, "Reece's father and I became friends from the time we both attended an international investment symposium in Wellington, and we socialised together and combined to work a couple of private joint ventures together so I think we should not hold Reece to serving out his notice."

As Ian owned 75% of the shares in the investment company, his decision was accepted.

That evening Reece phoned his mother. "I'm coming home next week for good. Perhaps dad can find a place for me. He's built up quite a little empire in and around Miranda and I can work on expanding it for him. "

Courtney was over the moon at that news but not so Chase who'd only been told two hours earlier that Reece had fallen out with management and had resigned.

Her face contorted and her charm evaporated. "Bloody hell Reece, what are you playing at? There's no way that you'll ever get me to live in that intellectually barren hole called Miranda. I'd leave you rather than go there to rot."

This wasn't the Chase who'd cooed, "Oh, isn't this lovely, it's so green and so clean," as their arriving jet aircraft flew across Northland and the islands of Hauraki Gulf when coming to New Zealand to land at Auckland with her new husband. She'd soon tired of banal conversations and missed the fast and varied life that she'd become accustomed to in Chicago. Only when she was drinking alcohol or wildly laughing when rafting down rapids or ski to her maximum ability had she found happiness.

Even worse, they had found she could not bear children.

So when she delivered the provocative ultimatum, 'I'd rather leave you than go to live in Miranda', Reece felt a cold determination grip him, a feeling that he'd never experienced before.

Looking at Chase, he said coldly, "Then go. Go to your beloved Chicago or anywhere else. I don't wish to have you around spoiling my life with your whining and extravagant tastes."

Chase was appalled. "You've never spoken to me like this in all the time we have been together," she wailed. "How horrible of you. Why can't you just do something to please me and return to Chicago?"

"Because I am through pleasing you Chase. You are selfish and insensitive and rarely have been appreciative of what I do for you. It's time for us to go our separate ways,"

That night they slept apart, Chase crying herself to sleep, Reece spending several hours working out a future without Chase. A thought never far from the forefront of his mind also returned, the need for a successor. Once the divorce was through he would be free to marry a woman capable of bearing him a son.

The truth was he'd married Chase just before she was due to have breast surgery.

It was the removal of a growth in her left breast, with its legacy of scar tissue that led to Chase terminating her modelling career. Infatuated with her after being reunited when he'd returned to France, Reece soon learned Chase's two secrets: a cancerous growth in her breast, and her growing drug habit. He offered his shattered lover the bolt-hole that she seized, marriage and a new life in New Zealand as Mrs Matt Curtis. Those dark secrets remained hidden from family, friends and the media. Two days after the wedding Chase was in a hospital in Switzerland. Their honeymoon was spent there, with Chase recuperating.

Although a photo of Chase lying in a glass conservatory at a private clinic appeared in some Sunday newspapers she appeared to be a normal, happy international celebrity getting her batteries recharged before the next round of high living.

Well, now he'd had a gutful of her. She was on drugs again and that was pulling them further into debt.

During the next day they remained civil to each other, Reece ignoring Chase's outbursts of tears. They agreed on terms of separation and the sharing of their assets subject to the finalisation of a legal agreement.

"I'll phone our lawyer in the morning. What would a convenient time be for you?"

"The sooner the better," snapped Chase. "I want everything settled before I leave."

Chase was still reeling at the suddenness of this ending of their marriage. She had occasionally thought of returning to Chicago or even Sydney by herself, but having Reece still in the background in case she needed him. Now he'd taken command and told her to go, that their marriage was over. It's unbelievable how he'd changed so suddenly, from being a sophisticated but compliant and doting husband into a hard and quite ruthless bastard. He's suddenly behaving as if he's transformed into Matt, thought Chase, turning to cry into her pillow.

Three days later they sat in their lawyer's office and he briefed them on the steps they needed to take to end their marriage in divorce. Reece agreed to confess to adultery as one of the grounds for securing a divorce in those days.

* * *

Reece arrived home into the welcoming arms of his mother and grandmother and as to be expected he and his father shook hands and immediately berated him for dumping the beautiful, sweet Chase without making any attempt to achieve reconciliation.

"You should try living with her," Reece snapped. 

Matt said nothing but thought that was one of the better comments he'd received from his son in recent years.

Horrified at this outburst Courtney said, "Matt, we are low on bread and milk. Could you please..."

"Okay, okay. I know when I'm not wanted in my own house," Matt growled, pretending to storm off but heading in relief to the hotel to herd with his mates, acknowledging his wife was one clever lady. He wouldn't bother buying bread and milk because he knew they'd have plenty in the house.

When he returned for dinner he was told Reece had eaten early and gone to bed because he was stressed.

"What's stress?" Matt asked innocently and listened with a sly smile as his wife and mother dutifully attempted to educate him about an affliction that weighed down mere mortals at times of anxiety.

As they explanations ended he ignited another round by asking, "What the hell would be stressful for Reece when he's dumped his problem? He ought to be out celebrating."

The women sighed in acknowledgement that tension had returned to their hitherto peaceful rural environment. They had reacted differently to the news that the marriage was over. Courtney sobbed that it was a tragedy for a marriage that appeared to have been made in heaven. Although offering sympathy, Patricia was not surprised. She had expected a short marriage as Reece so obviously had married above himself. The girl was vivacious, eloquent, well mannered and appeared to be highly intelligent. 




Doomed Dynasty Pt. 07



In contrast, although Reece obviously was intelligent he was developing a rather dark disposition, given to moodiness that occasionally produced flashes of ill temper.

If it were true, thought Patricia, that the eyes mirror the soul then that provided an even more conclusive assessment. Reece's eyes were light brownish green, dull and rather hooded. He had the look of almost a desperate person.

"I'm sorry that we're losing that girl," Patricia said. "She looked to be capable of producing fine children if they took after her."

Courtney looked at Patricia and decided to proceed. "Please don't repeat this to anyone, including Reece. He told me confidentially a couple of weeks ago that Chase is unable to have children, which is partly why they are splitting up."

"And you believed that?" retorted Patricia, assuming that to be a minor factor if it were a factor at all. "According to articles I have read in 'Readers Digest' and the women's weeklies, medically enhanced pregnancies such as vitro fertilisation are currently making wonderful advances and good results are being achieved in other areas mitigating against natural pregnancy and birth processes. But never mind, what's done is done. We must pray that Reece marries suitably and they have children, otherwise he will be the last of our Curtis line."

"Yes indeed," sniffed Courtney, thinking what a sad year it had been for her. "And may the first born be a son."

Next day Matt returned home for lunch because Reece hadn't shown up for breakfast to allow Matt to make his big announcement.

Reece was surly, the women apprehensive, but they all cheered up when Matt said, "If you wish Reece I'll buy you a pre-used van and you can act as my property manager, looking after my tenant's problems, finding replacement tenants when existing ones leave and attending to minor maintenance but not painting and plumbing. I'd hate for you to get your hands dirty."

Acting conciliatory, Reece said, "That's great dad and don't worry about minor plumbing, painting, carpentry and plastering, I'll tackle that."

His mother and grandmother looked at him proudly and Matt said. "Gee thanks son. Well I better be off. We'll go to Christchurch tomorrow to sort out a vehicle for you because they have a much larger selection down there." 

Matt checked his watch and saw it was just after 2:00 and grinned, thinking Vikki would be up in the loft in thirty minutes taking her regular break. She regarded sex as relaxation.

"Better go," he said, "Work, work is waiting for me. We'll leave at 5:00 son and pick up pies for breakfast."

"Jesus," muttered the ungrateful son, disappointing his mother and grandmother.

Reece was hoping he'd made a clean get-away from Christchurch but knew he couldn't count on it. The police would probably keep an eye on him wherever he went in New Zealand but that was acceptable. The big problem was he owned money in Christchurch, big amounts including $28,000 to an illegal gambling group and almost that much again to illegal money lenders he'd borrowed from to try to win back money he'd lost at horse racing gambling. It had been a bad year for him.

Within days of arriving back in Miranda Reece had re-established contact with two of his university mates, Phil Crown was a junior partner in his father's law and Alton Smith was a teacher at Miranda High School.

One Friday night at their weekly reunion at the rundown Town & Country Club, Phil invited Reece to join them for seven nights at the Queensland resort town of Noosa.

"Golf all day, partying all nights plus a bit of sight-seeing."

"Yeah, come on Reece," urged Alton. "Phil knows the area well and will give us a ball. We'll have his mother's pad to ourselves."

"Do you have a boat to go out to the Barrier Reef?" inquired Reece, wondering if he really wanted non-stop golfing days and non-stop party nights.

Phil looked at Reece as if a moron had just asked him that question.

"Bloody hell," Reece. "The Barrier's huge but it doesn't extend that far south."

"Sorry, I don't know much about Queensland. I was just hoping to fit some sight-seeing and maybe a bit of diving in between golf."

"We can go up the coast and wander about Fraser Island or go a bit further to whale watching out of Hervey Bay."

Smiling widely at Phil, Reece said, "Count me in. Perhaps I'll find my new wife there now that the divorce is underway."

The two men looked at Reece. 

Phil was wondering why he'd want to look for another woman, having let the most desirable woman Phil had ever seen slip, through his fingers. 

Alton, who'd not been to Queensland resorts to see the constant parades of beautifully arranged golden flesh in minimal beachwear was wondering why Reece couldn't find a suitable woman in Miranda. There was a good supply of them.

A month later in mid-March the three men arrived at Phil's mother's apartment on Noosa Hill, overlooking the river. But the apartment wasn't vacant, a red sports car was parked the drive and the sound of Elvis Presley's 'Blue Suede Shoes' came from inside the dwelling.

"Shit I should've phoned mum," said Phil, his face darkening. "She's staying with my Aunt and Uncle in Perth. She must have let someone use this place while she'd away."

Always looking for useful information to absorb, Reece came back from looking at the sports car. "It's a rental from the same firm as ours."

Just then a body in a white sundress flew out of the door and straight at Phil.

"Phil!" she shrieked. "What a wonderful surprise. And you've brought two friends to cook for me."

They hugged and kissed. Holding the woman with short-cropped brown hair in one arm, Phil said: "Guys, this is my sister Cilla."

"Cilla this skinny guy with imprints of bicycle clips above his ankles is Reece Curtis, who grandly calls himself an investor. The bigger and ugly bloke who looks like Mr Chips is Alton Lutz, a maths teacher. We went to school and university together."

The chubby girl that Reece had known as Priscilla West, she'd been a couple of classed behind him, had grown into this woman? Reece was surprised. He'd forgotten that Phil had a sister.

After the exchange of greetings she scratched a breast and said, "I'll go and get you fellows some food and there're probably enough beers in the fridge."

After Cilla had disappeared inside, Phil said, "Guys, I've got to give you a little background so that you don't ask Cilla some stupid questions. Understand?"

Alton and Reece nodded, and Phil continued. "When we were two years from finishing primary school my folk split up, Dad took Cilla or Priscilla as she was called then to Sydney to live and I stayed on with mum. Dad married soon after that to the woman that caused the marriage break-up as I was to find out later. After the divorce he never had anything to do with me or mum, expect for two maybe for three years some money arrived for me for Christmas and my birthday.

"The other thing is that a couple of years ago Cilla was living with this guy in Hong Kong and she had a baby. Well, to cut a long story short that bastard disappeared with the baby. Although our father spent a small fortune on private investigators the guy and baby have not been found. The authorities had no record of him ever entering or leaving Hong Kong. From what Cilla has told me it is suspect that he is one of these twilight people who move about internationally and illegally have documentation for more than one identity. But she has absolutely no idea why he took the baby. So, please, tread carefully as she'd still a bit cut up about the baby. It was only six week old when he was taken, but she feels if more than the baby was taken from her, if you know what I mean."

