by Lucy Walker
A little crestfallen she followed him up the steps across the veranda to the front door. The veranda light was suddenly switched on and the door opened. Hannah stood there in her night attire, a dressing-gown held bunched around her.
‘Goodness me, Mr. Oliver, what a fright you gave us. Saw your headlights shining right in my room, I did, as you came up the drive. Come in, sir, and Miss Carey, too. Why ever didn’t you let us know?’
‘Miss Carey is now my wife,’ said Oliver, taking Carey’s arm and ushering her in through the door past the bewildered Hannah. ‘And I didn’t let you know because I didn’t know I was coming until I got here.’
Carey inside the hall looked at him in surprise.
‘I did have a passing idea we might go on up into the mountains,’ Oliver said, then turned to Hannah. ‘Has Cook got something in the refrigerator we might have for supper? Never mind about the rooms. My wife can use the best guest room for the time being. Our immediate need is tea. Bring out the orange pekoe, will you, Hannah. William has retired for the night, I suppose?’
William was the yardman who usually did things like bringing in the suitcases.
‘I’m afraid so, Mr. Oliver. I can see the light on down the passage now which means Cook’s heard your voice. She’ll have the kettle boiling in no time. And there’s always something in the pantry … you know that, sir.’
‘Then take my wife up to her room, will you? I’ll get the other cases from the car and bring them all in.’
Hannah in her surprise had not yet spoken to Carey. She stood now looking at her half in pleasure, half with embarrassment.
‘I certainly am sorry, Miss Carey. I’d have had flowers in your room. And I didn’t know where Mr. Oliver was to be moved to now he’d got married …’
‘Don’t worry, Hannah,’ Carey said. ‘We’re both very tired. All we want is somewhere to sleep …’
She followed Hannah across the hall and up the stairs, along a carpeted passage towards the guest room. Carey had not been in it before and she was now pleasantly surprised at its comfort and size. It wasn’t quite as old-fashioned as the other rooms in Two Creeks. The curtains were of heavy chintz that matched the coverings on the chairs and on the two beds that stood on either side of a small table. On the table was a bedside lamp and a small book bracket with several books in it. The furniture was fairly modern in design and was made of the beautiful Queensland maple. The carpet on the floor was plain and of a red deeper and richer than that of the furniture. Altogether it looked very inviting and comfortable. Its spaciousness alone gave an atmosphere of ease.
Hannah, who had picked up Carey’s small case, now put it down by the dressing-table and went at once to the two beds. She began methodically to fold back the covers and turn down the sheets and blankets.
‘They’ll be quite ready for use, Miss Carey,’ she explained. ‘We often have visitors coming unexpectedly and this room is always kept ready. The clothes were aired only yesterday. The bathroom is through that door there. I don’t remember if you were up in this part of the house before ‒ before ‒’
‘No, I wasn’t,’ Carey hastily put in. ‘So please tell me where everything is …’
‘There’s a gentleman’s dressing-room through this door. And a little balcony off the main window. Shall I open the window for you, Miss Carey? It’s quite warm for the time of the year …’
‘Yes, please do. This room looks over the side lawn and the paddocks, doesn’t it, Hannah? Oh … and Hannah, how is Tony? Is he all right?’
‘As all right as that young monkey will ever be. Never a sight of him for the four days Mr. Oliver’s been gone to Melbourne to get married.’ She stopped, let her hands drop by her side, and looked at Carey. ‘I didn’t say good luck from Cook and me, Miss Carey, but I surely do mean it. If only Mr. Oliver had told us …’
‘Perhaps he didn’t think you would approve, Hannah,’ said Carey, with a rueful smile. ‘After all, I’m only the girl you fed with Tony in the breakfast room, and who borrowed your nightgown to sleep in …’
‘Miss Carey … I’d like you to know …’ She faltered and stopped. A minute later Carey had taken her hands and kissed her.
