The Tartan Touch

by Isobel Chace

  “You did,” I agreed faintly.

  I turned hastily to include Mary in the scene. She was standing there, as white as she had been that morning, and I could tell from her eyes that she would have willingly murdered me there and then.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  “HULLO, Mary,” he said, the laughter dying away from his face.

  “Hullo,” Mary answered him.

  The colour came back into her cheeks and she half leaped at him. “Oh, Frank, I thought you weren’t coming!” she sighed. “And then you had to greet Kirsty first!”

  He looked seriously at her. “I had to be sure,” he explained.

  “Are you sure now?” she pleaded.

  “Very sure,” he said.

  Bridget O’Dell gave the whole company an apologetic smile. “It looks as though at last we can all go home!”

  “Good,” said Miss Rowlatt thoughtfully. “But, do you know, I don’t feel like going all the way back to Mirrabooka this evening. I think I’ll take a room for the night at the hotel in Cue.”

  I was immediately concerned about her, “Perhaps you’ll feel better after a short rest?” I suggested anxiously.

  She smiled grumpily at me. “No, I won’t!” she snapped. “I shan’t feel better until I’ve had a good night’s sleep!”

  “Well, if you really want to—” I began.

  “I think it’s an excellent idea,” Margaret drawled. “I shall keep Miss Rowlatt company and see that she’s all right. So you don’t have to worry about either of us, Kirsty!”

  Oh, but Miss Rowlatt wasn’t going to like that! But, to my astonishment, the old lady summoned up a bitter smile and thanked Margaret almost as though she meant it.

  Bridget glanced at me, her eyes twinkling. “I guess it’s my turn,” she said. “I suppose you’d like Mary to come and stay with us?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about!” I denied indignantly.

  “Oh, Kirsty!” Mary exclaimed. “Everyone knows you want to have some time alone with Andrew!”

  “I don’t know it!” I said dourly.

  “Well, I’m not coming home to act as gooseberry!” she shot back at me. “I’m going to make the best of Bridget’s offer and see as much of Frank as I can!”

  “You’ll see more than enough of me after we’re married,” Frank Connor put in, smiling down at her flame-red head.

  “Never!” she sighed happily. “I’ve only been half alive while you’ve been away.”

  Andrew put, a strong, tanned hand over mine. “I’m afraid you’re stuck with my undiluted society,” he said, “Do you mind?”

  I licked my lips with a touch of desperation. “N-no,” I said. I refused to look at him, knowing that he was laughing at me. “What about Birrahlee?” I asked. “Somebody has to drive him home!”

  “I’ll bring him tomorrow,” Margaret promised. “He can put up in Cue for the night too.”

  I was more than a little indignant at the suggestion, “But has he ever been away from Mirrabooka before?” I asked.

  “Birrahlee won’t care!” Mary said disparagingly.

  “Are you sure?” I growled.

  Andrew put his arm round my waist. “I think a homesick wife is enough for a man to cope with, without worrying about a homesick horse as well!”

  “But I’m not homesick!” I exclaimed without thought.

  “Aren’t you?” he teased me, delighted. “I rather thought it was a case of: My heart’s in the Highlands, my heart is not here!”

  I cast him a speaking look. “I prefer being here!” I said with difficulty.

  “Is that so?” he said with interest.

  I blushed. I thought I was imagining the warmth in his voice, but it set my heart hammering all the same. “It’s almost so,” I amended.

  There was a sudden flurry as everyone prepared to depart. Mary, refusing to be separated from Frank an instant longer, held his hand so tightly that Bridget despaired of separating them long enough to get them into the car and got into the driving seat herself, pushing her husband in beside her, to give him a lift to where the horses were waiting.

  “Are you coming or not?” she asked the others.

  “We’re coming,” they said in unison, and got into the back seat together.

  “You’d better make use of my car,” Frank said to Margaret. “It has a rather fierce take-off, but it’s a beaut when it comes to speed!”

