by Jane Corrie
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CHAPTER THREE
SHEENA did not know the property now named `Marshall's Way', but Len did, and as they drove through the boundary gates and on to the homestead precinct he made several comments on alterations that had been carried out since he had last visited. `Looks as if it's going to be a grand place now that some money's being spent on it,' he said in a cogitative way that required no comment from Sheena, and this was just as well as she was busy wondering just what she could say to whoever answered the door when they arrived at the homestead.
By the time they drew up in front of a large redbrick bungalow with a wide verandah running the length of the residence, Sheena's imagination had got her confronted by an indignant-looking owner of the property who had told her in no uncertain terms that this was no decent time for a young lady to pay a visit on his guest, and to be gone about her business.
Her trepidation heightened when she saw that apart from a low lighted lamp on the porch, there were no other lights on in the bungalow. To be confronted by an indignant owner was one thing, but when that same person had had to be dragged out of bed on such a summons—the thought made Sheena's
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knees go weak as she walked up the steps to the porch.
The comforting presence of Len, however, who had taken her cases out of the trunk and now stood beside her as she rang the bell, gave her the courage to see it through.
It could not have been much longer than a few seconds before her ring was answered, but to the apprehensive Sheena it seemed minutes during which she rehearsed her opening speech, but had not got much further than asking to speak to Mr Dayman.
As she saw the tall, and at that moment, extremely comforting form of the very man that she had wanted to see, Sheena's vast relief stemmed her rehearsed explanation, and all she could manage was a weak smile at him -
Without seeking any such explanation, Clay Dayman stood aside in a silent gesture that told her to go inside and collected the cases from Len with a mild, `Good ! Now we can get an early start tomorrow.'
As Sheena thanked Len for his help, and at his stern request that she write and let them know how she fared, to which she gave her promise, she found time to wonder at Clay Dayman's acceptance of her arrival at that time of night. Almost, she mused, as if he had been expecting such an event. But of course, he couldn't have done, and once again she found herself thinking that he was an exceptionally extraordinary man, to whom she had good cause to be grateful.
Len too, it seemed, had formed his own opinion.
and had come down heavily on the credit side of the man he had brought Sheena to. She had not missed the quiet summing up he had given Clay Dayman during those first few minutes, and knew that in spite of his sister's assurance on the credibility of the stranger, he would not have left her there but taken her elsewhere should he have had any doubts on the matter.
When Len had left, Sheena stood inside the hall of the bungalow and watched Clay close the door and latch it. Reaction was now setting in, and she felt mentally and physically exhausted. 'I must apologise for not letting you know I was coming this evening,' she began hesitatingly, not quite knowing how to explain her sudden arrival.
Clay gave her a swift searching look before he picked up her cases. 'You look all in to me,' he commented firmly. 'I suggest you turn in. You can use the guest room at the end of the passage,' he went on, as he walked ahead of her and indicated that she should follow him. 'The bed's made up. I was going to use it, but I can switch to the main bedroom, John's away on a case right now.'
Sheena's tired brain simply refused to function properly as she followed Clay's tall straight back down the passage. `John?' she murmured in a puzzled way.
Clay put her cases down and pushed open the door of a room at the end of the passage. 'My brother,' he said, 'he owns the place.'
Sheena watched him put the cases down by a made
up single bed and thought confusedly that she ought to at least offer to help make up the bed that he would be using, seeing that she was taking his. 'Can I help you with yours?' she queried, attempting to shake off the tiredness that had suddenly enveloped her. It's much easier with two, isn't it?' she added. `I mean, one can stand one side, and one the other,' she tacked on lamely, determinedly blinking her eyes to keep them open.
`You'd better get to bed before you fall flat on your face,' said Clay firmly but with a trace of amusement in his voice. `I can manage, thank you,' and at Sheena's lame attempt at protest he added softly, `And no arguing. We've a long journey ahead of us tomorrow.' With that he left her and closed the door firmly behind him.
