Chapter 40 – Hunting in the High Hills
Cathy was in a deep sleep when the knock came to her door.
“Six o’clock, time to go.”
She dressed quickly and brought her bag outside. It was still dark, just a faint glow in the east, and the air was cold. She shivered, glad of her thick jumper though her legs were cold in shorts
Mark had the car engine idling, and already there was faint heat in the cabin. She climbed in and curled her legs under her on the seat.
Mark looked at her curiously, “Bit cold huh. Don’t worry, in another minute it will be roasting and you will be able to stretch out like a cat in the sun. I always try to get going first thing; it is a habit of station life. In a couple hours we can pull up for some breakfast and really enjoy it.
Seeing this is your first time to the bush I thought I should show you a few sights along the way. We are heading up through the Flinders Ranges and there are spectacular mountains and view of gorges which I thought you might like to see. Then you will know where to come and visit next time you are up this way from Adelaide.
Cathy smiled at him. There was something warming in his manner. It came through as an obvious love for these places and a real pleasure in showing others. She said. “Well aren’t I the lucky one, getting my own tour guide as well as my own Outback Tour. I can’t imagine why I refused your kind offer the first time you made it.”
He gave her a wicked smile back. “It is all my pleasure, Maam. I always aim to please.”
Cathy found herself laughing, really laughing. It felt so good, just to laugh and be happy, to become a carefree person, again. She could not remember the last time in her life when she had laughed with totally unexpected joy. She settled down to enjoy the journey, determined to make it a trip to remember and glad of this unexpected turn in her life.
As they drove along the sky to the north east slowly brightened going through the full range of dawn colours. It had rained lightly during the night, just odd puddles on the road. But the remnants of cloud sat off to the east. The light captured them high up at the edge of the world. It lit them with the softest mauve light. Then, as the light brightened, the hue changed to a rich pastel pink, flecked with orange and red edges.
Cathy watched spellbound. It took her back to her earliest childhood, faded memories of sunrises and sunsets of the Scottish highlands, though here the colours and light were different. A tear trickled down her cheek at the memory of a lost childhood and an innocence gone; it was so long ago. She brushed it aside with the back of her hand, determined to leave the past behind.
Now the sunrise had moved to a new level of surreal colour; a riot mauves, pinks, reds, oranges and finally gold as the first light shafts streaked up from the still hidden sun disk. Now this distant extended kaleidoscope covered half the sky, layer on layer of cloud infused colour.
As suddenly as it came it went. In another minute it had faded, now just the orange and gold remained as the light streamers grew ever brighter. Then it was just gold as the sun disk touched the horizon.
Cathy turned to Mark and said. “I have seen many beautiful sunrises and sunsets as a child in Scotland. But this surpasses all that have come before. Did you turn it on just for me?”
Mark said, “I wish; even for me, a hardened bushie who gets to see a new dawn most every day, that was one to remember. I think you deserve credit, if you had not prompted our early departure last night I expect I would still be eating breakfast in Adelaide. I will keep you as my good luck charm if you keep bringing such special sights.
They breakfasted at Peterborough, a pastoral town an hour north of Burra. As the shops were now open Mark stocked up on provisions for the trip. He suggested Cathy buy a pair of hard wearing jeans, RM Williams he recommended, some shirts, a jacket and sturdy walking boots. He told her he was planning to take her walking the hills over the next two days.
That night they stopped at Wilpaena Pound Resort, arriving at lunch time. In the afternoon they walked around the magic circle of mountains, their colour changing endlessly as the afternoon light moved around, the sun rays lighting one distant peak after another.
It was approaching dusk before they were back. They had walked for hours with occasional rest stops to admire the view. They had adjoining motel rooms again and tonight they shared a meal and glass of wine in the adjoining restaurant, dancing firelight shadows from a roaring log fire their welcome companion.
Cathy started yawning, unaccustomed to the early morning and the walking; it must have been ten miles that they walked this afternoon. Her legs were aching from the unexpected exercise and her body glowed with a euphoric feeling from exertion and fresh air.
