The Unconventional Bride

by Lindsay Armstrong

  ‘There’s nothing for it but to share a bed,’ he said to her with a lurking grin, which faded as he took in her suddenly sweat-beaded brow.

  ‘Not feeling so good, huh?’ He sank down beside her.

  ‘No. Silly of me but I’m not sure if I’m hot or cold and I keep seeing…’ she stopped and swallowed ‘…cars rolling over and over…’

  He lay down beside her and, with difficulty so as not to disturb her leg, put his arms around her. When they were comfortable, he said, ‘Tell me more about Rimfire and how he got his name. Did you give it to him?’

  So she told him how she’d chosen the name, from the red lights in his coat. Then he told her about the horses he’d ridden as a kid and made her laugh with some of his stories. And he told her about growing up in Gladstone and how the wharves had always fascinated him, how heavy machinery fascinated him. And how, with not much more than an engineering degree and his enthusiasm, he’d started his first marine-engineering works.

  He also told her about his French mother and the trials and tribulations of her relocating from Vanuatu to Australia until he had her laughing helplessly—he could put on a perfect French accent. Although he didn’t precisely say so, Mel gathered his mother and his sister, Margot, had been a lot alike, irresistible so long as you could cope with their inborn extravagance.

  Once, when it was very dark and quiet, and some curlews set up their mournful calls like deserted, sobbing children, he started to sing to her in a soft baritone.

  As she lay nestled against him, despite the pain she was in, her delayed shock began to wane, her fear that they wouldn’t be rescued ebbed—and she thought she could listen to him forever.

  They slept on and off through the night. He got up several times to feed the fire, and give her more painkillers and, when he came back, warmed his cold hands on her body.

  Once, he slept while she stayed awake. One of his arms was lying across her body and her head was resting in the curve of his shoulder. And it came to her that, after this, she could never not care about Etienne Hurst.

  Was it worse, though? she wondered. Could she ever be as aware of another man as she was of him? Aware now of not only his strength but also the experience of his gentleness?

  He had handled her and helped through this accident so well, she thought. Not even a broken leg could have taken the embarrassment out of some of the functions he’d helped her with today, so, without her realising it, he’d got her to trust him.

  And even as sore and throbbing with pain as she was, lying against him, feeling his warmth and bulk, breathing in the pure man of him was not only reassuring but also rather lovely.

  Maybe I’ve been a bit of a fool, she thought. Or maybe I needed something like this to show me a side of Etienne I could believe in and relate to?

  ‘Mel?’ he said sleepily. ‘How’s it going?’

  She nestled closer to him. ‘I was just thinking, that’s all.’

  ‘Good thoughts?’ He moved carefully and began to stroke her hair.

  ‘Pretty good,’ she said drowsily.

  ‘That’s my girl.’

  But at first light she was in serious pain again, Etienne could see, although she was trying to hide it. And he’d just about decided he would have to try to reach the main road, when he heard the sound of a motor.

  He shot up from the water he was boiling, swore as his leg ached abominably, and a tall, heavy-set man accompanied by two huge dogs scrambled down the embankment.

  ‘Holy cow!’ this individual expostulated. ‘How d’you survive that?’ He gestured to the car with his hat.

  ‘By the skin of our teeth, mate,’ Etienne said. ‘Thank heavens you’ve come; I didn’t think it likely many people would drive down this road.’

  ‘I don’t usually but I was yarning with my neighbour last night and he mentioned seeing some funny smoke signals down here yesterday—thought he was having me on, he drinks a fair bit, but when I woke up this morning I decided I’d better investigate. She all right?’ He looked across at Mel.

  ‘No. She’s broken her leg, we need help.’

  ‘Right—’ The man stiffened. ‘Mel, is that you?’

  Mel raised her head. ‘Jim Dalton!’ she said weakly. ‘How wonderful to see you!’

  ‘You just hang in there, honey,’ Jim Dalton said intensely as he bent over Mel. ‘I’ve got a CB radio in my truck! I’ll get you out of here.’ He turned away and literally threw himself at the embankment.