The rest of that night was a complete blur to Sheena, who didn't remember getting undressed and into the bed, although all she did was to remove her skirt and sweater and shoes and thankfully slip in between the cool sheets and into oblivion.
When she awoke the following morning she wondered what had awakened her, for when she opened her eyes it was barely light, then she heard a sharp tap on her door. `Breakfast in ten minutes. The bathroom's all yours.'
This last statement brought Sheena out of her lethargy and she sat up sharply and gazed around her. Through the pale dawn light she could make out the unfamiliar shapes of the furniture of the room she was in, and as she did so recollection of the pre-
vious evening's happening flooded over her, leaving her feeling lost and utterly miserable.
This time yesterday morning she would be just awakening and listening to the activity in the yards at the back of the homestead as she had done every morning since she had moved into the homestead. She would strain to hear Doyle's voice as he gave instructions to the waiting men before he left on his tour of inspection of the outer pastures. She swallowed hard. It was no use remembering things like that now, she told herself as she scrambled hastily out of bed and searched in her case for her toilet bag.
She located the bathroom that was next to her bedroom and took a hasty shower, then back in the bedroom she searched out something more suitable to wear for the journey north.
The activity kept her busy, but her thoughts kept returning to Barter's Ridge, and inevitably to Doyle and what he intended to do about her abrupt removal from the homestead.
As she left her room and went in search of the kitchen—not a difficult task as the appetising smell of eggs and bacon sizzling led her in the right direction —she wondered if she ought to ring through and leave a message for Doyle to the effect that she had joined Mr Dayman and would be travelling north with him.
If she could only be sure that Doyle had left the homestead on his rounds, this would be the correct thing to do, but if he hadn't—and if he just happened to answer the phone—Sheena hastily discarded any
further thoughts on this matter. She would ring up Barter's Ridge once they had got to their destination and she would ring the manager's number so that he could pass the message on to Doyle. That way she could avoid speaking direct to him and not find herself being harassed into giving him her address.
When she entered the kitchen the tall form of Clay Dayman was standing by the gleaming oven and dishing up their breakfast. 'Two eggs or one?' he asked in his deep finely moulded voice.
Sheena knew an instant feeling of acute embarrassment. She didn't really know this man, yet here she was taking breakfast with him before starting out on a new chapter of her life—a chapter in which, she suspected, he would have more than a passing interest.
Her clear direct gaze met his dark inscrutable one as she answered, 'Only one, please. I don't usually have a cooked breakfast.'
He turned his attention back to the pan he was holding, and placed one egg on a plate warming on the hot rack above the oven, then added one rasher of bacon and handed the plate to her. 'That enough?' he queried with a lifted eyebrow.
Sheena nodded, took the plate from him and walked over to the table where knives and forks had been laid ready for use.
Clay brought his loaded plate to the table too and motioned that Sheena should
tuck in. 'I hope you're not going to discover an enormous appetite in the middle of the morning,' he commented, as he began
his breakfast and stared direct at Sheena.I intend
making one stop at Newcastle, and one stop only. Okay? With any luck we should arrive mid-after-noon. You're a good traveller, I hope?'
Sheena blinked. think so,' she managed to get out, wondering just what she had landed herself with. There were shades of Doyle in his autocratic orders, making her feel compelled to comply no matter what her own thoughts on the matter were.
Her eyes remained on Clay Dayman as he ate his meal, and she knew an irrational rush of panic and tried to calm herself by making an assessment of him. His white short-sleeved silk shirt, that was open at the neck to give the maximum coolness for the heat of the day to come, showed a mass of dark thickly curled hair just visible against the whiteness of the shirt, and gave an impression of physical strength, as did his long well-tanned bare arms. His grey corded pants that fitted snug to his long waistline had obviously been made to measure and were of the finest quality. Sheena didn't know much about men's clothes and could only go by Doyle's wardrobe, but Doyle was an immaculate dresser. Only the best was good enough for him, and he could afford to indulge himself.