She said to Mark, “What is tomorrow’s plan?”
He replied. “Have you ever been hunting? Tomorrow I want to hunt goats in the ranges fifty miles north of here. I can usually bag three or four in the course of a day and fill up the ice box on the back of my truck. Goat meat is a welcome change of diet for people up north of the dog fence. Up there are lots of dingoes but no goats. “I have a Greek friend up there who likes nothing better than a meal made from a big old billy goat.
I promised him one on my next trip. I will be leaving really early and it will be hard to get out of bed. The reward is being on the high mountains of the northern Flinders Ranges for a dawn which promises to be every bit the equal of what we saw this morning, with the difference that it will only be the two of us looking out from the top of the world.
However it is OK if you want a sleep in. I am happy to go on my own and come back here to meet you again in the afternoon.”
Cathy said, “Well if you are prepared to put up with me I am game, I sometimes went out with my father hunting pheasants when I was little, though he never let me shoot. I doubt I will be of any value as a hunter but I would like to walk along with you and see this place at dawn if I am not in your way. Please tell me if I am and I will stay here.”
Mark looked at her appraisingly, “Well, you are a good walker, you proved that today, and you don’t complain. So if you promise not to talk while we are stalking goats I would enjoy your company.”
Cathy nodded, “Deal, I have been silent most of my life. I only talked when I was little. I seemed to forget how to talk after my sister died. So, despite my chatter today, it is my normal state to be silent.”
Mark put his hand on hers; an affectionate rather than intimate gesture. “I liked your talk. I am often silent and alone with my thoughts, so the change is welcome. Please keep talking, it is sweet music. It is only during the hunt part you need to stop. “
Cathy turned her hand over and curled her fingers around his. “Thank you, I like talking to you. I think we have both lived most of our lives inside ourselves. It is good to have a friend to talk to.”
A huge yawn came over her. She said, “I must go off to bed now or I won’t be able to get up when you call me in the morning.”
It seemed even darker than yesterday when Mark knocked on her door, saying, “It is time for the hunters to be out on the hills.”
She looked at the bedside clock; it was only 4:30 in the morning. Blearily she pulled on the clothes for the day, her RM Williams jeans to protect against the wiry grass and prickly bushes, a long sleeved country shirt in a bright check that Mark had chosen for her, a waterproof safari jacket that she had chosen for herself, thinking it fitted the bush image, and the sturdy walking boots that she had broken in yesterday, with thick socks inside, to protect her feet from any rubbing. Last of all was her Aussie style Akubra hat which Mark told her was an essential part of the get up of any self respecting Aussie outback girl.
She smiled as she looked in the mirror, hardly glamorous but it was definitely a new appearance from what she had known.
Mark was waiting outside the door, fully dressed and also looking sleepy. He looked her over and nodded appreciatively. “That is what I like, someone who does not let fashion get in front of practicality. I see yo
u have dressed the part.”
Without further ado he led her to the car and they drove away.
It was almost an hour until the first glimmers of light came into the eastern sky. Now the landscape was a surround of high and higher ridges as they followed a narrow dirt road climbing up a valley. As they turned onto it from the main road Mark told Cathy it was about a half hour drive to where they left their vehicle and the road was steep and a bit scary in places so she should just keep calm and enjoy the view. He had come up here several times before and the road was not a bad as it looked. He promised her that at the end of the climb it would be worthwhile.
The light was much brighter by the time they came to the top, a small clearing in a basin in the hills, with just enough space for three or four cars to park and turn round. The last five minutes had been really steep and, despite Mark’s assurance, she felt anxiety as the vehicle slowly ground its way up a loose rocky track, wheels slipping and sliding as they gained and lost purchase. Sometimes the car’s lean to the side was so steep that it pushed her hard against the door or into Mark’s solid arms which gripped the wheel.
She was pleased when the climb stopped. She stepped out into crisp autumn air and surveyed an almost perfect ring of further rising hills, olive scrub and pale white grass adorning pink orange hillsides which glowed in the pre-dawn light.
