'It was his idea,' Clarissa told her.
'Oh.'
Clarissa bit her lip and wondered if she shouldn't have let Rob speak to Evonne first. 'Evonne. he also said you had a very bright future with him, and that this would only be temporary. I know he meant it, but I suppose it sounds a little strange to you. I can guarantee that there would be no ... no... I mean, if you decided not to, if it didn't appeal to you, I know Rob wouldn't hold it against you. Neither would I. So ... what do you think?'
Evonne stared past her with narrowed eyes and Clarissa wondered what she was thinking. Was it naive to put an employee of Rob's in this position?
She thought Evonne sighed then, but as those dark eyes focused on her, the other girl said with a faint smile quirking her lips, 'If you had any idea how I've longed to take a short sabbatical—a contradiction in terms, probably, but if you know what I mean—and spend it doing something like this. I'm addicted to Australiana, I must warn you!'
'So Rob thought,' Clarissa said with a grin. 'And you know, apart from Mirrabilla, this is a marvelous area for it. We had our own bushrangers—not as famous as Ned Kelly, but Mad Dan Morgan used to haunt this area—Holbrook, Henty and Culcairn. And
there's the Woolpack Inn Museum in Holbrook. It was originally a pub that opened in eighteen-thirty something, but now it houses a terrific collection of antiques. Did you know Holbrook was originally called Germantown? Well, it was until the First World War, then it was renamed after Commander Norman Holbrook who won a V.C. in the Dardanelles, I think. That's a replica of his submarine in the main street.'
'My dear Clarissa, you're a mine of information, and you might never get rid of me! As to the other side of it, perhaps I could be of some assistance. I ... occasionally I've ... well, not deputized for you exactly, but I have found myself at a few functions... er ... dealing with the wives.'
It was Clarissa's turn to say, 'Oh?'
'Do you mind?' asked Evonne with her usual directness.
Do I? How could I? 'No! Clothes,' Clarissa said succinctly. 'Not that I'm like my mother, but I haven't had any new, fashionable ones since I was a teenager. Just in case I haven't outgrown that image, it might be wise to get some new ones. Will you come to Sydney with me and help me to consolidate the image of a woman of the world, not to mention a matron nowadays?' She glanced at Sophie whimsically.
Evonne laughed. 'You must be the least matronly matron I've ever laid eyes upon! Yes, I'll come.'
Sophie pricked up her ears then, and at the sound of a car, she was off, scattering blocks.
Clarissa and Evonne followed with Evonne saying, 'Daddy come, by the sound of it!'
Rob got out of the Jaguar, stretched and said, 'Well, ladies, what have we here? A reception committee?'
He swung a delighted Sophie up into his arms and Clarissa tilted her face for his customary kiss.
'We've got something to tell you!' she said almost immediately, and triumphantly.
He blinked and Evonne laughed. 'Perhaps we ought to give Mr. Randall time to unwind first,' Evonne suggested.
'Daddy home!' Sophie said proudly and tenderly. 'Daddy tired?' she asked, her blue eyes round with concern.
'Not too tired for you, baby,' her father smiled, and Clarissa thought with a sudden pang that Sophie was more considerate of him than she was. And Evonne ... I wonder how she would welcome a man home, her man.
'Actually I couldn't stand the suspense,' said Rob.
'Well, Evonne has agreed to what... to what you suggested, Rob,' Clarissa told him.
Rob looked at her first, with his eyebrows raised, and then at Evonne, who returned his look soberly and very directly, which made Clarissa suddenly wonder if Evonne knew more about her than she'd ever told her.
But Rob said then, 'That's excellent. Particularly as the seventy-fifth birthday of Randall's is coming up shortly. Well, ladies, I think we should go inside and toast this—alliance, what do you reckon, Sophie Randall!'
CHAPTER SIX
'What do you think?' 'Mmm . . . not quite you. Too old.' 'I don't want to look too young, Evonne!' 'Clarissa, someone will remind you of those words one day! Take care what you say. You know what it is about this outfit, it's-the colour. Pastels suit you better.'
