by Anne Hampson
Tina said, veering the subject a little,
‘Why this interest? I would have expected you’d have enough to do without concerning yourself with Moira and me.’
Sardonically his lips curved; she expected some caustic remark, but all he said was,
‘You’re aware that you and Moira will one day inherit between you half of Father’s fortune?’ She nodded and he went on, ‘Father has been anxious for some time, anxious that within a year of your coming into the money you’ll have squandered it. And while I didn’t exactly ask him to send you both out here, I did suggest that a year’s hard work would teach you the value of money.’
Tina could find nothing to say to this, as she herself had to admit in all honesty that money did slip through her fingers more swiftly than water. She had never had to count the cost of anything; she often bought clothes and never learned their price, for the bills all went to Austin, who paid them without even a hint of a grumble.
Darkness was descending rapidly and, changing the subject, Charles said it would soon be dinner time and she had better be going into the house to change. He asked where Moira was, and although Tina suspected her sister would be in her room already, getting bathed and dressed for dinner, she said,
‘Somewhere around. I expect she’s engaged in some job or other.’
Charles laughed, because—although unknown to Tina herself—there was a dejected note in her voice, and an unconscious sigh left her lips.
‘Sorry for your sister too?’ he queried with a satirical lift of his brows. ‘I should have thought you’d be far too occupied in being sorry for yourself.’
This time temper flared; her small fists became clenched as even once again she did battle with her control.
‘I am not sorry for myself! I expect it gives you enormous satisfaction to see us working so hard, but you shall never have the satisfaction of seeing me wallowing in self-pity!’ There was no comment from Charles. Tina endeavoured to estimate the damage caused by her outburst, but his face was an expressionless mask. Caution again tossed to the winds, she added, just for good measure, ‘If I’ve earned a black mark then you’d better make a note of it at once—in case you should happen to forget it!’
His eyes narrowed dangerously.
‘I shall not forget,’ he assured her in a very soft voice. ‘You need have no doubts whatsoever about that.’
Alone in her room a short while later Tina dwelt on the conversation which had taken place between her and Charles out there on the verandah. For a whole fortnight he had practically ignored her. When he had condescended to speak it was invariably to make some caustic remark; when he glanced at her in passing it was usually with contempt. On the only occasion he had visited the kitchen he evinced no small degree of amusement on seeing her there, standing by the enormous sink, cleaning vegetables, her skin shiny and moist, her hair dank with the sweat that had gathered on her brow. But just now he had unbent sufficiently to give her five minutes of his time. It was an altogether new departure and one which afforded Tina an opportunity of sizing him up, of learning a little more about him, as hitherto, even at the dinner-table, he had remained totally remote. She had been almost afraid to look at him, lest he should slant her one of those infuriating glances which invariably were accompanied by the uplift of an eyebrow, or the corners of his mouth.
As she busied herself laying out clean clothes on the bed Tina went over his appearance again, seeing the wavy hair sweeping back from a deeply-lined forehead, the straight broad back and the arrogant way his shoulders were set. His skin was toughened but smooth, his mouth stern, his jaw angular. Although he had talked to her out there his interest had never been wholly with her, for she saw his eyes sweeping the plains where his stockriders moved among the mob of cattle, grazing, or just standing motionless in the fading light. Tina fell to wondering if he ever thought about anything else but work. And she wondered if he had a girl-friend. If so, she must be living a long way off, since Charles’s nearest neighbour was Joseph Cobham, who lived with his wife and young son at Hazel Downs, more than forty miles distant over the bush tracks.
After taking a shower and putting on a sleeveless dress of blue linen Tina brushed her hair, gave it a final flick with the comb, and went downstairs, to the verandah again where her sister was having a drink with Flo Donaldson, the teacher in charge of the school which provided for the education of the stockmen’s children, and of course the children of others employed on the estate. About twenty-seven years of age, Flo was small and pretty, with large intelligent grey eyes and a pale clear skin. She occupied one of the bungalows but was free to dine at the homestead just whenever she pleased. Smiling as Tina appeared, she moved to one side, making room for another chair to be brought up to the table.
