by Walker, Lucy
Cindie wiped her eyes again as the nurse came primly down the ward.
‘The patient has to have further medication in a few minutes, Miss Brown. I’m afraid visitors must leave now.’ Flan winked at Cindie as she stood up.
`By the long word she means that little old needle. Same as the one you were using like a pick-axe down the gorge, Cindie. Hers gives me strength to eat and talk—’
`To sleep this time,’ the nurse said firmly, tucking in Flan’s sheets. ‘I think I’d better take that transistor away for a while, too.’
`See what I mean?’ Flan demanded as Cindie blew a kiss to him, then retreated towards the door. ‘She doesn’t sit down and hold my hand, let alone my head. She just bullies me. Pick-axe every four hours! And now no radio! Nick’d better be here at two o’clock sharp like he promised. Else-wise they’ll have me so dominated in this hospital I’ll never be the same man again.’
Cindie walked back to the hotel for lunch. In a bewildered way she felt like a multicoloured ball of wool—a number of different threads rolled into one strand.
She loved Swell, because Swell was a mother. She loved Flan because for ten hours he had been hers. She wasn’t in love with Jim, because she had never been that way.
But she loved him: like Flan and Swell. Something quite different from being in love. She loved Jim just the same now, even though he had really come across that river for reasons that had little to do with the troubles of Cynthia Davenport. He was that kind of dear arm-hugging person.
So we’re all double-dealers. Jim, me, Mary, and of course, Nick! Who now can throw stones at the other? Only dear Swell, with a frill round his—her–neck behaves naturally.
The rest of that day flew on wings. Cindie went to the store and bought presents for Mary, Jinx and Myrtle. She chose polished gem-stones that came from the mines. She sent some coloured postcards of Mulga Gorges, and a telegram, to her mother.
Back at the hotel she found the girls in a flurry of packing their business equipment, and later, their bags. The tycoons were whooping it up in the private bar with the mining magnates who had come in from Mount Tom Price and the asbestos mines.
Such a funny little isolated desert place! Cindie thought musingly, of Mulga Gorges. Yet where else would anyone find so many near-millionaires—or representatives of millionaires; and of Government? In so tiny a hotel bar, too.
Strange how they just looked, through the open door, like ordinary men—no different from anyone else.
Nick was nowhere to be seen. He had left a message to say he’d be dining at the hospital with Dr. Britton and his staff. Would Cindie have her own bags packed ready. They’d be leaving immediately after breakfast in the morning.
For all his absence, he was still in her mind. He was the Enemy, and all day tomorrow she had to travel with him alone in that Land-Rover. Cynthia Davenport would be most unhappy, and very much on guard about that. She would keep herself strictly at arm’s length.
Yet Cindie Brown, her other self, now, this very minute, kept thinking of his arms around her as he had carried her up that path, and the willing pressure of her own cheek against his warm, powerful shoulder. She had been tired and exhausted—in some pain, too—but she had known what she was doing. She could have stopped herself, but didn’t. She had given in.
It had not been her heart, of course, only a kind of magic,
CHAPTER XVI
that had betrayed her. He was so attractive that way. She could not run away from the truth now—because she’d brought it out into the daylight—on the gorge path, and later, in her room.
Like Erica’s perfume! It was all something in the air, that wantonly beguiled.
A stronger mind, and she could have kept her anger and suspicion as a barrier between her cheek and that warm shoulder; and those careful, kind, cradling arms.
It was the compassion in his voice that had done it, of course.
Cindie, all through the many happenings of the afternoon, kept brushing her hands across her eyes as if that gesture might wipe away unwanted misty thoughts.
She would ask herself, What’s all the bother about? He belongs to Erica anyway. No, it isn’t that! It’s my own perfidy against my own self. One can’t be two persons at the same time. It just doesn’t work out!
At half past five, when the sun, still fierce in its heat, was westering beyond the crimson mesa-ranges, Cindie went out to the air-field to wave off the plane carrying away the three secretaries. She had grown to like them so much during the last week, she was sad to part from them. They had all exchanged addresses and promised to keep in touch.
