by Jane Corrie
It just went to show, she thought with an inward sigh, that she had never forgiven Sheena for her audacity in setting her sights on her son. It would never occur to her that Doyle was old enough to make his own decisions, particularly when it came
to choosing his bride, and at thirty-one, well past any guidance on that score from his mother. On any other matter, Doyle ruled the household as well as the station, and she would never dream of countermanding any order of his. If the decision had been hers, Sheena would never have been offered a post in the homestead. As it was, she had accepted his ruling on this, and had been careful to keep on the right side of Doyle by adopting a welcoming attitude towards her:
Given the time, Sheena was sure she would have engineered Doyle's absence from Barter's Ridge until after her departure, and had not been slow off the mark in arranging some distraction in the form of a dinner party that ensured his presence until late that evening.
Doyle would see beyond the tactic, of course, Sheena was sure, and whether it was successful was entirely up to him, she thought as she started to mix a sauce for the vol-au-vents. Her soft lips firmed as she recalled the way his eyes had not met hers when she had challenged him in the study. She caught her breath as a ragged sob threatened to escape. She loved him, but he didn't love her. He wanted her, and must have put an iron restraint on his physical yearnings where she was concerned.
All these things she could now see clearly. She ought to have left a long time ago, but she had been so sure that one day things would come right for them, and it was about time that she faced up to the truth, no matter how much it hurt.
Sheena stayed helping Cookie for the rest of the afternoon, and left her to it when all the preparations were finished. 'I'll miss you, Sheena,' said Cookie wistfully, as Sheena took her apron off and placed it back in the dresser drawer for the last time.
`I'll miss you too, Cookie,' replied Sheena in a low tone. 'I'll see you later. I shall have to do a swift round of goodbyes this evening down at the men's quarters. I couldn't very well go without saying anything, could I?' she commented sadly, then smiled at Cookie. `I'm glad it's going to be only you and me for dinner. It's just what I would have wanted,' she added softly, as she left the kitchen.
Sheena's goodbyes took a little longer than she had anticipated. Part of her youth had been spent with the station hands, and although she had not seen much of them since she had been installed at the homestead, little messages of cheer had been sent through to her via Cookie's brother Len, who was in charge of the station stores and who made a point of visiting the homestead kitchen on baking days.
These messages had cheered Sheena as they were meant to do. Sent by the tough, often uncommunicative men who worked in all weathers, the messages were simple and sincere and all the more heartening because of this, as were their good wishes for her future. As Sheena made her way back to the homestead, her thoughts remained on the men she had just said farewell to. There had been no searching questions asked, only a sort of tacit approval for what she was doing. As if, she mused, as she reached the
homestead, they were fully aware of her situation and wholeheartedly agreed with her decision to cut loose. They knew of course that her engagement to Doyle had been broken, news travels fast on a station, particularly that sort of news, and it did occur to her that perhaps they thought Doyle was to blame. In a way he was, yet it had been Sheena who had handed the ring back and he had accepted it.
She was about to pass the study window on her way to the back quarters of the homestead when Doyle's voice arrested her in her tracks. 'She won't go, I tell you! ' The words were uttered in a harsh tone. 'She knows where she's well off. Can you imagine her coping with a tatty rundown smallholding ?'
Sheena did not wait to hear any more, but hastily retraced her steps and went the long way round the homestead towards the kitchen quarters.
A glance at her watch told her that it was seven-thirty, and dinner was at eight, not leaving him much time to change in time to meet his guests who ought to be arriving any time now. It looked as if his mother had left nothing to chance by seeking him out as soon as he arrived back from the pay-out, anxious to ascertain that Doyle would not stand in Sheena's way.
