by Amanda Doyle
Mattie’s feelings were tumultuous and confused at her father’s revelations. Relief that Gib was what he seemed, what she had instinctively wished him to be, mingled with hurt that he had never told her, not even near the end of his stay at Twin Rivers. She could understand his motives for preferring to wander around incognito, now that she knew who he was. She could understand, too, his wish to avoid those predatory overtures of all the city beauties who would be attracted, not only by his influential position and social status and pocket-book, but by the qualities of the man himself. Lex had said that he wouldn’t know anything about Gib’s powers of physical attraction, but Mattie, a woman herself, couldn’t but acknowledge that they were devastating.
Look at herself, she thought dismally. She was probably the worst case of all in the line-up of unrequited females. She had fallen for him that first morning, when he had walked into the kitchen without his grizzly beard, wearing that lean, tanned clean-shaven look. She had recognized in those keen grey eyes a steadfastness and strength of purpose that warred with the image of a shiftless wanderer. She had seen in those calm, square tipped fingers a confidence and capability that one didn’t find in a weak-minded escapist from society. She should have been warned, when she felt that first little tug in her heart that pulled her towards him, that here was a force to be reckoned with, and controlled, and kept firmly in its place.
Now, knowing who he was, she could appreciate that love for a man like that was bound to be an all-consuming and shattering emotion if you let it get out of hand. Not only that, it was bound to be hopeless, too.
He must have met the very cream of Australian beauty in the women he had known. If he was eligible and attractive, then so, most certainly, were they. And yet, among them all, he had never met one that he had wanted to make his wife, to be at his side for always, giving him the courage and inspiration and support that he had told her even strong men counted on in the woman of their choice.
Mattie could almost laugh at herself, now that she knew, but the laugh would have had an acrimonious and jeering sound.
Why should Gib have been drawn to her when his field of choice was such a wide one? She must have appeared as just another reasonably pretty girl—a youthful sophisticate, he had called her at the beginning. He’d had a surfeit of the type, and he had felt nothing more for her than a kindness and tolerance and sympathy that he’d have felt for any girl placed as she had been.
There was only one way in which Mattie differed from the rest. Never could it be said that she had set out to seduce him or ogle him, or angle for his attentions like those others had done. It was the one little thing that Mattie could feel proud of, the one thing she could salvage from the wreck of her emotions—that she had never “chased” him.
It was only a small thing, but it meant that she had not parted with even one tiny bit of her self-respect. It meant that she could hold her head up proudly, as befitted the daughter of a man like Lex Bennett, and it gave her the courage to reorganize herself for a life without Gib.
He would always be there, in her mind, of course. She was aware of that. She felt privileged to have known him. She would remember him now, not only with love and incurable longing, but with respect as well, and gratitude, because in a way, he had given her back her father.
But for Gib, she and Lex might never had found each other again.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
THE thought of Gib remained with Mattie constantly in the days that followed.
There were only very occasional moments when she was glad he wasn’t there, such as the time when her pizza turned out badly again—Gib surely wouldn’t have let that pass twice without some teasing comment!—and the morning when she opened a jar of her pear marmalade for her father’s breakfast.
It had a candied, sugary surface when she lifted the wax circle from the top, and underneath it was thin and liquid, and ran out into the jam-pot in a syrupy stream.
Mattie eyed it aghast.
“Oh, no!” she moaned. “What have I done wrong this time? I’ll never make a cook.”
“Nonsense, dear,” said Aunt Allie, whom Mattie by now regarded as a super-optimist. “Of course you will. Jam’s tricky stuff, though. Let me see.” She peered into the jam-pot, and then nodded to the rest of the jars. “Are they all like that?”
“All,” stated Mattie tragically.
Aunt Allie looked again.
“It’s the sugar,” she hazarded, “or lack of it. Did you use the amount it said?”