The last thing the cheery blonde girl said, as she kissed Cindie’s cheek, was:
`You and your chief are on your own now, Cindie. Don’t be a goose! Go, go, go, girl, and make the best of it. I would, if I were in your shoes. Besides, he sometimes has a certain look in his eye—when he thinks no one is looking!’
What this girl didn’t know, Cindie thought, was that she herself was in two pairs of shoes. That way a heart was divided against itself into two different blood-thumping beings. If Nick did have a certain look in his eye, neither of her two selves wanted to see it. It was for someone else. Neither of her two selves liked that other person one bit. Only one of her two selves liked Nick. Alas, too much. To the other self, he was the Enemy.
It was a long, long way home. That was for sure.
The Land-Rover raced along the rough ironstone road that led away from the town to where Nick’s southern track joined this major one. The feeling of going home gave Cindie a sense of comfort. This was because Mary, Jinx and Myrtle would be there. And Jim Vernon too—Big Brother! Flan
might not be so very long away down south. Swell and her babies would be nearby. Cindie had an almost nostalgic longing to see Swell puff up so that the beautiful frilled collar would stand up around her throat like an Elizabethan queen’s. And the babies! That really was magic. Cindie longed to see them. If Swell hadn’t swallowed them for keeps. Horrid thought! Some lizards did do that, but not darling Swell, of course.
They were all her family now.
Well, for the time being.
She wondered what Nick was thinking about. They had spoken very little since that moment when she and her bags had been put in the car; then Nick had climbed in behind the drive wheel, waved his hand to the Mollisons standing at the front door, slammed his own car door, released the brakes, started up and driven away.
It had all been like that. Nick was in a hurry to be gone. So he went.
After a short while, Cindie began to notice something different. The sun was in the wrong place. They were travelling west.
‘Are we taking a different route home, Nick?’ she asked, breaking the silence.
‘A detour. I want to show you something
‘Me?’ She was so surprised she sounded it.
He glanced at her. His face lost its look of absolute concentration. It almost softened.
‘You did miss out seeing those gorges,’ he said with some regret. ‘I thought I might make up for that if I took you to see one extra rather special—sight. It’s a longer way round. A longer drive, I’m afraid.’
‘That’s very kind of you, Nick.’ Cindie was a little embarrassed. ‘Won’t it affect your most precious asset—time?’
‘There are exceptions,’ he said briefly. ‘This is one of them. You may not come this way again.’ He glanced down at her with a smile easing the muscles of his face. ‘I’ll be sorry for that, Cindie. You were a good secretary. Have I thanked you?’
‘I had so little to do ‘ she protested.
‘Enough, anyway.’ He glanced at her again. ‘Enough is enough, always.’
He was talking in conundrums, she thought. Moreover, some challenge had crept into the air between them. It bothered Cindie for the many more miles on their way to that ‘extra (sight’ he had said he wanted her to see. Why
should he do this for her, anyway? Reward? As if she wanted that! It was mean o
f her to suspect his motives, she knew. Yet she did, because one moment he was silent, almost stern-faced, then the next he would glance at her with something wary, yet very human, in his eyes. As if making some decision. There was no mask now at all.
There had always been something about Nick that defied definition, she thought. More now than ever. He was subtle, sometimes quietly ruthless in getting his own way: kind to the point of compassion
No. She must not think of that moment when he picked her up on the path I He would have been like that to anybody—
She shrugged those thoughts away.
Today was today. Tomorrow could look after itself.
It was noon when they swung round a hillside, making a three-quarter-circle turn, then ran in between two monstrous monoliths and braked to a stop.
Cindie sat quite still and stared at what lay before her.
`I have a feeling we are full of surprises for one another,’ Nick said with that rare fugitive smile of his. He opened his own door and stepped out.
There—embraced on three sides by the walls of this gap in the hillside—was a glorious pool. In its still waters shone the brilliant reflections of the coloured cliffs that reached, glistening with seeping water, sheer to the top of the open hill above. Nick had driven between two rocks—a vertical slit in the wall of the hill—then this! So hidden, and so secret. So beautiful!
