by Anne Hampson
‘Did you tell Father that I washed your black shadows away?’ inquired Charles sardonically, and he evidenced derision as she shook her head. ‘I thought not. So you told him only half the story, is that it?’
‘I would even have told him that, had I remembered it at the time,’ she returned in all truth. ‘I don’t blame you for being sceptical, and refusing to believe in my sincerity, but that doesn’t alter the fact that I am sincere.’ Her voice caught in her throat and she paused a while. ‘I did tell Father about your concern when you saw I was losing weight, and that you kept me out of the kitchen afterwards. I told him also that you tried to make me eat.’ She went red as his eyes narrowed. ‘Yes,’ she admitted in answer to the question in his gaze, ‘I deliberately refrained from eating, just so that I wouldn’t put on the lost weight.’ She dropped her eyes, staring down at her hands, clasped tightly in her lap. ‘I told Father I’m wicked, and I meant it,’ she added when he made no attempt to break the heavy and uncomfortable silence.
‘You told him you were wicked, eh? That was an understatement. You’re rotten! The sooner you’re gone from here the better I shall like it. Great space though we have, there’s no room for vipers like you.’ His tones were low, and drawling in that lazy manner which was so familiar to all those who knew him. It was an attractive voice, but Tina found nothing attractive in it at this moment, when Charles had spoken words that cut deeply into her senses, words which she knew she deserved to hear but to which she would have shut her ears if she could.
‘Charles ...’ she whispered, looking across at him with a pleading, expressive gaze, ‘can we forget our differences just for a while and discuss means of convincing Father that you’re in no way to blame for all this? We must make him accept what I say as the truth.’ She stopped, blinking rapidly because of the tears which pricked the backs of her eyes and because of the way Charles looked at her, with a mixture of accusation and resigned acceptance.
‘As Father refuses to be convinced by you, and as I have not the slightest intention of supplementing any pleas you might have made, there appears to be only one course left to us. That is to leave the matter as it is.’
She stared, automatically shaking her head in a gesture of disbelief.
‘You’ll not do anything at all to put things right between your father and yourself?’
‘You’ve had my answer.’ Leaning forward, he picked up his pen and, with a swift upward glance at Tina which was an unmistakable dismissal, he began to write. She made no move to go and after a moment or two he glanced up again. ‘That’s all,’ he said shortly, and this time he nodded abruptly towards the door. Tina got up from her chair.
‘I can’t leave the matter like this,’ she quivered.
‘If you and your father quarrel—’
‘We have quarrelled.’
Tina moved awkwardly on her feet, bringing herself a few steps closer to the desk.
‘What I mean is—I’ll never be free from guilt if this rift between you is permanent.’
He raised his head.
‘The rift, at present, appears to be permanent. Father has expressed the hope that when he leaves here he never sets eyes on me again.’
‘No!’ Another involuntary step brought Tina even closer. Distractedly she shook her head. ‘This is awful!—much worse than I thought. Both you and he are hurt—’ She broke off, wringing her hands, and looking at him through a mist of tears. ‘Charles ... you must help me! Come with me to Father now, and let’s force him to listen. Please— I beg of you!’
‘As for the guilt you mention,’ continued Charles coldly as if no interruption had occurred, ‘if you do carry it then it will be a just punishment. However,’ he added with a scornful and sceptical twist of his mouth, ‘I can’t see you carrying it for very long. Your sort never does. You’ll soon forget once you’re home again and indulging in your normal round of pleasure.’
Her face had paled, but at his disparaging words the colour fluctuated in her cheeks. All this was deserved, but the pain inflicted by his contempt was to Tina an almost physical thing. Tears were close, but she controlled them; this was no time to cry, she thought. Certainly tears would have no effect on Charles; on the contrary, they would serve only to increase his contempt, since he would be sure to consider them produced by self-pity.