Alton looked puzzled, "What did she mean we'll be able to cook for her? Trish does all the cooking in our house, and when your wife was away you cooked such a rotten barbecue that we had to eat out."

Phil laughed. "Cilla likes her little jokes. Cooking is one of her passions, and seeing three 30-year-old hungry-looking Kiwis arriving on her doorstep is making her drool. You'll probably only get beer and chips right now, but wait until tonight. You'll be drooling."

Cilla joined them to make up a four at golf, and the way their handicaps worked out she and Reece were partnered, and shared a golf cart for the first four days they played together. They got along extremely well. Soon Reece was aware that rarely had he felt so comfortable in close proximity to a woman.

"Isn't she just like one of the guys," remarked Alton, as he and Reece were watching Cilla tee off. "That joke she just came from the mouth of no lady."

"Don't say that," snapped Reece. "You don't know her well enough to judge."

"Sorry, you're probably right."

Back in the clubhouse, sitting on the balcony under a canvas canopy, Phil and Alton were looking out at the well-maintained fairways, peppered with white sand bunkers and numerous water hazards. They were waiting for Cilla to appear and Reece was fetching the first round of drinks.

Alton put out a feeler. "Do you think Reece has gone a little soft on Cilla?"

"Reece? I don't think so. He's looking for some type of special woman, why I don't know. And I wouldn't imagine Cilla would take any interest in our moody friend, at least not the way you appear to be suggesting. Anyway, there will be just the three of us in the morning. Cilla says she wants to go shopping."

They had dinner at the golf course, having played two rounds there, arriving back at the apartment at almost 9:00 pm. It had been a long day.

"I need someone to volunteer to carry my shopping tomorrow?" announced Cilla, covering her mouth to silence a hiccup. Studying her, Reece noticed that her eyes were not light blue, they were actually grey. She was pretty, too freckled to be beautiful, and her pouty mouth was appealing. Appealing... he was surprised at that thought.

There was silence.

Cilla smothered another hiccup and turned to walk to her bedroom.

"Reece you go with her. Then I can challenge Alton to a real game of golf, off the stick. That means losing my two strokes that he has to give me but I reckon I can take him when the pressure goes on."

"That's kind of you Phil to volunteer Reece, but I would prefer to hear what he says."

"I'm probably better at golf than I am at shopping," said Reece, noticing that Cilla was standing looking at them, hands on hips and swaying. 

Good child-bearing hips was the next irrational thought that flicked through his mind.

"I'll go," declared Alton.

"Too late, I've volunteered," Reece smiled, noticing Alton licking his top lip as he watched the swaying Cilla

"Thank you Reece. You're a gentleman," she said.

The pulse on Alton's neck fluttered. He was going to contest this. He'd been shut out. But Phil put an end to that.

"Fifty says I will beat you tomorrow in the morning and you have the option to double up in the afternoon.

"You're on."

Cilla awoke feeling a couple of whirls in her head, but happy, very happy in fact. She was expecting to enjoy herself shopping.

And that she did. Cilla set out to test Reece's breaking point. In the jeweller's in Noosa township she tried on three necklaces, and finally handed one to Reece. Adopting a cultural accent, she said "Would you buy that one for me darling?"

There was no price tag on it. So Reece did what comes naturally, he asked the very attentive salesperson the price. She stepped forward and whispered into his ear. He looked astounded, recovered, and handed the necklace to the salesperson. 

"This is the best we've seen so far, I'd like to think about it."

"Don't take too long, darling," said Cilla, possessively slipping an arm through his.

Outside Reece slipped out of her grasp and said, "You had me going there for a minute. I could have replaced the old Land Rover on the farm for the price she gave me for that thing."

"So I've got the power to get you going have I? How very interesting," joked Cilla before realising that perhaps she wasn't joking.

She went into a dress shop and tried on four dresses, each time smoothing the crinkles of the snug-fitting fabrics over her hips while watching Reece's reaction in the mirror. It was disappointing. He spent most of the time looking at the ceiling.

Back out on the street Reece said, "The patience of that woman attending to you amazed me. Even I got the impression that you were simply trying things out, in other words wasting her time."

"Well it's what she'd paid to do, and the right word at the right time can well change a casual try on into a commission-earning sale."

"What! You mean to say women will buy things just because some jumped-up salesperson says, "It's a bargain at that price?"

"Oh dear no. Three little words that women would like to hear from their partners will do the trick. 'You look fabulous' are the words that do it for me."

"Obviously that saleslady didn't say the right words."

"My you're a quick learner Reece. She was bored I suppose. Once she said, 'That's a lovely dress' and her worst comment was, 'I think we should go up a size'. Well, we were not interested in hearing someone being so critical, so we walked out quickly."

"I know that last one, brown silky thing with thin shoulder straps. It was so tight that it outlined your tummy, and ...".

Realising that he was being too blunt, Reece tailed off, waiting to be thrown a lifeline.

"From you Reece, yes. I could accept an honest assessment but from a salesperson no way. They are there to create a positive, uplifting shopping experience, not to stick a stake through one's heart or at least one's ego. Get the picture?"

"I think so. Are all women shoppers like this?"

"Of course if they are out for a nice shopping experience. Don't judge women in a real shopping mode with the ones you see in supermarkets."

They walked into a swimwear shop, with crowded racks and stands displaying a riot of colours. Reece immediately noticed that he was the only male in the shop. He found it difficult to continue his forward momentum.

"I'll model my selections for you to help me make a choice. I really want to purchase new swimwear."

A picture of Cilla in the dressing room trying to press her breasts into a under-sized bikini top gave Reece clammy hands but his dick was acting positively. His discomfort was radiating to her. With a sly smile Cilla picked up a yellow and red patterned thong, and said brightly, "I think I'll try this one first."

Horrified, Reece started at the tiny garment in her hand. His confidence flushed from him like water disappearing from a toilet bowl.

"Sorry," he gasped. "Need some air. See you outside."

In his haste to exit he knocked over two racks of bikinis. 

Reece bent down to begin picking up the racks and dislodged clothing. A shop assistant, in her early forties had hurried over and was bending down to pick up the other rack. Reece looked straight down her gapping neckline and went beetroot red.

"Oh, you poor man. We've got so much stock in ready for the summer influx that it's difficult to move around here isn't it?" she commented, flattered a young man seemed to be focussing on her ageing torso. "Nice weather we've having, don't you think?"

Reece had a vision of two full moons in the sky, then the notion flashed into him mind that he was turning into some sort of sex maniac. He pulled the rack of bikinis upright, helped the shop assistant lift her one up and fled the shop without a word.

The assistant had just returned behind the counter when Cilla walked up with a beautiful multi-blue bikini, the bottom piece being several times larger than the thong she'd presented to Reece. 

"This will look glorious on you with your olive colouring," said the assistant. 

"Did you happen to see that young man rush out of here?" asked the saleswoman to her bemused customer. "It was so funny. You have heard the saying, 'Like a bull in a china shop'? Well, that he was. We get some shy guys in here occasionally who just lose it. Poor man."

Cilla found Reece further along the street, staring into the window of a bookshop. She slipped her arm around his and said, "Come on, poor man. Lunch is on me. You did far better than I expected."

"Really? Shopping's not my thing, you know."

Cilla's mother's favourite restaurant was Antonio's, a Mediterranean-style restaurant that conveniently was just across the street. The sat at the bar, sipping their cocktails while studying the lunch menu and laughing about their experiences of the morning. As Reece was telling her that he'd had the depraved thought of Cilla coming out of the dressing room in the swimwear shop, wearing only the thong and her two side hairclips, Cilla detected a gentle warmth flowing up from her chest and into her cheeks. It had been quite a while since she'd had such a feeling. It was not the lusty 'hots' that some of her girlfriends had talked about in the past . . . it was just a warm glow. Reece had honestly done his best to partner her on her little shopping mission. He'd shown himself to be a good sport. She should reward him.

Later that afternoon Reece went to his room for a nap, and Cilla busied herself preparing the evening meal. Shortly after 6.30 the two golfers returned, very noisily, to find Cilla and Reece beside the pool drinking coffee.

"We've had good golf and quite a few drinks," announced Alton cheerfully.

"And Alton's paying for a meal tonight. I've taken 150 Australian bucks off him," beamed Phil. "It will pay for our food at a great restaurant I ate at last time I was here."

"But I've got everything prepared ready to go into the oven," protested Cilla, to no avail. An hour later she walked into Antonio's with the three men.

Driving home, Alton said: "I'll get that money back off you tomorrow, Phil."

"You won't have a chance because Reece will be there and counting your strokes."

The two chortled.

Driving was Reece, having been voted as the only one fit to get behind the wheel. He was driving fairly slowly, with his left hand resting on his thigh. Cilla reached over and grasped his hand.

"Sorry boys, but there's no golf for Reece for the next two days. I'm taking him up to Bundenberg and coming down from there we'll stay at Hervey Bay and go whale watching."

"Whaddya want to do that for?" inquired Alton. "The three of us saw the whales off Kaikoura earlier this year." 

"The whales are different over here," replied Cilla, having no idea if that were true.

"Well, that's all right then."

Reece didn't know what to say. This had come out of the blue. Cilla had plenty of time to make the suggestion earlier, but had said nothing, absolutely nothing. What was she up to?

Cilla said, "Phil?"

"What can I say without being a party pooper? You're a big girl now baby sister."

The idea of his sister going off for a dirty couple of nights with Reece... well, he supposed that was what this was all about; it was a bit of a surprise. 

It was Reece's turn to hand-squeeze. "We'll play tennis and tour the rum factory in Bundenberg and probably will hop over to Fraser Island before going whale watching."

"That takes care of activities during the day, but what about those long hot nights, Reece?" asked Phil, suggestively. 

He and Alton laughed uproariously.

"That's enough of your insinuations, big brother unless you want your eyes scratched out."

"Cor now that reaction confirms my suspicions," producing another bout of unrestrained laughter from the back seat.

Cilla leaned over and kissed Reece on the cheek, her perfume heated by the warm evening and her state of excitement, reaching her nostrils. She then whispered into his ear, "The backseat clowns are quite drunk. They will be asleep within an hour. Let's go somewhere tonight."




Doomed Dynasty Pt. 08



CHAPTER 17

Fifteen months later when Reece returned home with Courtney from her lawyer, he was a very rich man, subject to transfers of titles and some other routine documentation. He felt pleased, but not elated. In fact, except for a slight feeling that he could now afford to be more decisive in life, it was quite remarkable how unchanged he felt. He shrugged, and went into the office while Courtney busied herself with her thoughts while preparing a celebratory meal for two. Patricia was in Christchurch staying with friends.

Smiling as he sat down, Reece thought of his irrational thought some time ago when he'd speculated that Courtney might be going to tell him that she was about to re-marry. 

"She's only fifty-four, and still thinks like a younger person," he said aloud. "She should marry again but this time to a warm, loving man."

Since Matt's death Courtney had told him that three gentlemen as she called them, had come calling, but after a polite conversation with each of them in the sitting room, drinking tea or coffee, they had gone off with, as Courtney put it, "with a clear hint never to return."

"They give me the creeps," she had told Reece. "None of them had called on me in the past when I may well have welcomed the company of gentlemen."

Reece laughed, "And dad would have welcomed the opportunity to plant his boot in the asses of three tom cats." 

Courtney had admonished him for being so vulgar but then broke into laughter, the thought obviously amusing her. 