  “Thanks,” said Margaret. She accepted the keys with an air of surprise and I supposed that it was unusual for the people in the Murchison to accept her as one of themselves. “Will you trust yourself to my driving?” she asked Miss Rowlatt.

  “Right,” said the old lady, determined to be pleasant. “But I want to go immediately and make sure of a decent room before the rush.”

  They set off together, apparently the best of friends, leaving Andrew and me to catch up with Dick O’Dell who was going to drive the horse-box to Frank Connor’s station for the night.

  We had no trouble this time getting Birrahlee to go up the ramp. I think he was glad to have some respite from the flies and the heat that concentrated down on the enclosed track. Anyway, I had only to touch his bridle and he stumbled up the ramp, his withers quivering as the boards gave slightly beneath his hooves.

  “Good on you, Birrahlee!” Dick O’Dell said cheerfully. “That’s the second favour you’ve done me today!”

  “What was the first one?” Andrew asked him, fanning himself with his hat.

  “I reckon the O’Dells broke about even, thanks to him!” Dick roared out. “Don’t let Bridie lead you into bad habits!” he berated me. “She’s terrible when it comes to a gamble!”

  I was on the point of telling him that I didn’t gamble, when I caught Andrew’s eye and changed my mind. “It seems to be an Australian vice,” I said delicately instead.

  “Too right!” he grinned. “And add to that our Irish blood and there’s no holding us!”

  “The Scots are more—careful,” I murmured.

  Andrew laughed. “Oh, my word!” he said, and I blushed.

  “Right,” Dick said. “I’m off. See you, both of you!” He jumped up into the driving cab and started up the engine, charging down the track at a speed that should have earned him a driving ticket.

  We stood there, watching the dust settle. It had left streaks of rust colour on my gold and white dress and I brushed it off with a careless hand, a little put out that my attempt at elegance should be so easily spoilt. “Well, mo ghaoil, have you enjoyed yourself?”

  I was deeply conscious of his touch as he took my arm and we began to stroll back to where he had left the Holden.

  “I wish I could have won for you!” I said impulsively.

  “For me?”

  “For Mirrabooka,” I amended hastily.

  “It was pretty fine to come in second,” he cheered me up.

  “But it isn’t quite the same as winning, is it?” I sighed.

  He smiled faintly. “If you had pressed him—” he began.

  “But, Andrew, I didn’t know how! I tried to remember all that you’d told me, but I was afraid of falling off and being disqualified. I told him when to go though,” I added with naive pride, “I thought I timed it very well!”

  “I reckon you’ll win next time,” he agreed kindly.

  “Next time?” I questioned him. “Will there be a next time?”

  “Why not?” he said. “Reckon Birrahlee can only improve over the summer. That autumn races are the real thing! Oh, my word, they are! The place is full to bursting then!”

  “More black strangers?” I said doubtfully.

  “None that Birrahlee can’t take if he tries!” Andrew insisted stoutly. “Besides, we’ll have you riding by then, and not just clinging on!”

  I looked down, because it was a new sensation to tease him, “And will you teach me right enough?” I asked him.

  “Right.”

  “That’ll be a match for half a dozen strangers!” I said
with dignity. My lips twitched despite myself and Andrew looked at me suspiciously.

  “Kirsty—” he began.

  But I was already regretting my impertinence. “I’ll do my best to learn properly,” I assured him hastily. “I think it takes a long time to make a good rider out of someone who’s a raw novice like me!”

  We reached the Holden, covered now by the red dust, but still shiny and well cared for underneath.

  “I prefer the old ute,” I exclaimed loyally.

  “Do you?” said Andrew, interested.

  I got into the front seat, banging the door shut. “We couldn’t go up Mad Man’s Trail in this!” I said disparagingly.

  “Would you want to?” he inquired.

  There seemed no answer to that, so I nodded quickly and changed the subject.

  “It’s nice that Mary is going to be so near us,” I said brightly, with just the merest touch of desperation in my voice.

  “Isn’t it?” Andrew said sweetly.