Mark unpacked gear from the back tray of his vehicle and handed Cathy a backpack which held a water bottle, snacks, a first aid kit and survival gear. It was relatively light. He put a bigger and heavier pack on his own back, then picked up a rifle with a shining scope and asked her if she wanted to try using it.
She took it to examine. It felt solid but less heavy than she imagined. She said, “Yes I will try, if you show me what to do.” She asked what type of gun it was.
He told her it was a Browning 223 and one of his favourite guns for hunting mid-sized game, like goats and pigs. It had a webbing strap to carry on her back. He showed her how to open and shut the breach, how to check it was not loaded, and how to carry it over her shoulders leaving her hands free for walking and climbing. He picked up another gun, bigger and heavier looking, though not huge. He said it was a 243, similar but with more stopping power for the big old billy goats.
They headed off following a literal goat track. It skirted their clearing and wound its way up the shoulder of a hill, heading directly towards the lightening sky. Mark pointing out signs of recent goat activity, hoof marks in patches of soft dirt and fresh dung, still steaming in the cool air.
They climbed steadily and Cathy could see her breath steaming in the air as she breathed ever more deeply to power her climb. Her legs were aching now, legacy of yesterday’s unaccustomed use followed by this morning’s fresh challenge.
Mark looked back at her, eyebrows raised in inquiry as to how she was coping. She gave him her best grin and a “thumbs up”, signalling she was doing fine. They kept on, climbing ever upward, stepping up over boulders, grabbing and pushing the brush aside, dodging the prickly bushes. At last the effort eased and they came to where the steep hill shoulder eased into a gentle slope climbing to a ridge above. The path widened and the walked side by side. Mark put a finger to his lips and Cathy nodded.
Fifty yards back from the crest he took off his pack and rifle, quietly placing them on the ground, indicating to her to do the same. From his pack he took a set of binoculars. Now he led her in a low crouch to the ridge crest, going the last few yards on hands and knees and stopping just as their view cleared the ridge. They were lying, face down now, stretched out side by side, looking out for miles.
Before them lay a huge bowl shaped from grassy hillsides. Dotted across it were at least a hundred white, brown and black dots, some multicoloured. Most were several hundred metres away and, as she watched, they gradually resolved themselves into discrete goats, mothers with their kids alongside, big billy goats with horns standing sentinel, mid-sized animals with spiky little horns. Interspersed between them were other animals which she now recognised as kangaroos, perhaps wallabies, all sharing this grassland in the early morning light.
It was like an African panorama from a wildlife documentary.
A small creek came down from a gap between two hills and pools of water along its course glistened below in the soft light.
She looked up. The whole eastern sky was alight; not so many colours in the clouds as yesterday but faint high streamers of high cloud glowing a brilliant red and below soft pinks, oranges and gold of hills and sky joining and sliding into one another. It was a place where all the colours seemed to merge into layer after layer, making it hard to separate earth and sky. They lay side by side watching spellbound until finally the sun crested the horizon bathing their whole world in golden light. It was breathtakingly and awe inspiring, as if they were two lesser gods watching the sun god recreate the world anew, the word ‘beautiful’ seemed inadequate, closer to puny, as a way of describing this sight.
Cathy felt immense gratitude to this man for bringing her to show her this. Her whole trip across the world was worth it for this moment alone, a place where earth and sky met in a perfect fusion of light and colour.
She reached over and put her hand on his shoulder. He looked up and met her eyes, inquiring.
She whispered, “Thank you for bringing me here, this is a sight that will live forever in my mind. No photo or words could ever do it justice. I am glad I shared it with you. It is a memory to hold forever.”
He nodded, silent but seeming to be moved by her words.
As the gold light faded into day reality returned. He brought her back from the ridge and explained their tactics. He would take her around the side of the hill which they were now on, to the place where the creek cut through. They would follow the creek bed down into the middle of the fields. There they would find an ambush point, using one of the rocky knolls that marked its passage.
