small fishing vessels were out and a keen yachtsman in a small craft was making the most of the stiff breeze, bouncing over the choppy water close to the road.
‘Not the best day for sailing.’ Penelope needed to break the short silence that was vaguely uncomfortable for the first time. She didn’t want Mark to think that he had stepped over a boundary and said something unwelcome. The comment sounded deliberately casual, however, and made Penelope feel more, rather than less, uncomfortable.
Mark’s glance was reassuring. Penelope suspected he had noticed her discomfort and was quite happy to take their conversation in whatever direction she preferred.
‘It does look a bit rough out there.’ Mark’s gaze was now back on the road. He was negotiating its frequent turns competently. ‘I can see why they’ve got that metal barrier fence between us and the harbour. This wouldn’t be a pleasant drive in really bad weather.’
‘No, and Wellington is renowned for delivering plenty of that.’
‘So the myth is based on reality? I grew up in the South Island,’ Mark told her. ‘In Dunedin. We all knew Wellington’s reputation for foul weather but I thought it might be exaggerated. Dunedin’s not exactly tropical.’
‘I’m ashamed to say I’ve never been that far south,’ Penelope confessed. ‘We used to have summer camping holidays around Nelson but that’s right up the top of the South Island and the weather was always perfect as I remember it.’
‘Childhood summer holidays always seem to have had great weather, don’t they?’ Mark looked thoughtful. ‘Maybe we just don’t remember the bad stuff. I used to go and stay with some cousins in Central Otago. It was wonderful.’
‘Did you do your training in Dunedin?’
Mark nodded. ‘I moved to Australia as a registrar and then went to England for a few years. Too long,’ he added quietly.
‘You didn’t like it?’
‘The job was great. That’s where I fell in love with emergency medicine. Things didn’t work out in the end, though.’ Mark paused for a second as though considering how much he wanted to say on the topic. An imperceptible shake of his head and a brighter tone to his voice suggested he had chosen a new direction. ‘No hope of getting a consultancy there. I would have been a grandfather by the time I stopped being a senior registrar.’
Penelope blinked. ‘So you’ve got children, then?’
‘What?’ Mark was startled. ‘What makes you think that?’
‘One generally needs to have kids to become a grandfather. Hard to skip that bit.’
Mark laughed. ‘It was just an expression. I’ve never been married and I haven’t got any children, though I certainly hope to one of these days. Hopefully not too far in the future. I’m not getting any younger.’
‘Join the club,’ Penelope said with feeling. ‘I turned thirty earlier this year. It’s kind of a major milestone.’
‘Hardly remember it,’ Mark said cheerfully. ‘Wait until you’re pushing forty and you’ll really have something to worry about.’
‘You’re not pushing forty, are you?’ Penelope’s glance was surprised. No hints of significant grey were obvious in Mark’s dark hair and the lines around his eyes looked far more attributable to laughter than advancing age.
‘I’m thirty-six,’ Mark told her. ‘Definitely on the downward slide.’
‘Yeah, right!’ Penelope returned his smile. So. Mark was looking to settle down. He wanted a family. He’d never been married. And here he was starting a new job in a new city and he was living in single quarters. Was he looking for a house because someone significant in his life was planning to join him in Wellington? Somehow, Penelope didn’t think this was the case.
‘What brought you back to New Zealand?’ Penelope found herself asking. ‘Besides the lack of career advancement in England.’
‘I left England nearly two years ago,’ Mark responded after a tiny pause. ‘I’ve been in Auckland but I knew it wasn’t where I wanted to settle down. It was just the first job that came up when I decided to leave.’ Mark’s tone suggested that he’d taken the first escape route that had presented itself. What had he been escaping from? Professional dissatisfaction or something rather more personal? Penelope instinctively knew that it wasn’t a subject either of them were ready to discuss. It was time to move back to safer territory.
‘You’ll find Wellington’s weather a bit of a shock after Auckland,’ she commented. She cringed slightly as she finished her sentence. Couldn’t she think of something more original than the weather for a change of subject?
Mark didn’t seem to mind. ‘It rains all the time in Auckland,’ he said obligingly. ‘Very depressing. It’s hot and wet.’
‘It’s cold and wet here.’ Penelope smiled. ‘And Auckland’s storms have nothing on ours. Wellington’s storms are unique. Gale-force winds blowing in from Cook Straight and rain that goes sideways.’
‘But on a nice day it’s perfect,’ Mark pointed out. ‘It must be one of the prettiest cities in the country with the hills and this harbour.’
‘Sure,’ Penelope agreed. ‘On a nice day it’s perfect. All three of them a year,’ she added mischievously.
Mark laughed. ‘Just as well I enjoy the benefits of bad weather, then.’
‘Such as?’
‘Roaring log fires. Hot soup. The security of being shut away in a house with the sound of rain beating down on a tin roof.’
The notion of being shut away in front of a roaring fire with Mark wasn’t unpleasant. Penelope could almost hear the rain on the roof. She stared ahead in silence for a minute as she allowed herself to enjoy the contemplation. The road opened to a reasonably straight stretch with the next bend well ahead. The barrier fence flashed past on their left, cutting them off from the drop to a narrow, rocky foreshore and steep slope into the water. The breeze was whipping up tiny whitecaps on the surface of the harbour. To their right, the land sloped upwards. The houses were becoming much sparser and many of the dwellings were concealed above gardens of hardy native trees.
Penelope was aware of the child in her peripheral line of vision even as her attention was caught by the large, brightly coloured ball bouncing onto the road well ahead of them.
‘Oh, my God!’ The words were torn from Penelope as she stared in horror at the rapidly unfolding scene.
The small child followed the ball onto the road just as an oncoming car was rounding the next bend. The driver in the small red hatchback that was a close match to Penelope’s own car had no time to brake. Penelope registered the panicked expression on the woman’s face as she wrenched at her steering-wheel. Without even slackening its pace, the hatchback swerved onto the other side of the road, heading straight towards Penelope’s car. She could feel her seat belt digging in across her body painfully as Mark slammed on the brakes.
Only inches separated Penelope and Mark from the doomed vehicle as it careered past them. The red hatchback was skidding now, any attempt at braking clearly ineffective. Its speed was unabated as it broke through the metal barrier fence