Reece was aware his own love life was not firing. There were women, of course, and he and Cilla exchanged visits every eight weeks or so but that relationship appeared stalled because she didn't wish to give up her job right now as she was completing university studies and the company was generous about giving study time to its junior executives.

Reece checked his diary, writing Cilla/7 to indicate Cilla would be arriving on the 7th of next month. He'd received a lengthy letter from her the previous day in which she confirmed her arrival. She only wrote occasionally. Reece had noticed she began the first letter with 'Darling', then that became 'My Darling' start to the second, 'Dearest Darling on the third or fourth and in yesterday letter he'd been downgraded to 'Dear Reece'.

He was an excellent letter writer, according to his mother. But although his prose was descriptive he'd noticed how much more vibrant Cilla's letters were. He deduced the difference lay in emotion; Cilla's letters personified her.

Slipping back into business mode, Reece sat back in the leather chair, his elbows resting on the chair arms and his fingertips lightly touching the point of his chin, very much in the manner of three previous heads of the Curtis family had done over the years. He had access to money now and ought to pay off his gambling debts in Christchurch but he shuddered, wondering what the totals would be like now with those creeps adding interest at ridiculous rates. He had a more immediate use for the money; he'd attend to those debts once he had attended to one important matter.

He selected a quick-dial number from a short list his father's had stuck to the side of the desk phone and Vikki answered.

"Reece Curtis here Vikki. I was wondering if I could come and see you in the morning on business, at a time to suit?"

Vikki sounded apprehensive. Her suggestion of 11:30 was accepted and she was probably left thinking he'd be wanting to rack up her rent now that he managed the holding company on behalf of Courtney.

Sitting opposite Vikki and sipping a cup of her coffee, damn fine coffee in fact, Reece studied his late father's mistress. His first thought was below the belt; he wondered which woman had his father humped the most. He'd pick Vikki; she looked as if she would be big into that sort of thing.

And his mother? Whoa there Reece, he told himself, accepting that it was not the done thing for any son to dwell on his mother's sex life. An image of his mother flicked through his mind and he was relieved that she was fully dressed and smiling as he remembered her when he was quite young.

Vikki's face was lightly lined. He guessed her plumpness had helped to preserve her good looks. These days her red hair had turned to something he thought some people called 'strawberry blonde'. Who knows? His father would have described her hair the colour of a roan, a roan horse that is. Her breasts looked massive, and he'd noticed when entering the café that her ample backside had not gotten any smaller.

Considering the bombshell Reece had dropped on her, Vikki studied him. He's the spitting image of Courtney, thought Vikki, though he carried his head like Matt did and his colouring was very similar. Quite a cute young man really. Some lucky girl will get her teeth into him. Pity he'd never liked her even as a small kid.

Reece had shocked her. A rent increase wasn't on his agenda. He'd tabled a copy of her latest lease agreement with the holding company and a copy of Matt's shareholding in her café.

She cleared her throat. "I gather your mother would have seen that Matt had money in my business and I had a bit in the holding company?"

Reece nodded and said, "Yes she knew and in fact warned me not to get upset when she handed over the books to me."

"Well," Vikki said. "I have money out on short-term mortgages that I can call in and a bank manager who rather likes me and so I guess a big fat loan is likely to be approved. I'll get back to you and thanks for being a gentleman, and giving me first option."

"Matt would have approved of my action Vikki."

Ten days later Vikki and Reece met in the offices of the Curtis family's new legal firm, Crown and Partners. Phil Crown presented them with the documents he'd prepared for signing.

Vikki walked out as the pending sole owner of Southern Star Holdings Ltd and also the pending sole owner of the Riverside Café, subject to routine legalities to be completed. She stood outside the café and looked with pride at the building she now owned. She also smiled. That morning she'd given notice to Chief Fire Officer Merv Arnold after their final bedtime together. He seemed relieved, quite surprised really that he'd gone so long without a word of his affair reaching the ears of his possessive wife.

Two days later his successor, bank manager Archie Hampton, entered the side-door and joined Vikki for lunch in her apartment above the café. They toured the spacious premises and in the bedroom Archie looked interested when Vikki told him that it was a king size waterbed.

"I've not tried one of those, are they any good?"

"Well, Archie," said Vikki, running a finger slowly down the front of her dress between her breasts. "You are welcome to try it out. Before or after lunch?"

Archie began removing his tie, signalling he was intent to find out right then what Vikki had that had attracted Matt Curtis to her side so regularly and loyally all those years.

Vikki began pulling her dress over her head, probably wondering if Archie had a big dick and would be in for the long haul. Being a big woman it took a big dick to give her what she required.

* * *

Drawing money from the farm account, pushing it into overdraft, Reece paid off his debts to gambling syndicates in Christchurch, sending bank cheques by courier. He was called by representatives of both syndicates and declined to meet their demands to pay interest, saying illegally acquired money by syndicates was not legally interest-bearing so they could 'stick it' and the should simply be pleased the slate with him was clean. He was abused and threatened but cut both calls, knowing no one in New Zealand was ever assassinated to non-payment of gambling debts. He didn't bother wondering if that belief was based on fact.

He felt a great weight lift from his mind and wondered who he could take out to dinner and then fuck to truly celebrate. Unfortunately his friends in Miranda were all male. Ah Phil's birth mother Alice was back from Queensland in the summer. She still had a tight body for a women her age and a lively manner. He called her apartment but there was no reply.

* * * 

On Phil's desk lay a bank cheque to be paid into the account of Reece's recently formed company, Curtis Investments Limited. It was for $1.376 million. Reece had decided that he wouldn't try to squeeze every dollar he could out of Vikki. The selling price was on the high side of the difference between the figure reached by the assessor he engaged and the lower figure submitted to Vikki's assessor.

"You're a gentleman Reece," Vikki had lied. "I have new respect for you."

When she'd left, Phil said slyly, "Mum (Alice) talked to Cilla on the phone the night before last and is pretty excited to be seeing her so soon again. Only I don't think she's going to see a lot of her."

"She'll do what she wants. I'm only an add-on."

"Don't bet on it buddy. For some reason I just cannot understand, and with Cilla it won't be your money, she has a radar fix on you. She's admitted that to mum, so happy days while they last. Oh, by the way, so that your mother can get some sleep, our place up at the lakes is available to you guys while she's here. Take my spare set of keys. Catch!"

Watching TV that night, Reece told Courtney about the transactions he'd completed that day.

"We no longer have a financial connection with Vikki. What I can't understand is how you tolerated the connection dad had with her all those years. If it had extended beyond a business connection it would have broken your heart."

"It hurt me to think that they were undoubtedly sharing a bed Reece. Matt would probably have married Vikki but I slipped in between before their reunion all those years ago was cemented, Well that's all history and as you very well know she was brilliant in helping me through my grief and we have become good friends."

Reece covered over a developing scowl. 

Courtney continued: "I remember my first and almost my only face to face meeting in earlier times with Vikki. I'd expected to be dealing with a small-town tramp. Instead found her to be friendly, intelligent and to my astonishment, totally able to handle me when I confronted her over our wedding reception. Matt had given her the job without consulting me. It was an inspiring performance. I was put through the wringer and hung out to dry so gently that I scarcely realised what had happened. I went home feeling that I'd neither lost nor won. I then felt ashamed that I'd behaved so badly."

"Water under the bridge mother."

"Are you going to start calling me mother again?"

"Sort of slipped out. Sorry mum."

"I believe it will not be necessary ever again to talk about Matt and Vikki in the same breath and rarely have I done so and now it belongs to a bygone era."

"I does indeed. Thinking back I reckon dad belong to a past era whereas I would describe you as being something of a crossover. In some ways you seem to become younger as I was growing up and look at you today. You look young for your years, your painting style is absolutely contemporary and your clothes are quite fashionable."

"Quite fashionable?"

"Ooops, I'm into dangerous territory am I? Tell you what, when Cilla comes over I'll get her to go shopping with you. She's really up with trendy stuff mum, but just don't let her persuade you to buy a thong."

"Matthew Curtis, you disgusting... Oh, what's the use? In that respect you are exactly like your father, an unrelenting tease. Be a good boy and get me another brandy."

"Mum?"

"Yes."

"Are you going to look around for another man?"

"Yes and no."

"What does that mean?"

"It means that mothers don't talk intimately to their sons about such a thing, and the answer I've just given you means I don't have to lie."

"Then I take it you really mean yes."

"No."

"Oh mother! You are confusing me."

"Why don't you just run along and fetch my brandy."

Matt looked at his mother; her eyes were sparkling. He knew she thrived on repartee, but rarely had the opportunity to engage. Yes and no, what a bloody idiotic answer!

After long thought and talking at length to his accountant and Archie at the bank, Reece decided to focus on local investment and would hire an experienced property manager to run the day-to-day operations. Both advisers said they'd produce some names for him to consider.

For two days he worked on developing a business plan that really was an investment strategy. Then he went out looking for possible acquisitions. He ended up with a list of nine prospective projects, and rated only two of them for immediate attention: the Town & Country Club and after that was completed to restart Matt's stalled department store project that had not passed beyond preliminary planning stages.

He also had decided to quit the hotel. It was the only holding that seemed an ill-fit with his investment strategy. Besides, it needed upgrading if its accommodation business was to compete with the flash new motels with their beautiful swimming pools and the possibility of a seafront resort being built at the end of the reserve on the western side of the river, where a failing 9-hole golf club was situated.

Reece decided to sell the hotel immediately and to commence negotiations with the developer of the proposed resort about the possibilities of a joint partnership. He'd have to rely on Phil's expertise to take care of any suggestions that the prospective purchasers of the hotel might make about inserting a restraint clause preventing him from trading in any competitive venture within a certain period, probably two years. Well if it were only two years that could be okay because gaining building consents took so damn long. It would easily be two years before the doors of a resort hotel would open. 

"In dad's day he just went and did things. Now we have to get our lawyer's approval together with umpteen other layers of approval before development can commence," fumed Reece, at the club on Friday evening.

Alton nodded sympathetically but Phil complained, "Are we here to drink or what?"

They'd messed around on the badminton court, taking turns to sit out a game until a schoolgirl aged about seventeen, asked if she could make up a four.

Alton recognised her as Jenny something, but hadn't known she played badminton, so he elected to partner Reece. Phil and Jenny creamed them, walking off the court with $20 each. Jenny was the region's junior girl badminton champion.

"Funny how she goes to the school where you teach and yet you didn't know she played badminton," Phil said.

"There are several lawyers in this town whom we all know, but which are the good ones?" Alton replied darkly.

While the two continued sparing, Reece looked around the member lounge and though, what a hovel. The town needed better than this. The building, a former wool store, was separated from the Riverside Café by a roadway on to the wharf.

As they were walking out of the building, Reece said to Phil, "I'd like you to make an offer on this building at current valuation less 15% for cash, without disclosing my name. Tell them it's a buy and lease back proposal until the replacement building proceeds."

"Jeeze mate. That's a good idea. I may have some clients who'd like to invest in it providing your figures stack up."

"No-o-o-o. But I would consider a recommendation from you about making shares available privately in Curtis Investments."

"That's even better. We have clients looking for that sort of vehicle, mainly farmers, but dad's also looking around. I think I'll draft up a proposal and get you in to talk to both of us."

"Right."

"Cilla arrives tomorrow."

"I know... been thinking little else today."

"You old ram. I wonder what she sees in you?"

At the airport Reece got quite a shock. He raced over to Cilla as soon as she walked into the small inter-city terminal, hugged her and smothered her with kisses. She kissed him once, only once, and then seemed to be resisting her embrace.

He released her and taking her hands said, "Let me look at you."

She appeared to be quite shy. He was taken aback.