‘Are you drinking?’ she asked pleasantly as Tina sat down.
‘I’ll have a sherry, please,’ Tina answered, with a ready smile for the schoolteacher, who from the first had gone out of her way to make the two strangers feel at home. And later, on learning who they were, she had naturally been a trifle curious, because they were working, but she managed to contain her curiosity—probably because she was now conscious of their positions, as they were stepsisters of the boss.
Tina’s glance strayed to Moira. Dazzling she looked. As always she would shine out at the dinner table like a star of the first magnitude. Her drink poured for her by Flo, Tina lifted her glass to her lips, but her attention remained with Moira. A subtle change had taken place in her since coming out to Australia, Tina realized, frowning in thought. What was this change—coming so unexpectedly? More serious, Moira had become, more earnest and intense. Her smile was less hard these days; her voice had lost its familiar petulance. Much as she disliked harbouring the idea, Tina found herself convinced that Moira was acting a part, that there was an insincerity about her which Tina had never noticed before. It could be that, more clever than Tina in her dealings with men, Moira was going out of her way to impress the man in whose hands her future lay. Certainly she never treated him to the deliberate coolness he invariably received from Tina. Sudden dejection dropped upon Tina, as she could foresee Moira’s having an excellent report while she herself received one which would end all hope of a return to the easy life she had always enjoyed.
The three girls looked up as two of Charles’s friends joined them. These were Helen and Daniel Norton, who were on holiday from Sydney. Touring the Outback with a large overlanding car and tent, they had been with Charles for over a week now, but were leaving shortly. Both in their early thirties, they had been friends of Charles for years, and knew his father had married a second time and had two stepdaughters. What naturally puzzled them was the fact that Tina and her sister were working. On introducing them Charles had merely offered the casual information that they were on a visit.
‘You look tired,’ observed Dan as he and Helen sat down. He received a frowning glance from his wife, who shook her head impatiently, but then immediately laughed and told Dan he should learn to practise tact.
‘You never, never tell a woman she looks tired,’ she admonished, and Dan’s mouth twisted in a little deprecating gesture.
‘No?’ glancing at Tina questioningly. ‘Sorry if I said the wrong thing. I was merely expressing concern.’
‘It’s of no consequence,’ she smiled, but added, ‘As a matter of fact I am a little tired.’
‘You’ve had a hard day?’ expectantly from Helen, but she received a non-committal reply, Tina stating that she was still unused to the climate and, therefore, was probably being affected by it. Colouring up suddenly, she realized her words had been overheard by Charles, who had appeared silently and was standing by her chair, regarding her through half-closed eyes, his lips twitching faintly. It was plain that he derived considerable amusement from her evasive response to the subtle questioning of Helen. Despite her embarrassment Tina could not help but notice the impressive bearing of the man, the confidence born of superiority, the authoritative air attai
ned by his position as Boss of Farne River Downs. She noted the perfectly-cut tropical suit of natural-coloured linen, the white shirt against a tawny throat. His eyes flickered at her interest before he looked away. Taking a chair, he poured himself a drink, his eyes settling on Moira, very lovely in a tight-fitting dress of gold lame, her hair, newly-washed, seeming to outshine everyone else’s, especially that of her sister who, fully aware of the grease it had collected from the various cooking pots over which she had stood during the day, would have liked to have washed it, but as the drying time would have been too long she reluctantly had to leave it. And now she found herself experiencing an inner embarrassment as she felt sure the others present were comparing her appearance with that of her sister.
For a long moment Charles’s eyes remained on the delectable girl sitting opposite to him, and Moira produced a slow smile, to which Charles instantly responded. Moira’s long mascaraed lashes swept down, sending adorable shadows on to her cheeks, and casting a glance in Charles’s direction Tina saw that his attention was well and truly arrested by this coy affectation, for his eyes were intent, unblinking, and his lips harboured what was now rather more than a smile. What were his thoughts? Tina asked herself, continuing to watch him from above the rim of her glass. Sensing her interest, he looked her way, but she received no more than a cursory glance before his attention was returned to her sister. There was no doubt that Moira had a way with men, thought Tina, for, looking across at Dan, she saw that he also was vitally aware of her ... and Moira knew it!