‘You speak of my going home,’ she managed to say at last. Well, Charles, I’m not going. I’m staying here until my year is up—as was arranged.’
His head jerked at this statement, spoken in quiet yet firmly decisive tones. She saw the odd expression enter his eyes, noted again the movement at the side of his jaw ... and wondered greatly at it. Some kind of emotion must surely be affecting him, she decided, in spite of her previous conviction that it would be totally out of character for the hard and phlegmatical Boss of Farne River Downs to evince emotion.
‘You’re not going home?’ A sudden frown knit his brow. ‘What sort of a game are you playing now?’
She shook her head, struck not by the inference of her hypocrisy, but by that evidence of emotion, more apparent than before, as the nerve pulsated strongly, so strongly that he lifted a hand with an automatic gesture and pressed it against his jaw.
‘It isn’t a game, Charles,’ she told him quietly. ‘I’ve done wrong, and I intend to make up for it. Father will know, when I refuse to go home with him, that there’s something odd about the whole situation, and perhaps he’ll listen then, and believe what I say to him.’ Her colour had faded and the pallor returned to her face. She was rather perturbed about the possibility of Charles refusing to let her remain, and on impulse she asked, ‘You’ll let me stay?’ Her voice pleaded and so did her eyes. He was plainly perplexed all at once and the coldness dropped from him as he said,
‘What made you so anxious to leave in the first place?’
She hesitated, wondering what he would say were she to own that the idea had been born when, one moonlit night, she had looked from her window and seen him kissing her sister. She had not realized at that time that the hurt she experienced stemmed from incipient love, but there was no doubt in her mind now that this was so.
‘I felt I wasn’t being treated fairly,’ she replied at last. ‘It was hard work in the kitchen, and—and sometimes I felt really ill.’ She stopped, not wishing to make excuses yet obviously unable to pass over his question without finding some sort of an answer.
‘If you felt ill then why didn’t you say so?’ Still no coldness in his tone; in fact, it had changed markedly and he appeared almost ready to listen to what she had to say. ‘You never complained to me.’
Faintly she smiled; it was a rather bleak little effort and one which served to bring a small frown to his brow.
‘You weren’t very—very understanding—’
Strangely, Charles made no show of derision or contempt; he seemed to fall into a mood of retrospection and as the silent moments passed Tina saw his frown deepen, as if some especially unpleasant idea had come to the edge of his mind. Tina felt her breath catch as she waited, greatly tempted to speak, for the hush that had fallen on the room threatened to become oppressive, but caution restrained her and she continued to wait, aware of the rapidly darkening sky outside as her eyes moved rather absently to the window behind Charles. Through it floated the soft sundown breeze, caressing her face. Into her vision loomed the silhouettes of horsemen and cattle, stark in the fading gloom of twilight. The silence was broken by the night-sounds drifting in—the distant cry of a dingo, the descending scale of a possum’s harsh ‘quark ... ar ... ark’, the cry of other marsupials who, drowsy by day, emerged at sundown, for darkness was their feeding time. Their large bead-like eyes, adapted to the nocturnal life, seemed to pop right out of their heads whenever, in the moonlight, they were disturbed in their search for insects, or nectar from the flowers in the garden.
After what seemed an eternity Charles spoke; all his customary confidence and superiority were present in his manner but, paradoxically, the
re was an element of doubt present too, as if he had asked himself questions and been unable to find answers for them.
‘You chose to work in the kitchen, and had you any complaints you should have come to me with them. I’d have understood, no matter what you believe to the contrary. No one in my employ has been refused a hearing, and you would have been no different from the rest. Perhaps it’s slipped your memory that I asked if you felt faint, that day I noticed your loss of weight? Am I to take it you lied when you said you felt fine?’
Guiltily she nodded, dejection heavy on her as she realized that once again she was having to admit to deceit.
‘But it was mainly because I didn’t expect you’d believe me,’ she added swiftly.
‘Had I not been ready to believe you there wasn’t much point in my asking the question.’