Nick took the Esky and lunch-hamper from the back of the Rover and now came round to Cindie’s side.
`Well?’ he asked, as he opened her door.
`I don’t believe it!’ she said. `It’s not a gorge. One doesn’t descend, or climb. It’s just there—in a great cave with no top to it. Hidden, sort of in a mountainous rock: in a spinif ex desert—’
He smiled.
`I’ll make the camp fire, if you’ll set out the lunch on one of those flat rocks by the water. Preferably one in the shade.’
Cindie put out the lunch on the plastic plates. Then slipping off her sandals, and rolling up the legs of her slacks, she paddled in the pool while the billy came to the boil.
When the tea was .ready, Nick poured it. They sat on the rocks—silent but strangely happy—while they ate the cold
meats and salad provided by the hotel chef. Cindie wondered why, she had doubted Nick’s reason for bringing her here. The pool spoke for itself. It was so peacemaking.
Her knees were hunched up, and she wrapped her arms around them while she gazed dreamily at the reflections in the water. Nothing stirred, not a leaf, not a blade of grass, nor a lizard, in the midday hush. The brilliant colours in the water were for ever still: immortalised in their dream of millions of years long past.
`I would like to say something to you, Cindie,’ Nick said, interrupting her reverie. He paused, his face thoughtful, holding himself apart now. With a pang of anticipation Cindie realised there had been something deliberate about this visit after all. She had been right. She felt the old knock-knock of anxiety: like conscience tapping at her door.
`Yes?’ She looked at him, but he in his turn was contemplating the mirror lake with its brilliant red and its viridian twilight of shadow where the sun could not reach it.
`I hope this is the right moment,’ he said. ‘Shall I go on, Cindie?’
`Yes—of course!’
`While we were at Mulga Gorges I kept in touch with Dicey George, and the foremen on the road. That was natural, of course. Dicey informed me there had been a call over the air from Carnarvon Outpost. A man—his name was David James—was making inquiries about a girl Cynthia
Davenport
Shock and anger brought unguarded words tumbling from Cindie’s lips.
`He has no right to do that!’ she cried bitterly. ‘All that’s over. Ages ago. Finished—forgotten. He has no claim. He’s just being self-important ‘ She broke off.
Her face flushed the crimson of the weeping, glistening rock-wall, so silent and still as if it had heard all earth’s sorrows long, long ago—a million years ago—and nothing would stir its motionless silence ever again.
Found out! She had given herself away.
She buried her face in her hands.
Nick, like the cliffs and the water, the trailing bush leaves beside it, did not move. Nothing in all the land moved.
The colour died slowly away from Cindie’s face, leaving it very pale as she dropped her hands, and lifted her head.
`Do you think you could tell me, Cindie?’ Nick asked. He spoke simply, even gently.
`I’m sorry about it, Nick. David broadcasting for me is
l
of no personal importance whatever. Please believe that. It’s not worth telling.’ She spoke with a sad kind of dignity. ‘You knew my real name was Cynthia Davenport?’
He took out his cigarettes and lit one slowly.
`I’ve lived in the outback a long time, Cindie. One always seems to know things about people intuitively. This one wasn’t hard—for very good reasons.’
He blew a long shaft of smoke towards the water. It drifted away, then like Echo, was gone.
Cindie felt the desolation of one who has betrayed needlessly. It was only herself she had deceived. Deep down it hadn’t been fun being someone else. The pretence had spoilt it. She had known it all the time.
`My road construction company—a family affair—has its headquarters in Perth,’ Nick said slowly, not looking at her. The office there informed me quite a long time ago that a lawyer was making inquiries on behalf of a Mrs. Davenport. I had been aware of the troubles of a station along whose western boundary I would have to build part of my road. Bindaroo.’
`Ah yes,’ Cindie said painfully, `Bindaroo.’