But he did intend to stand in her way, Sheena thought wretchedly as she entered the kitchen now filled with appetising smells, but with no sign of Cookie, who Sheena surmised was now changing into what she always alluded to as her 'serving-up dress', ready to wait on table during dinner. He had
sounded so sure of himself too, she thought, as she went through the kitchen and made her way to her bedroom, thankful that the room that she had been allotted was in an added wing of the original structure of the homestead, and built to accommodate the staff. Cookie's room was the next door but one, down the passage, and they shared the bathroom facilities.
With such an arrangement, Sheena was able to keep out of Doyle's way in her off-duty hours, and she had often been thankful for this thoughtful if preserving action on Mrs Charter's part in choosing her accommodation.
Closing her bedroom door behind her, Sheena looked at her cases. She was going ! Did Doyle really think she was so spineless? And that all he had to do was to talk her out of it? If he did, then he had a surprise coming! She had taken a lot during the last three years and she was done with subservience. The money had been returned and she had no need to feel constantly guilty about her father's folly.
She would stay only if Doyle asked her to marry him. Her soft lips twisted at the thought; she wasn't going to give up now. As Clay Dayman had put it, she had played her part.
For some reason that she couldn't define, the thought of the tall dark stranger gave her the courage that she might have lacked earlier. It was not only the fact that he had returned the money—it went deeper than that. There was something utterly reassuring about the man, and Sheena instinctively felt that she could put her complete faith in him. This was
strange, for his features were hard and forbidding and she had sensed that he was not a man to suffer fools gladly. Yet he had come all this way to fulfil an obligation to her father, who had only been an employee of his.
When she thought of the way that he had forced her hand in the study and made her stand up to Doyle, she shook her head bewilderedly. She had wanted to contradict him, but found herself completely unable to do so, and when she recalled the look in his eyes after she had accepted the challenge that he had thrown out to her, she knew an extraordinary sense of pride that she had pleased him.
At nine Sheena went down to the kitchen to have dinner with Cookie. By that time dinner would have been served and the coffee taken in.
`Jenny looks well,' Cookie commented casually, as she took two plates out of the hot plate rack and started to dish up their meal. 'Got a lovely dress on,' she added pensively. 'Looks as if she was all dressed up to go out somewhere and got roped in to joining her parents here.'
Sheena gave a casual nod as she stopped Cookie from putting too much on her plate. It all added up, she thought bitterly. Mrs Charter, it seemed, had lost no time in passing on the news of Sheena Greig's imminent departure from the scene. After her talk with Doyle a short time before the arrival of the Maxtons, she must now be a very frustrated woman, since from what Sheena had overheard, Doyle had no intention of letting her leave.
If she did but know it, she had no cause to worry. As the hours had ticked away since Clay Dayman's departure, so had Sheena's resolve strengthened. It was a now or never effort for her, there would be no second chance to make a bid for freedom from her emotional ties with Doyle.
All through dinner, Sheena had half expected Doyle to make an appearance and ask her to have a word with him in the study where they could be assured of privacy. When they had finished dinner and there had been no sign of any such appearance or request from him, Sheena's strong resolve almost vanished, and she felt wretchedly miserable.
This was Doyle's way of punishing her for even thinking of leaving. He wasn't going to
speak to her, let alone plead with her to stay. She had felt low before, but never as low as she was at that time. His very absence was accusing. He had given her a home when she had nowhere to go, and this was the way that she had repaid him. But she had worked for her board, a small voice argued inside her, she had taken nothing for granted.
As miserable as she was, Sheena had the sense to see that it was better this way. Had Doyle made a determined bid to keep her, she wasn't all that sure of her ability to stand by her decision. There would be no Clay Dayman present at that meeting, and no one else to strengthen her cause.
It was just after ten-thirty that Sheena decided to turn in for the night. Tomorrow would be a long day, most of it spent travelling, and she was anxious for
the morning to come. She wanted to get the leave-taking over within the shortest possible time. Doyle was usually off early in the mornings and had left the homestead by six-thirty, but whether he would do so the following day was debatable.