Tina nodded again as the logic of this struck her.
‘I see now that it would have been better if I’d told you I felt ill,’ she admitted, and as Charles’s only response to this was an impatient intake of his breath she went on to ask again if he would let her stay. For a long and thoughtful moment he remained silent, and then with a shrug,
‘Please yourself. But as things are I doubt whether Father will allow you to stay.’
His answer, though welcome for it was what she wanted, surprised her nevertheless, since he had only a few moments ago told her that the sooner she left the better he would like it.
‘He’ll have to let me,’ she responded with quiet emphasis. ‘For I shall refuse to go back with him.’
CHAPTER NINE
Austin’s reaction to Tina’s decision to remain at Farne River Downs was as unexpected as it was frustrating. Shaking his head and regarding his younger stepdaughter with perception, he told her that he fully understood her desire to stand by his previous decision, but that decision was now rescinded and he was taking her home with him immediately.
‘You once said that Charles disliked you, and this has proved to be true. Because of this dislike he’s treated you abominably and had I not arrived when I did you would have been seriously ill—or gored by a wild bull, or something equally tragic. My son— though I hate to say it,’ he added on a deeply tremulous note, ‘has acted in the most callous manner, and it’s plain that he cared nothing for what might have overtaken you.’
She looked at him, and for the first time in her life she felt angry with him.
‘I meant what I said,’ she told him resolutely. ‘I’m staying here.’
He frowned heavily at her.
‘You’re not, Tina. You are going to do as I say.’
‘Father,’ she said angrily, ‘why won’t you listen to what I say? I’ve told you that all this is my doing and that Charles is blameless. I’ve also told you that I’m staying here, and no matter what you say, I am! His eyes opened wide; this manner was so foreign to him that he seemed for the moment to be stunned.
‘It’s because of Charles, isn’t it?’ he asked at length.
‘Charles?’ His question startled her as for one dismayed instant she concluded he had guessed that she was in love with his son. But she made a swift recovery on examining his features. It had been a rather stupid supposition, she told herself with relief. There was no reason at all why Austin should guess the truth.
‘You’re so terribly upset by our quarrel, believing yourself to be indirectly to blame for it. Staying on here won’t help matters, Tina; it will only cause me anxiety and, should anything serious happen to you, I should suffer a lifetime of blame.’
‘Nothing will happen to me,’ she assured him, but in tones underlaid with real anger and impatience. ‘As for my being gored by a bull—it’s ridiculous!’
‘You already have been in danger from a bull.’
‘Owing to my own stupidity. I would never make the same mistake again.’ Austin made no comment on this and she went on to add, ‘I’m entirely to blame for your quarrel, because I schemed wickedly to get what I wanted. Had I for one moment anticipated all this trouble then I should never have done it. I’ve hurt myself as much as anyone else, but none of us would be hurt if only you’d believe me when I say that Charles is innocent.’ Pausing, she looked into his face, but there was no sign that he was being impressed by her words. Sagging with dejection and frustration, she went on to say that the only way she could make amends was to remain at Farne River Downs and do the work which Charles allotted to her.
‘I fail to see what good that will do now,’ said Austin when she had finished speaking.
Tina went a trifle pale, as she herself did not know either. All she did know was that she could not now take advantage of the circumstances which by her deceit she herself had brought about. Illogical as it appeared, it did seem to Tina that in a refusal to exploit the situation there was an element of atonement on her part. Also, there was a half-hope at the back of her mind that Austin would prolong his stay, hoping to make her change her mind.
‘I’ve said my last word on the question, Father,’ she stated in firmly decisive tones. ‘Perhaps as you imply no good will come from my staying, but to do so will give me more satisfaction than leaving before my time is up.’ What was she hoping? With an incredulous little gasp she felt the real truth hit her, and its stunning effect sent her heartbeats racing almost painfully.
