by Clare Flynn
His reverie was broken when the door opened and Harriet entered.
'Mr Winterbourne. Are you looking for my father?' Her tone was tentative. The brash confidence of their previous encounters was replaced with a demeanour that Michael would have mistaken for shyness, had he not met her before. Her father's public treatment of her must have humiliated the girl and dented her pride.
'Miss Kidd, I was wondering if you'd join me this afternoon for a walk?'
She could not hide her surprise. 'I don't think my father would like that.'
'I've spoken with yer father and he's agreed as long as I don't keep you out too late or take you anywhere dangerous.'
'I see.' She looked at him in silence and Michael was conscious of the poorly cut suit that was his Sunday best. He pushed away the thick lock of hair from his forehead and fixed his brown eyes on her.
'Well?'
'Wait a minute while I get my coat.'
She left the room, banging the hall door behind her. The music stopped and Elizabeth put her head around the other door, her violin and bow in her hands. She stopped short when she saw him, her face showing surprise.
Michael said, 'I couldn't help hearing you playing. It were a beautiful thing.'
He noticed her face turning slightly pink and she looked down, avoiding his eyes.
'Thank you. I was just practising. I'd no idea there was anyone in here.'
'What were you playing?'
'Edward Elgar. From the Enigma Variations.'
'It was beautiful, but sad. Made me feel I was back in England. Reminded me of the Dale.' He paused, then shrugged and his voice sounded colder. 'But then I'm ignorant where music is concerned. Someone once offered to help put that right but it came to nowt.'
The pink in her cheeks was now scarlet and she looked away again.
'Mr Winterbourne, is Mrs Oates looking after you? My husband is not at home. If it's an urgent matter, Oates can take you to him in the motor car.'
Michael took a deep breath, pulled his shoulders back and nodded towards the other door. 'Mr Kidd knows I'm here. I've come to take Miss Kidd for a walk.'
'I see. Does Harriet know you're here?'
'She does.' The voice was Harriet's. 'Come on; let's get out of here. It suddenly feels stuffy. I need some air.'
Nodding to Elizabeth, Winterbourne followed the younger woman out of the room. They left the house in silence and headed towards the large park in the centre of the town. As they went through the cast iron gates, Harriet turned to face him.
'Mr Winterbourne, is there something you want to speak to me about? Is it to do with Pa? Or Will?' She was hesitant.
'No. Nowt in particular.'
'So may I ask why we're going for a walk?'
'Just thought we could get better acquainted.'
'I see.'
They walked on in silence again, heading towards an ornamental lake on the far side of the park, away from the small crowd seated around the bandstand, where a group of men were playing a chirpy military march. They walked round the lake, alone apart from an elderly couple feeding bread to the ducks.
They began to speak at the same moment, and Michael gave way.
She started again. 'My father treats me as a child but I'm not, you know. I've never been so embarrassed in all my life as that day at the races. I'm not a little child. It's not fair. I'm eighteen. I'm an adult.'
'He were just a bit shocked at you getting all yer hair chopped off. No need to feel bad about it. Everyone understood.'
'I do feel bad. They were all laughing at me. '
'No they weren't. I were there. And yer new haircut's lovely.'
'Do you think so? Really?'
He looked towards the pond. A group of large pied currawongs moved in on the ducks and grabbed the bread as the old couple tried to wave them away. Then he turned back to look at her again.
'Aye. It suits you.'
She smiled at him. 'Thank you.'
She looked prettier when she smiled. It was a shame she always had such a crab apple face on her, sulky and frowning. He wondered if being brought up by the schoolteacher and separated from her family had heightened her insecurities? Maybe that excused it but she was still hard work. He struggled to think what to say next and she showed little inclination for conversation. Like father, like daughter.
'What do you do with yerself to keep busy, Miss Kidd?'
'Nothing much.'
'I expect you help out with the wee lad do you? He's quite a handful I imagine?'
'You must be joking! I can't bear the sight of him.'
'Now then, that's not nice. Will says he's a lovely little fella. Mebbe you don't like children?'