Her next comment absolutely floored him, "What a lovely day."

It was just the sort of thing his grandmother said whenever he met her off an aircraft. He's been expecting her to say something like, "Let's call in to a motel on the way to your place" or 'Take me somewhere fast where I can tear the clothes off you'.

Bloody hell. What does a guy do? Try again, that's what. "Are you feeling okay?"

"Perfectly well thank you."

There's nothing for it, go for the jugular to see if she'd turned into a zombie. "Are you wearing a thong?"

She actually grinned at that, but before Reece had time to think of a suitable follow-up, Cilla said, "Listen, Reece, I think we ought to talk. Let's get a cup of coffee."

God, she going to tell him the baby's been found, thought Matt, pleased that he'd worked it out all by himself.

It was a long wait in the short queue as an incompetent woman slowly filled plates, poured drinks and adding up orders on a calculator before accepting money and counting out the change and handed it out piece by piece.

"Two coffees and quickly," Reece said, almost snarling. He looked at Cilla sitting alone in a slight slump, looking out to the distant brown hills.

"We don't tend to rush in the provinces, sir," chided the serving lady. 

In his mind Reece vaulted the counter, poured two brilliant coffees and vaulted back over the counter without spilling a drop, all in ten seconds flat and to the applause of those behind him in the queue. Cilla looked up adoringly at him.

The woman gave him two overfilled coffees. Matt thrust a note at her and said, keep the change. 

"Sorry sir, but that will put the till out. I have to give you your change." 

"Donate it to the friggin' SPCA then," said Reece, through gritted teeth.

"I say, steady on. The poor woman is doing her best," commented the next person in the line, an elderly man. Those standing immediately behind him looked ready to boo Reece. He slunk off to where Cilla sat, spilling even more coffee into the saucers. He sat opposite her. He wanted to press against her knees but thought better of it.

"Look," she began. Matt was looking. 

"In Queensland I was overcome by lust. You we so charming and lovely and I hadn't been with a man for such a long time that I just lost it. I pulled you away from Phil and Alton, spoiling their holiday."

"I don't think that's quite true."

"But I was consumed by lust."

"No I mean my fellow golfers. Alton won back the $150 the next day and took $150 off Phil in each of the next three days. Then after arriving back home I transferred all of my legal work to Phil's firm, and he says I'm their largest client apart from the local freight and bus company ."

"Well that's nice to hear."

"Thank you. Anyway that's a long time ago and I've shared lusty visits with you since then. Now let's get back to this other thing. You are not confident to be meeting me again because you believe I may think of you as a ... a..."

"Say it!"

"A whore!"

"Yes, that's one word for it" Cilla said, bottom lip quivering.

"Well, that's a surprise considering I don't even know what one really looks like or how they perform in the sack. You, Cilla are the most exciting woman I've ever held in my arms. I'm glad that I turned you on because that's exactly what I'm supposed to do. It's Tarzan meets Jane stuff Cilla not something nasty or degrading. You obviously enjoy sex when the right person hits the right buttons, and that's great. Immerse yourself whenever you can because sure as hell will freeze over those moments won't last forever. If you care to remember, our mutual behaviour remained unchanged in our subsequent meetings. There is nothing wrong about liking to fuck."




Doomed Dynasty Pt. 08



"Oh Reece, you are being so lovely to me."

"Please wait, there's more. Think about all of those stimulating conversations we had. We didn't have continuous sex. You even were patient enough to learn how to ride a horse and that is something we're about to take further. And shopping. Who else in the whole world would have be able to talk me into going shopping with her? No one; absolutely no one. You were so creative. Although within two minutes in that jeweller's shop it became obvious that you were playing some sort of game, I was determined to grind it out until you lost your patience, but it was I who cracked."

Reece halted his outburst, surprised at his intensity and swirling emotions, though he was aware he could have been more eloquent.

"It pleases me to know than you don't think that I'm abnormal,' she whispered.

Reece swung his chair sideways and said kindly, "Come here, sweet one. Come sit on my knee. You look as if you need a big soft hug."

Cilla rose, wiped away a tear with her left hand and approached him tentatively. He held out his arms and she darted forward on to his lap. They hugged for a minute, without a word.

Five minutes later they approached a motel. 

"You can pull in here if that's what you want."

Reece accelerated the Toyota. He didn't reply because anything he said about not stopping would have been a lie. He was horny, and that was the truth. Being the most sensitive Curtis man to have walked the planet, well, at least the streets of the Miranda River Valley Curtis's or so he thought, Reece made a decision to try to help Cilla through her confidence crisis. He figured she was embarrassed because he was now wealthy. Things would have gotten back to her via Phil and her mother. Ah, so no sex, absolutely no sex, until she came knocking. He was aching to screw the silly bitch but sometimes a man had to do what a man knew he had to do.

"Phil and Samantha are expecting us for dinner tonight. It was Samantha's idea, but I'll take you home first as my mother is so eager to meet you. I've told her very little about you but the fact that you are to be our house guest is enough to spiral her curiosity close to lift-off."

"My mother's probably the same. Have you met my mother?"

"Yes as Miranda's not a big town as you know. I have been to her apartment with Phil a couple of times. Samantha's invited her to dinner also."

"That will be nice. Reece I haven't told you the whole story. Until I got on the plane in Brisbane just before midday, I was ever so happy. I had this visit planned for thirty-two days and ticked each day off on my calendar first thing every morning.

"What a cute thing to do," Reece grinned.

"When I told my mother about you she was pleased that we had hit it off in Queensland. The she said that I should try to hold on to you because you were a very wealthy man. I have to confess that I had thought having an extended relationship with you would be fun, and in fact of therapeutic value to me. But never did I have designs on you, Reece believe me. 

"I believe you, utterly." 

"Oh, you have no idea what a relief it is to hear that, Reece. I have a habit of panicking when my motives are questioned, even if it's my own mother. I like you because you are fun to be with, and you really did what you call push the right buttons. But at present I'm a little apprehensive about that."

"I know Cilla. I think at after all these years I am beginning to understand some of the complexities that come with emotions. My father was of no assistance to me to cope with my own emotions, let alone to understand his complexities. It wasn't until I left home for university that I slowly began to understand my own father. Until I went to university I had thought of him as a shallow, uncaring bastard. That's what other people sometimes called him. I know they did. But neither his critics nor I were really aware that he lived by his own code, albeit a lopsided code. They didn't know because he didn't talk about his thoughts in that way or boast about his good deeds. I had long discussions with Phil and other fellows about impressions of their fathers and their father-son relationships. To my surprise each one of them seemed to more readily identify flaws rather than their father's strengths. It seems as if sons expect too much from their fathers and that led me to a greater understanding of my own father, which is why we began to get on much better in the final years of his life."

"Oh you poor dear," said Cilla, resting her head on Reece's shoulder. 

She was soon asleep, emotionally drained.

Reece carried her out gently, nodding and smiling to people who asked if Cilla was all right and ignoring the bitch behind the counter. The next thing Cilla knew was Reece calling, "We're here."

She awoke to see a winding brick drive leading up through palms to a quite imposing large single storey house, painted grey, with the window frames and doors in view painted dark green. The multiple hip corrugated iron roofing was painted a lighter grey. Beautiful specimen trees were everywhere and some silver birches grew in clumps.

"Stop, please Reece. I have to comb my hair and do my lipstick before you mother sees me."

"All right but it's a waste of time. Mum won't even notice."

"You might have advanced your understanding about fathers Reece but if what you've just said summarises your understanding of mothers then you have a lot more to learn."

Courtney greeted them smiling. "Hello my dear. You must to Cilla. How beautiful you look. Welcome to our home on the hill."

"Thank you for your kind welcome Mrs Curtis. You look prettier than how Reece described you to me, and I thought he was exaggerating."

Reece looked pained. "Ladies, can you please stop this ego massaging and come inside for a drink and really get to know each other."

After pouring a gin for his mother, a Bloody Mary for Cilla and a glass of dry white wine for himself, Reece lifted his glass and toasted "To two beautiful ladies."

"You're looking all togged up this evening mom," he observed. "Going out somewhere or is it just to impress Cilla?

"Samantha phoned this afternoon and invited me to her dinner party."

Alarm bells began ringing. Reece thought bloody Samantha, trying to stitch him up again. This so-called dinner party was beginning to sound like a pre-nuptials gathering. When Courtney went off to answer the phone he warned Cilla about his suspicions.

"I was coming to that same conclusion," she said. "Aren't they sweet. Should we tell them that to date our primary mutual interest has been screwing?"

"Glad you mentioned that. Mum had put you in my bedroom. But after our discussion at the airport I think I shall sleep in the study tonight. Just give me a nudge when you feel ready to have me in your bed again."

"That's sweet of you."

"What's sweet of Reece?" asked Courtney, sweeping into the room in her long gown and looking anxiously at her watch and saying Reece's grandmother was not due home for another three days so she'd take a minute to call her.

"Reece has volunteered to sleep in the study tonight, giving me his bed."

"Y-e-e-s, that is a gallant gesture indeed," replied Courtney, thinking they must have had a row. "You two had better rush and get changed, it's almost 7 o'clock."

Reece said, "Mum people eat later these days at dinner parties. Besides, we three are guests of honour, so they'll have to wait for us."

"Another drink Cilla?" he asked, turning towards her. But she'd already gone, apparently thinking it best to do what her hostess had asked.

They arrived at the Crowns' home, and found several vehicles parked in the driveway and on the lawn.

"False alarm, it's not the witch's match-making party. She's asked outsiders, probably some of you old buddies," whispered Reece. "It is okay for Alice to meet her ex?"

"Yes I think so. They have maintained a civil relationship."

Phil came bounded up to Reece as he was getting out of the car. Samantha was right behind him and she was kissing her sister while Courtney waited patiently, knowing that she should have been greeted first.

"Bloody noisy inside, Phil sighed. "Apart from mum, dad and our real mum it's almost a primary school reunion. Sammy got it into her head to make this a welcome home party for Cilla. Are you two about to announce your engagement?"

"Ha ha. I scarcely know your sister."

"It's not my impression," Phil grinned. "Go in an grab a drink while I take some of the lipstick off these two lovely guests."

Walking into the lounge Reece was greeted by a woman in an overly tight white dress. Her long black hair was swept up behind her head and held with a large gold comb. Her blue eyes were emphasised by false eyelashes, but he recognised her.

"Hullo Alice. You're looking lovely as ever."

"Hmmm. I can see why my daughter has come to see you Reece."

Reece whispered in her ear. "Alice to be frank, I've been intimate with your daughter. It is not a state secret."

She appeared unimpressed..

"Hi Reece," called several people.

He waved, and told Alice he'd catch up later. He could see Phil's father Benton was approaching with a younger woman in tow.

Reece was introduced by Cilla to Phil's father and Nina, wife number two.

"So you're Mr Big that Samantha told us she was putting this function on for your and your fiancée?"

"Not quite Nina. One has to propose and have that accepted in order to acquire a fiancée. Cilla and I and are just ...er ... good friends."

"Really?"

Reece made a bid to change the subject. "Do I detect an Australian accent, Noosa perhaps?"

"Close Surfers Paradise in fact. I picked her up in a bar... best lap dancer I've ever had squashing my jewels," Benton said straight-faced.

"Close but not quite," Nina smiled. "He did pick me up but at the casino."

"I got her motor running so hot that she followed me back here and married me."

Nina smiled. "I must say Benton is brilliant at foreplay. I'm thinking of writing a book on the subject of changing sexual techniques, but need to interview a range of people. Are you interested in talking to me and perhaps demonstrating using the partner of your choice?"