‘The climate obviously hasn’t affected you, as it has your sister,’ from Charles at last, and Tina’s eyes flashed sparks at the thrust, but the only reaction she noticed to this was a quizzical upward tilt to the corners of his mouth. Fluttering her lashes Moira said, in that husky tone she had long since discovered appealed to the male sex,
‘I do find the climate tiring, but I endeavour to conceal the effects if I can.’
‘Most commendable. Nothing more effectively puts a man off than having tired-looking women about the house.’
Tina coloured, and both Helen and Dan looked swiftly at their host. Blandly he met their stares; he cared not a button that his words might have struck them as unkind to Tina, in whose eyes the sparkle had become more pronounced. Of a surety she would have retaliated, in spite of the company present, but the level and challenging look she received from Charles had the instant effect of curbing her tongue. Undoubtedly there was a force about Charles, this hardened grazier who was so like his father in looks and build but resembled him not at all in temperament. Disconcerted by this glance, and oddly dejected by his unkindness towards her, she maintained a silence while the others talked, leaning back in her cane chair and sipping her drink as she watched the moon gliding over the indistinct summits of the MacDonnell Ranges, spreading its silver light over the great hemisphere of the sky. These spectacular heights, she recalled, were part of the ancient Dreamtime landscape of the Aborigines. Riven in places by immense gorges and chasms, they formed delightful glens where cyads and palms still flourished, relics surviving from a geological era when the great island of Australia was favoured with a lush and tropical climate, far different from the arid and unfriendly climate of today. How strange the land must have been in those far-off times, mused Tina, lost in imaginings as, automatically, her eyes turned towards the direction where, in the clear brittle atmosphere of midday, there could be seen a peculiar column standing in imposing outline against the sky, remnant—along with many others like it—of ancient mountains long since levelled by the wearing-down processes of nature. Man was not here in those ancient times. Animals, of course, ancestors of the strange but charming creatures indigenous to the continent at the present time—the trusting little koala and the dainty possum, this latter so tame that he would bring his whole family to the homestead to be provided with food. Then there were the living fossils like the platypus and spiny anteater, who still laid eggs like the reptiles from which they sprang.
‘You’re a long way off, Tina.’ Dan’s voice brought her back from her reflections and she laughed, saying yes, she was a long way off. ‘Where?’ Dan then wanted to know, and she paused a moment before speaking, because of the way everyone was looking at her, and especially Charles, who seemed to be waiting with an unfathomable sort of inquiry for her to explain. She looked into his face, conscious of a most odd sensation creeping over her as those blue eyes held hers for a long moment before flickering with a sort of examining light to Moira, who was sitting back in her chair, elegant and perfectly confident and relaxed. Tina’s nerves quivered as the idea sprang swiftly into her mind that Charles was comparing her with Moira ... and finding her wanting.
‘I was thinking of the far-off days when the country was young; it must have been so lonely and— sort of—mystic.’
Charles lifted an eyebrow.
‘You sound as if you might have liked it at that time?’
Her eyes met his.
‘I like it now,’ she returned quietly.
‘You do?’ with a sardonic lift to one corner of his mouth which seemed to irritate her beyond all reason. It was not a nice mannerism, and what made it all the more abhorrent to Tina was that she knew for sure it was kept for her alone. ‘I had the impression that the quietness bored you.’
She set her teeth, then her eyes flickered to Helen and then to Dan and she checked the retort which was ready to be voiced. But her glance at Charles told him that, one of these days, she would let him have as good as he gave.
‘It gets you, in time,’ Helen said reflectively. ‘I sometimes think I’d like to settle in the Outback.’
‘You’ve travelled in it before?’ Moira asked, and both Helen and Dan nodded their heads.