He gave her a quick lesson on using her rifle, showing her how to use her pack to support it lying prone, how to sight it and hold it steady, how to ease the trigger back while breathing steadily.
She was not sure she could shoot when the moment came, but she would bring the rifle along and see how she went.
They headed off and worked their way around the hill shoulder, staying below the crest. Mark said they did not need to be quiet for this part, as the hill would block the sound and sight of their passage and their downwind location would block their scent. But once they came to the creek they would have to be totally quiet and be really careful. These goats were hunted at the weekends by hunters from Adelaide and were very wary.
So they walked and talked, saying nothing significant but making little notes on the life around; the distinctive call of an eagle, bright colours of feeding parrots flashing past, the smell of damp earth and an occasional place infused with the semi-sweet fragrance of a flowering shrub.
The walking was easy, a gentle downhill passage with only occasional boulders to navigate. They came to where the creek ran in little cascades down a steep rocky hillside before spreading into pools below. It was steep down over the rocks and boulders. Now they went slowly, carefully, placing each foot on a solid place before advancing, gently pushing aside branches to allow passage.
Cathy’s mind was in the moment, all else ignored as she gave full attention to making silent steps. They reached the bottom and kept following the creek bed. The ground had looked flat from above but down here the creek ran below head high banks, with dense foliage hiding the foreground and it seemed like a lost place. They came to a rocky knoll where water trickled down. The view opened and Mark led Cathy forward on hands and knees. The goats were much closer; the nearest group was about 200 yards away.
Mark pointed to another rocky knoll further down, two thirds of the way to the nearest goats. “Our target is to get there unseen,” he said.
After this second knoll it was only open ground with the creek breaking into bigger pools. Several kangaroos wer
e drinking at the closest pool. It looked like a group of goats were heading there to supplant the kangaroos at the water.
Mark led the way now, climbing up to the outside of the creek bed but staying within the shelter of the fringing trees. Once past the open rocks he led them back into the creek’s full shelter. Now glimpses of goats were visible grazing below. There was a light wind in their faces.
Mark watched the goats intensely as he placed each step, several times pausing in mid stride as a sentry goat raised its head, sniffed the air and looked around intently.
It seemed to take forever, in a state of suspended animation, to cover this part. Cathy could feel her heart beating strongly in her chest and ringing in her ears, it sounded so loud she thought the rest of the world must hear it too.
At last they were in position and the goats continued to graze undisturbed. She settled herself with her pack on the ground in front. Mark took her gun and loaded five bullets into the magazine, then inserted one more into the breach, closed it and slid the safety catch on. The only noises from his actions were faint, almost inaudible clicks.
He signed indicating that, when she was ready to shoot, she should slide the safety catch off. Now it was up to her.
He loaded his own rifle, positioning himself two metres to her side on a higher ridge. He indicated a group of six goats walking towards the water. He pointed to the leader, a big billy goat with well-formed horns. “Mine,” he mouthed and signed.
Cathy nodded. After billy goat gruff came three females with young at foot then at the back two almost grown goats, spiky little horns on their heads. Mark indicated she should select between these for her target.
She acknowledged and calmed herself. The goats kept coming until the billy had his forelegs in the water, having a last look around before he lowered his head to drink. All the other goats reached the water’s edge and starting to walk in to drink except the female with the largest kid. This goat seemed to be standing sentry, nervously looking around and raising its nose to scent the air, while the others drank,
Mark indicated Cathy should shoot when she was ready. He slid off the safety catch of his rifle. She did the same and brought her rifle into line, with her vision through the scope. She selected the rear most of her two goat targets and placed the cross hairs on its mid chest behind the point of shoulder.
Now or never, she thought, giving all her concentration to holding steady while she squeezed the trigger. The huge blast reverberated from in front of her. A split second later the second blast came from her side.
When her senses returned she looked to where the goats were. The front billy was resting on its chest, nose in the water, having fallen where it stood. Her target had not moved; perhaps its head had come up.
