‘Randall. It’s nice to see that you can tear yourself away from Drovers occasionally,’ Bill said with a throaty chuckle. ‘Good turnout, hey? Just about every family in the district has at least one member here.’
‘Indeed. People appear to be in a celebratory mood.’ Temporarily, Randall’s gaze locked onto Danny and Amy and silently acknowledged that they danced well together. Annoyed with himself for making the observation, he turned his back on the dancers and concentrated on Walpole. ‘The wool price continues to be good. I heard that this spring’s wheat harvest was the best it’s been for years, and so I guess people are beginning to forget about the war.’
‘Not easy for a war hero such as yourself, I imagine,’ Walpole replied as he squinted up at the taller, slimmer man.
Randall resisted the urge to speak his mind. He didn’t care for Walpole but he was smart enough not to antagonise him: partly because he was a neighbour, and partly because he was capable of wielding an enormous amount of power in this part of the Flinders. Instead, Randall subjected his fellow grazier to a thorough once-over, as though inspecting a line of soldiers.
Bill Walpole looked exactly what he was: a successful man of property. His expensive suit, no doubt hand-tailored in Adelaide, pristine white shirt and tie, with its conspicuous diamond stick-pin, and the gold fob watch attached to his waistcoat, were worn to show all and sundry that Bill was exceedingly well-off. Of florid complexion and with a thick head of grey hair, Walpole’s eyes were the best indication of the type of man he was. Ever alert, they darted from one place to another, and their almost colourless depths held what some might consider a disconcerting intensity. Randall knew Bill to be a quick thinker, ruthless, cunning and patient, with a reputation for being astute when it came to business deals. It was rumoured that he could also be an implacable enemy if crossed.
‘I’d be pleased to forget the war, Bill. Especially the misery it caused, and the deaths. I hope the world never sees anything like it again.’
Randall had been only moderately successful at putting the war behind him, and periodically, even when not consciously thinking about those dark days, the stench of death and decay would come back to haunt him. Though he didn’t have as many nightmares as he’d first had, the images of men blown to smithereens, the looks on the Huns’ faces as they bayonet-charged towards no man’s land, and accounting for the dead and wounded after a battle, were experiences he believed he’d never completely forget. And that one time when…A muscle flexed in his jaw. He mustn’t think about that now!
‘Hear, hear,’ Walpole agreed. He slapped Randall on the back as if they were long-time friends. ‘Joe regretted not being able to do his share, though his mother was relieved. The army rejected him on medical grounds, you know.’
‘So I heard.’ Randall was aware of Danny’s opinion of Joe’s ineligibility, and while he didn’t care much for gossip, the view was commonly held that Bill had contrived, due to his political connections, to have Joe ‘excused from duty’.
The dance ended, and Joe and Beth, being close by, came up to Randall and Bill.
‘Don’t expect me to save another dance for you tonight, Joe,’ Beth said in a voice loud enough for anyone within a range of five feet to hear. ‘It’ll take half the night for my toes to recover from the stomping you gave them.’
Aware of his inadequacies on the dance floor, Joe went beet red with embarrassment. ‘Sorry. Let me get you some fruit punch.’
Slightly mollified, Beth’s smile was brief. ‘Thank you.’ Her gaze fastened on Randall and her smile extended itself. ‘Randall, delightful to see you here,’ she said, dismissing her brother as she moved towards Randall and her father.
‘Evening, Beth.’ Randall had known Beth Walpole, who was a year younger than himself, for all their lives. They’d gone to school together, had attended church—when he was younger—and had participated in social events held in and around the district. Of all the Walpoles, including Bill’s wife, Margaret, Beth was the only one who showed true gentility and class. Not pretty in the accepted sense, with chestnut-coloured hair, hazel eyes and a fair complexion with the tendency to freckle, her features displayed more determination than prettiness. At the very least, he knew her to be much more intelligent than her brother.
‘How are things at Drovers, Randall?’
