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FRED LOOKED OUT OF the window as Mac drove out of Blue Penguin Bay, along the winding road that led north through a thickly wooded hillside. Part of her wanted to study her surroundings, but most of her was conscious of the man beside her, of his murmured word, beautiful, that she was sure had been directed at her rather than the view.
He liked her. She could feel it. Could he also sense that she liked him? She’d only known him a few hours—there had hardly been time for any in-depth character study. But first impressions counted for a lot, and from what she’d seen of him so far, both in the way he looked and how he acted, she liked him.
It was a pointless attraction, though, and there were far more important things to sort out before she started thinking about her love life again. Besides which, her gut instinct had been wrong before, and she shouldn’t trust Mac, not yet. He seemed genuine, but it was possible he’d vastly overestimated the amount they needed to spend on the estate to get it functioning properly, in order to discourage them from staying and encourage them to sell.
She risked a glance across, finding him lost in thought, an elbow on the window ledge, his fingers resting on his lips. Unless he was a very good actor, she doubted he could have faked the emotion he’d shown in the house. What his father had done had cut him up, and he was ashamed and guilty about how she and her sisters had been treated.
He glanced at her then, catching her watching him. She held his gaze for a moment, looking into those stunning blue eyes, and a shiver ran from the nape of her neck down between her shoulder blades. In the back, Ginger and Sandi were talking in low voices about money and the estate, but Mac’s eyes made her feel as if there was no one else in the car, just the two of them, everything else fading away as heat seared through her.
Tearing her gaze away, she looked back out of the window. She mustn’t encourage him. They were here to sort out the estate, nothing more, and it made no sense at all to get embroiled in something that would almost certainly end in heartache for both of them.
“So why’s it called Blue Penguin Bay?” Ginger asked Mac. “Were there real penguins here?”
“Oh yes. Still are. Russell used to be called Kororareka, which means ‘how sweet is the penguin’.” Mac navigated the roads, heading toward the town center. “Legend is that a dying Maori chief said it when fed a broth made from penguin meat. They’re still seen around the wharf, looking for mackerel.”
“And dolphins and whales too?” Fred said.
“Yes. You can catch a dolphin watch boat—they go out to the famous Hole in the Rock, and they guarantee that you’ll see dolphins or they’ll give your money back.”
“We’ll have to do that,” Sandi said.
“Mmm.” Fred’s gaze was captivated by the wooden houses, either white or painted in pastel colors, blues and greens and yellows. She’d read that it was unusual in New Zealand to see buildings on more than one or two levels, especially out of the major cities, which would account for why there seemed to be more sky visible. In England, bungalows were rare and usually more expensive than terraced houses, while their gardens often consisted of little more than a square patch of grass. From what she could see, here it seemed unusual for two houses to be adjoined, and they all had a decent-sized ‘section’ of land.
She’d known that her father was a New Zealander, and that he’d returned to his own country when he’d divorced her mother, but she hadn’t known any more about the country than that. Her mother had painted Harry in such a way that the girls hadn’t felt a need to find out more about him. It was only when they’d seen the letter that Fred had started to do some research. She’d discovered that New Zealand consisted of two large islands, that the capital was not the largest city—Auckland—but Wellington, and that the country was roughly the same size as the U.K., but instead of housing over sixty four million people, there were only just under five million.
She’d looked at lots of photos, and she’d watched The Lord of the Rings and had been stunned by the beauty of the mountain ranges and the breathtaking rivers. But, as Mac pulled into a line of parking spaces right before the beach and she got out, it was the first time that she’d felt any connection to the place.
She had vague memories of her father talking about the Bay of Islands. He’d always spoken about it with fondness, with a kind of awe and longing in his voice that she’d struggled to understand. But now she could comprehend why he’d missed it so much. She’d never been here, but it felt strangely familiar. Was it possible that love for a place could filter down in the blood? Reside in the DNA? If not, why did it feel as if she was coming home?
“Fred?”
She blinked. Mac stood by her side, hands in the pockets of his jeans. The sea breeze played with his hair, and he’d narrowed his eyes against the late afternoon sun.
“You okay?” he asked.
“Sure.” She turned back to the others. Ginger and Sandi were also standing there silently, looking across the bay, and she knew they were feeling the same way.
She cleared her throat. “Okay. So where are good places to eat?”
Mac took them to a hotel on the waterfront with a large deck overlooking the ocean, and recommended the fish burger, which turned out to be less a burger and more a huge piece of hoki in batter with lettuce and tartare sauce in a bun, and a heap of thick-cut fries. While they ate, Mac told them about the history of the area, about the early settlers, the missionaries and the whalers, and about Waitangi, where the Treaty—the founding document of New Zealand—was signed in 1840.
“I read about some kind of issue with the Treaty,” Fred said, polishing off the last of her burger before turning to her fries.
Mac took a swig of his beer. “Maori first came to New Zealand in the thirteenth century. That’s the earliest archaeological evidence, anyway. And as I’m sure you know, Captain Cook landed here in 1769. Later there were sealing and whaling ships, and then missionaries came to try to convert Maori to Christianity. But you read about the area being called ‘the hell-hole of the Pacific’—I think they were pretty shocked at what they found here.”
“We think the original Henry Cartwright was a missionary,” Sandi said.