The other goats had jumped in alarm, as if to flee, looking around for the source of the sound. As they searched for danger a second crack sounded from her side. The second juvenile goat slumped to the ground.
Cathy kept watching as a slow second passed. Now her own target crumpled at the knees to an ungainly sitting position, on its chest with its head resting on the ground. The remaining goats rushed away towards the distant hillside.
Mark came across, removed the bullets from her rifle and handed it to her, breach open. His own was already similarly disarmed. He led the way across the open ground to the pool below.
Cathy looked in amazement at her goat as she approached. It seemed quite beautiful, brown skin with mottled white patches. It looked startled in death, eyes wide, as if caught by surprise as it sat there.
Mark pointed to the entry hold where her bullet had struck, two inches higher and three inches behind where she had aimed.
“That was a good shot. It has taken out the major blood vessels at the back of the heart with death in seconds from massive blood loss,” he said.
He paused and continued “I don’t think it felt anything,” seeming to sense her concern that it had not suffered. “The bullet goes so fast it would have been through it before it knew. With that damage there would be no blood to its brain and no awareness from then on.”
She felt relief that it had been done without suffering, but most she felt great exultation, the successful hunter had made her first kill; this satisfaction of a primal instinct washed over her.
She watched as Mark quickly eviscerated the bodies and removed heads and feet, then found two poles, each about two metres long. He asked Cathy if she felt she could help him carry them back. He explained they would need to do it I stages, first to the top of the hill, where they would have a big rest before carrying them down the other side to the car. This first bit to the top of the hill would be hardest, lifting the weight. They would try to do it in one go but he could always come back a second time if needed.
Mark estimated the dressed weight of the three goats combined was 80 to 90 kilos. He said he thought they could manage if he arranged the weight so that he took about two thirds and she took about a third. He would go at the back as they went up the hill, using his strength to push them both forward as they climbed.
Cathy was unsure if she was strong enough but would do her best.
So the goats were tied to the two poles, the smaller two to one side and the big one on the other side to give balance. The weight was towards the back. Mark got Cathy to stand at the front. He lifted the poles on her shoulders, picked up his heavy ends and rested them on his shoulders.
“OK, off we go, nice and steady, watching where you step. Don’t be scared to drop them if you lose your balance or they get too heavy.”
It was hard work but manageable. As the angle of the hill increased she could feel the weight easing as more load transferred to the back, but now she had to lift herself both herself and the poles. She could feel Mark’s steady steps continually pushing her forward. She kept stepping ahead, a foot at a time, her legs straining to lift with every step.
After five minutes Mark called a halt saying they were past half way to the top. They sat side by side on a rock until they got their breath back. Considering he had been lifting most of the weight Mark seemed in good shape, breathing hard but otherwise showing little sign of strain. After his breathing returned to normal he did a couple stretches before they pushed on. The next stage was much harder and soon her legs were screaming, and now she could hear Mark grunting with the effort of each step as he walked behind her. They did just over half before Mark called another rest. The crest of the hill was in sight but the steepest part lay in front. He separated the poles and they came up the last leg carrying one pole at a time. Finally all three goats were at the top.
They both sprawled out on the ground sucking in air until their heart pounding and breathing slowed and their legs regained strength.
After a few more minutes Mark stood up and began searching the ground, soon finding a particular rock and picking it up.
Cathy asked what it was.
He showed her that this rock had a fossil in its centre, a perfectly formed snail outline. He told her it had been made hundreds of millions of years ago when this land lay at the bottom of a shallow sea, since then it had been thrust up far into the sky.
It was a time so distant that it lay beyond her comprehension. She held the rock herself and traced the outline with her finger, feeling as if this was a time machine drawing her back into an incredibly ancient past before even dinosaurs walked. She hunted around amongst the other rocks, now looking at each fractured face carefully. Sure enough, within a minute, she found another, similar but different, another ancient creature of the sea, this one an oval shape, with stripes running across the middle, this one Mark called a trilobite. Almost reverently she put it down again. Now she looked at the land below her feet with an understanding of its antiquity and history and, in a small way, began to share the passion for it that so obviously permeated Mark.