  I lapsed into silence. It was much more difficult than I had supposed to break down the barrier I had so carefully built between us. I had thought I had cause, but now I wondered how it was that I hadn’t seen that there was only affection between Andrew and Mary, and that the great love of her life lay elsewhere. Whereas mine—well, perhaps it was better not to dwell on that! He had told me that he only needed a wife until Mary came of age. There must be some reason for that!

  I pursed up my lips and whistled a tune under my breath. There had been many times in the past when I had walked across the glen and had whistled to myself for company, but I seldom whistled in public. My father had always said it wasn’t ladylike for a girl. But when I realised what the tune was that I was whistling, I stopped at once. It was a tune I had heard Andrew sing on more than one occasion and it embarrassed me to find it on my own lips.

  “O whistle, and I’ll come to you, my lad.” Andrew supplied the words softly. “Go on, or don’t you know the words?”

  “I know the words fine!” I said starkly.

  “You sing better than you whistle,” he told me. “I’ll sing it with you, if you like?”

  I was effectively reduced to silence.

  “Well?” he said after a while.

  “I’m not in the mood for Robbie Burns!” I snapped. “His songs are always about the one thing only!”

  “Is that so?” Andrew asked. “I never noticed that!”

  “Mind, he’s a grand poet,” I added justly.

  “Oh, quite!” he agreed.

  I glared at him, feeling very ill-used.

  “But improper?” Andrew suggested meekly.

  I thought for a moment. “Do you think Margaret would have me to stay in Perth?” I asked him abruptly.

  “Whatever for?” he retorted.

  “I need to buy some things,” I hedged, “Underclothes, new breeks, things like that. And that’s just a beginning!”

  Andrew gave me a thoughtful look. “And?” he said.

  “I was thinking that I could start my training,” I said in a rush.

  He looked very grim. “We’ll talk about it,” he said.

  I took a deep breath. “You must see that I can’t stay here when Mary is gone,” I said faintly.

  “I see nothing of the sort!” he answered. He sounded extremely angry and I was a bit afraid of him, “And you’ll do what you’re told!” he added violently. “What do you suppose everyone in Perth will think? If you go running off down there?”

  “If I call myself Kirsty MacTaggart, no one will know that I have anything to do with you,” I said bravely.

  He laughed with sheer fury. “That’s what you think!” he said dryly.

  I bit my lip. The long day had tired me and the thought of leaving Mirrabooka depressed me. I had half imagined that I might not have to, but that hope had gone with Andrew’s anger. He was only concerned with what his friends might think and gossip about if I went to Perth, but he hadn’t said that I couldn’t go, that I was going to be Mrs. Andrew Fraser no matter what! I could only conclude that he didn’t feel like that after all.

  Mirrabooka looked beautiful in the dusk. It was not the buildings, for they were no better than many others of the same kind that litter the open spaces of Australia, remarkable only for their very unremarkable architecture. But the whole scene—the windmill that worked the water-bore, the tall, dusty trees that stood out from the surrounding mulga scrub, and the new paint that had recently been applied to the sheds out the back— all of it spelt home and a feeling of comfortable security, that was all the more precious now that I knew it to be in jeopardy.

  I went inside and went straight to my room to change my dress. I could hear Andrew walking down the corridor in his boots, whistling the same old tune. If he kept it up, I’d crown him, I vowed. There was a skillet just made for the purpose in the kitchen, if he did but know!

  But when I went into the kitchen to make the dinner, my mood had changed and I began to wonder why he had brought me here in the first place. I laid the cloth with care and cooked only what I knew to be his favourites, finishing the meal with the griddle cakes he liked so well.

  It was a strangely silent meal, with no one but ourselves there to make any conversation.

  “Shall I help you to clear away the dishes?” Andrew asked when we had finished.

  I shook my head. “I prefer to do my own work,” I said with dignity.

  He shrugged his shoulders and left me to it. I heard him go into his office, slamming the door behind him, and I wished I had been looking at him when he had made his offer, for it had just occurred to me that Andrew was shy!