‘I was told that Mrs. Davenport’s daughter Cynthia was likely to come north to make contact with Neil Stevens and his brother. I imagined this was probably in connection with the road strip along Bindaroo’s boundary.’
Cindie did not understand this last. She hardly heard it. She was thinking of Nick having known all along, or having guessed, who she was. -
‘Cynthia was coming, and Cindie arrived! It was as simple as that?’ she asked.
‘Quite.’
There was a long pause. Cindie thought of her mother, and that share, lost or otherwise, in Bindaroo. Her own excursion to save it had been no more than an exercise in the tragi-comic!
‘I changed my name first by accident,’ she said. ‘It was just a nickname Jim gave me. It fitted. I liked it. It was rather endearing. Then, I minded that you called me Cindie
Something.’
`Did I? When?’ He looked surprised.
‘When you called me through the megaphone across the river.’
‘I’m sorry. I apologise. I didn’t realise—’
Cindie felt she couldn’t take it if Nick began to be nice
about it all now. This was a side of him that was always her undoing.
‘I kept the name Jim gave me because I didn’t want Neil Stevens and his brother to know I was coming. That air-talk! I had heard they were trucking out sheep. I wanted to surprise them.’
Nick’s face was turned to the water again. She could only see his profile. It put a finger on her heart—his head turned away like that.
‘Now that everything is known,’ Cindie went on, ‘what do you intend to do with Bindaroo? I suppose it is too late to stop a takeover?’
Nick stared at her in surprise. ‘What do you think I intend to do with Bindaroo? Other than give Neil Stevens a lifesaving lump of money for that boundary strip? I need it for the road. I build right along it. It’s a bare hundred chains wide, and is otherwise worthless country. Salt-pan mostly. Nothing grows on it. Not even spinifex. If anything, my road will service his station, and add to its value.’
The boundary strip?’ Cindie asked, dazed.
‘I’ve bought the lease from him; also given him some solid advice about not eating out his pasture land in the good seasons. I told him to call in the experts from the argricultural department in the bad seasons: or
when in doubt.’
‘The boundary strip?’ Cindie repeated, puzzled. ‘But you and Erica
‘The only thing the boundary strip had to do with Erica is that she didn’t want me to buy it. The same as she’d rather the rains hadn’t come out of season and given Bindaroo some fresh life. She came over to the construction camp to talk me into re-aligning my road away from Bindaroo’s boundary. She never loses without first giving battle—’
‘You mean that you and Erica weren’t together trying
‘Just a minute, Cindie,’ Nick interrupted. He was cold, even angry. ‘Erica and I together, were not trying to do anything. We were on opposite sides of the counter. The rains and my purchase money for that otherwise useless boundary strip could save the Stevenses. Erica would have liked to buy Bindaroo. A fair bargain for her, if it had come off.’
Cindie closed her eyes. Then Erica hadn’t been twisting Nick round her little finger! The perfume hadn’t worked. It had been the other way round.
‘I flew out of Muga Gorges to Bindaroo the other night
He wasn’t trying to help take over Bindaroo. He didn’t love Erica!
She had been in a sea of despair because of her mistakes; now she was spun to a hilltop. For one dizzy moment she didn’t know where she was, so great was her relief.
Nick watched her.
`Cindie.’ he said gently, repenting. He leaned a little forward. ‘You have a face so full of changing thoughts, some sad, some glad. You are like an open book. You could never have got away with that change of name, you know. Those dark blue eyes of yours tell all.’
`I played such a silly game of duplicity.’
He laughed.
`Well, don’t regret it. We all like to do that occasionally. We all like a little change of personality from time to time. What do you think I was doing at that conference, Cindie?’
She shook her head.
`I didn’t care a two-by-four bit of ironstone about the railways and roads those tycoons are planning to build westwards from my road to their deep-sea harbours. I only cared about my part of it. The thousand-miler. For the rest of it I liked puffing up like Swell and talking in millions. Don’t you think I was masquerading? Of course I was. I enjoyed every minute of it; and I haven’t a twinge of conscience.’