Her gaze returned to Clay Dayman's face. A strong jaw, she mused, that showed a certain amount of determination. A man not easily beaten. His dark features reminded her of the stories that she had read as a child about gypsies. Of handsome, bold men who had their own mysterious customs and ways, who,
because of their closeness with nature, knew more than the ordinary mortal, and used these powers to gain their objectives in life. A slight shiver ran through her as she recalled the way he had accepted her arrival the previous evening. Had he known she was coming?
What if she told him that she had changed her mind? she wondered. She hadn't liked the way he had laid down their travelling arrangements, making her feel an unwanted passenger. It was he who had sought her out, not she who had asked if she could accompany him back to the North.
At this point Clay looked up suddenly at her, and she saw a questioning look in his dark eyes before she hastily bent over her plate and made an attempt to raise an appetite that had temporarily deserted her.
`Want to make a last call at Barter's Ridge?' he shot out at her, as he pushed his empty plate away and reached for the coffee pot, pouring out two cups, leaving his black and pushing the cream jug towards her for her use.
Sheena quickly shook her head as she envisaged meeting a furious Doyle.
Clay's eyes remained fixed speculatively on her as he said softly, 'A pity. I was looking forward to rearranging Charter's good looks.'
Sheena, taking a sip of her coffee, choked on this last statement and stared at him. Then a dull flush spread over her features. He couldn't know, she told herself, he was only guessing. To spare herself the embarrassment of having to think up a lie for her
abrupt arrival the previous evening, she said quickly, `If you mean to have a row with Doyle, then it's entirely unnecessary.' Then she added primly, 'I think fighting is undignified.' He could make what he liked of that, she thought.
`More undignified than having to hare out of your employer's place in the dead of the night, with just enough on to appear respectable?' Clay queried with a glint in his eyes.
Sheena gasped. 'I was dressed ! ' she replied indignantly, too surprised to wonder at his observant eyes.
`Oh, sure,' he answered, giving her an assessing look. 'Sweater on back to front, skirt unzipped, and precious little on underneath unless I'm mistaken,' he added grimly.
Sheena put her coffee cup down with a hand that shook. Even if he had noticed these things, it was hardly gentlemanly of him to mention them, she thought bleakly, let alone make trouble for Doyle by bringing it into the open. Her large sapphire blue eyes stared at Clay. She was beginning to have serious doubts about his integrity.
`Just in case you get any wrong ideas,' he remarked dryly, 'I was brought up with three sisters. John and I were what you might call outnumbered,' he added, still in that cool conversational manner, and Sheena sensed he was trying to put her at her ease and that meant that he had rightly gauged her thoughts on the matter.
She swallowed and shook her head. 'I don't want any trouble,' she said quietly, and quickly looked
away from his searching eyes. 'You don't understand,' she added in a low voice.
`Don't I?' Clay answered swiftly, now back to the grim tone. Now you listen to me, Sheena. It's my guess that you had a narrow escape back there. I don't know how you happened to foil Charter's attempt to keep you chained to his side, and I'm putting it nicely. There's another word for what nearly happened, and you're not so innocent that you don't know what I'm talking about. I'll spare your blushes so far, but I'm warning you not to dress it up in a rosy light. As it happened, luck was on your side, but it might not have been, just remember that in future. If you want to go on loving a clay idol, then that's up to you. I guess there are some women that go for that kind of heel.'
Sheena's head jerked up at this and she gave Clay a warning look out of the blue fire that now shone in her eyes. He nodded grimly. 'I said heel,' he repeated slowly. 'And you might as well face it. If he thought anything about you in that way, then he'd have sent you away or he would have married you. He did neither.' With that he finished his coffee and got up. `Time we were moving,' he said abruptly.