‘We’re getting there,’ he answered, although he didn’t want to say too much in front of Bill. The less that man knew about Drovers’ situation the better he liked it.
Joe came back with Beth’s glass of punch, then, sensing he was the odd man out, moved off to have a smoke with a group of young men clustered around the front door of the hall.
‘Aahh, there’s Ben Quinton. I want to have a word with him about installing a petrol pump outside his store,’ Bill declared. ‘With so many automobiles on the road nowadays it would be a forward-thinking business move to supply drivers with petrol directly into the vehicle’s tank, instead of making them siphon it from barrels of fuel, as one does at the livery stable.’
‘That’s a good idea, Daddy,’ Beth said. She smiled with satisfaction when he left her alone with Randall.
‘You and Danny must come over to Ingleside for dinner. Soon,’ she suggested. ‘Mother has just engaged a new cook and she’s very good.’ Her expression was sympathetic as she murmured, ‘It must be hard for you at Drovers, not having a woman around to cook and clean house.’
‘We manage,’ Randall replied, uncomfortably aware that his tone was defensive.
Beth’s features suddenly lit up. ‘I’ve an idea. Come over next Saturday. Mother’s organising a dinner party for Daddy’s fiftieth birthday. Presents are not expected, of course.’ She smiled up at him. ‘What can one get for a person who has everything?’
Aware that he was being pressured, Randall couldn’t come up with an excuse not to attend, and besides, Beth was just being neighbourly. ‘Danny and I would love to come.’
As the band began to play again, the strains of a waltz filled the hall. Beth watched many couples take to the floor. ‘Oh, I do love a good waltz.’
Her tone was so wistful that Randall knew he had little choice but to ask her to dance it with him. ‘Care to dance, Beth?’ He couldn’t help adding, with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes, ‘If your toes have sufficiently recovered.’
‘They have,’ she admitted with a smile. ‘Let’s dance.’
One of the things Randall liked about dancing was that one didn’t have to converse with one’s partner while dancing, if one chose not to. With an eloquence that made them stand out, Randall twirled and whirled and dipped Beth around the floor, and from the rapt expression on her face, anyone watching could see she was enjoying the dance and the company.
One such person, Amy Carmichael, who was dancing with Frank Smith, glanced in their direction. Several months had passed since she’d seen or spoken to Randall, and her eyes widened in surprise at seeing Danny’s good-looking brother enjoying himself. With his height, darkness and straight build, Randall stood out on the dance floor. That he was the most graceful male dancer in the hall increased her level of surprise and she felt a grudging interest. She tried to ignore the sudden skip of her heart, the sharp intake of breath, because for several moments she couldn’t move her gaze from him and Beth Walpole. She watched them till they danced out of her field of vision.
Guilt made her smile at her partner. She thought of him as Earnest Frank. He was a pleasant young man who was trying hard, too hard, to impress her, though in all truth over several months she had come to feel more at ease with Danny. He made her laugh and was relaxed in her company, whereas Frank was often too tongue-tied to say anything sensible. As the dance ended she and Frank happened to stop beside Randall and Beth. The dancers waited until the band leader announced the next dance, the Colonial Quadrille.
‘Shall we change partners, Frank?’ Randall found himself suggesting. He’d become concerned about the way Frank was pushing Amy around, with as much finesse as h
e would a bag of coal at his father’s forge.
‘I-if it s-suits the l-ladies,’ Frank stammered.
Both women understood without a word transpiring between them—it would be considered churlish to refuse—and automatically moved towards their new partners.
‘Now that you’ve been here for a while, tell me, what do you think of country life?’ Randall asked as, standing side by side, with one arm around her shoulders, they moved in time to the music.
‘I’m enjoying it. So is Father.’ She glanced up at his profile then away again quickly. ‘And work has started on the town’s hospital, so soon there’ll be more work for Father and me.’
‘Mmmm.’ His tone turned thoughtful. ‘I suppose it’s a sign of progress that the town’s become large enough to need a hospital, even a small one.’