'I agree with you, Miss Patterson,' the vendeuse put in. Clarissa could think of no other way to describe her, because she looked as if she'd stepped straight out of the pages of Vogue if not the portals of Christian Dior, Paris, although they were in Double Bay, Sydney. 'Cornflower-blue, maize, pale greys, hyacinth-pink, peppermint-greens—possibly black,' she added. 'But bright red, no. That's your colour, Miss Patterson.'
'Oh well,' Clarissa said philosophically, stepping out of a red dress with matching jacket, 'I'll be guided by you two. The thing is I'd like just one more outfit. Then I'll go home happy!'
'Let me show you this little number, Mrs. Randall
Home in this instance was the Regent Hotel in George Street. And Clarissa flopped exhaustedly into a chair and kicked her shoes off, surrounded by a sea of packages. 'Tea,' she said laughingly. 'That's what I need, a cup of tea!' 'Personally, I need a strong drink,' decided Evonne.
'Oh, Evonne, you've been super today! Let's have one, then!'
'I've really done nothing, but how about a glass of white wine?'
'Lovely. Yes, you have. You've taken me to the most divine shops and helped me spend a small fortune of Rob's money, which I don't regret in the slightest. And they all seemed to know you!'
Evonne grinned and handed her a glass. 'Now that I can afford to, I shop for quality, but in reality very frugally. I mean, one good outfit from those kind of boutiques lasts me for a good long time. But I must tell you, Clarissa, you have been a real feather in my cap and will probably save me some money in the future.'
'What do you mean?'
Evonne shrugged and sipped her wine. 'Having brought Mrs. Robert Randall into their orbit.'
'I ... oh! Will you get a commission?'
'Not exactly. But some rather discreet reductions, perhaps, from some of them. So you see there's no need to thank me.'
Clarissa had to laugh. 'You're very honest, Evonne.'
'Too honest?' Evonne queried.
'No! For heaven's sake, don't change! I wonder if Rob will be home tonight?'
'Er... no, there was a message at Reception when I collected the key. He's tied up in Broken Hill.'
'Never mind,' Clarissa said cheerfully. 'I'll shout you dinner. What about tomorrow? What have we planned?'
'A visit to the beauty parlour so that we both look our very best for your first social engagement tomorrow night, Mrs. Randall! Other than that, we could relax. Shall we go through the triumphs of today?'
'Yes, let's!'
And soon the lounge of the suite was strewn with clothes, lingerie, shoes, belts, purses, scarves, sweaters ...
'Clarissa? Are you all right?'
Clarissa turned from the window. It was the following evening and she was dressed and ready for her first social function, as Evonne had put it.
She wore a long, clinging gown of shimmering silver and white with a matching collarless jacket, high silver shoes, and was clutching a silver mesh evening purse. The beauty parlour had wrought a minor miracle of grooming, she thought, and had experimented with several discreet make-ups before hitting on one that was a miracle of understatement yet highlighted her best features like her eyes, and they had carefully instructed her how to do it herself. Her hair had been trimmed but still came to below her shoulders, yet it had an added fullness and body thanks to the blow-dry they'd given it.
So that she looked young and fresh but elegant and perfectly finished. Exactly as she'd hoped to look.
It was not a big affair they were attending—so Evonne had briefed her. A dinner-dance, in fact, at another premier hotel, but there were likely to be some captains of industry and commerce present and their ladies. It was a pre-dinner, apparently, for the three-quarter centenary of Robert T. Randall's empire. Ev
onne was attending it too, and looked unusually demure in dull yellow taffeta.
'Yes, I'm fine. You shouldn't have to spend frugally, Evonne. Doesn't Rob give you a dress allowance?' Clarissa asked jerkily. 'Where is he, I wonder? Aren't we due to leave in about twenty minutes?'
'He'll be here soon,' Evonne said soothingly. 'Probably just caught up in traffic. Would you ... like a drink?'
'No.'
'Clarissa
'Evonne, I can't go through with this,' Clarissa said agitatedly. 'I should never have come to Sydney. I was quite happy back at Mirrabilla. I think ... I think you'll have to deputise for me again ...' She swallowed rapidly and to her horror, felt tears starting in her eyes.
'Clarissa!' Evonne said urgently, then put her hands together as she changed tack deliberately. 'Clarissa— rather, may I call you Clarry? I feel as if I know you well enough to, not to mention admiring you and being quite certain you can handle this.’