After saying goodnight to Cookie, Sheena made her way to her quarters. The sound of laughter coming from the front porch of the homestead arrested her for a second as she passed on her way. She could imagine the scene. Doyle would be sitting in one of the cane chairs, probably next to Jenny. His mother, and Jenny's parents, would be seated nearby in the wisteria-scented porch. The tray of drinks would be on the table. That was part of Doyle's life that she had been excluded from for three years.
The echo of their laughter rebounded around her as she escaped to her room. That Doyle had been laughing too, hurt her far more than his non-appear-ance in the kitchen earlier.
Perhaps they were celebrating her departure, she thought distractedly, in which case she had better not disappoint them, she told herself, as she went through to the bathroom and took a quick shower.
She must remember to collect her toilet requisites the following morning, she thought as she towelled herself down and then liberally used the scented tal-cum powder that she and Cookie shared between them. She must leave that for Cookie, she thought, and pick some up for herself somewhere on the journey north.
It was this mundane kind of thinking that pre-
vented her from going to pieces. She was leaving and Doyle was laughing; at all costs she had not to concentrate on that. He didn't love her at all, and if it hadn't been for the timely intervention of a stranger, she would have gone on pining her life away wrapped in dreams that would never come true.
When she had finished in the bathroom she slipped back to her bedroom draped in the large towel.
On closing her bedroom door she found herself jerked round and held hard against the door, and her quick gasp of astonishment was cut off by Doyle's searching lips on hers. The smell of whisky was strong on his breath, and as he was not normally a heavy drinker, Sheena knew that he had overstepped his quota.
When at last she was given respite, she attempted to push him away from her, but she was only able to use one hand, the other was grasping the towel in a frantic effort to keep herself covered. 'For goodness' sake, Doyle!' she gasped, 'wait outside until I'm dressed. I'll talk to you then,' she urged frantically.
Doyle's reply was a firm shake of the head. 'After We've got a few things straightened out,' he said harshly, his voice slightly slurred. 'Firstly, you're not going north with Dayman, got that?' His tone changed to a cajoling one. 'Look, sweetheart, I know it's been tough for you. It's been tough for me, too, having you so near yet so far from me. I ought to have sent you away, but I couldn't, and I'm damned if I'll let you walk out with a stranger. I've always watched over you, haven't I?'
He shook his head as if to try and clear his thoughts. 'Look,' he said abruptly, 'a friend of mine's got an apartment in Sydney, and he's putting it up for rent. We'll take it. You'll go tomorrow morning as you've planned, but not to the North. I'm taking you to Sydney.'
Sheena's eyes widened as the implication of what he was saying sunk through to her bewildered senses, and she shook her head.
`It's going to work out, honey,' he urged her softly. `I'll spend every weekend with you. You didn't think I'd let you go, did you?'
`I'm going!' Sheena got out breathlessly, but her voice trembled. 'You can't stop me, Doyle. You don't love me,' she said, as she shook her arm free from his restraining hold. 'I'd prefer to forget what you've just suggested. The answer's no all along the line ! ' she got out on a raw sob.
Doyle caught her arm again and she winced as his strong fingers bit into her soft flesh. 'I can and will stop you making the greatest mistake of your life,' he said harshly. 'What difference does a ceremony make, anyway? You were meant to be mine, so stop fooling yourself.'
Sheena wanted to scream at him that she had other values, and that if he really loved her, he wouldn't have insulted her like that. Yet when she replied her voice was low and bitter. 'Go back to your guests, Doyle, they'll be wondering where you've got to.'
Doyle's lips straightened, and he made a lunge towards her. 'I see you need some convincing,' he said
harshly, and pulled her, struggling, into his arms.
'Doyle? Where are you?' Mrs Charter's querulous voice reached up to the determined Doyle, and the equally determined Sheena attempting to fend him off. 'Jenny's just off.'
Sheena saw Doyle's head go up in a gesture of frustrated fury. 'I'll be back,' he said grimly. 'One way or the other we're going to settle this tonight.'