‘Yes. It will be only half the size of the hospital proposed for Hawker, but very modern. We’ll even have an X-ray machine.’
Randall nodded at that piece of information without saying anything. Damn it! What in God’s name had possessed him to ask Amy Carmichael to dance? They had nothing in common other than…Danny. And why, having asked her, did he feel so out of sorts? And, adding to his confusion, why did it feel so good to hold her in his arms, to smell the light fragrance she wore, to see her enjoying herself? These and other questions roamed in and out of his mind until he forcefully berated himself. They stepped forward, dipped, and moved forward again. Get a hold of yourself. She’s your brother’s girlfriend and Danny’s in love with her. You shouldn’t be thinking or wondering anything about her.
‘I believe it will be good for the town,’ Amy cut into his reverie.
Randall frowned and reined in his errant thoughts. ‘What will?’
Amy gave him a strange look. ‘The hospital, of course.’
‘Oh, yes. That’s partly why your father moved here, isn’t it?’
‘Why we both moved,’ she made the pert correction.
By the time the music came to an end, both had exhausted several topics of conversation, but Randall was aware of a tension recurring within him that over the time of being reunited with Drovers Way had seemed to disappear. It was odd that Amy had the power to cause his gut to tighten, the same way as the European battlefields had. Well, not quite the same way, he was honest enough to acknowledge. He didn’t like being so aware of her every movement, the sound of her voice, the way several strands of hair refused to stay in place and curled naturally around her face. But there was a way to curb this interest. All he had to do was replace it with something or someone else. At that precise moment his gaze happened to rest on Beth Walpole: congenial, self-effacing, intelligent Beth—now she could be a worthwhile distraction. Their eyes met and he smiled. She smiled back encouragingly.
Danny arrived at Amy’s side, a happy grin in place. ‘Great dance, eh? Amy, would you like a drink?’
‘Yes, please, Danny.’ Amy looked up at Randall and said formally, ‘Thank you for the dance.’
‘My pleasure.’ Randall gave a bow of acknowledgment and, for a few seconds longer than necessary, watched her and Danny walk arm in arm towards the back of the hall.
‘They make a nice couple, don’t you think?’ Beth, who’d come up unnoticed by Randall on his right side, murmured. ‘Joe says Danny’s been courting Amy.’
‘Every chance he gets.’ Randall’s response was dry.
‘Amy and Dr Carmichael have made a good impression on the people of Gindaroo. Joe was quite taken by the way the doctor attended to his arm several months ago, and so was Daddy. Joe couldn’t work for a week because of the arm and Daddy was very cross with him.’
‘Bill’s not renowned for his forbearance.’ Randall softened the criticism with a smile.
‘Daddy works hard and he expects Joe to work as hard as him. After all, one day he’ll inherit just about everything. Unfortunately,’ she added, a twinkle in her hazel eyes, ‘Joe doesn’t care too much for hard work. Much to Daddy’s annoyance, Joe’s overly fond of gambling and attending the races.’
‘I don’t bet myself,’ Randall admitted. He didn’t want to talk about boring Joe Walpole, or Danny, for that matter—and especially—though he wasn’t quite sure why—not Amy Carmichael. The band began to play a foxtrot. ‘You up to another dance, Beth?’
Her delight showed in the radiant smile she gave him. ‘Most definitely.’ Hand in hand, they headed towards the dance floor.
Beth nestled into the darkened interior of the back seat of Joe’s automobile as he drove her and their father back to Ingleside. The night had turned out much better than she had anticipated. She’d had a wonderful evening and she knew why: Randall McLean. A sigh of satisfaction was lost in the noise the automobile’s engine made. He had finally noticed that she was a woman, not just the girl he’d gone to school with or Joe Walpole’s sister. He had made it clear to her that he enjoyed her company, and they had danced several dances together and shared a plate of supper treats.