Mark hunted around some more and found fragments of aboriginal flint chippings, showing these to her as he told her they were m
ade by the aboriginals in the process of making a stone tool like a knife or spear head, which they would have used for hunting.
Now she had a second picture in her minds. She imagined these dark people of millennia past sitting here on this hilltop surveying the view as they prepared their tools and planned their hunts. She wondered if they had also used the creek as an ambush point. She asked Mark.
“Almost certainly,” he said, “they are such skilful hunters, I have seen a black man from this country stalk a kangaroos so close that he reached out and caught its tail without the need for a spear or stone.
“So they would have used the creek and the water pools as we did today, but they could also catch animals by stalking across ground so open that to us there seems nowhere to hide.”
Now they took a drink and a snack bar from their packs before heading down the other side. The view was still marvellous but the magic of early morning light was gone, along with the animals, now seen only as distant dots of far hillsides.
The walk back to the car seemed easy after the climb. They had a trail to follow and Mark was at the front taking most of the weight while she walked easily behind supporting her end and enjoying the view. The drive back was uneventful and they had a restful afternoon at the camp. Cathy went for a walk by herself along the creek, while Mark stayed in his room.
They ate an early dinner in the bar and retired early, both tired. Over dinner Mark had said he wanted to be away early again the next morning, to drive on to Coober Pedy, where they had a dinner date. He told her of a phone call he had made there this afternoon to tell of his hunting success, telling he would bring a promised goat. He said the man asked if he could be there by early afternoon, they were planning a big family celebration the next night and the big billy goat would make a perfect centrepiece for a traditional Greek feast. So, despite his previous plans for another day of sightseeing, now they needed to go early and directly to this place. He promised the dinner would make it worthwhile.
They rose and left at five. This morning the sunset was behind them unseen. They drove southwest for two hours stopping for quick breakfast at Port Augusta. After that it was many long and featureless hours of bitumen driving, heading north on the main road to Alice Springs, the Stuart Highway. They arrived, as planned, in the early afternoon.
Coober Pedy was a strange and dusty town, a hot-potch of buildings taking all shapes and styles. Its central feature was an endless sprawl of shops selling opals.
They pulled up outside a big gaudy house, obviously owned by a prosperous inhabitant. It rose high above its neighbours and boasted one of the few flower gardens in sight out the front. Mark tooted the horn. A burly man, thick set with dark hair turning to grey, came out.
Mark called out “Nikko, I have your goat as promised, in good time for the feast tonight.
“Marco,” the man exclaimed, “You have come most fast. I told my Athena you would come soon; she said not till later, too far to drive so quick from the goat mountains; mountains like in our Greece.”
They were shown inside and given large tumblers of a sweet green iced drink which tasted faintly of limes, lemons and green herbs. It was refreshing after the heat of the day. They were only part finished when there followed retsina, ouzo and a selection of bread and dips.
Athena served them; she was a small woman with a mass of jet black hair. She looked several years younger than her husband, with a ready smile, saying, “Marco, who is your friend, you must introduce us, most impolite not to. I have fixed your regular room for tonight, the big room with the balcony you like at the top of the house. I will show Catherine around while you men talk.”
As Cathy followed her up the stairs Athena explained that tonight was an engagement party for their daughter Cassandra, Cassie as most people called her. She and her fiancée, Stefan, went to Adelaide shopping for a ring, yesterday. They were due back in town late this afternoon in time for the celebration.
It turned out that Nikko was a prosperous opal and gem trader who owned a busy shop in the middle of town, buying from miners and selling both wholesale to other jewellers and to the town’s many visitors.
Over the years they had prospered in this place. Now her daughter was marrying into another local Greek family, also in the opal business.