"I ... um ... Oh hullo Samantha?"

Samantha kissed him again and asked why he looked so flushed. Reece thought he shouldn't answer but made the mistake of glancing at Nina.

"Ah-ha. Dr Nina Ford-Crown has been talking to you about her proposed book. Well, you've picked a good one here Nina. If what Phil has told me is true, Reece is an absolute master at rejuvenating a woman's flagging libido, isn't that true Reece?"

But Reece was no longer there; he was at the end of the room with Cilla dealing with strangers who claimed to be his former classmates or former classmates of Cilla. 

"You must remember me, I was in Cilla's class, two years behind you and Phil?" 

Reece thought talking to total strangers was a pain and who on earth would remember people two classes back at school? He'd probably had never known them. He'd be better off talking to the wacky Dr Nina again. But Alice arrived from nowhere and took Reece's arm and led him into a corner. The fragrances of her Oriental perfume and the tang of juniper from several gins emitted from her.

She said, "Now tell me about your adventures with my daughter north of Noosa. I want a blow by blow description."

Reece thought, what's wrong with these people; they have sex on the brain.

He was saved again, this time by the dinner gong.

"Ladies and gentlemen, please take your seats for dinner. You'll see nametags attached to piece of carrot. Stragglers will miss the lap dancing, performed tonight by Nina, assisted by her two trainees, Samantha and Cilla."

Wine corks began popping, and a boisterous dinner party was underway.

Several guests jumped to their feet and made impromptu speeches about incidents when they were at school with Phil or Cilla. Reece had no memory of any such incidents. He comforted himself by thinking he must have gone to another school,

Sadly for the womenfolk, there was no lap-dancing. They had been interested to see for themselves what all the fuss was about. However Alice, Samantha and Cilla were first up for Karaoke. They were quite good but Nina proved to be the one with a great singing voice.

Towards the end of the evening Nina was invited to sing, accompanied by Samantha on her grand piano. She warmed up on 'Night and Day' and then wowed her audience with 'Mood Indigo'. Of the wolf whistles urging an encore, Reece's was the loudest.

Dr Nina wacky? Reece decided certainly no, just a complex character. Despite his growing alcoholic haze, he reasoned that perhaps he did need to learn more about women. 

A phone blaring next morning awoke Reece shortly after 10.35. As he reached for the hand-piece he felt a pang of disappointment, half-expecting to find Cilla beside him.

"Hello," he grunted.

"Have I woken you?" asked Phil in disbelief.

"Nah," Reece lied. "Just got back in from the farm but have a cracked head from all of that foul wine I drank at your place last night."

"The day you stop drinking labels such as Cellar Delight is the day that I'll personally escort you through a journey of discovery at the establishment of my vintner in Wellington."

Taking a second to gather his thoughts, Reece replied, "I would welcome that opportunity my friend but only if by then you can correctly distinguish the difference between Mount Aspiring bottled spring water and weasel's piss. Now why are you phoning so late in the day?"

Phil told him that the president, vice-president and secretary of the Town & Country Club wished to meet the mystery person who wanted to buy the clubrooms. The offer definitely interested them.

"You can remain anonymous if you wish. I can conduct negotiations as your nominee."

"No now my offer's on the table I will meet them, but I would like you there with me. Do you do freebies by any chance?"

"I'll go with you as a friend, but going as a legal adviser will cost you."

"Just testing. I wish to retain you, at mate's rates of course. Could you see if they can meet us at 6:00? We can book in for a game of badminton beforehand... may as well use the facilities as they won't be left standing for long."

"Aren't you getting a little bit cocky thinking like that?"

"Perhaps, but apart from my time in background investigation and your uncharitably high fees, I've little to lose and very much to gain."

Phil said that the rules required any major decision involving the finances and well-being of the club in such a proposal to be debated at a special meeting of the club, with full documentation available for members to peruse before that meeting, and then the proposal had to be voted on by all members, with a simple majority required to pass any motion except dissolution of the club when a two-thirds majority of the current membership was required.

"I was aware of that, but when would members vote?"

"At the first special general meeting or at any other time as that meeting may decide."

Reece was wondering how he could exert pressure for an early vote when Phil said he had an interesting point for discussion.

"The rules have not been updated in recent years, which is rather lax. There is no rule that states that the vote must take place on the floor of the special general meeting, or that it shall be a postal vote."

"That is interesting. What do you advise?"

"Try to ensure that the voting takes place at a meeting because there you'd have had the opportunity to sway members uncertain of whether to vote for or against the recommendation of the board."

"Good thinking. Could you get back to them to see if 6:00 is okay for tonight or any other night this week?"

The phone rang thirty minutes later when Reece was at the breakfast table in the company of two bleary-eyed women.

"Thanks Phil and 5.15 is okay for the court and that gives us time to shower and put on our make-up."

"You've got somebody listening to you?"

"Yes Phil and looking very puzzled I must say. Cheers."

Reece looked up and found his mother and Cilla looking at him strangely.

It was Courtney who broke. "Y-o-u wear make-up?"

"It's just a joke. I knew you were listening. I was talking to Phil."

"Oh Phil," said Courtney, much relieved. "He wouldn't wear make up."

Reece was tempted to wipe that honey smile off her face by telling her about the time at university when he and Phil and a couple of mates had plastered their faces with makeup. They wore wigs and colourful women's clothing and gatecrashed a university women's party that had a lesbian theme. But she had a lovely image of Phil, so let her retain it.

Reece and Phil went to the upper floor where meeting rooms and a large area with bar used for smaller social events were located. Phil rang the bell at reception and secretary Standish Mains came through the door marked private. His eyes grew enormously behind his bi-focals when he spotted who the mystery buyer was.

"Back in a minute," called Standish, as he slammed the door in the rush to report his finding to the club president.

"Welcome boys," boomed burly Ian Briggs, a firewood and coal merchant who was one of the worst snooker players in his age group. His five members of the committee greeted Reece and Phil.

Addressing Reece, he said: "So you wish to push us out of our clubrooms?"

"Yes," said Reece, looking around the room and at the ceiling, "before this well-expired structure collapses to the ground."

Irene Harris, owner of Harris Building Supplies and Maintenance Ltd said, "True, this old girl has seen better times, but we have a larger allocation in the budget this year for maintenance so what's the problem?"

Without looking at any notes or reports, Reece replied that the $2800 allocated would mostly go on repairs to walls and roof leaks and painting and wallpapering the main entry and reception area. "I'm also aware that two of the three major beams over the underground car park are cracked and that the lift has already been granted two extensions to allow continued use under reduced loadings but that that it cannot be used beyond June 30 next year."

"Yes but we have $1900 in our lift refurbishment fund," commented the secretary.

Reece smiled. "Well Standish, I suggest that kitty is a little short of cash, perhaps short of $28,000. It will cost you around $30,000 to have that lift rebuilt. If you have no lift up to the clubrooms you can say goodbye to most of our senior members."

"Who gave you that figure?" demanded Irene, who chaired the house and maintenance subcommittee. 

Reece shrugged. "It's simply a ballpark figure. Whatever they quote you there will be major cost over-runs, I tell you this to avoid getting a nasty bill that collapses the club, not the building."

"We will not be pressured into agreeing to your proposal, Reece," boomed Ian.

"I wouldn't dream of doing that Mr President."

Phil sucked in his breath, admiring the laid-back skill of his friend who was demolishing the resistance of the aggressive trio.

"Ian perhaps this is a good time for my client to put his cards on the table?" Phil suggested diplomatically.

Ian, who had been preparing to tell smart-arse Curtis to shove off, hesitated. "Very well, let's hear it but we want only to hear facts."

"In a nutshell, this building is worth nothing. But the site is valuable, very valuable in fact. That's why my offer is pitched generously above the current value of the land. My proposal is to demolish the building and build a replacement that will fit the requirements of its cornerstone tenants, but everything hinges on what options this club accepts."

"And what options are those, Mr Curtis... I mean Reece?" asked the president.

"Option 0ne, the club shifts to permanent premises in the old cheese factory."




Doomed Dynasty Pt. 08



"But that building is currently fully tenanted," Irene pointed out.

"I know, but I will shift them elsewhere. I own other buildings and can offer sweeteners."

"Option two, the clubs shifts temporarily to the old cheese factory and then to its new clubrooms at the new resort to be built next to the 9-hole golf course at Southern Beach."

"But Reece, that resort is not going ahead, I know for a fact. The developer is Tony Wolf, my brother," Standish squeaked. " He has failed to raise sufficient funding."

"Oh really? Then you better tell him to come and talk to me. There are people out there on the land with big bucks piled high in the banks in this town. Those farmers would prefer to invest in land development, because that's what they believe in. How much does he want, five million, ten?"

Standish, now clearly perspiring, flicked his eyes at the telephone beside him and then looked gratefully at Reece, "I'll tell him, you bet I'll tell him."

"Finally, option three, the club sells its property and relocates elsewhere under its own volition."

Looking at Phil, Reece said, "Before you call a full board meeting and make any recommendations to the membership, we need to present a formal proposal."

Opening his briefcase and pulling folders, Phil said: "It's all here Ian. Ten copies of the offer in full together with details of the relocation options plus floor plans of the old cheese factory in its present configuration and sketches we have had done by Arthur, Young and Jackson, architects in Wellington showing a number of conceptual layouts of club facilities in the upgraded cheese factory, which will be renamed. Then there are estimates done by Reece's accountant indicating the cost of relocation and transfer costs and indications in chart form of the annual rental for the space you take in multiples of 100 square metres. Finally there are similar conceptual sketches of club facilities at the more upmarket resort and it is pointed out that the estimated rentals for space are purely guesstimates at this stage because ideas remain fluid."

The president was itching to get his hands on those documents. It was exciting and would bring credit to him if moving to upgraded premises occurred during his presidency.

"And gentlemen," said Ian, addressing Phil and Reece, "the first priority is the matter of agreeing on price in respect of this site."

"I am not offering to negotiate," Reece said. "I'm presenting the club with a generously pitched price for its land and building. Check it out with your own advisers. I also have offered very fair rates for my contractors converting the old cheese factory to the club's specifications. Surely you will concede that once that building is opened up and strengthened as shown in the plans for work that is the landlord's financial responsibility, you will be in a premier riverside property. The club has 60 days from today to present me with documents for signing acceptance."

The vice-president whispered something to the president.

"That's a bit tough Reece, virtually an ultimatum."

"It's the way I do business Ian, which is almost always on a one-to-on basis anyway. Dealing with committees, boards and members with their divergent views and the raising of irrelevant issues would be such a waste of time for me. However, I am only a phone call away if my comments are required, or phone Phil if I'm not available."

Reece motioned Phil to his feet. "You have been kind enough to hear us out. We would like to shout you a few drinks downstairs in appreciation."

"Oh no, I won't hear of it," said Ian, striding over to unlock a large cabinet. "Stay here and get pissed with us. We'd like to hear your views, as members, on which is the preferred option for the club. You two obviously have done a lot of homework."

Two nights later, at almost midnight, Reece was woken by two thumps on the study door. 

"Knock, knock," called Cilla loudly. "Please come to my bed."

So loudly did she call that Courtney, who was trying to read herself to sleep, heard the words clearly through her closed door. A happy look spread across her face.

CHAPTER 18

Walking along Riverside Street just before 3:30, Reece saw banker Archie Hampton hurrying out of the driveway alongside the Riverside Café looking very pleased with himself.

He called out, "Good lunch Archie?"

Archie looked surprised, but answered, "Er ... yes. Very nice thanks. Oh just the man I wanted to see. Can you pop in to my office for a minute?"

