Julia hummed and sang as she drove, glad she had worn her leathers as the afternoon grew colder, and her heater failed to function. From Thames she took the west coast road to Tapu, where she turned off on to route 29, which would take her across the Coromandel Ranges to the eastern side of the narrow peninsula.
As the little Beetle laboured up the narrow twisting road from Tapu the scenery began to change from farmland and regenerated scrub to a proud, natural wilderness. Here the native rainforest grew thick and green, spreading a protective canopy over the land, providing a refuge for some of New Zealand’s rarer birds and animals. Even Julia, who was essentially a city girl at heart, felt the impact of its awesome beauty.
She seemed to be the only car on the road, which was a blessing since her speed was negligible on the slopes. The bush dropped unnervingly away from the edge of the road, down into the deep foliage of the gullies. Rimu, Totara, Kahikatea, Rata and Kauri, all prized for their timber, grew straight and tall on the ridges, protected from exploitation by their inaccessibility. The road seemed to be a puny attempt by man to impose himself on nature but at least it was sealed, and well marked, thought Julia as she carefully rounded another corner.
Coming over the top of another stomach-churning rise something caught Julia’s eye in her rear-view mirror and she gasped out loud. A great, gleaming grey monster had slunk up behind her. Low-slung and dangerous it was gaining on her rapidly. It must slow down, realised Julia looking at the road ahead, there would be nowhere safe for him to pass for a few more bends yet, all uphill. It had to be a him, women didn’t seem to feel the same need to prove themselves on the road that men did.
He did slow down, but not enough. He came annoyingly close, snapping at her heels and stayed there through several curves, obviously expecting her to pull over and let him pass. He needed a lesson in manners whoever he was—some flashy young buck with more money than he knew what to do with! She didn’t know what the car was, but it was foreign and expensive.
Suddenly there was a feathery flash in front of her bonnet and instinctively, foolishly, Julia put her foot on the brake and swerved slightly. The Beetle practically stopped dead and to her disbelief Julia felt a distinct bump at her rear. The idiot had actually hit her!
Julia groaned as she pulled the car over on to a narrow shoulder. She was suffering an acute attack of the guilts—she should have let him pass, instead of boorishly hogging the road with her decrepit machine. However he, being at the rear, was the one who would be at fault in law, Julia was sure, and she wasn’t about to allow herself to be talked into taking the blame. She only hoped he wasn’t too mad.
She sneaked a look in her peeling wing mirror and saw the grey car crouched behind her. A door opened and a silver head poked out. She relaxed slightly. An elderly man—a wealthy old gentleman who was unlikely to offer physical violence. She wound down her window, drawing in a breath at the sharpness of the air. It had an edge, a purity, that you didn’t find in the city.
Her hand froze on the handle as she saw the head go up as the man pushed himself up out of the car … and up, and up, and up … Goodness—he was a giant! Broad and tall he came striding towards her as though he wore seven-league boots. He wasn’t elderly either. As he got closer, filling her mirror, she could see that he was only in his thirties, the deceptive grey hair was prematurely so.
The incredible hulk reached her and bent down to her window. His eyes were grey too, grey and cold and she waited for the blast of ice from the voice.
‘Are you all right?’
She stared. His voice was soft and deep, almost gentle. She looked at him suspiciously. Maybe he was a psychopath on the loose. Men were usually so touchy about their cars and here he was sounding as if he was just passing the time of day with her.
‘Yes.’ Her voice squeaked and she coughed. ‘Are you?’
‘Shall we look at the damage?’
It was a clear invitation for her to step out of the car but she hesitated as he straightened and she caught sight of the hands hanging loosely by his sides. They matched the rest of him for size. She swallowed, then looked back at the grey car and was reassured by its luxuriousness.
She got out of the car, wishing her boots had a few inches more heel. Why, she only came up to his chest! She was even more determined not to be intimidated. She marched around to the front of his car and closed her eyes briefly at its pristine, untouched beauty. The curving
black bumper gripped in the mouth of the monster had nary a scratch. The blinkered bonnet sloped down to a silver trident logo—a Maserati; they cost well into six figures Julia remembered from a magazine article, no wonder the man didn’t seem too concerned about a minor bump, all his troubles must be padded with money.
The Beetle had come out of the encounter the worse, though only the bumper was dented. The Hulk went down on his haunches and inspected the damage. Standing behind him Julia was presented with an acre of broad back covered with impeccable Harris Tweed. The trousers were tweed too, and the plain brown leather shoes screamed Italy. Julia, who didn’t have an envious bone in her body nonetheless felt peeved about his calmness.
‘You were following too closely you know,’ she stated firmly.
‘Fortunately there’s not much damage,’ the soft voice replied. ‘The car is insured, I presume?’
‘Yes. But it’s not my insurance company that’s going to have to pay out.’
He stood up, surveyed her steadily. She waited for the denial, the defence, but it didn’t come. Instead he reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and produced a pen and a square business card. He turned it over and wrote on the back, supporting the card on a broad palm.
Taking the hint Julia went back to the open door of the VW and rummaged in her shoulder bag. She scribbled her name and address and the name of her insurance company on a torn-off scrap of perfumed pink notepaper. Her hand shook slightly and she frowned. The accident must have given her more of a shock than she’d thought. She backed out of the car and came up against a solid tweed wall.
‘Sorry,’ she thrust her piece of paper at him and accepted the card. G. B. H. Walton said the strong black type on matt white and Julia was transfixed by the initials. What did they stand for—Grievous Bodily Harm? She giggled.
‘Accidents amuse you?’ Again the soft, slow voice, unnerving from such a tough-looking individual. He didn’t sound surprised, he had probably judged her by the leathers; misjudged her rather, Julia thought.
‘Oh no, no,’ Julia wiped the smile off her face and sought for something else to say. Unfortunately she said the first thing that came into her mind. ‘You’re so big!’ Stupid. Now he would say something condescending about her size.
‘I know.’ He slowly perused the paper in his hand, then put the scrap in his pocket. Everything about the man was measured, as if he had to consider every movement in terms of weight displacement.
‘I shall say it was your fault on the form,’ Julia told him in a final attempt to get him to comment on the accident.
He inclined his head slightly and held the car door for her. Julia gave up and subsided into the seat.
‘See you in court,’ she said impishly. It was a nice exit line but there was no exit. Five minutes later, after staring at the incomprehensible workings under the bonnet she glared at the silent watcher.