Athena’s stories rattled out. “You would think that with so many stones in Nikko’s business there would be one to suit my daughter, one that could be made into a ring. But no, she wants a diamond, a big, big diamond, paid for in hard dollars by her husband, not some cut price
stone from Nikko or Stefan’s business.
“So they went to Adelaide, to visit the most expensive jewellery shops. Last night they rang to say they have bought the perfect ring and are bringing it back to show us all and celebrate.”
So, on the strength of this and a phone call from Marco yesterday, telling he had a huge goat to roast, Athena explained they had decided to have an impromptu engagement feast tonight. There would of course be a more formal engagement party on the due date but she and all her friends had all got to work today making many foods, sweet pastries, lamb dishes, salad’s, roasted lemon chickens, “much food and most delicious.”
It was to be a surprise for the returning guests. But the most special part was the whole roast goat. It would be cooked on the spit for many hours, according to Nikko’s secret recipe, ready for a night of feasting.
As she talked Athena walked Cathy from room to room, showing her the main features. Despite what appeared to Cathy as a gaudy exterior the interior of the house was a classic piece of the Mediterranean brought to this faraway place, done with exquisite taste.
They came to the third level, just an attic room with a big balcony. They ascended by narrow stairs. It was a lovely open room, looking out above the other houses of the town. In its centre was a huge bed and around the perimeter were various pieces of furniture, chairs, a dresser, a marble washbasin. Folding doors led to a marble terrace with terracotta pots and wrought iron chairs.
“This is Mark’s special room; he has stayed here many times when he visits. He and my husband have done much business over many years which has made them both lots of money. So when Mark comes this is always for him, even if we have other guests we always give this to him. Mark is like a son to Nikko, though now Stefan will be that son. I think you will find the bed comfortable and have a good night together, yes.”
Cathy realised that Athena had assumed that she and Mark were a couple; the bed was for them both to share. Perhaps Mark had come here before with other women.
She felt a flash of embarrassment; she did not think this was Mark’s plan. But it would be impolite to say otherwise, to cause embarrassment to her host and seem ungracious. So she turned and smiled at the lady saying, “Thank you so much, it looks very comfortable.”
As they came downstairs the goat was being carried to the courtyard at the back. A fire of coals was glowing and it was lifted onto a spit where it was basted with oil and herbs and set to slowly turn away for hours.
It was a wonderful night, great company, so many stories that had her laughing until her sides ached, Nikko was a natural story teller and Athena could also hold her own. Between the stories came plates of steaming food, with aromas to die for, roast goat slices, chickens with lemon and garlic, moussaka, souvlaki, spicy lamb meatballs on skewers, then sweet delicacies, little deep fried sweet dumplings, yoghurt with honey and walnuts, delicious honey and almond pastries. It was all washed down with endless glasses of retsina and ouzo.
As the night progressed it turned into music and dancing. Everyone joined in, forming lines and groups that ebbed and flowed. One of the dances reminded her of the Zorba music, the others she did not know and they had unpronounceable names but she joined in with abandon as did Mark, sometimes dancing briefly together, mostly with other partners.
At last the night subsided into quiet reflexion as the guests departed. Now she was yawning and tired. Athena turne
d to Mark, “Lady Catherine is tired. I have shown her where her room is and brought her things up. Now you must bring her up to it, Mark.”
Mark had the good grace to look sheep faced as her rose to escort her. She was feeling light headed from all the wine. At times he put out his hand to steady her as they climbed. She liked the solid feeling of his arm against her shoulders as he did. She decided that there were far worse things than having this man’s body next to hers in bed, whatever followed. It was not her plan but it felt right.
At the top landing, as he opened the door, she felt quite tipsy and her body swayed. His arm went firmly around her shoulders and she leaned into him saying, “That feels good, your arm around me like that.
He brought her over to the bed. She lay back, her head spinning. She felt him take her shoes off. She thought the undressing would continue, not minding. Instead she felt him pull back the covers, lift her under then tuck her in, snug and warm.