They walked back to the back and Reece looked, as he always did, at his mother's painting, her first substantial commission, at least it was in those days. But she still said her favourite painting of all was the one he'd been left by his grandmother, given to her by a dear wee boy who paid Courtney a couple of bucks from his moneybox to paint it.

"Listen Archie, that painting by Courtney. She's sitting at home virtually twiddling her thumbs. Why don't you get your head office to commission her to paint a couple of dozen scenic paintings clearly of a New Zealand theme and have them circulated around your branches on, say, a three-month rotation? It's trendy for banks to be associated with the arts."

Archie was all ears. The bank's new managing director from California was currently running a competition open to all staff with a prize of large screen television set for the best ideas to help the bank to establish that there was a difference between it and its competitors.

"Not bad, not a bad idea at all, Reece. But we have 128 branches nationally."

"How many principal main centre branches, or whatever you call them?"

"Twenty-one."

"Well then, get Courtney to submit twenty-one mini sketches to you and then send them to HQ with a proposal. These days she gets four grand for paintings smaller than this one, said Reece, exaggerating a little. "Too much for your bank?"

"Not if the MD likes the idea. But what should I call the scheme?"

"Heartland Art," responded Reece without thinking."

Archie glowed as if a neon light had been switched on.

In his office, Archie handed Reece a list of three names of people capable in carrying out property management duties. 

Archie looked at him, thinking that Reece was quite a guy. Whenever Reece was around he seemed to stimulate him. He had the qualifications to be a director . . . that's it! The bank was currently looking for a replacement director who had to come from the South Island to keep the ratios correct. Three nominees had already rejected approaches, citing they were already over-committed. He would phone the MD as soon as Reece cleared off.

"Rene Tompkins, good old Rene," said Reece, leaning over the desk to throw the Rene nomination into Archie's rubbish tin.

"She has the experience."

"Yes, you list the real estate offices she's worked in. Do you know why she's left so many of them?"

"To pass on to acquire wider experience, I suppose."

"Because she's a selfish, brawling bitch. I knew her when I lived in Christchurch. She pinches clients off other property managers in her office and on drinks on Friday nights often ends up punching the crap out of someone, male or female."

"Oh dear, I'm sorry about that."

"Understood. You bankers don't quite live in the real world. Oh no, Ivan Kindley-McCade, known for his expertise in fingering the till, anyone's till, although he's never been prosecuted. Also he's queer."

"Oh dear."

"Exactly, why don't you trying saying that to him. He wears two gold rings, a big fat gold watch and braces to match his tie. To need any more proof than that you'd need to catch him at it."

"But my wife thinks he's gorgeous."

"They tend to do that, instinctively knowing that handsome queers are something they can't have."

"You're putting me on, aren't you?"

"Archie? Don't be so disgusting.

"I don't get that, I ... Oh! I get it.

The two laughed like old mates and undeniably a friendship was developing between them. Archie was old enough to be Reece's father.

Reece read details of the third nominee.

"And?" inquired Archie, pushing his rubbish tin a bit closer to Reece.

"Dunno. First impressions are he has the right qualifications but could be flaky.

"My sentiments exactly."

"Can you arrange him to me you and me somewhere, say the Riverside Café.

"Er ... couldn't we go somewhere else?"

"No, I would prefer the Riverside, everyone tells me their coffee is the best in town. I'm free all week.

A tall, gentle-faced man of sixty-one with unruly black and greying hair sat with Archie and Reece in the café.

"These coffees and muffins are on the house, gentlemen," announced Vikki. "Compliments to first-timers are a tradition around here."

"A good business tradition Vikki," and she smiled at Reece for saying that, thinking he was just like his dad was, business matters never far from his mind.

"Very nice coffee."

"How nice of you to say that Mr Hampton."

Archie watched her walk away, hips swaying. He didn't need to look at his watch. They had come in at 10 am, so in four and a half hours it would be waterbed wonders!

Harry Mason, a qualified accountant, had sold commercial real estate for five years and had been manager of the property management division of an Auckland firm for eight years before he was made redundant following a merger with a larger company. 

At the same time his wife died and he was found to be suffering from stress. His doctor advised him to seek a quieter life. So he moved to Wellington where he found employment doing the accounts for a car repair firm.

One afternoon the police raided the premises and Harry spend five hours in the police lockup before he was released on bail. The police had broken a stolen car ring and when one of the principal offenders confessed involvement, the case against Harry was dropped. Three of the charged offenders had individually exonerated Harry from involvement or indeed having any knowledge of wrongdoing.

Harry's stress returned so he crossed the strait seeking a quieter life and Miranda seemed just the right place for that.

"So here I am," he said to Reece. "With plenty of money but no work, which had made me very bored.

As Reece outlined the job specifications, Harry's eyes lit up, and Reece noticed that.

"It's a job exactly made for me. I have four of the skills required, sales experience, interpersonal skills, property management experience and depth of knowledge on how the property industry ticks."

"So I have observed," commented Reece dryly. "But what if you do come under pressure and begin to buckle?"

'Well then, Mr Curtis ..."

"Reece."

"Well then, Reece, if you think that's likely then you won't engage me. Problem solved for you."

"You guys get yourselves another cup of coffee, here's the money," said Reece. "I just need a few moments to think." He walked out and around the building on to the wharf.

"A nice young chap is Reece."

"Yes," replied Archie. But there's a toughness to him. Reece was a quite successful international road cyclist in his younger days. He's got the best business head of anyone around here, and that would include me."

Returning to find them sipping coffee Reece said to Harry, "Where do you live, Harry?"

"I've leased a house in Murray St."

"Hmmm. That's within easy walking distance of my home. I do all my paperwork from home. It's a converted bedroom so there's plenty of room."

Reece tore a page out of his pocket diary and wrote something down. He folded it and slid it over to Harry. "I'm offering you that amount weekly to do all of my accounts and property management including finding new tenants when we lose any. That enough?" 

Archie craned his neck but couldn't see what was written on the slip.

"Very generous indeed Reece. I accept."

"It's generous Harry because I pay for loyalty and performance to the best of your ability. I am also confident that I will be around to take any weight off you if you feel you are becoming overloaded. I'm becoming busier doing more and bigger things, so soon we may have to shift into town with a receptionist, odd-job person and a personal assistant for me. I'll know next week after a meeting at one of the clubs in which I am a member. Start Monday okay? Here's the address. Mrs Curtis my mother will probably answer the door."

After shaking hands Reece went to turn to walk off, but turned to face Harry.

"Harry how was it that Archie recommended you?"

"Because he knows me Reece. My wife is his sister."

With a passive expression Reece looked directly at Archie. "We're becoming friends, quite good friends in fact. But don't ever do that to me again Archie. Full disclosure. Understand?"

Archie nodded vigorously and the two watched Reece walk off.

"Tough deep down, with tons of integrity I would think, don't you Archie?"

Archie said thoughtfully, "I guess so."

Courtney was as angry as she ever became. "You're leaving me in the house with a strange man in your office. Reece, how could you!"

"Relax mother," Reece soothed. "I'll bet my life on it he's not a sex maniac, if that's what you're on about, or a stealer of collector's pieces of fine bone china, which is probably what is the real worry. He'd a nice chap."

"Oh, you can be quite irritating at times Reece. You are so supremely confident about your decisions. People make mistakes, you know."

"I know, moth...mum. Shall I go and load the rifle for you to keep beside your?"

Courtney didn't reply. She stormed out of the room.

"Oh, dear!" commented Reece loudly.

Courtney heard him. For the first time in her life she came close to giving the fingers to someone.

Patricia arrived home next day absolutely exhausted and that night because even worse. Courtney called and ambulance and had Dr Mackenzie admit Patricia to hospital.

"It's not good Courtney," said the elderly doctor.

On Monday morning at 9 am Courtney answered the knock on the door.

"Mr Mason I presume," Courtney said stiffly. Please come in."

"Correct, and good morning. The air here is so refreshing. Shall I remove my shoes?"

"No, of course not. We're farming people," she replied, then wondering the relevance of that reply to the question.

She showed him to the office, and pointed to a new desk. "I apologise that Reece is not here. He was called out to the farm as they have started harvesting the first grapes."

"You have a farm and a vineyard?"

"We have a number of things Mr Mason. "No doubt you will learn of them in due course."

"If you wish to go and watch I will be okay here left alone and I promise I won't steal anything. You appear to have a lovely home."

At 10.30 Courtney returned to the office, which was much tidier than it had been when she left it 90 minutes earlier.

"Please come through and I will make you coffee."

Harry followed her into the dining room. He immediately noticed the display of bone china.

"This is a magnificent collection Mrs Curtis. You must be very proud of it."

Courtney let that one go, but decided to stake out her territory. "The rarest pieces are alarmed."

"Oh I'm pleased to hear that. One cannot be too careful about security these days."

Hmmm, thought Courtney. "Do you like your coffee strong or weak, white or black?"

"To tell you the truth, Mrs Curtis, I prefer tea in the mornings, coffee after lunch."

"Very well," replied Courtney. "I've already made a pot. Please bring this cup over to the coffee table. She also preferred tea in the morning, coffee in the afternoon.

She poured the tea and watched Harry carefully carry his cup away. He'd reached the door when she relented, and said, "You may sit with me here if you wish."

Harry didn't almost drop the cup, but he was surprised. He'd come to the conclusion that Mrs Curtis did not think much of him.

Half an hour later she went into Harry. I'd like to watch the harvesting so I'll go and be back by about 2:00 and will bring lunch back with me."

That night Reece went into the office and noticed it was even more tidier and obviously Harry had been working on drawing up lists of suppliers, contractors, subcontractors, expanding on the names that he'd copied from the list on Reece's desk which he had expanded on the few names his father had assembled.

Courtney walked in. Her moodiness from the previous evening had gone.

Reece grinned, "And how did we and Harry get on today?"

"We and Mr Mason got on fine. I know what you're after, so I'll say it: no I do not fear that he may be a sex maniac or a bone china thief."

Oh excellent. Some say I have a sharp business mind, which I though I inherited from dad. I think perhaps I got street-wise attributes from him but your reply to me suggests a rapier wit. I think I've inherit my sharp business mind from you."

Courtney walked over and kissed him on the cheek, leaving the room without a word.

Over dinner Courtney was drawn out a bit more about Mr Mason.

"He really surprised me, Matt. He's very cultured. He correctly identified my new roses outside the study as Auckland Metro and when I showed him the Goldie he identified it without being close enough to read the inscription. He also prefers tea in the mornings."

"Tea in the mornings? Is that a fundamental of one's cultural development?"

"Oh dear boy, you really do have a little bit of Matt in you.

Next afternoon Patricia was transferred to the retirement home and the next day Courtney met the chairman of the trust board. 

"Mrs Shanks, I understand you have plans for a full nursing hospice wing here. Why hasn't it been built?'

"Simply lack of funding Mrs Curtis. There could be no other reason. We are way short of the total we need."

"What is the shortfall?"

"It's terrifyingly large, $1.8 million but of course the project estimate includes the complete fit-out."

Courtney's parents had both died over the past three years and she had inherited everything. So how much have you raised?"

"Only $873,600."

"In that case I required you to call a meeting of your board to set about raising, um, $426,400. When that money is in your hospice trust funding account I will deposit $1.5 million in the fund to allow the hospice wing to proceed. Dr Mackenzie believes my mother Mrs Curtis will be well enough to return home with two weeks but warns before too long she will require constant care. Therefore I want that hospice wing constructed expeditiously."

"Ohmigod Mrs Curtis, yes, yes."

"I'll have my lawyer send you a declaration that I have the funds available and they are payable to your trust as soon as he is advised that the shortfall is $1.5 million or less. If it's less the $1.5 million will remain gifted in full."