“Well, not quite,” replied Mattie honestly. “There were ants in the sugar-bag I got from the store, so I had to use a bit less. I didn’t think it could matter all that much.”
“They do say every granule counts, but never mind.” Aunt Allie was full of comfort. “Some of the best cooks have never mastered the art of jam-making, Mattie, and think of all the other things you can do that they can’t.”
“Yes, I know,” Mattie said soberly. “I’m thinking of them a lot just now. I’ll have to go back, and take up the threads again soon, Aunt Allie. It’s terribly important, in the modelling world, to keep up with one’s contacts, and project one’s image as continuously as possible.”
She made her voice sound gay and confident. It would never do for Aunt Allie or her father to suspect just what an effort she would have to make to adjust herself all over again to that bright, artificial world. It must have been Gib who had changed her ideas of what she wanted from life, she supposed sadly. Or perhaps the idea had always been there, and it had merely taken Gib to clarify them, just as he had helped her to recover her old relationship with her father.
“I’ll have to go very soon, Aunt Allie, but I’d like to see you and Dad married first, if you could bear to have a grown-up daughter looking on?” Mattie sounded wistful.
Aunt Allie was touched and pleased. She blushed quite coyly.
“Mattie, that would be lovely, my dear. I’ve been meaning to speak to you about it, in fact. We just want the quietest little ceremony possible, a “family only” affair. I’ve been putting off making more definite arrangements until Lex was better, but he’s quite his old self now, isn’t he, and we do want you to be there. I’ll go ahead right away, if you’re anxious to get back to Sydney.”
Mattie was pleased to think that she had sounded anxious. That was how she had hoped to sound. It was surprising how convincing you could be when you summoned all your courage, but only those who had been called upon to act a part that was at variance with their emotions could know how drained and weak the effort left one, under the brave veneer.
“I’ll have to go back to my sister for a little while, to get things ready, I should think,” continued Aunt Allie thoughtfully. “I rushed over so suddenly when those two young nurses went. I brought very few things with me, and left chaos behind in my hurry, so far as I can remember. I suppose I should go quite soon, Mattie dear, while I’ve got you here to look after Lex. Naturally I’d like to have everything shipshape before we’re married. I certainly can’t go off and leave Lex afterwards, even for a few days.”
She laughed, and when she did, she looked like a happy, slightly bashful young girl. “I never want to be away from him again, as long as I live, Mattie. Isn’t it ridiculous, at my age?”
Mattie didn’t think it was ridiculous at all.
She helped Aunt Allie to pack her few essentials, and drove her back to her sister’s home in Lex’s big Holden. The Land-Rover was quite out of the question as a means of transport for his bride-to-be, her father told Mattie, bidding her use the estate car instead. Mattie did so willingly, reflecting that love’s late blossoms were not confined to Aunt Allie’s heart alone!
After Aunt Allie had gone, Mattie made herself face facts. She seemed to be having to face a lot of facts just lately.
This would perhaps be the last time she would stay at Twin Rivers. Her heart ached intolerably at the thought. It seemed to Mattie as though an earthquake had happened in her life, and parted her from the people
and place she loved, from the old familiar way of life, from all her childhood associations. The earth had cracked almost at her feet, and now she found herself alone on one side of the crater, and all those other things and people were on the other side. Her memories were with her still, but there was no going back. The gap was permanent. She couldn’t leap across. She was isolated, on her own, with only her damaged heart for company, and she had no option but to walk away in the other direction, where the landscape appeared sound and unscarred, but also unfamiliar and uninviting.
If was a comfort to see her father looking better, to note the colour in his cheeks and the spring in his step again. There was a look of open affection in his eyes when they met Mattie’s, a rapport between parent and daughter, and sometimes he gave her hand a self-conscious squeeze or patted her shoulder awkwardly without saying a word, as though he guessed something of the struggle that was going on inside her, and wanted to register his inarticulate sympathy.