'Can't say I do, but that one is worse than most – a spoilt brat. It's horrible that my father's started a new family at his age with that awful woman. It's just not right.'
He wanted to change the course the conversation was taking, but struggled for another topic. She was just getting into her stride.
'I bet she's hoping to get banged up by him again so she can give him a brood of ugly children and steal what's rightfully mine and William's. I call her the Witch. She's my Wicked Stepmother.' She laughed. 'Am I shocking you? I am, aren't I?'
'Aye. I'm not comfortable hearing that kind of talk, Miss Kidd.'
'It's all right for you. You're not affected. It's disgusting. What kind of woman is happy to marry an old man like my Pa? It's not normal. It's obvious she's after his money.'
'I don't think this is something we should be talking about.' He looked around desperately.
'Do you like the moving pictures?'
'Doesn't everyone?'
'Mebbe we could go together some time? If your father's all right with it. P'raps at the weekend? They put a new flick on each week at the picture house. I've not been there before, and I'd be glad to see a good picture meself.'
'Depends what's on. But yes I suppose so.' She was frowning again.
'Not if you don't want to?'
'Does this mean you're courting me, Mr Winterbourne?'
He looked down and swallowed before replying. 'I suppose it does. Is that all right with you?'
She shrugged. 'I said I'd go with you, didn't I?'
Then the frown transformed into a radiant smile and she put her arm through his and steered him towards the crowd at the bandstand.
'Yes, Mr Winterbourne, it's quite all right with me.'
They went to see a cowboy film. It was pretty tame stuff, Michael thought. Mexican bandits were never as scary as Indians, but in the dark of the theatre he could hear the indrawn breath of women as they clung onto the arms of their beaus in feigned or real fear. He wondered whether it was a ploy to permit closer physical contact? If so, it was one which Harriet didn't use. She sat bolt upright, eyes fixed on the screen, absorbed in the story.
Michael enjoyed the picture, apart from the scene when Tom Mix's character told the woman he loved "I aint fit to graze in the same pasture as you, so I'm saying goodbye." It made him think of himself and Elizabeth. Real life was so different from the moving pictures. The cowboy had got his girl in the end: she'd driven in her fancy car to save him from execution by paying his ransom.
When they emerged, Harriet put her arm through his as they walked back to Kinross House.
'Suffering coyotes! That was a bore!' she said.
'I like Tom Mix better when he's got a few Indians to contend with.'
'I hate cowboy pictures. All of them.'
'You should have said. We could have gone another time when there was summat else on.'
She spoke sneeringly. 'It was a ludicrous story. Poor cowboy marries rich rancher's daughter. She should have had more sense. And it's a shame those Mexican bandits didn't get to "keel" him after all.'
He was surprised by the harshness of her verdict and said, 'It's just a bit of fun. The flicks always have a happy ending. You wouldn't really want it to have ended sadly, would you? You wouldn't have wanted him to be shot?'
'Life doesn't have happy endings – why should the pictures?'
'That's a cynical view for a young woman.'
'Don't patronise me, Mr Winterbourne.' Her voice was slightly shrill and she jerked her arm out of his.
'I'm sorry, I didn't mean to offend. It were just that I'm disappointed you didn't have a better time.' He wished he'd never agreed to Kidd's plan. It was never going to work between them.
She countered. 'Did I say that? I just said it was a ludicrous story. I didn't say I didn't have a nice time.' She turned her face towards his and gave him a smile that would have melted the heart of a Mexican bandit and slipped her arm into his again.
Just before they reached Kinross House, she stepped out of the reach of the streetlight into the shadow of a gum tree, pulling Michael with her. She lifted her face to his and kissed him on the mouth. He was taken by surprise and found himself kissing her back but, just as quickly, she pulled away from him.
'I wanted to get that out of the way. I didn't want to have the prospect hanging between us and us both wondering when it would happen,' she said.
He ran his hand through his hair and stared at her.