"Ohmigod Mrs Curtis, thank you again. Come I'll take you through to Patricia now. I saw her this morning. We have known one another for more than forty years.

Three weeks later Courtney eased back on the throttle.

"Harry, Harry, come and look!"

Mr Mason left his desk and as Harry hurried through the open dining room French doors, elated that Courtney had lowered the boon.

"Look Harry the black's had a foal over-night. Isn't it tiny." Mare and foal were in a small enclosure under an oak tree in the small paddock between the Curtis and Whitehead's houses.

"Do you ride Harry?"

"Used to but that was many years ago."

"I'll take you to the farm one day soon. We can ride up to where the new vines are being planted. You will be able to ride again, it's just like riding a bicycle, you never forget. I used to ride like the wind but only walk the horse these days."

"That would be nice Mrs Curtis. I would really look forward to the experience. By the way, do you paint?"

"Yes, why do you ask?"

"That painting in Reece's office of the woman and the young female rider who I wonder if she was a sister of Matt's. But looking at the painting I though it looked like something you might have done, but there's no signature on it or inscription on the frame. It just seems to reflect the style I can image you would have if I may so. It captures your spirit. I apologise for being too personal.




Doomed Dynasty Pt. 08



"Please, I like people to say what they think. You are correct I painted that picture for a friend, now dead. It's her mother watching her riding when she was in her early twenties. The mother is dead now and the daughter didn't want the painting so returned it to me.

"I like the concept of the painting coming back to you," Harry said.

"What a lovely thing to say, Harry, Courtney said, leaving the room to wipe her eyes. She returned later and took Harry through to show him her studio. He was most impressed and Courtney told him about her commissions.

"Harry? So he's Harry now is he?" inquired Reece, when he and Courtney were having a pre-dinner drink and the 'H' word just slipped out. 

"I suppose marriage is no longer out of the question?" he asked, deciding to push his luck. He'd had a great day.

"Don't be tiresome," replied Courtney, eyes closed, listing to a beautiful passage in a Mozart concerto. 

Deciding to bring Courtney back to life, he announced: "There was a special general meeting of the Town & Country Club last night. The members decided almost unanimously to sell their building for redevelopment and move into the old cheese factory when it is upgraded to the club's specifications.

"That's interesting, the clubroom had a Third World look about them. Do you know who the buyer is?

"If you'd open your eyes you'd be looking at him."

"Oh Reece," yelped Courtney, eyes wide open and showing signs of fear. "That would be an awful lot of money to outlay. If it fails you'd be ruined."

"Don't fret mother. Your little boy will do just fine," called Reece from the kitchen.

He returned with a bottle of Moet and two flutes.

"I'm chairing the regional art society's annual meeting in the morning."

"You'll be fine, go to bed with a cold compress on your head after taking two aspirin."

"You really know how to excite a lady."

"That's great news, so spread the word around, please."

"When are you going to get married again Reece?"

"Dunno, I guess I will be told before the event. I see the mare next door has foaled."

He didn't tell his mother that Cilla was settling her affairs in Australia and would be coming back to live with him.

Cilla phoned him a couple of days later. They chatted and Reece said, "Are you really happy about opening your legs for me?"

"Yes and I mean that. You are my best fuck ever."

That left Reece wondering in what way did he excel and why she still clinging to her anal virginity.

"When are you arriving here?"

"Next Wednesday. I'm really looking forward to being with you again."

"Do you want to sleep with me?"

"Of course."

"Good, I'll see what I can arrange. Will call you next Tuesday."

Courtney had no objection about Cilla coming to live with them. Reece's suggestion he and Cilla move into the guests' wing was also approved and Courtney felt better about it all when Reece said he intended to ask Cilla to marry him as soon as his divorce was finalized.

CHAPTER 18

Mr Richard House, MP, opened the Miranda Valley District Town and Country Club's new premises at a gala event.

The club was the community activity of the moment, with a pre-opening membership drive increasing membership numbers by 202%.

Official guests, who included Reece and his partner Cilla and his mother, where taken from the Town Hall to the old cheese factory, now renamed as the Miranda Sports and Recreation Centre, in vintage vehicles.

Older residents gave a special cheer for Reece and his mother, driven in Matt's old Overland jeep by Cilla.

The club's board had baulked at committing itself to a second relocation at the proposed seaside resort, preferring instead to taking a 12-year lease at the sports and recreation centre, with first rights to a 12-year extension.

Reece had expected such indecision, but was not worried. He knew with absolute confidence he could convince the club that it was a perfect match for the resort developed which had just won consent approval for stage two development.

During the official speeches the club president Ian Briggs spoke about how he had become aware of the need to rejuvenate the club and had eventually found Reece Curtis, who supported his development ideas.

"That's a lie, that's a preposterous lie," Courtney was whispering to Reece.

"Let it be, it doesn't matter," urged Reece, gripping Courtney firmly to prevent her from rising to her feet and challenging the lying president.

Vice-president Irene Harris was aware of Ian's indiscretions but turned a blind eye and refreshed her perfume. For years she'd been under Ian's shadow and hoped that at last, on this night, he'd blow into her ear and whisper words she wanted to hear. She knew that Ian's wife was that night at the Tux Dog Show in Upper Hutt.

Later when guests were crowded into the member's lounge and two adjoining committee rooms imbibing unrestrained, Reece took Courtney and Cilla on a tour.

They admired the facilities and workmanship and Courtney astutely observed, "You know Reece, these are marvellous facilities but floral arrangement are very sparse. Nowhere did I see a room dedicated for the preparation of floral arrangements. They have all the bars with neon lighting and computerised fitness machines that boggle the mind but nowhere is there a space for the preparation of floral arrangements. That is unacceptable."

Reece pacified her by saying that he would place a note of that dreadful omission in the member's suggestion box.

Courtney's reaction was simply to say, "My glass is empty Reece."

With that success under his belt Reece then made a grave mistake. To get the resort project underway he acted as guarantor to the tune of $2 million to the developer who assured him he had finance in place. Phil Crown had taken his mother Alice to Fiji for a fortnight and Reece signed the document as guarantor at the developer's bank without seeking legal advice from one of Phil's partners. He was unaware that the developer was on a downward spiral and would be using the loan to pay off debts while keeping a couple of earth moving machines operating on site to give the impression the stalled development was underway again.

Reece had triggered Cilla's sexuality to reach new heights. The poor woman could barely walk when she set off to work each week day at the hotel but she was very happy and very much in love. She'd decided Reece did not seem quite so keen as she was and went off the pill, hoping to become pregnant to him. That didn't happen until four months later when they went on a three-week camping Safari in the Otago-Southland region when Cilla later found she was pregnant.

Returning home Reece had people lining up to inspect the hotel and study the accounts but so far no offers had come in. Then to his horror two policemen visited him making inquiries about the whereabouts of Tony Wolf. It soon transpired the developer had skipped the country with the bank's money. As soon as they left Reece went running to see Phil Crown who looked at the document Reece handed him. He read it and Reece watched Phil's hands shaking and Phil hunched over the document.

"You will be required to come up with $2 million cash and perhaps pronto," Phil croaked.

Next day Reece was called to the bank and took Phil with him. It was agreed that Reece would sign over the hotel to the bank to dispose of. It had a registered value of $3.1 million and any surplus above the $2 million debt of the guarantee plus legal fees and sale costs would be returned to Reece. Phil drafted the agreement with the bank's lawyer to provide safeguards for Reece should the bank recover all or any of its guaranteed loan from the developer. There was a legal process to be followed.

As they walked down to the hotel from that fateful meeting at the bank, Phil said to Reece, "Pal the bank will try to quit that hotel for $2.2 million tops."

"That's my hotel gone into thin air."

"Yes Reece, a fatal rush of blood to the head made you sign away that fortune, didn't it?"

In 1991 that was a huge amount of money for anyone on a small town in New Zealand.

Patricia, unaware of Reece's financial disaster, suffered a stroke that afternoon and died a fortnight later.

A big crowded turned out for Patricia funeral and The Bugle devoted a full page to the Mrs Patricia Curtis's obituary and her illustrious family. The presentation featured a portrait of Patricia painted by her daughter, the highly successful artist Courtney Curtis.

Because of Patricia's steady decline in health following what appeared to have knowingly been her 'last visit' to friends in Christchurch, Courtney had time to prepare herself for the inevitable and took the passing almost in full stride.

These were bad times for the Curtis's.

In despair Reece began drinking beer with martini's chasers once adjusting to this increased drinking tempo felt better and returned to smiling again.

He smiled even more when Rhone arrived home on a month's holiday. She teamed up with Reece again, against her parent's wishes. Rhone rarely drank but with Reece drinking whenever she was with him she found a new likening for martinis and often returned home drunk. On the first night binge, when she sunk eight martinis, she gave Reece unbelievably great fellatio and even claimed her mother had taught her the skill. They continued on to have good sex and then she invited him to take her anally, something Reece had not had since breaking up with Chase.

Three nights later she stayed all night with Reece at a motel and later when they were at a café that opened for breakfast her furious father found them and ordered Rhone outside and shouted at her. Reece was concerned to see Rhone in tears. 

Tony pushed Rhone in his SUV and came back and threatened Reece. 

"Come near my daughter again and I'll kill you."

"Yeah, yeah," Reece said, believing he could easily knock down the older man.

"You bastard. You have been giving her drugs."

"That's bullshit."

"Is it? Remember my warning."

An article in that morning's newspaper reported developer Tony Wolf was being investigated by the police, The developer had absconded with a considerable amount of finance on loan from his bank. It was understood a prominent local businessman had stood behind the developer as guarantor and was liable to pay a huge amount of money in default to the bank. 

Bank manager Archie Hampton contact the bank's CEO's office in Wellington to withdraw his suggestion that Reece Curtis be considered for appointment as a director of the bank and began an immediate study of the bank's loans to Reece and the security held against each loan. It might be prudent to call in some of the loans or ask for greater security.

* * *

The continuing change in Reece's behaviour shocked Courtney and disclosure about the loss of the hotel left her at an emotional low, falling into bouts of depression. She found Harry of great assistance to her and they both became aware something was happening between them.

Courtney made a phone call to lawyer Phil Crown

"Good morning, Philip... I need to see you in confidence, 2:00 this afternoon would suit me nicely."

Phil looked at his appointment schedule. Every slot until almost 7:00 was taken. Courtney was not even one of his clients. However, she was Reece's mother.

"Two o'clock is fine, Mrs Curtis. I'll have coffee ready for you.

"Tea, Twinings tea?"

"Not a problem Mrs Curtis."

Matt called in his PA. "Lucy, please push back my appointments from 2:00 by thirty minutes. And do we have Twinings tea?" 

Lucy said no, but she'd dash across the street to the deli and get some.

After lunch Phil sat twiddling his thumbs above his clenched fists. Courtney sipped her tea. She'd asked Phil to do something highly improper, to divulge personal information about a client, her son Reece.

"I'm really sorry Mrs Curtis. But I simply cannot do such a thing, it's highly unethical."

Patricia calmly took another sip of tea, then said, "I could engaged a private investigator and find out but I would prefer to keep this inquiry just between you and me."

"Well, engage a private investigator if you must, Mrs Curtis."

"I already have." Reaching into her handbag she pulled out a photograph and handed it across the desk.

Picking it up, Phil went white.

"Ruby looks a lovely lady, happily married I understand. The elder girl in the photo looks quite a lot like you, named Julia. She's your daughter, isn't she?"

Heart pounding, Phil asked in an anxious whisper, "Have you told anyone about this?"