“Probably, yeah. They bought lots of land in the Bay of Islands. Anyway, the English sold many muskets to Maori, and this led to tribal battles. In the 1830s, some rangatira or Maori chiefs wrote to King William IV in England asking for help to guard their lands. Eventually, a Royal Navy officer called Captain William Hobson drafted a treaty, and it was translated into Maori by one of the missionaries.”
“So what’s the problem?” Ginger asked.
“The argument is that the English and Maori versions aren’t the same, and that, for example, to Maori, it wasn’t clear what ceding sovereignty or governorship of their land meant—their attitudes toward ownership and use of land were different than the Europeans’. The meaning of some of the words is still being argued today.”
“What do you think about it?” Fred asked.
Mac shrugged. “Some Maori chiefs were aware that they were never going to get rid of the Europeans once they’d started settling, and most of them appear to have thought the British were the best bet. I think the British meant well. Being a British citizen back then was an honor, and they would have seen it as a gift. Equally, I understand the Maori argument. It’s not an easy issue to solve, and I don’t know if it ever will be.”
He looked rather surprised, Fred thought, as if he was unused to saying so much in one go.
“I can’t believe we’re really here,” Sandi said softly.
Fred followed her gaze, looking at the waves lapping at the shore, at the holidaymakers walking along the pier, at the huge trees casting shade over the golden sand. “I know what you mean.”
She brought her gaze back to find Mac watching her. He didn’t say anything, but his eyes held gentleness and something else, an intensity, an admiration that brought heat to her face.
“Tell us more about the estate,” she said to distract everyone from her burning cheeks.
Mac smiled, but did as she asked. He talked about the birds they’d be able to see in the garden—the tuis, the fantails, and the common myna birds. He explained that there were no foxes or badgers, and that the rabbits and hedgehogs they would see had all been introduced by the Europeans. He explained how there was nothing more beautiful than the sun rising over Blue Penguin Bay, casting its early morning light over the vines.
If he was trying to scare them away in the hope that they’d offer the estate to him, he was doing a very bad job. Fred could see how much he loved the place, but she also recalled his words, this land has always belonged to the Cartwrights. Even though for some time he must have felt exhilarated at the thought that he would eventually own the land, it didn’t seem as if that was his goal. He loved working there, loved just being near the vineyard and doing his utmost to cultivate the best grapes to make the best wine. He was a viticulturist, and a Blue Penguin Bay boy, born and bred. Of course he was going to love the estate.
Knowing that he probably just wanted the best for the vineyard didn’t help her out of her present predicament, though. While Ginger and Sandi talked to Mac about the B&B and the restaurant, Fred looked out to sea, wondering what on earth the three of them could do to keep the place up and running. She had just under three thousand pounds in the bank—not quite six thousand dollars—and she doubted that would buy even one piece of the machinery Mac had mentioned.
It seemed wrong to take over the place out of nostalgia when all they would end up doing was dragging it further down. She had no doubt that all three of them would work their socks off to try to make it work. And maybe that would be enough to keep the place ticking over. But the estate deserved more. Mac had said that the vineyard had the potential to be award-winning again. How she wished she could fulfil that prophecy. But hard work wasn’t always enough to make dreams come true.
What was Harry Cartwright thinking now, wherever he was, looking down on them all? Presumably, he’d had no idea that James MacDonald was going to turn on him like that. Fury bubbled in her stomach at the thought of how the man her father had trusted, had thought his best friend, had turned on him, not only to take all the money, but then to run the estate into the ground. No wonder James’s son felt such guilt and shame.
Her gaze fell on Mac again. His dark hair had reddish highlights in the evening sun. He was laughing at something Ginger had said, showing even white teeth, and laughter lines at the corner of his eyes. She had the feeling that in the past he’d laughed a lot, but not so much in the last few years. Why was he single? Had he loved and lost? Was that part of the reason why she felt such sadness radiating from him? Or was it all to do with his father?
Thinking of loving someone and losing them made her think of her mother, and her spirits sank even more. She’d promised herself that she wouldn’t dwell on the past, but it was difficult not to. So much betrayal. So many lies. Why did life have to be so hard?
“You all right, Fred?” Sandi asked, resting a hand on her back.
“I’m tired,” she confessed. “I don’t think I’m quite over the jet lag.”
“Let’s get you all back to the B&B,” Mac said, rising. He refused to let them offer any money toward the dinner, and went in and paid before escorting them back to his car.
They travelled back up the hill in silence. Fred was aware that her low spirits were probably affecting the others, but she was too tired to drag herself up by her bootstraps, which was what she normally did when she felt low. When they got back, she mumbled goodbye to Mac and promised him that tomorrow they’d talk more, then stumbled to her room. She just managed to clean her teeth before falling into bed.
“Fred?” Sandi came in, closely followed by Ginger, and they both perched on the edge of the bed. “Are you okay?”
“Just tired,” she said.
Sandi brushed a hair away from her sister’s forehead. “Don’t worry. We’ll sort something out. All is not lost.”
“I don’t know,” Fred said, “I think it is. I can’t think how we can make this work.”
“We’ll talk about it again in the morning,” Sandi said.
“Mac likes you,” Ginger announced, her lips curving up.
Fred rolled away from them and buried her face in the pillow. “Goodnight.”
Ginger sighed, and the two of them rose. “Sleep tight,” Ginger whispered, and they went out.
Fred was asleep within minutes of them closing the door.