She pressed on, her voice brisk and businesslike. 'You know what I mean don't you? You were probably thinking Do I? Don't I? What will she think if I do? And I was wondering is he going to kiss me or not? And I hate not knowing what's going to happen next.'
'I see.'
'You're annoyed aren't you?'
'Mebbe. A bit. It's not very romantic to reduce it to that.'
'Romance is tosh!' Then seeing his frown, she added, 'I suppose you're going to say I'm cynical, aren't you?'
'I wouldn't dream of it. I wouldn't dare!' he laughed bitterly.
'You need to understand, if we're going to be courting, I like to know what's coming next. I hate surprises,' she said, and then giving him a little wave, she ran into the driveway of Kinross House.
There was a good turnout for the annual colliers' cricket match, with the miners up against a team of railway workers. A large crowd spilled out of the Lawson Arms to watch the game: anyone with a fondness for cricket or an empty stomach – Kidd was reluctantly keeping up Mr McDonald's tradition of laying on an elaborate picnic, catered by the Queen Alexandra Hotel.
The railwaymen batted first and were all out for 133. Will and Michael sat side by side under the shade of a tree watching the first two members of their team head for the crease.
'We'll likely have a long wait before we get on to bat. Fred Burton's red-hot,' Will said. 'He may be getting on a bit now but he's a hard man to shift and he'll hit a few sixes I reckon.'
'Who's the other lad. Not seen him at the mine before.'
'Bruce Walker's eldest. Works in the post office at Katoomba. Pretty good cricketer too.'
'I'll bet you're handy with a bat yourself, Will? You did a good job fielding. Two out and I swear the umpire should have given LBW against the fat chap with the red hair.'
'Yeah I was robbed, mate! I could spit chips. You weren't so bad yourself. You ran the fat bastard out.'
'Come on, mate. Me granny could've run that fella out. He were nobbut a big lump of blubber.'
The crowd clapped as Fred Burton smashed a ball over the boundary. Will said, 'You getting serious about Hat, Michael?'
Michael rolled a cigarette, taking his time to answer. 'Yer old man wants us to get hitched.'
'What do you want, mate?'
'To be honest, Will, I don't know.'
'Mate, it'd be bonzer if you were in the family. But I can't say as I'd blame you if you weren't game for taking Hat on.'
Michael laughed and drew on his cigarette. I have to get married some time. I could do a lot worse than her. She's a very pretty girl.'
'Maybe. When she's a mind to be. But she can put a grim face on and act as miserable as a bandicoot on a burnt ridge. Half the time she looks like she's swallowed poison.'
'Give the lass a break. She's yer sister!'
'Doesn't feel like it, mate. We've lived apart for years. She's like a stranger to me. I'm closer to Lizbeth. I can talk to her about anything. She's...'
Michael interrupted him and pinched his cigarette out. 'Harriet's young. I'm not sure she'd have an old fella like me anyway.'
'You're not old! You're my cobber and I'm younger than she is!'
'Eleven years is a big gap. She'd be better with a lad her own age.'
'Pa doesn't think so. He's encouraging it. And look at him and Lizbeth.'
Back to her again. It always led back to her. He decided to stay with it. It cut him to the core every time he saw her with Kidd but if he were to marry Hattie that would be happening all the time, so he might as well confront his demons.
'You reckon they're happy?'
'The old man and Lizbeth? Can't imagine so. He's never happy about anything. He's like Hat. But I can't think how anyone could fail to be happy married to Elizabeth. She's so beautiful. She's kind. She's friendly. She's clever. She's...'
'Alright, I get the picture.'
The boy shrugged. 'Don't know what she saw in Pa enough to marry him. It was strange. She just showed up from nowhere. Pa's always been a dark horse, but marrying her took the biscuit. And our Hat's horrible to her. She won't even give her a G'day. Miserable cow.' He realised he might have overstepped the mark and quickly added, 'Sorry mate. I know she's your girl and all. But then she is my sister so I s'pose I can!'
Michael laughed and cuffed him lightly on the arm. The crowd erupted as Fred Burton hit another six.