Expressionless, Courtney shook her head, and Phil felt immense relief. He walked to his filing cabinet, knowing that his defences had shattered.

Less than ten minutes later Courtney had left the office with the information she'd wanted. Phil had escorted her to the door, still trembling a little. Courtney gave him a motherly hug and told him that each year on the eve of young Julia's birthday he should review his decision not to reveal the existence of his illegitimate daughter to his wife. Hugging him even tighter, she confirmed that his secret was safe with her.

Phil's documents revealed that Reece was mortgaged up to the hilt on his commercial investments and had been in the process of selling the hotel to ease the burden. Courtney was relieved to find that no mortgage had been placed on Strathmore or increased on the farm.

"I suspect it will only be a matter of time before that happens," Phil had commented as Courtney handed back the file. "Gambling addiction is an awful disease. He requires specialist help."

"When I became aware he had this problem, or disease as I would call it, I tried numerous times to get him to go to specialist help but he refused, saying he had everything under control. But we know that isn't true."

"What a mess," sighed Phil. 

Phil stood at his office window watching Patricia walk across the street, without any feeling of malice towards her, He had no idea how her detective had managed to find out about Ruby and her pregnancy that produced a child she named Julia. He was absolutely certain Reece would not have said anything. The detective must have dug deep in Christchurch and found some of Ruby's old friends.

Returning home Courtney sat on the terrace in the twilight in despair, now on to her third gin. Harry was doing the dishes. She began talking aloud. "My son is a disgrace to his mother, his recently departed grandmother and all the Curtis men who have gone before him. I'll fight him tooth and nail if he threatens the security of the farm or this homestead."

Nine days later Phil Crown phoned and asked Courtney to meet him in Riverside Park. They sat in the same park bench where Matt and Vikki had sat shortly after they'd reconnected all those years ago.

"The hotel has sold for a million dollars under value with nothing coming back to Reece," Phil said sadly. "He's instructed me to mortgage your home and increase the mortgage on the farm. Reece's is in deep trouble Mrs Curtis."

"Thank you, Philip. Please leave, I need to be alone."

Phil walked away feeling helpless. She looked so alone. He'd tried to advise Reece to seek medical help for his gambling addiction, but Reece had snarled at him that his luck was about to turn and that Phil should keep to his role of giving legal advice.

A month later Reece married Cilla at The Palms, with a celebrant officiating. Only thirty-two people attended, members of both families and their closest friends.

Cilla was greatly excited and looked lovely. Reece was sombre and looked very unwell.

The only good thing about the wedding for Courtney came during the speeches when Cilla announced she was pregnant.

"Reece and I have a very productive camping holiday through the lower South Island," she smiled and everyone laughed.

"Yes, we aim to have thirty kids," Reece laughed and everyone roared in laughter at the look on Cilla's face. Her relatives apart from Phil the best man left soon after the speeches finished.

A month later Courtney and Harry married at even a smaller wedding. Both couples had decided to share the house, Cilla and Reece living in Patricia's apartment. Courtney had earlier convinced Reece not to mortgage the house and she made an offer that Reece was unable to refuse, that she would pay for the total upkeep of the property and all outgoings in return for Reece signing over the house to her. He did that gladly as it was one less property to care about.

He'd sold down properties to meet commitments to the wine operation and was financially stable again and even paid long overdue bills from his pal Phil.

The new few months of 1993 went along without much drama and at the opening of the Courtney Curtis Hospice Wing at the retirement village Reece helped his mother cut the ribbon at the opening and then he presented a cheque for $20,000 to go towards operating costs of the new facility.

Courtney was very pleased about that and touring the facility with dignitaries she thought while she was only fifty-three she expected to end up in the retirement village one day and then be shifted into the hospice wing. Those things happen.

At home there was stability again. Harry and Reece got along very well and she and Cilla were very friendly. Courtney had her fingers crossed the baby would be a son.

Then as Cilla's pregnancy lengthen, she began to reject Reece's sexual advances and he made it quite plain he didn't like that at all.

Then Rhone Tancred reappeared and Reece simply left home and moved into an apartment in town with her. They kept to themselves, so much so that Reece was not around with the baby was born. They had gone to the Bay of Islands for a week, although Reece had known his wife was due to give birth any time soon.

Courtney called him with the news.

"What was it?"

"A girl. Oh I'm so disappointed Reece."

"Well who cares. I supposed I should come home."

"Do what you wish," Courtney said, cutting the call. God he was impossible. Well she wanted him home and to start trying for another baby as soon as Cilla was ready.

Reece returned home and visited mother and baby and decided with Cilla to call the baby Isobel. He brought mother and baby home next day but that night went back to sleep with Rhone.

The next evening, shortly after 8.45, Rhone returned to the apartment from being at the video shop and the fish and chip shop to find Reece William Curtis lying on the floor, dead. He had been shot once, between the eyes. High on the white painted wall written in his blood were scrawled the words, 'Non-payment means death'.

* * *

Rhone was exonerated by the police investigation. She was recorded by security camera entering the video store at the time a couple in the apartment next to where they were living heard what they thought was a car back firing just as the 8.30 film on SkyTV commenced.

The news media swarmed into Miranda to cover the mysterious death that quickly began to be called 'A gangland slaying' but police insisted that there was no evidence of that other and the macabre message scrawled on the wall. An 'unidentified source' was quoted in one newspaper as saying it was more likely to be a personal vendetta. The detective inspector in charge of the case said the murderer could have scrawled that message on to the wall to try to cover his or her tracks.

For four days there was a great deal of ferreting by the police and by the media, with little to show for it. Rhone's father had been interviewed extensively as a possible suspect as the police had found he'd been unhappy about his daughter's association with a married man. But Tony cooperated fully and no new lead eventuated.

But the Sunday Tribune front page splash shattered the 'steady as she goes' police investigation and embarrassed the media corps involved as being accused of 'simply feeding their readers crumbs of little interest received at the twice daily media conferences chaired by the senior policeman heading the investigation plus backgrounding the life of Reece Curtis and the relationship between the Curtis and Tancred families'.




Doomed Dynasty Pt. 08



'Gangland Hitman Kills Drug-runner' screamed the Tribune's banner headline. There was a large photo of Reece in a business suit, captioned 'South Island drug courier to businessmen with expensive living habits'. There was a smaller photo of him winning a road race in France in 1983, a photo of Cilla, 'The abandoned wife and new mother' and the caption to Rhone's photo read 'Lovely mistress tells us all to deny absolutely any part in this slaying."

Apparently a Tribune reporter who had gone to university with Rhone had posed as a concerned friend on holiday. Although the police had ordered Rhone not to talk to anyone about her ordeal, she and the young woman reporter shared a bottle of wine with martini chasers at Rhone's home after Rhone's mother had been called to collect her husband Tony who had his vehicle stolen when visiting the city that day.

Rhone told her "friend" that she denied all knowledge of who skilled Reece and why and the majority of rumours about Reece were lies. She was absolutely certain that Reece had not been a drug user but a excessive drinker of alcohol in recent times yes, but not drugs. She had agreed that Reece travelled a lot but she had no idea where he went, although he would phone her each evening. She's suspected he gambled heavily but had refused to talk to her about it.

The Tribune trumpeted: "We have established that Reece Curtis was heavily into debt as a compulsive gambler and had been under surveillance by a special police squad as a suspected drug courier but apparently no incriminating evidence against him is held by the police. Police investigators are questioning various known drug suppliers and dealers and piece by piece they are assembling links between Reece and illegal gambling operations and to two drug on-sellers whom he'd supplied. We understand that several and as yet unannounced arrests were made late last night including three businessmen and one businesswoman who had been personally supplied with drugs by Reece Curtis. The murderer has not been located, apparently arriving at the second level apartment unseen and departing unseen and being able to shoot Curtis at very close range suggest he or she was known to Curtis and caught Curtis unaware. We understand that the police have made little progress in establishing the sources who engaged the late Reece Curtis to courier drugs from Wellington to Christchurch. Police have records of his twice a month return trip via the Picton Ferry and his phone calls to his girl friend and mother, but that's about all."

At the conference on Sunday morning the detective inspector in charge of the enquiry announced that details of several arrests would be made at midday. He also said the reporter who interviewed Rhone Tancred under dubious circumstances would be questioned at police headquarters in Wellington and action may be taken against the Tribune if it were shown that its speculative comments had adversely impinged on police investigations.

He also said there was reason to suspect that Mrs Tancred being called out of the house, leaving her daughter alone with a journalist, was not simply a coincidence. Police later found her husband's missing vehicle abandoned only three streets away from where it had reportedly been parked.

Tony Tancred came under further suspicion but although he could offer no alibi on the night of the shooting, saying he was alone on his boat the Cresta Dora listening to music and having a quiet read for relaxation on his night off from the restaurant, no connection could be made between him and the dead man who was living with his daughter. (Tony's threat to the life of Reece weeks earlier would have interested the police but unfortunately the only witness to that, Reece, was dead).

When the chief inspector found that Reece had been heavily in debt and was only just managing to hold on by selling assets it did appear that the only surviving male of the Miranda Curtis's had disgraced his family name, his mother was interviewed extensively and even asked if she had arranged for her son to be killed, it provided no information of apparent usefulness. Not reported was the interviewing inspector had been slapped by Courtney and ordered off her property, much to the astonishment of his support team. 

But that was it. No murderer was located. The victim was found to have been involved in acting as a drug courier and making drops and picking up payment for those drugs, although no one had come forward to report having seen Curtis involved in those transactions and because the transactions had taken place at night Curtis's identity had not been known to any witness known to the police and questioned. The link between his involvement in drug deals and his murder for unpaid debts remained circumstantial.

In due course the Coroner's opinion was death by misadventure, the actual finding was left open.

This tragedy took its toll on Courtney but she endured and had Phil Crown and her husband Harry jointly liquidate of the assets except her home. It was sad disposing of the remains of Faraway Farm but with no grandson to farm the property Courtney accepted the Curtis dynasty was doomed.

Before marrying Reece, Cilla had signed a prenuptial agreement so she ended up with little from Reece's estate. However Courtney gave her $500,000 and invited her to stay on living with her and Harry for as long as she wished.

"Thank you, you have been more than generous to me and Isobel and in no way can you be blamed to what Reece did to me. I shall leave soon but will keep in touch."

Three days later when Courtney and Harry had gone to Nelson City, some eighty miles to the west, Cilla packed up and left with Isobel, leaving a note: 'Goodbye and thank you for everything. Cilla'

Courtney called Phil

"I'm sorry Courtney but mum (Alice) has gone with Cilla and Isobel to Wellington and they will leave from there for Australia. Cilla feels she no longer feels comfortable living in New Zealand. Mum called me two hours ago from Wellington to tell me this, expecting you'd call me." 

EPILOGUE

Six weeks after Reece's murder, deeply disturbed by his daughter Rhone's continuing distress, Tony Tancred sat on the stern of his boat the Cresta Dora with a bottle of brandy. Next day a body was found floating in the harbour and identified as Tony Tancred. Police found an empty brandy bottle on the deck of his boat and the deceased's body was found to have a massive level of alcohol. A thorough search of the boat produced a .44 pistol in a hiding place in the engine room. Forensic tests showed the ammunition it, with one round missing, when fired matched exactly the bullet that had been removed from the head of Reece Curtis.

The coroner returned a verdict of death by misadventure on the death of Tony Tancred. The adjourned inquest into the death of Reece Curtis reopened to allow the hearing of new evidence. The coroner recorded the finding of death by shooting by a person or persons unknown with evidence pointing to the suspected murderer as Tony Tancred.

THE END