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-in-law 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-in-law 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."