She had a half formed intent to invite him to come alongside her. But her mind was drifting and the words would not form. She had a vague awareness of him taking a pillow from the other side and a blanket from the cupboard as she fell into a deep sleep.
She woke with a dry mouth and needing to go to the toilet. She remembered it was down on the next level and stumbled down the stairs. She found a glass and drank water to clear her head.
She was not used to having more than one or two drinks on any occasion, even when entertaining guests. She had mastered the art of appearing to drink but stopping after the first couple. It had been much better in her previous life to keep a clear head.
But last night she was captivated by the fun and her glass was endlessly full. She kept drinking it down, sip by sip. Now she felt faint embarrassment and hoped she had not been silly in her exuberance.
She walked back upstairs feeling cold and almost sober, though she knew that was a mirage. It would get worse before it got better. She was in for a hangover of the sort she had not had for many years.
She felt like being minded, the way her mother still did for her when she was at home, tucked into bed with a warm bottle.
She tried to go quietly but her balance was still not fully there. She tripped on her bag on the floor as she walked back to the bed, stumbling and reaching out for support.
Suddenly Mark was alongside her, steadying her and guiding her to the bed. She did not know where he had come from; he was so silent and moved so easily, like a cat.
He sat her on the edge of the bed and went to pull away. She held onto his hand and pulled him back. “Come, lie next to me. I think I am still drunk and will have a hangover in the morning. It would be nice to have you next to me, minding me, like the way when I was a little girl I used to cuddle in next to my mother and father.
She climbed under the covers and moved across to the centre, indicating a space for Mark to lie next to her. She realised she was still wearing her clothes from the night before, as was he. He was lying on his back, as if self conscious. She took his hand and pulled him towards her so he was lying on his side facing her. She moved her shoulder in against his chest saying. “I hope you don’t mind. I just want to be held.”
As she spoke she turned her back into his chest and felt his body push along her length, hard and strong, yet enfolding. She took his hand and pulled it over her, holding the flat of his palm against her belly in the mid place. He pushed his hand gently against her belly and lightly stroked it as she snuggled tight against him. Her eyes were closing again. She felt so comfortable and sleepy and drifted away, as if floating on a white cloud.
The sky was light but it was still early when she woke again. Mark was sleeping beside her, breathing softly and regularly. His hand was still resting on her belly. It felt so good. She pushed it more firmly against her and he stirred. She turned to face him, enfolded in his arms.
His face looked seriously intent as she moved her face almost up to it, kissing him lightly on the nose. “I know I will feel sick later, but for now, lying here like this, I feel unbelievably comfy. Thank you for minding me in the night. My experience with men had not been so good over the years. It is wonderful to find one I can trust.”
Mark’s arms tightened around her. She felt his aroused maleness, it was a normal part of waking for most men, and a big part of her wanted to relieve it.
He said, “I am glad you feel can trust me, I am first and foremost your friend. Though when I feel you lying here, body touching mine, I am not so sure I trust myself so much. But I will try to pretend there is no gorgeous woman lying here.
She kissed his nose again. “Oh, that,” she said looking down at his waist. I don’t mind about that, you are definitely a man. What I mean is that I trust you because you have not tried to make me do anything I don’t want to do, that is something very precious.
“I think I want that part of you,” she said, looking directly into his eyes and taking his hand and placing it on her breast, undoing the buttons with her other hand and sliding it under her top where he could feel her nipple. He stroked it and she could feel both her arousal and his growing.
But then her mind reasserted itself, saying, “Before we both decide if we really want that to happen I need to tell you about me. It is something you deserve to know and it is my moment of truth, untold to anyone before. It is not a pretty story, but I want you to know who I am and why.”
She turned away from him as she spoke deciding she needed the anonymity of not seeing his face as she spoke. She felt his arms go back around her, this time holding her breast from the outside, gently cupping it in his hand, maintaining an intimate physical link.
She started her story at the beginning, when she was a little girl, describing her memory in the third person, almost as if it had happened to somebody else, it seemed less painful that way.
Lost Girl Diary Page 43