  Things moved fast after that. A rescue helicopter was called in with a doctor on board. In the moments before Mel was winched aboard on a stretcher, Etienne explained that he wouldn’t be able to go with her—there wasn’t room for him.

  And for only the second time since the accident, she shed some tears and clung to him.

  ‘You’ll be fine,’ he murmured and smoothed her hair. ‘You’re the bravest girl in the world!’ He smiled down into her eyes.

  ‘You’re not too bad yourself,’ she replied out of a clogged throat. ‘Thanks for everything!’

  His hand tightened on hers then he let her go.

  ‘Where d’you learn to make them smoke signals?’ Jim Dalton asked.

  Etienne didn’t take his eyes off the stretcher until it was safely aboard the hovering helicopter and it had swooped away, relieving them of the whirlwind downdraught of leaves and twigs. ‘I think I might have some Apache blood in me,’ he said seriously and sat down rather suddenly on his rock.

  ‘Here.’

  He looked up to see he was being offered a hip flask.

  ‘Brandy?’ he hazarded.

  ‘Of a sort; my own home brew.’

  ‘Jim, you’re a lifesaver.’ Etienne took the flask and swallowed gratefully. ‘Brrr…’ He wiped his eyes and cleared his throat. ‘Damn fine brew, mate!’

  ‘Yep! How’d it happen?’

  Etienne explained briefly.

  Jim scratched his head. ‘The rain must have loosened the rock and the tree. Sometimes takes a while for new works to bed down. Oh, well, there’s a flatbed trailer and a crane on the way.’

  ‘Thanks. By the way, I’m Etienne Hurst.’ They shook hands. ‘How do you come to know Mel, Jim?’

  ‘Used to do some work on the property for her father. So. You’re the guy who married her?’ Jim sat down on a rock and started to roll himself a homemade cigarette. At the same time as his fingers expertly completed the task, he subjected Etienne to a rather unnerving gaze from his far-seeing blue eyes.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Came as a bit of a surprise,’ Jim offered thoughtfully, lighting up with a battered old Zippo lighter.

  ‘I suppose it did.’

  Jim squinted through the smoke and waved some flies away. ‘Now, there’s some people that think Mel can be difficult. I ain’t one of them.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘Yep. She really cares about things. She did something for my wife once no one else would have thought of doing. They all stood by and were afraid to meddle. Not Mel. That’s why I’m proud and it’s a pleasure to know her.’

  ‘Jim,’ Etienne frowned, ‘are you trying to tell me something?’

  Jim crossed his legs and studied the tip of his cigarette. ‘All sorts of rumours flying around about your wedding, mate.’

  ‘I can imagine.’

  ‘In fact a lot of people are saying she’s the last girl they thought you’d marry.’

  ‘Jim,’ Etienne smiled rather grimly, ‘it has nothing to do with anyone but Mel and myself.’

  ‘Sure.’ Jim waved a hand negligently. ‘But you’d be surprised how many people out there care about Mel Ethridge and wouldn’t like to see her get hurt. OK. I’ve said my piece.’ He cocked his head. ‘Sounds like some action arriving. I’ll go up and direct the traffic.’

  Etienne sat quite still as once more Jim laboured up the embankment. Then he picked up the nearest thing to hand, which happened to be one of the flimsy nightgowns, now torn and muddy, that Mel had refused to wear, and he stared at
it with his mouth set and a muscle flickering in his jaw.

  CHAPTER TEN

  FOUR days later Mel deployed her crutches and teetered on the front steps of the Gladstone Base Hospital.

  Getting the hang of not only the crutches but also the cast on her leg had taken some doing. She’d spent the last days in hospital after being rescued, while X-rays had been taken and consultations held as to whether she would need to have the bone pinned. Thankfully it had been deemed not necessary so she’d been saved an operation, and, due to an impressive array of bruises as well as stiffness and feeling as weak as a kitten, she hadn’t minded her days in bed.

  She’d had plenty of visitors, including the one she wanted most, Etienne. He’d come twice a day and the camaraderie of their time at the bottom of the embankment was the same. But they’d rarely been alone.

  Now he was taking her home—in a brand-new four-wheel-drive vehicle.