As soon as the door had closed behind him, Sheena threw off the towel and with trembling fingers dressed in record time. She then snatched up her cases and running as fast as the weight of the cases allowed her, she reached Cookie's room.
Cookie was just in the act of fastening a sleeping net over her newly permanent waved hair when Sheena burst in on her. Hastily closing the door be-hind her, Sheena leaned back weakly against it 'I've got to get out of here, Cookie,' she gasped out breathlessly. 'Please help me. Could Len run me over to Marshall's Way?' she asked, her lovely sapphire-blue eyes wide and pleading.
Cookie studied the trembling girl and noticed the way she hadn't bothered about her appearance. Her sweater was on back to front for a start, and she drew her own conclusions. She had seen the way Doyle's eyes had followed Sheena when she went about her duties, but had been careful to look the other way when Sheena was looking his way.
'There isn't much time,' Sheena urged on a note of panic.
'Time enough,' answered Cookie grimly, as she
took the hairnet off, and calmly collected her coat from the wardrobe and slipped it over her nightgown. Then she picked up one of Sheena's cases. 'We'll go out the side door,' she said, and then as a thought struck her she turned to Sheena. 'You wait here until I've seen if the coast is clear.'
A second later, she ushered Sheena out into the passage and towards the side door. There was the sound of an engine turning over and then spluttering to a stop. 'The Maxtons' car's playing up again,' she whispered to Sheena, as they slipped through the doorway and out into the backyard of the homestead. `That'll keep them busy. The last time it happened it took the best part of thirty minutes to fix—I know, because it kept me awake.'
Once outside the homestead Sheena began to relax. As long as she could hear the constant revving and spluttering stops of the Maxtons' car as the men worked on the engine, she knew where Doyle was, and fervently hoped that it would take another thirty minutes to fix it this time. Cookie had gone to collect her brother Len whose quarters were above the stores, and if her luck continued to hold she should soon be on her way to Clay Dayman and safety.
When she heard the constant purring of an engine, her heartbeats increased rapidly. They had got the engine going! Oh, where were Cookie and Len? She strained her eyes against the blackness of the night trying to look ahead to see if she could see any sign of them—the stores were only a few minutes' walk from the back of the homestead.
Sheena was trying to calm herself by telling herself that even if Doyle and Mr Maxton had fixed the car, Doyle would have to have a clean-up before h
e went to find her, and that would give her another five minutes leeway. If only—her frantic calculations ended in a sigh of pure relief as the dark shape of a car loomed up beside her. It had been Len's car that she had heard, not the Maxtons' and as if to prove this to her, another prolonged burst of engine revving broke out behind her, coming from the front of the house.
`He doesn't know where Mr Dayman is, does he, Cookie?' Sheena asked breathlessly, as she got into the car after Len had placed her cases in the boot.
There was no need for names to be mentioned. `No, and he's not going to,' replied Cookie soothingly. 'Len knows when to hold his tongue.'
`I'll let you have my address as soon as I'm settled,' Sheena whispered, as Cookie closed the car door behind her. 'And thanks, Cookie, for everything,' she added on a thankful sounding note as the car started off.
`Lend a hand here, will you?' Sheena heard Doyle call out, as they swept out of the yard and on to the main driveway, but Len kept going and Sheena was thankful that Doyle would not know whose car it was that had just left the premises, as there were two entrances to the homestead and they were taking the rear entrance. No doubt when he discovered that Sheena had gone he would make some enquiries, but all the permanent staff at Barter's Ridge possessed
transport of one kind or another, and though he might suspect that Len had had a hand in Sheena's flight from the homestead, he couldn't prove it
There was his pride to take into consideration too, thought Sheena unhappily. Although he might be genuinely worried about her, he would not be able to make a big thing about her departure, as a fuss would raise a few unwanted questions as to the reason why she had taken off so suddenly. No, she thought sadly: Doyle would not make a move to find her until the next day. Under the circumstances, he couldn't.