On the far side of the pitch Elizabeth brushed a fly from her arm and glanced at her watch. She'd always found cricket boring and was not happy that Kidd had insisted on her presence this afternoon. There was no sign of him. He was doubtless holed up in the beer tent. It seemed he had even less interest in the game than she had.
Harriet had pleaded a headache and Kidd for once had let her stay at home so Elizabeth was on her own today. It meant she was able to read surreptitiously: her handbag was open, ready to accommodate the volume should Kidd emerge and she need to conceal it. She didn't want him angry that she was showing disrespect to the players or have him sneer about her desire to lose herself in a book. Now and then she looked up from the pages and swept her eyes around the pitch to keep a general sense of what was going on. Cricket reminded her of Stephen and that summer before the war when she'd often sat on the boundary pretending to watch him play, while chatting to her friends.
A roar from the spectators and the cry of 'Howzat!' signalled a dismissal and she looked up to see a new batsman making his way to the crease. He was tall and she noted his broad shoulders and narrow hips and easy, confident stride. His sleeves were rolled up and the tanned skin on his arms stood out against his cricket whites. When he turned at the wicket and pushed the hair back from his eyes, she realised it was Michael Winterbourne. She picked up her book and tried to force herself to read. Damn him! How could he still do this to her? But the words on the page might as well have been hieroglyphics, so she put the book down and started to watch.
Michael and the Walker boy made a formidable pairing and the runs kept coming. Elizabeth was soon hooked by the action on the field. She found herself jumping out of the deckchair as Michael hit yet another ball over the boundary. The noise of the crowd penetrated the beer tent and a group of men, including Jack Kidd, came out, pints in their hands, to watch the play.
Will never got his chance to bat. The Winterbourne-Walker double act proved impossible to get out and as the sun began to sink, the umpire declared the miners the victors, 226 for the loss of just one wicket. His teammates gathered round Michael, clapping him on the back before ushering him into the beer tent for a cold beer. Kidd took Elizabeth by the arm and steered her towards a table close to the tent. 'You can hand the trophies over.'
'What?' Her jaw dropped.
'A cup for the team and a medal for each player.'
'I can't do that!'
'Shake each bloke by the ha
nd and give him his medal and hand the cup to Fred Burton for the team.'
'But I don't know what to say! I haven't prepared a speech.'
'Who's asked you to make a bloody speech. They don't want to waste drinking time listening to you! Give them a big pearly grin, shake their paws and hand over their medals.'
Mortified, she stood behind the table as the men lined up to collect the spoils, Michael and Will at the back of the line. As she lifted the large silver cup and presented it to the captain, she saw a sudden movement out of the corner of her eye. Harriet ran onto the green clutching her straw hat to her head. She headed straight to Michael. The pair began to talk and Harriet flung her arms around him. He leaned forward and kissed her lightly on the forehead then slipped his arm around her waist proprietorially. Elizabeth felt sick to the pit of her stomach.
Chapter Seventeen – Confrontation
Will was lying on his back on the drawing room floor, while Mikey happily bounced around on his stomach.
'I hate it here, Lizbeth. I want to go back to Wilton's Creek.'
'Did you talk to your father?'
Will gave her shamefaced look. 'I bottled out. I told you I was chicken.'
'Oh, Will. If you can't bear it you must speak to him.'
'Don't get me wrong - I like all the fellas - especially Michael. He's a good mate and the other blokes are all right most of the time, but I can't stand not seeing the sky for so long. And I can't stop thinking about the tunnel caving in. I know it's daft, and I've really tried, but I can't help it.'
'Does your father mind going underground?'
'He's the same as me. Hates the darkness and misses the sky, but he doesn't have to go down if he doesn't choose to and he does it less and less, now he's got Michael to do so much.'
'Does Mr Winterbourne like being in the mine?'
'Nah! He hates it too. He likes being outdoors - being in the bush, in the fresh air. He used to work down a lead mine in England, so he's used to it, and he earns loads more money, now Pa's made him his deputy.'
'I see.'
'Not that he spends it. He sends most of it home to his folks back in England.'