  I washed the dishes in a dream. If I had been an experienced woman, I reflected, I would have known what to do. As it was, I had to trust to my instincts and they were poor things when it came to judging a man like Andrew!

  When I knocked at the door of his office he rose to greet me, looking mildly surprised that I should interrupt him when he was working. He had an open ledger on his desk and a pen in his hand, but I doubted that he had written so much as a single word.

  “Yes?” he said.

  I wrestled with myself to find the right words to say what I had decided to say to him. The silence grew between us and I could feel the colour mounting in my cheeks, making me more tongue-tied than ever.

  Andrew sighed. “Can’t we talk about it in the morning?” he asked wearily.

  I shook my head.

  Andrew sat down at his desk. “Very well, then,” he said, “What do you want to do?”

  I took a step forward. “It isn’t as easy as that!” I exclaimed.

  “Why not?” he countered.

  “Because it depends.” I tried to explain. I gave him an agitated look. “I think you married an awfully stupid woman,” I hurried on. “Do you mind?”

  Andrew stared at me. It was impossible to tell what he was thinking.

  “I thought you wanted to marry Mary,” I blurted out.

  “I intended you to think that—at first,” Andrew confirmed. “Once you were here, I thought she’d tell you about Frank herself.”

  “She did,” I said weakly. “Only I wouldn’t listen. I wasn’t thinking about her, you see,” I mumbled, “I was thinking about what you wanted!”

  “Oh?” said Andrew, deeply interested.

  “Well, you must see it was more important!” I said impatiently.

  “I can,” he agreed immediately. “But I thought you liked Mary?”

  “I do!” I protested vehemently.

  “That’s what I thought!” Andrew drawled.

  I swallowed. “I—I think I’ll go to bed,” I said.

  Andrew rose elegantly to his feet, the merest hint of a smile about his eyes. “Alone?” he asked.

  “Of course alone!” I said with a fierce dignity, “Haven’t I always been alone?”

  “I don’t suppose your father was much company,” he agreed. “But that wasn’t quite what I meant.”

  “I wonder you sho
uld mention my father!” I said indignantly. “When you couldn’t bring yourself to utter a single word of sympathy and with him not yet buried. A fine thing!”

  “It didn’t seem that words were going to be much help to you,” he said reasonably, the smile deepening as he looked at me.

  ’“Did you intend to help me?” I asked suspiciously. “I thought it was all so that you could get your own way and have a legal say in Mary’s future?”

  “I think I might have found another way to do that.”

  I sniffed. “I thought you despised me,” I told him.

  “Did you?” he said with remarkable calm.

  “As you despised all widows and orphans!” I went on awfully.

  “Oh, my word!” He threw back his head and laughed. “I wonder you agreed to come with me! Why did you, Kirsty?”

  I blushed. “That’s my business!” I said.

  The smile danced in his eyes. “Was it the same reason that you bought your shirts made of the Fraser tartan?” he asked slyly.

  “How was I to know—” I began in high indignation.

  “Oh, Kirsty!” he exclaimed.

  “Well, perhaps I did know,” I admitted reluctantly. “But you might not have recognised it! Mary didn’t!”

  He laughed out loud. “And what would have been the point of that?” he wanted to know.

  “I—I’d begun to like being Mrs. Fraser,” I stammered, ashamed.

  “Kirsty, darling!”

  “Even on a temporary basis,” I added, bitterly aware that the hurt I had suffered on that score was plain in my voice.

  “But, Kirsty—”

  “That’s why I didn’t understand,” I said pathetically. “I knew that a man has a need for a woman, but I couldn’t, you see, when I thought you were waiting for Mary.”

  He took me roughly into his arms and I thought I had never known such bliss.

  “My word, what kind of a man do you think I am?” he demanded.

  I chuckled. “Do you want me to answer that?”

  “Perhaps not!” he said thoughtfully, “I can see I shall have to explain everything to you in words of one syllable! Oh, my word!”

  “I told you I’m a daft female!” I said fondly.

  “I won’t hear a word against the woman I love!” he smiled at me.