  She stood poised on the hospital steps and blinked at the midnight-blue vehicle with its distinctive number plate—MEL 1.

  ‘Is this what I think it is?’ she asked.

  ‘More appropriate than the last car I gave you, don’t you agree?’ he murmured.

  ‘But…but…’ she stammered.

  ‘As good a work horse as a ute but more comfortable,’ he added.

  She subsided. ‘I guess I have as little say in this as I had in the other—thank you.’

  ‘My pleasure, ma’am. Unfortunately, your other beautiful car was beyond redemption.’

  ‘That’s sad but you’re right, this is more practical.’ She eyed the steep step. ‘How do I get into it, though?’

  ‘Hold on to me, prop your crutches here and,’ he picked her up and deposited her carefully in the front seat, ‘like so—for the time being.’

  ‘I can’t wait to get home,’ she told him as they drove out of Gladstone, cushioned in sheepskin covers, breathing in new leather and from the lofty vantage point of the Range Rover.

  ‘I thought you were pretty comfortable in hospital?’

  ‘I was but now I’m out—by the way,’ she turned to him, ‘how’s your leg?’

  ‘Improving. I’ve had a bit of physio. Mel, I’ve been meaning to ask you something—what did you do for Jim Dalton’s wife?’

  Mel looked surprised. ‘Jim mentioned it?’

  ‘He did. Plus his boundless admiration for you.’

  She coloured faintly. ‘Nothing very much.’

  ‘He seemed to think it was.’

  ‘She, well, she used to work for us. Once a week she’d come in and do the heavy cleaning for Mrs B. I guess at this time she was about eighteen, still living at home with her widowed father.

  ‘Anyway, one day I noticed that she had a black eye, although she’d tried to cover it up. And, when I thought about it, I realised she often had bruises so I asked her about it. She would only say she’d been clumsy. But I decided to ask around. The general consensus was that her father was an alcoholic who regularly beat her up and wouldn’t let her leave home.’

  ‘So you decided to intervene?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘Well, I went out of my way to get to know Sophie better and to try to get her to trust me. Then one day she came to work in an awful state and she broke down and told me what was going on at home and how all she wanted to do was run away but she didn’t have anywhere to go. So I told her to stay with us for as long as she wanted to.’ Mel broke off.

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘And when her father roared up one day to claim her, I warned him off with a shotgun.’

  ‘What else?’ he marvelled. ‘Where was your father?’

  ‘Away at the time.’ Mel looked rueful. ‘He always used to say, when the cat’s away the mice will play! And not always nicely either. He was furious with me, not because something didn’t need to be done but because I’d endangered us all. I tried to point out that I couldn’t help the timing of it but he wasn’t impressed. Anyway, that’s when Jim took a hand, thankfully.’

  ‘How so?’

  ‘He’d been admiring Sophie from afar. He’d seen her often while he’d been working at Raspberry Hill but he hadn’t known her background. And a combination of shyness on both their parts plus poor Sophie’s lack of self-esteem hadn’t see them do anything more than look. But after the drama of having to warn Sophie’s dad off with a gun, Jim came around breathing fire and he took Sophie under his wing and married her! That was two years ago and they have a baby now and are really happy.’

  ‘And her father?’ Etienne looked at her questioningly.

  ‘Well, you don’t argue with Jim Dalton.’ Mel looked across at Etienne with a grin and was surprised to receive a glance full of ironic agreement in return. ‘Uh—anyway, we’ve persuaded him to take the cure.’

  ‘Alcoholics Anonymous?’

  ‘Yes, but I think it’s still a long, hard road for him and I don’t know if he’ll ever make it.’

  ‘You’re a bleeding marvel, Mrs Hurst,’ Etienne said softly.

  ‘The way my father put it at the time was—once again I’d rushed in where angels feared to tread.’

  Etienne grinned. ‘I may have shared his sentiments—at the time.’

  They drove in silence for a while then she said, ‘Another thing I’ve been meaning to ask you—have you been living at home while I’ve been in hospital?’

  ‘Yes. I’ve officially moved in. Just as well as it turns out.’ He swung the wheel and they entered the long drive to Raspberry Hill.