‘I know, Hannah. I do know. You love Mr. Oliver and you’ve served him here and at Cranston for twenty years. He belongs to you just as much as he ever did. I won’t take him away from you. I just want you to take me into your heart along with him. You see …’
No, she couldn’t tell even faithful Hannah that she wanted to crawl into someone’s heart for warmth herself. She would have to win that place over the years.
‘Please, I would love that tea, if you think Cook might have it ready soon.’ Her eyes were bright and Hannah wiped a small tear surreptitiously from her own.
‘I’ll go and see,’ said Hannah.
Oliver came into the room with one of Carey’s cases. He ignored the two beds with their covers turned down. He put the case beside the first bed and said:
‘I think my study is as comfortable as any other place at this hour of the night. When you’re ready come down to it, Carey, and we’ll have some supper.’
He went back to the door. He hesitated a moment as if he might say something more but changing his mind went out into the hall. Carey wondered where he was walking to … his own bedroom somewhere else?
Carey never knew how she got through that supper, got through the process of bathing, and got into bed.
To begin with, she was unutterably tired. Looking at Oliver’s face as he sat drinking his tea and merely toying with the chicken salad Cook had brought in on a great silver tray like the one Carey had seen in Mrs. Reddin’s bedroom that morning, she knew that he too felt that way.
They had stopped once on the road for a short meal at a country hotel and were not very hungry. It was more the tea than anything else that they both needed.
The wedding reception the night before and the long cross country drive this day had taken its toll.
Oliver was preoccupied but as he served Carey with some chicken salad he made an effort at conversation.
‘I think we had both better have a good night’s sleep. I have to be out early with the horses to-morrow. It will probably take you several days to get over the affairs of the last two days. I suggest you stay in bed to-morrow, Carey. Perhaps in a day or two’s time we might talk over the future.’
‘I would like to see Tony.’
‘As soon as he knows you are here he’ll put in an appearance. Doors aren’t any barriers to Tony when he has a mind to go through them. That is one of the first things you might teach him, Carey. Other people’s rights to privacy.’
‘He is very small and very young,’ Carey said with pity. ‘If his mother has been dead some years I don’t suppose anyone ever told him not to walk in and out of the rooms.’
‘My dear girl, I’ve told him often, and more than once with a wallop behind.’
‘Don’t ever wallop him while I’m around, will you, Oliver? I would feel very upset …’
‘You have a lot of upsets in store for you with young Tony. And there are other things to be concerned about. You will get on all right with Cook and Hannah, I think …’
‘Oh yes, I will,’ Carey said eagerly. ‘Please don’t worry about anything inside the homestead. We’ll manage that between us.’
‘I hope you do. Now if you are finished I think we should both go to bed. I’m going to be very busy in the next few days so I want you to settle in as best you can without me. The only thing I need to be consulted about is “callers”. There may be some for business, or social reasons later on. The latter will be your affair and the former mine. We can talk about that sometime later. Neighbours will not call for a week or two. That is the custom in this Shire.’
He had risen and he spoke as if he wanted to be alone as quickly as possible … as if he had no further interest in what she did in the homestead as long as she didn’t tread on the servants’ corns, kept Tony in the background, and didn’
t make social gaffes with people who visited Two Creeks two weeks hence.
Carey knew now that whatever had happened to make him so angry with her when he had come into her room last night had had a lasting effect. He was infinitely more a stranger to her than he had been even before she had gone to Mrs. Cleaver’s house.
Now he wanted her to go, and quickly.
He stood looking at her, that fine white line around his mouth, his eyes empty.
Carey stood up and went to the door.
‘Good night, Oliver,’ she said.
‘Good night, Carey.’
As she went across the hall up the stairs towards the ‘guest room’ she could hardly believe this was happening to her. She had not really expected him to change completely in that one day of marriage but she had hoped, even believed, that being at home at Two Creeks would have had some softening effect: that he would have made some attempt at appearances, if only for the servants’ sake. Yet in that half-hour in the study he had grown, minute by minute, more cold and remote. She herself, minute by minute, had indeed grown up.
