Page 102 of Obsession Under the Southern Stars

I chuckle. “Yeah, a right reprobate. Linc was moody and resentful when he first arrived. He was fourteen, andit’s a strange age—technically you’re still a kid, but you’re so desperate to be grown up, and you don’t understand why people are talking to you as if you’re a child.”

Zoe looks out of the window and studies the fields flashing by, and the mountains in the distance, snow-topped despite it being summer. I glance at her, then return my gaze to the road.

“Not far now,” I say.

We follow the Waiau River through the gorge it cut through the Tekoa Range of high ridges. I’ve been jet boating and white-water rafting on the river with Dad and groups of students, and he also used to take us to the hot springs and out into the forest too. It’s a beautiful area, and as we emerge from the mountains, the landscape opens up to a wide plateau, the town seated at the base of Conical Hill, which I’ve walked up many times.

I turn off before we get to the town, though, and follow the signposts for Greenfield. Eventually the gates to the school appear on our left, and I pass through those, then drive slowly along the lane, past the football and rugby pitches and tennis courts, past the school buildings, down the hill, and around a copse of trees to Chatterton River.

The house sits on the slope above the river, and as I park out the front, three dogs come racing out—two chocolate Labradors and a Spaniel pup.

“Oh they’re gorgeous,” Zoe says as she gets out and lets the dogs lick her hands. “What are their names?”

“The Labs are Pinky and Perky Nana,” I say, naming two Kiwi chocolate bars as I bend to fuss them. “The Spaniel’s called Howard.”

“Don’t tell me—after Howard Carter?”

I grin as she names the discoverer of Tutankhamen’s tomb. “Yep.”

“I should have guessed. I bet you’re all bonkers about archaeology in this house.”

“Yeah, we all got it from Dad. He would have been an archaeologist if he hadn’t gone into the church.” I straighten as Mum appears in the doorway. “Come on,” I say to Zoe, and I take her hand and lead her toward the house.

“Hello, you two,” Mum says, eyes sparkling as she looks at me. She lost a lot of weight while she was fighting her breast cancer, but she’s starting to put some of it back on now, and her blonde hair is growing back and is cut into a short bob. “You must be Zoe,” she says. “Welcome to Greenfield.”

“Thank you.” Zoe goes up and shakes hands with her.

“Come in,” Mum says. “Boys, leave her alone.” She pushes the dogs away and leads us into the house.

We toe off our shoes and follow her into the living room. The whole place smells of baking, which makes me feel five years old again. The house is like a big farmhouse, all open plan, with bare floorboards, an open log fire in the winter, colorful throws over the sofa and chairs, and lots of cushions of various sizes strewn around the room, as well as the three dog beds. There are a few cats about somewhere, too, and the parrot—Jack Sparrow—squawks and says, “Give us a kiss!” as Zoe walks by, making her laugh.

“Don’t tell me, you taught it that,” she teases.

I chuckle. “No, actually that was Fraser.”

She smiles, but her attention is caught by the man sitting at the kitchen table. He was reading, but he stands now as she approaches and holds out his hand.

“Zoe,” he says, “how perfectly delightful to meet you at last. We’ve heard so much about you.” Atticus Bell is tall and silver-haired, with an authoritative manner that brooks no argument. He’d have made a great police or army officer in another lifetime.

“Oh…” She gives me an amused glance as she shakes his hand. “And there’s me thinking Joel forgets my name as soon as we’re apart.”

“Not at all,” Dad says. “Please, come and sit down. Clemmie’s made some scones, haven’t you, Clem?”

“I have,” Mum says, “with jam and cream. Would you prefer tea or coffee, dear?”

“Coffee, please.” Zoe takes a seat at the pine table. The kitchen is large and comfortable, with hand-written labels on the hundreds of pots of spices on the shelf, well-used wooden spoons and spatulas in a big jar that says, ‘Aroha’ with a load of hearts around it, and lots of sealed containers with homemade cakes, muffins, and pies that Mum can dip into whenever the many visitors they have call in.

I make the coffee while she places a plate of scones and the pots of whipped cream and strawberry jam on the table. Dad has always been able to turn on the charm, and I listen to him chatting with Zoe, teasing her a little and making her laugh. I want her to like him, but I feel a twinge of resentment that she’s obviously falling under his spell. He’s like the sun, larger than life, and when you’re around him, it’s impossible to do anything but live in his shadow.

“Joel was telling us how you’ve had quite the diving experience this week,” he says. “A free-flowing regulator can be a scary thing.”

“It was,” she confirms. “I did panic, I have to say. We were thirty meters down and suddenly it seemed a long way up. Luckily Joel was there to save the day.”

“I’m sure you didn’t need rescuing,” Dad says. “It’s amazing how resourceful we become when our lives are at stake.”

As usual, he refuses to accept I might have had a hand in it. I know better than to say anything, though, and just bring overthe coffee cups, placing them on the table before taking a seat opposite her.

But to my surprise, Zoe says, “I’m afraid I have to argue with you there. I can honestly say, hand on my heart, that if it wasn’t for Joel I’d be in a watery grave right now. He was so incredibly calm, and he immediately gave me his primary regulator.”

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