Charles fall in love with her, given time...? How utterly absurd! He was already in love—with Moira. But even if he hadn’t been, his dislike of Tina was scarcely a basis on which to expect love to take root. Dislike? Bitterly Tina’s lips curved. After what she had done in bringing about this great rift between him and his father it would be sheer undiluted hatred he was now feeling towards her. For a fleeting moment she grasped and held the few precious interludes when he had been kind to her, or attentive. Perhaps, she thought dejectedly, her chances had slipped by, unnoticed because of her conviction that Charles held her in contempt, still considering her to be an ‘idle doll’. Yes, she felt now that she had had one or two chances of creating a friendly relationship between herself and the formidable boss of this vast cattle station. And if only she had succeeded in managing to make him like her, then he might never even have noticed Moira.
Sadly she shook her head, confused in heart and mind. He had been bound to notice Moira, simply because of her beauty, and the fact that she had obviously from the very first intended that he should notice her. She would welcome an affair, Moira had said—so perhaps already their relationship had progressed far beyond the kissing stage. Tina’s heart dragged within her at this idea, and owing to her recent discovery of her love for Charles, she felt the first pangs of jealousy envelop her like some cloying vapour from which there was no immediate escape.
So unhappy was she that Tina went off again on her own that evening, saying nothing to anyone and taking it for granted that they would conclude that she had gone up to her bedroom. Charles had ignored both her and his father at dinner, giving all his attention to Moira, who knew all about the trouble but did not herself appear to be in any way perturbed about it. Earlier she had paid Tina the money she owed her, having managed to get some from Austin, just as she surmised she would. As luck would have it Charles had seen Tina with the money in her hand and a sneer of contempt touched his lips as he said,
‘So you got round Father, just as you said you would.’
A statement, and Tina bit her lip, goaded almost to the point of blurting out the truth—that this money he saw in her hand had just been given her by Moira, who had got it from his father. Moira had disappeared, but had she been present Tina did not think she would have explained to Charles about the money.
‘I don’t remember saying I’d get money from Father,’ she returned quietly.
‘You asked me for a loan until Father arrived,’ he reminded her.
‘Yes,’ she admitted helplessly, ‘I did.’
He shrugged and left her, and tears sprang to her eyes as she watched him stride away towards the paddock where Horace was waiting with his hors
e. The next moment Charles was riding away, making for the cattle runs where his stockriders were mustering the calves for branding.
Tina dwelt on the incident of the money as she wandered into the quiet bushland. Her luck was completely out, she thought disconsolately. For if it wasn’t she would not have been seen with that money. It seemed that everything was against her, but now she no longer indulged in the self-pity which had been so swift to arise during her first few weeks at Farne River Downs. She owned with all honesty that the blame for the position in which she found herself was entirely her own. However, this admission could do nothing to mitigate her unhappiness, and she had the rather frightening conviction that her unhappiness would remain for the rest of her life. It must, seeing that she was to be burdened with unrequited love, she told herself, once again wandering unthinkingly further and further into the bush. But suddenly her thoughts were brought to a halt by Charles’s voice coming to her across the dark silence.
‘I’m here,’ she replied hastily, her heart thumping with trepidation as she braced herself for his angry censure.
‘What’s your game now?’ he demanded, coming up to her a few minutes later, his torch lifted to her face. ‘Are you trying to get lost again?’
‘No, of course not. I was just taking a little stroll.’ Swiftly her eyes swept the surrounding darkness. Incredible though it was, she had wandered away from the house lights for the second time—this after telling her father that she was not likely to make the same mistake again. ‘I’m very sorry, Charles; I didn’t do it deliberately—lose the lights, I mean.’ Her voice faltered to a low and husky tone, and quite without thinking she put out a hand, as if she would timidly touch his sleeve. She stopped herself in time, but Charles had noted the involuntary action and in the light of the torch she saw a frown touch his brow.
And she saw the nerve pulsate in his jaw.