  Mel looked out over the green paddocks pasturing fat cattle on one side of the drive, and the orderly dark green rows of pineapples on the other with deep affection. Then she registered what he’d said.

  ‘How so?’ she asked with some misgiving. ‘Or, let me guess—Tosh?’

  ‘How did you know?’

  ‘He’s been looking particularly innocent the last two days. I tried to tell myself it was my imagination—OK, what’s he done now?’ she enquired with resignation.

  Etienne paused. ‘I struck a deal with him. Part of it was that you needn’t be told.’

  They were driving past the glorious purple tibouchinas that lined the last part of the drive. ‘But you’ve more or less told me,’ she objected.

  ‘It slipped out, I’m afraid. But rest assured, he’s duly repentant and no further action is required.’

  ‘How,’ Mel smiled at the lillypilly trees standing sentinel as the drive opened into the gravel circle in front of the house—she loved the way their leaves turned bright pink in spring as they were now, ‘did you get him to be repentant?’

  Again Etienne paused. ‘He might take me more seriously than he does you, Mel.’

  ‘You didn’t,’ she turned to him urgently, ‘you didn’t—’

  ‘I didn’t use corporal punishment if that’s what you’re worried about,’ he broke in drily.

  ‘Sorry. Oh.’ The car rolled to a stop and Mrs Bedwell emerged onto the veranda, followed by the three boys. ‘Whatever Tosh did, it’s good to be home!’

  He switched off and turned to her. ‘Promise me one thing?’

  She raised an eyebrow at him.

  ‘You’ll take it easy.’

  Her hands moved in her lap as the desire gripped her to run her fingers through his hair and press herself into his arms. ‘Yes, I will,’ she said huskily, and held her breath.

  ‘Good girl.’ If he’d noticed the sort of melting process she was going through, he gave no sign as he swung himself out of the driver’s seat and came round to lift her out of the car. The boys and Mrs Bedwell surrounded them, and even Batman came out to greet her rather than Etienne.

  That night, though, she wasn’t so sure about the pure pleasure of being home.

  She tried to tell herself it was her imagination; either that or concern for her was responsible for a change in Etienne. Not that there was much of a change, she thought. The same friendliness, there was genuine concern, but a closer closeness? The kin
d they’d experienced before being rescued, the kind she’d found herself desperately wanting to continue—had that gone?

  She looked around her new bedroom. Mary Lees and Mrs Bedwell had either taken it upon themselves or followed Etienne’s orders to convert a guest bedroom into the new master bedroom. With the result that she lay in a new king-size bed—in solitary state.

  A night-light revealed a pleasant room. Her own lovely cedar dressing table and chest of drawers, inherited from her mother, and the colour scheme was chalk-blue and ivory. The bedroom opened onto a side veranda below which grew several orange trees, and when they were flowering the lovely scent of orange blossom wafted into this side of the house.

  Several vases with some of the beautiful flowers she’d received in hospital were set about, roses, carnations, liliums. So there was nothing she could take issue with about her new bedroom—except Etienne’s absence.

  Could she really take exception to that? she wondered. He’d explained that for the time being he would use the smaller bedroom on the other side of an inter-leading bathroom, so she could get as much rest as possible.

  It had even made sense at the time. Not long after dinner, she’d been white with tiredness and the unfamiliar business of coping with crutches as well as the pain of a broken leg, and more than happy to go to bed.

  She’d even been happy to be tucked in by him and administered the light sedative the hospital had supplied, after Mrs Bedwell had helped her to change. She’d murmured goodnight to him at the same time as she’d had difficulty keeping her eyes open.

  But once he’d gone and before the sleeping pill took effect, she’d felt curiously awake and alert and particularly receptive to every nuance on the air.

  Now, awake again in the early hours, she recalled that strange heightening of her perception and the lonely feeling it had brought to her. Was it her imagination or had she read more into their time together at the bottom of the embankment than had existed?

  She moved restlessly and tried to ease her leg into a more comfortable position. If that was so, and perhaps possible because of the heightened tension, was she feeling let down now because she’d expected more from Etienne?