Oliver was not married to her and did not wish to be married to her, except in the matter of signing a book in the church vestry.
Everything was in order now as far as her making her home at Two Creeks was concerned. She had seen enough of Millicent and Mrs. Reddin at Cranston to know why Oliver had thought it impossible to leave her, Carey, there. So he had signed the book, installed her in the front guest-bedroom; now he wanted to get on with his work with the least number of interruptions, especially from an uninhibited waif called Tony.
Carey’s lip might have trembled but she would die before she let it give in to such weakness. Now she really knew that Oliver Reddin would always be really ‘Mr. Reddin’ although she would have, for appearances’ sake, to call him ‘Oliver’.
Oddly enough, as she got into bed, she thought only of how sad it would make Mrs. Cleaver feel.
She fell asleep with the comforting thought that in the morning she would see Tony: and one day she would invite Mrs. Cleaver to come to Two Creeks.
Oliver sat, his hands resting on the arms of his chair. His eyes were empty because he was not thinking of this room nor of Carey who had just left it. He was following a train of thought that, if he were less tired, he would have banished from his mind.
As Carey had come into the room the peculiar angle of the light bracket on the wall had caused a shaft of light to shine red-gold on Carey’s head. For a moment he had thought of the light through the reception room window shining on Jane Newbold’s head last night as he stood with her in a niche between the pot-plant stands on the veranda of Cranston.
Earlier he had been near the window that led out on to the veranda, talking to some elderly and remotely connected members of his family who had come down from Sydney for the wedding. He had talked to them, as he talked to everyone, shaking hands, accepting their affectionate congratulations on his wedding, promising that one day he would bring Carey to see them.
Jane had threaded her way between the people until she reached Oliver. She had taken his arm with what might have appeared to other people as a sisterly gesture.
‘Come, Oliver,’ she said, laughing, as if she had something amusing to show him. ‘Come quick, like a dear. Remember the moon flower we brought down from the Territory? It’s actually blooming.’ She smiled at his elderly and not very astute relatives. ‘It only blooms for an hour, then when the moon wanes it dies,’ she explained to them. ‘Please do forgive me taking Oliver away. He must see it.’
Oliver went through the french window to the corner where the plants were growing in pots on stands and below them in the garden.
‘Look …’ Jane said, still holding his arm. ‘See it? Down there in amongst the leaves.’
Oliver leaned forward and looked at the white exotic trumpet of the moon flower. He straightened up.
‘Very pretty, Jane, but I don’t think that is the plant that came down from the Territory. Millicent has quite a number of them. I think she arranged the steam pipes below the veranda specially to get a few flowers in bloom just now.’
Jane was standing between Oliver and the way to the french door leading inside. In front of Oliver and between him and the veranda railings were tiers of pot-plants; many heavy with the pungent earthy scents of rare flowers. On his far side was the creeper-covered wall of the front drawing-room which had been built out the width of the veranda. To have moved away he would have had to mow Jane down.
‘I wanted you to see it because I wanted to be alone with you,’ Jane said at once.
‘My dear girl, this is my wedding night. I can’t be alone with anyone …’
‘I’m glad you said that.’
Oliver was surprised at the tone in Jane’s voice.
‘Why?’ He had moved a little as if to encourage her to turn about and return with him to the reception room.
‘Because you’ll never be alone with ‒ with Car-eey …’ With a faint laugh she sought to imitate Carey’s soft drawl. In the reflected lights from the reception room she could see Oliver’s flexed eyebrows, the look of cold inquiry in his eyes.
‘My shadow will always be there. Between you.’ She put out both her hands and caught Oliver’s arms with them. She held him so tightly he could not have thrown them off without causing a scene. He stood, still and upright, looking down into Jane’s face.
Her voice was emphatic and not to be denied.