Mattie found consolation in being busy. She turned out all the rooms, one after the other, and cleaned carpets and washed walls and windows. Sometimes she wondered if she had perhaps got a little bit unbalanced, because, after all, this house over which she slaved with quite fanatical dedication would soon be inundated—drowned, at the bottom of a vast weir.
Mattie had just taken off her overall after tidying her father’s room one morning when she heard the sound of a plane. The steady droning noise got louder and louder until it seemed to be right over the house.
She hung her overall on the hook behind the door, and ran a comb quickly through her hair, then went out on to the veranda to have a look, shading her eyes against the bright winter sunshine.
The plane was banking now, away again, up the valley.
Then it turned back and soared down towards the landing-strip near the house, dropping gently on to the levelled ground, and then taxiing back in the direction of the homestead.
Charlie was standing outside the cook-house to watch it alight, holding his apron between his hands and squinting up into the sky. The other men were all away at this time of day, otherwise he might have had a quick whip-around sweep on the number of times it would circle before it landed. The Twin Rivers strip was a tricky one, because the hills created nasty air-pockets that could buffet a small plane, and crosswinds could bring it perilously near the range. Only one plane had ever got into real trouble, but you never knew when another might, although the odds were long.
This one, though, had made a well-nigh perfect landing. Not surprising, reflected Charlie, seeing it was one of those handsome twin-engined Beagle jobs, full of grace and sleekness and speed. He wiped his palms on his apron, let the folds fall to his knees again, and went back inside the cook-house.
Mattie, waiting on the veranda, watched as the figure of a man got out, and came striding towards the house.
He carried a broad-brimmed hat in his hand, and even at this distance there was something vaguely familiar about the powerful, lean figure in a light-coloured suit.
When he got near enough, she would go down the steps to welcome him, whoever he might be. That was the bush law of hospitality. Perhaps he needed help, or directions, or something else, but whatever his reason for coming, he would be made to feel that the people of Twin Rivers homestead were glad to see him.
Her father had come to her side now, and waited with her.
As the man approached, Mattie’s calm, hostess-like intentions evaporated smartly.
The figure wasn’t vaguely familiar any more. It was achingly, heart-rendingly, astonishingly familiar. Everything about it was familiar, in fact, because those details had been vivid in Mattie’s mind for weeks.
That black springy hair, the mahogany-tan of face and neck that made the level grey eyes seem light as winter frost; the breadth of shoulder and lean toughness of body; the vigorous stride. The only unfamiliar note was provided by the fine leather shoes that at the moment weren’t even dusty, because their owner had been sitting in the cockpit of that graceful aeroplane that lay out there on the strip.
Mattie tried to speak, but her throat was suddenly too dry. Not even a small, strangled sound emerged from the tautness of it. She clenched her hands tight to her sides, and kept her eyes on the narrow-trousered legs and immaculate shoes. She watched them right up till the moment when they took the veranda steps in two casual bounds and stood before herself and her father. The two men shook hands.
“G’day, Gib. You back?” said Lex.
“That’s right, Lex,” said Gib.
It was a laconic greeting, outback-flavoured.
Mattie looked up and up, past another of those quiet, distinctive ties, and saw that Gib was grinning. His eyes had turned into lazy grey slits, and the sun-wrinkles at the corners had deepened. So had the grooves at the sides of his mouth, and there was a fugitive glint of white teeth against tan cheeks before he stopped smiling and turned to Mattie.
When she put out her hand gravely in greeting, he kept it imprisoned in his, and said abruptly,
“I want a word with you, Mattie. That’s what I came for. Will you excuse us a moment, Lex?”
He inclined his head towards her father politely.
“Of course, Gib. Go right ahead.” Lex was helpless with surprise.
“Thank you,” murmured Gib, and then he dragged Mattie after him, away around the corner of the veranda.
She had to almost run to keep up, but she had no alternative, because her hand was still held in his big, brown one.