'You don't know me at all, Evonne. How could you when I don't even know myself very well? But I do know I was a fool to think ... to,' Clarissa swallowed again and found her heart pounding, 'to ... I don't know any of them. And I haven't seen Rob for days! How can he expect ...' She stopped abruptly with tears now streaming down her face as the outer door to the suite opened and closed and Rob walked into the lounge.
'Why, Clarry,' he said as he pulled off his tie, 'you look sens ... What's the matter?' he asked sharply then, and glanced at Evonne.
She made the tiniest motion of helplessness and then, perhaps at some unspoken interchange between her and Rob, walked through into the second bedroom and closed the door.
'I can't... I just can't come tonight, Rob,' Clarissa told him, and there was pure panic in her voice and eyes. 'Oh, Rob, you were right about me all along!'
'Clarry, no,' he said, and walked over to her to take her into his arms.
'Yes!' she wept into his shoulder.
'No—listen to me.' He picked her up and sat down on the couch with her. 'This is my fault. I meant to be back much earlier, but something's come up that's very serious. In fact it was the only thing I would put in front of being with you today. Clarry?'
'It doesn't matter, it doesn’t...’
'Don't you even want to hear about it?'
‘I...' She gripped his sleeve tightly, then forced herself to take a steadying breath. 'Yes, if you want to tell me, but it's not that.
‘I think it is, but why don't you judge for yourself? All our mining operations are threatened with a strike.'
Her lips parted. 'All?'
'Yes.'
'You mean a general miners' strike?' ·
'No. Only Randall's,' he said a shade ironically.
'Rob! That sounds awful!'
'It's not pleasant, not for anyone. It's also rather difficult to be in my position. I now part-own some of the mines I once worked in, I know many of the workers, I've worked alongside them, I know their families. But I'm on the other side of the fence now. The other thing is, my grandfather was always very proud of his record in labour relations. So, and especially in this seventy-fifth year, it would be unfortunate if I blew that record. And I expect all sides are watching with great interest to see how I handle this trouble, but not only that, there are some who wouldn't mind if I fell flat on my face. Even within Randall's, a few people still regard me as the boy from the bush or think I was too young to take over right
from the top.'
Clarissa stared into his blue eyes with more intensity than she had for years, and felt a dull little ache within that she should have been so blind and oblivious. Things hadn't been easy for Rob either, but she'd been too caught up with herself to even bother.
She rubbed her face, then looked at her Angers and grimaced. 'I might have to start again,' she said in a gruff little voice. 'But then you've still got to get changed. Would you like a drink first? I'll ask Evonne to ring ahead and explain that we'll be late.'
Rob seemed about to say something, but in the end he just kissed her lips lightly, and she rested against him briefly, feeling an uprush of unusual warmth and tenderness.
'... How do you do? I'm so sorry we're late ...'
'... How do you do? Yes. I'm Rob's wife. Well... urn ... it's not that he's been hiding me, but we do have a little girl and ... oh yes, I think it is important to be with your children as much as you can. How do you do ...'
The gathering was about sixty strong and the elegant room hummed with conversation and something more, an almost tangible aura of power. Even Clarissa, who had seen many a famous face pass through Mirrabilla during her mother's reign, was surprised at how many there were on this one occasion.
But some of the faces were familiar for other reasons, such as Bill Prentice, a long-time friend of her father. And he pounced on her delightedly and told her she was growing up to be a 'right chip off the old block'. A self-made man and proud of it, Bill Prentice had never tried to hide his humble origins, rather to
the chagrin of his wife.
Clarissa found herself seated next but one to Mrs. Prentice with a thin, stern-looking man between them and a pixieish-looking man on her other side. Rob was some way down the table with one of the most beautiful women Clarissa had ever seen next to him. Evonne was diagonally opposite her.
'How is your dear, dear mother, Clarissa?' Mrs. Prentice boomed, cutting out the man between them as if he didn't exist. Everything about Mrs. Prentice was on a grand scale and it was no surprise that this large deep voice should emerge from a visibly restrained chest of massive proportions clothed in mustard embroidered crepe.
'How now, brown cow,' the pixieish gentleman on Clarissa's other side murmured.
'I beg your pardon?'