‘We come once a year to see Charles, and we’ve toured these parts twice in the past five years.’
‘You’d have to have a farm, though, in order to settle?’
Dan laughed at the word farm.
‘We’d have to have a fair-sized cattle station in order to make a living—and there aren’t any for sale.’ He looked at Charles. ‘These blokes have all the land, you see.’
What Charles would have said to that was never known, as at that moment they were all joined by Mac, Charles’s head stockrider, and Oliver—called Oily by everyone on the station—who was storekeeper and general handyman about the place. As both were bachelors they lived at the homestead and, naturally, took their meals with Charles, and whoever else might be at the house, for often there were visitors, either friends of Charles—like Dan and Helen, or tourists who might ask to be put up for the night as they passed through, probably making for Alice Springs. Tough and handsome, Mac was typically an outdoor man, giant-sized like so many of his countrymen, but not quite so lean and tall as Charles, and rather older—perhaps thirty-eight or nine, estimated Tina on first meeting him on her arrival. Oliver was in his early fifties, with greying hair and a lined good-natured face. He had recently begun keeping company with Bertha Mansfield, a widow whose husband had died a couple of years previously. Allowing her to keep the bungalow, Charles had also found her employment in the house. She came over each morning to work in the kitchen and until Tina’s arrival she had been helped by Lulu, one of the gins. Lulu now assisted Susie, the lubra whose task it was to see to the household chores.
At the dinner table Moira sparkled, as Tina had known she would; she was the centre of interest and round her the conversation flowed. Helen was still curious about the girls’ lives in England, even though Moira had already been fairly expansive on the subject. It was clear to Tina that Charles had never spoken much about the two girls who were his father’s stepchildren, nor had he said much regarding his father’s own position. Helen and Dan learned of his wealth from Moira; they also learned of the easy life the girls had enjoyed owing to the generosity of Austin Sands. Now and then Helen would dart a glance at Charles, whose expression remained impassive until, snatching an opportunity, he would glance across to
Tina, his expression one of sardonic amusement which served only to set her temper on edge. On one occasion she shot him a speaking look, the only result of which was to increase his amusement. Yet a certain hardness mingled with this humour, a hardness never in evidence when his attention was with her sister, who made play with her eyes and her lashes whenever she had the opportunity of doing so for Charles alone.
By the time the meal was over the most incredible idea had entered Tina’s mind. Moira appeared to be greatly attracted by the formidable Boss of Farne River Downs!
CHAPTER THREE
After dinner Tina went walking alone. Before she left Charles warned her not to go too far, and on no account must she lose sight of the homestead lights. In answer to a similar warning on a previous occasion she had told him that this was impossible, at which she received a response that left her smarting. Charles had ordered her not to lose sight of the lights. And once out there, amid the trees and undergrowth and undulating ground rising higher than she had estimated, Tina had admitted that one could in fact quite easily lose sight of the homestead lights.
She strolled in the darkness, into a void of sheer silence and loneliness where the sweet perfume of the wattles and the brilliant whiteness of the ghost gums in the moonlight were all that provided palpable evidence of life; for the cattle, dark smudges against the shadowed hills, stood motionless, as if slumbering on their feet. How vast it was! How utterly away from the world of mundane things; how remote from the pleasures which up till recently had provided her with all she had required for her complete happiness and contentment. Had she been content? By what comparison could she set the question? There was none, of course, and she dismissed the matter from her mind, becoming deeply affected by the silence and the vast stillness hovering over the wide bushlands. Peace enfolded her, peace in all its entirety, and she kept on walking, dreaming of nothing in particular, although now and then snatches of memory would take her home, back to England and her stepfather who, although she now owned to having exploited him, was the only person in the world whom she really loved. Her sister held a high place in her affections, but what Tina felt for the man she called Father was way beyond affection, and she uttered a great sigh that was almost a sob as she saw how simply she could have avoided the parting. To have been less extravagant and more appreciative—How easily regret came when it was too late.