It was and always had been easy to talk to Randall. They had many things in common. Their properties adjoined each other, and, frankly, she had almost as much knowledge about raising cattle and sheep as her father—not that he bothered to talk much to her about his various holdings, because she was a woman and country women were, by his and many other country men’s standards—better suited to being mothers and carers, not side-by-side working partners.
Somehow, though, she had the impression that Randall didn’t think the same way as her father; that the woman he settled down with would be invited to play an active part in the development and running of Drovers Way. It would be nice, better than nice, to be that woman, she decided. Randall was a fine-looking man, a war hero too, and so capable, having saved Drovers when, according to her father, it had been a step away from bankruptcy.
Sharp of eye and intuitive, during the evening she had thought he appeared more than casually interested in Danny’s girlfriend, Amy. From various positions she’d taken around the hall, she had watched him slyly observe Amy while appearing to socialise with other people. His gaze had often sought out the brunette nurse, but then, on finding her, his eyes would drop away to study something else. Maybe he was simply curious about the depth of her feelings for his brother.
The automobile drove over several deep ruts in the road, rousing Bill Walpole from the snooze he’d been having.
‘God, Joe, can’t you drive better than that?’
‘Yes, Dad.’
‘You all right in the back, Beth?’
‘I’m fine, Daddy,’ she replied, still ruminating. Randall McLean was, according to her mother and several members of the St John’s Ladies’ Auxiliary, the best catch in the district. He wasn’t wealthy, in terms of having money in the bank, but Drovers Way was one of the largest and best located properties in the district, and it was only a matter of time before he restored it to the glory days of when Colin McLean had been alive, and before Randall’s mother had become ‘ill’.
Oh, the things she could do with that sandstone homestead if she had the opportunity. Like her mother, Beth was very house-proud and enjoyed the challenge of transforming a house into a charming home. And, from what she’d seen and heard, Drovers Way would definitely benefit from a woman’s touch.
She smiled in anticipation as she thought about next Saturday. Randall was coming to dinner at Ingleside for her father’s birthday, and she intended to make the evening memorable.
Danny saw Amy to her front door after the dance, while Randall waited in the Ford. He had lost count of the number of times he’d stood on the Carmichaels’ front verandah over the last year, never wanting the time with Amy to end and feeling empty inside after they parted. He ached to know if she felt the same as he, but agonised over whether he should declare himself. He knew she liked him, liked being with him; but he wanted more than liking, he wanted her love.
‘I had a lovely time,’ she said.
‘Me too. Ummm…’ He wanted to kiss her, badly. Longed to, was de
sperate to, but his courage deserted him and he said instead, ‘We still on for the picnic tomorrow?’
‘Of course, providing it doesn’t rain.’
‘It won’t. I’ll take you to a spot at Boolcunda Creek where we can paddle our feet. There’s plenty of water in the creek at present. If you like, bring your sketch pad and draw the creek.’
‘That would be nice.’ The next instant she reached up and kissed him on the cheek, as she had done several times in the past. ‘I’d better go in now. Goodnight.’
And before Danny could take advantage of her closeness she opened the cottage’s front door and slipped inside. For several seconds he stared at the door, more than a little befuddled. Then, satisfied, and determined that when they picnicked tomorrow he would declare his feelings, he grinned and began to whistle some unrecognisable tune as he walked towards the Ford.
CHAPTER TEN
Boolcunda Creek was still, the flow of water barely moving as Danny and Amy motored close to the water’s edge for their picnic after the church service. Danny had found a crossing low enough for the Ford to be driven safely through. The spring day was unseasonably warm for that time of the year. Leaves on the eucalypts and an out-of-place weeping willow all drooped without a breath of air to stir them. Even the insects and birds appeared gripped by lethargy; the silence around the creek was complete.
‘This is a nice spot,’ Amy complimented Danny on his choice of location as she took her portable easel and the box that contained crayons, charcoal and pencils from the back seat.
‘It is. But the good thing about it,’ he said, grinning at her, ‘is that at this time of year the ants won’t join us for lunch.’
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