'She should have been an opera singer. Would have made a magnificent Brunnhilde—she's waiting for an answer.'
'Oh ... very well, thank you, Mrs. Prentice. She's ... er ...'
But fortunately Mrs. Prentice decided to regale Clarissa with some of the cherished memories she had of her dear, dear mother—Clarissa's not her own— and for the next five minutes it was impossible but also unnecessary to get a word in edgeways. Then she smiled graciously at Clarissa, backed a notch and gave her full attention to the gentleman between them, who suddenly looked not stern but nervous.
'Tell me about sheep, Mrs. Randall,' the little man on her right said into the vacuum.
'Sheep, sheep ‘ Clarissa repeated rapidly, wrenching her mind from her mother and the insane thought that all Mrs. Prentice lacked was a helmet with little horns.
Then she became aware that her companion, whose name now escaped her and anyway hadn't meant much to her, was regarding her with a benevolent but slightly patronising twinkle in his eye which she didn't understand but which put her on her mettle.
'Sheep fall into two basic categories,' she said casually. 'Those that you eat and those that you wear. Those that you eat are the larger-bodied sheep— Leicester's Lincoln, Romney Marsh, Shropshires and Southdowns—and their wool is coarse. Whereas Merinos have very fine wool, very little meat by comparison and, above all else, the ability to survive virtually in the desert. Crossbreeding has occurred, naturally, mainly in the attempt to refine the coarser wool, but since the advent of freezing and exporting meat they've come into their own right, the coarse wool breeds. Other than that,' she cast the little man a laughing look, 'most people will tell you that sheep just have no character! You get dogs and cats and horses and even bullocks and pigs you can tell fine stories about, but sheep stories are about as the thick on the ground as gold nuggets in Pit Street!'
The little man laughed with genuine amusement and something like admiration, and they then had a lively discussion about the general state of the wool industry, including some of its problems such as the wide comb issue.
Until Clarissa said, 'By the way, I'm sorry, but I missed your name.'
'Roger Cartwright, Mrs. Randall. How do you do? I must say I'm pleased to meet you—you've come as a bit of a surprise. Er. .
. Brunnhilde is about to claim your attention again.'
'How am I doing?' Clarissa asked Evonne in the powder-room after dinner.
'I would say fantastic'
Clarissa grinned. 'You don't have to say that.'
'But you're enjoying yourself?'
'Well, I've had a few strange encounters, but yes, I am. Did you know about this miners' strike, Evonne?'
Their gazes caught and held in the mirror. Evonne put her lipstick away and touched her hair. 'Yes.'
'Why didn't you tell me?'
'I wasn't sure Mr. Randall wanted you to know,' said Evonne snapping her purse closed and looking back directly at Clarissa.
'Oh,' Clarissa said thoughtfully.
'Was I wrong?' Evonne enquired.
'No—well, no. You probably summed up the situation perfectly from my point of view. But I think it's time I did know more of what's going on, and not only the social facts but the hard facts.'
Evonne was silent for a moment. Then she said with a slight smile, 'Very well, Clarissa.'
'Oh, I didn't mean to sound pompous!' Clarissa said ruefully. 'And anyway, I'm sure you must think I'm an odd wife, but,' she shrugged, 'I mean to be a better one now.' In one sense, she thought with a sudden pang.
As they were leaving the powder-room the tall, striking woman who had been beside Rob went in, and Clarissa glanced at her and frowned.
'Who is that?' she whispered to Evonne as the door closed. 'I'm sure I know her face. Isn't she gorgeous?'
'That's Lineesa Marchmont—David Marchmont's wife,' Evonne told her. 'She used to be a top model— Lineesa Creighton."
'Oh, of course! And I've heard of the Marchmonts, who hasn't! Are they ... very social?'
'Not really. I believe Lineesa has two children now and she's mostly content to live at their place on the Hawkesbury near Wiseman's Ferry. Although I believe she writes poetry and short stories.'
'Do point him out to me—David Marchmont.'
'As a matter of fact he's the tall fair man talking to your husband right now. Two exceptional examples of the male animal, wouldn't you say?'
Clarissa blinked. 'I would say—yes,' she conceded, and looked quizzically at Evonne. 'Are you trying to tell me something?'
The Heart of the Matter Page 9