Sheena's coffee cup was still half full, but she did not attempt to finish it, feeling it would choke her. She had no defence to offer in his condemnation of Doyle, and that hurt. It was so easy for other people to judge, she thought bitterly, but what would Clay Dayman have done in the same circumstances?
While she collected the used crockery a tiny voice
inside her whispered that nothing would turn such a man as he off his intended course. If Doyle had been Clay Dayman, then he would have married her, of that she had no doubt whatsoever, and it made her feel doubly wretched.
Within ten minutes they were on the road travelling north. Sheena in a cotton blouse and jeans, sitting beside Clay and trying not to think about Doyle and what might have been, and desperately trying to look forward to a new life.
As they passed the familiar landscape that Sheena knew so well and headed north, she felt as if part of her was being wrenched away from her and it was painful. She had no bright tomorrow and simply nothing to look forward to. She was going to live among strangers, and recalling Doyle's scathing comments about her incapability of running a rundown smallholding, she almost burst into tears.
Only the thought of what would have happened if she had stayed kept her from breaking down. She still had her pride if nothing else. Her dreams lay in tatters, but she would preserve them, no matter what Clay Dayman thought. There would be no one else for her, she was Doyle's, and would always be.
Soon they were in the midst of a long stream of traffic and her eye caught the sight of a young couple canoodling in the back of the car in front of them, then she turned her look elsewhere with an abrupt movement that caused Clay to give her a quick glance before turning his attention to the road again.
Why had she to see something like that? she asked
herself miserably. Wasn't she unhappy enough, without being reminded that some people were lucky and had their dreams realised?
The tears that she had held at bay for so long, now cascaded down her cheeks, and though she despised herself for her weakness she was unable to do anything about it, and kept her head turned away from Clay so that he would not know that she was crying.
Once they came, it seemed they would never stop, and Sheena was powerless against the great flood of emotion that had been let loose within her. She could see nothing of the road, everything was blurred by the torrent of tears and the need to release the tension inside her.
`Here,' said Clay abruptly, shoving a box of tissues in her lap.
After giving him a surprised look, Sheena started
pulling out several tissues. 'I'm very sorry,' she gulped. 'It's very stupid of me, but I really Down came another flood of tears stemming her watery apologies, and she buried her face in the tissues as if they could somehow stop the flow.
`Well, at least you don't blub,' murmured Clay. `That I couldn't put up with. I guess it's as well for you to get it out of your system. Go ahead. You'll feel much better for it. I've a feeling you should have done that a long time ago,' he added ruminatively.
This quiet comment provided Sheena with the spur she so badly needed to put a brake on her emotions. He was having another dig at Doyle, she
thought. Anyone would think Doyle had beaten her twice a day ! Instead of which he had found a home for her and had found a job for her, and she loved him desperately. At this thought the brake slipped, and she was groping for another tissue to mop up with again.
Eventually the tears stopped flowing, leaving her calmer but utterly drained. The heat of the morning was now penetrating into the car and she leaned her head against the window. Within a space of seconds she had fallen asleep.
When she awoke she was aware of an ache in her neck and she gingerly rubbed the area while getting her bearings. They were still on the road and travelling at a steady cruising rate. The scenery that met her sleep-misted eyes was totally unfamiliar to her, for they were passing along a coastal road.
`So you've come to, have you?' commented Clay Dayman as he negotiated a bend in the road, handling the large powerful car with practised ease. `We've just passed Macksville, and have about thirty miles to do.' He gave the still drowsy Sheena a quick questioning stare before he looked ahead again. 'I can stop at one of the roadside restaurants if you'd like a break. You were still out for the count at Newcastle,' he added dryly.
Sheena blinked at this news. She had been asleep for the better part of the long journey. Thirty miles, she reasoned, was hardly any distance, and she was sure that Clay Dayman was anxious to keep going. `As we're so near we might as well keep going,' she answered, only just managing to stifle a yawn.