Gib made for the kitchen, but as a gale of giggles and one of Nellie’s more ear-splitting shrieks sounded from within, he changed course and veered off towards the office.
“Did’n’ I tell youse allasame dat feller Gib come back plurry quick onetime, Lucy?”
“Those two would appear to have been more perceptive than their missus in some respects,” remarked Gib grimly and obscurely, as he pulled her after him into the sanctuary of the office.
Once inside, he sent his broad-brimmed hat spinning into a chair, and they faced each other.
Gib didn’t invite her to sit down like he had always done before. He just stood there, with his feet a little apart and his hands on his hips, looking down at her with a piercing gaze. That was his narrow, thoughtful kind of look. The one that was careful and thorough and missed nothing of what it wanted to see. Mattie squirmed beneath it uncomfortably.
“What a surprise to see you, Gib!” she said, to break the silence. Her voice sounded breathless, but she had been running, so that was only natural. She had to do something to divert the man from that clinically thorough inspection. “Or should I call you Greg now?”
The broad shoulders shrugged.
“So your father told you that, did he, Mattie?” Gib observed, still watchful. “Did you mind, finding out that I was Greg Faversham, and not Gib Fortune?”
“Oh, no,” returned Mattie innocently, glad that some of the tension had gone out of the atmosphere. “Why should I mind? It didn’t make any difference. You’ll always be Gib to me.”
Gib was looking at her with the strangest look. His eyes weren’t grey-frost any longer. They were dark as rainclouds, and there was an odd sort of fire smouldering in their depths.
“Always?” he queried softly. “That’s kind of a permanent-sounding word, isn’t it, Mattie? Always is a long time. For ever, in fact.”
Slow colour crept into Mattie’s pale face. She found herself fumbling for a suitable answer. It was anything but easy, with Gib looking at her the way he was doing.
“Well, I mean—everyone likes to remember friends, don’t they? Specially if they’ve h-helped one out of a fix? What I mean is, I’ll think of you as Gib whenever I think back and remember the—the time you spent here, that’s all. I mean, when someone’s been a good friend to you and your family, it’s natural to remember him always, isn’t it? It is a permanent thing, Gib, in that sense. One doesn’t just forget—” Her voice tailed off.
“Doesn’t one?
” he asked softly.
He wasn’t being very helpful, thought Mattie desperately.
“Gib, why did you come back?” She tried to make her voice sound easy and nonchalant.
Gib stroked his lean chin with a tanned thumb and forefinger.
“I happened to have a letter from your father,” he replied slowly. “Just a note to—er—thank me for helping him out and so on and so forth. There was only one sentence in it that mentioned you, Mattie. He just said that you’d decided you didn’t want to go back to the city, after all.”
Mattie looked bewildered.
“But I—that’s wrong,” she told him. “I didn’t say that at all. I—I said—”
“Shh.” Gib had placed two fingers against her mouth. “Whatever you said, I got your father’s message. It was a man’s kind of message, that said something without saying anything. When I decoded, I came straight here.”
Mattie was aware that his other hand had come up, behind her back, and that his storm cloud eyes had come close to hers, so close that they seemed to look into her very heart.
He removed his two fingers from her lips and replaced them with his mouth.
It was a warm, firm, silencing mouth. At least, that was how it started off. When it suddenly got demanding and passionate instead, Mattie felt tremors run along her nerves. Her limbs seemed to go quite weak, and it was necessary to clutch at the sleeves of Gib’s jacket, up near his shoulders, so that she didn’t go off balance altogether.
When he finally drew away, she felt shaken and aglow, exalted and humble.
“Dear God in Heaven!” murmured Gib huskily. “That’s better! I’m tired of all this verbal sparring. That’s the one way to get results, it seems, with my darling, proud, lovely, two-timing little Mattie.”
He proceeded to kiss her again, with supreme skill and mastery. When she could breathe, Mattie protested forcibly.
“Not two-timing, Gib,” she said. “Never two-timing.”