‘I was the first girl … the only girl you loved, Oliver. Oh … I know I wouldn’t have you. You remember that night so long ago? You were dancing with me. I was the belle of the ball. You remember? You have not forgotten …’
‘Jane!’ His voice was low and urgent. ‘We cannot stand here talking about the past. It is the past. It happened long ago.’
With a quick powerful movement he released himself from her hands. He caught her wrists in his own hands and held them behind her back. She was powerless there. In a minute he would turn her round so that he could then escape from this prison of creeper-covered wall and moonlight scented flowers and ferns.
He stood over her, leaning over her. She was imprisoned by his arms which held her struggling hands at her back.
‘Yes … but you haven’t forgotten.’ Suddenly she let the tenseness seep away from her body. She flung her head back. ‘I know. You walled yourself up on that station … Two Creeks. You only came to Melbourne when you had to. And then went out on the razzle. I was always there and wherever I was your eyes were watching me. I knew, Oliver. I knew.’
‘Then you have been a long time saying anything about it, Jane.’
She tossed her head so that the lights from the rooms danced in its red curls.
‘Why should I? I was having a wonderful life. The kind of life I wanted; that I’m good at. Why should I marry and shut myself away on a station and think and talk horses and cattle?’
‘There have been others who have wanted to marry you, Jane.’
‘Oh, I know. I said “No” to them all. All the same I belonged to you … and you belonged to me. You know it, Oliver. You should have waited. When the grey gets in my hair or I’m no longer certain every head will turn when I enter a drawing-room … I’ll get married.’
Her eyes challenged his.
‘I’m beautiful, aren’t I? Tell me truthfully, Oliver? Even now while you’re holding me, I’m beautiful to you. You are looking at me, and it is your wedding night. You’re not even thinking of that little ‒ little ‒’ She broke off. ‘That little country girl,’ she ended.
Oliver’s hand tightened on her wrists, his arms bit into her arms.
‘You are always beautiful, Jane,’ he said in a harsh voice. ‘Carey … is something different …’
‘I know. Sweet, and innocent … and girlish.’ She laughed. ‘That is why my shadow will always fall between you. Every time you go near her you will think of something more exotic. You will think of moon flowers and tropic ferns, a night when you a
nd I danced and when I said “No” in the middle of the second bar of the encore. You turned and walked off the dance floor. You went back to Two Creeks that night …’
‘Jane. I was twenty-five. You were eighteen.’
‘It happened, though. And you won’t forget all the gold and glamour of that night … or that I’m beautiful now. Every time you look at ‒ at Car-eey you will remember how beautiful I am to-night. And if it had been me … how different it would have been.’
‘If you have no objection, Jane, I am going to return to the reception room. My absence would be unforgivable. And it may be noticed.’
‘It has been,’ Jane said. ‘I definitely smiled twice at Millicent as we came through the door. Millicent knows you better than you know yourself, Oliver.’
‘Come.’
He had already released her hands. He walked to the door. He stood aside.
‘Will you go in first, Jane?’
‘No, I shan’t go in at all. Look what you’ve done to my wrists … you beast.’
‘Good night, Jane.’
‘Don’t say good night to me, Oliver. You can’t part from me that way. As I said … I’ll be with you. You know … Thy shadow, Cynara, fell twixt her lips and mine.’
She laughed. It was a mocking laugh and it still echoed in Oliver’s ears as he went through the door into his own wedding party.
On the far side of the room he could see the trailing satin of Carey’s wedding dress where she stood almost hidden by the group of people who stood around her, talking to her; perhaps felicitating her on this happy day.
Outside he had left Jane, shatteringly beautiful, as she had always been … mocking.
He turned and went to Millicent’s side.
‘How much longer does this go on, Millicent?’ he asked. ‘Aren’t the wedding guests tired yet? I certainly am.’
Millicent looked at her brother with curious eyes.
‘If Carey likes to change her dress and come in to say good night they’ll begin to drift away. But Oliver …’ She put a detaining hand on his arm. ‘I want to say something to you. Come into the small drawing-room and we’ll have a glass of champagne together.’
