Over the Blue Mountains

by Mary Burchell

  After supper there was still some delay, and most passengers sat around on the verandah talking idly and a little sleepily to each other. There was very much an end-of-the-journey atmosphere, and already people were talking of their plans for the morrow and the links that they would be picking up as soon as they reached Sydney.

  Most of the other passengers seemed to be returning residents. Only Juliet—or so it seemed to her—faced a vague and disorganized future.

  She was relieved, therefore, when her aunt came and deliberately chose a chair beside her, with an air that said that she wanted a quiet talk with her niece. But her opening words were anything but reassuring.

  “I’ve been thinking over what you said, Juliet, dear,” she stated, firmly fastening all responsibility on Juliet, “and I do feel you are right in deciding that it would not be a success if you came to us. It’s a pity, of course, but one has to be sensible about these things.”

  “Of—course,” Juliet agreed, with a certain sinking of her heart, even though she had ceased to entertain many hopes of a reconciliation.

  “I think you said you had your fiancé here?”

  “Yes, Aunt Katherine.”

  “And that you would have been corning to join him soon in any case...”

  “Well—”

  “So that you have really only anticipated things a little in coming out here,” continued Aunt Katherine, with that peculiar facility she had for ignoring interruptions which did not help her own argument. “That relieves my mind from any feeling that I—we—might in any way have persuaded you into something you might now regret. I think, dear, that we had better just consider—and incidentally tell your uncle—that you decided to travel with us for company, because you were coming out to join your fiancé”

  Juliet regarded her aunt with a certain amount of amused irony, though the expression was entirely wasted on the recipient.

  “It will be a little difficult explaining to Uncle Edmund that, on the strength of that decision, I allowed him to advance my fare,” she pointed out dryly.

  “I was just coming to that,” Aunt Katherine replied calmly. “Fortunately, I advanced the money and signed the check, expecting to be reimbursed, of course, by your uncle as soon as I landed. But now we needn’t trouble him, my dear. You can just return the money to me, as you have several times said you were anxious to do, and no harm is done. We needn’t even tell him that we ever thought of anything else. It does certainly simplify things, doesn’t it?”

  “Simplify” was not quite the word that sprang into Juliet’s mind. Involuntarily, she gave a slight shiver of dismay and embarrassment, as she remembered the terrifying total of the check that she had paid to the airline.

  “We—could do that, of course,” she agreed, though there was a certain huskiness in her voice, and she tried not to think that this disastrous levy by Aunt Katherine would leave her with little more than twenty pounds to her credit.

  “I knew you’d see things that way,” Aunt Katherine declared, with great cordiality.

  And before Juliet could qualify her consent, they were told to prepare to board the plane once more.

  “The last lap,” remarked a friendly passenger to Juliet, as they crossed the tarmac. “Sydney tomorrow morning, and then—oh, boy!”

  Oh, boy, indeed! thought Juliet with unhappy cynicism. And she tried to think how she could possibly explain to Martin her arrival—virtually penniless and without a job.

  CHAPTER THREE

  No smoking! Fasten safety belts!

  For the last time the familiar warning flashed on the small screen at the end of the cabin, and immediately there was a hum of excitement among the passengers.

  Everyone seemed happy and elated, and even a little proud, as though sharing in some measure the triumphant accomplishment of yet another safe journey. A journey that, however often completed, must still remain something of a miracle.

  “Twelve thousand miles in four days!” someone exclaimed.

  “And dead on time,” added someone else.

  “A marvelous flight—”

  “I wonder who will be meeting us—”

  Only Juliet was silent, as she gazed below, striving to gain a clear impression of the country that was now to become home to her.

  For the last quarter of an hour they had been following the coastline, with its thousand indentations, its golden strips of beach, its dark green woods against the lighter green of the grass. And now it was possible to identify the great bay and the harbor that had brought fame and prosperity to Sydney.

  The spiderlike tracery of the incredible arch that spanned the blue waters looked like fairy work from this height, but Juliet guessed that she was looking down on the superb steel structure of the famous Harbor Bridge.

  Presently it was momentarily lost to view again and, as they neared the ground, Sydney began to look much as any other great city does when one comes in low from the air. Street after street, building after building, house after house—and every one of them completely strange to Juliet.

  Something like panic gripped her, as she felt like one tiny, tiny speck being dropped into that alien city, thousands of miles from everything and everyone she really knew. Then, with an effort, she took a firm hold on herself and turned her attention once more to the activity within the cabin.

  As she did so, her aunt said affably, “I am sure your uncle will be waiting for us. And of course you will come with us to the hotel for today and tonight, until you can make your own plans.”

  She had been like that—extremely sweet and pleasant about everything, ever since the moment last night when, just before they had settled to sleep, she had indicated firmly that the most simple and convenient thing would be for Juliet to hand over a check for her fare right away. “Before we get absorbed in other things,” Aunt Katherine had added, as though a matter of two or three hundred pounds were just one of those trifles one might forget.

  Even now, Juliet was not quite sure why she had complied without argument. There was the overwhelming feeling, of course, that she wanted to be rid of the whole distasteful business, and never, never again to be under any obligation to the relatives who had said and implied such offensive things during the unfortunate incident at Singapore. There was also the undoubted fact that she had originally declared that she wished to be responsible for paying her own fare. But, at that time, her idea of the amount involved had been very vague and, even when she had repeated herself, less emphatically, during the Singapore upset, she had certainly not visualized having to part with the whole sum immediately on arrival in Australia.

  But, in the face of Aunt Katherine’s bland and determined assumption that there was really only one course in the circumstances, she had found it impossible to argue or prevaricate. She might have sacrificed her security to her pride—never a very sensible thing to do—but she could not see what else she could have done.

  Well, there was no point in regretting, or even in worrying, now. Only Juliet suddenly thought very poignantly and clearly of her little apartment in Hampstead, and of going along the Strand and Fleet Street to a safe job, and there was a great and heart-shaking longing in her for familiarity and security.

  But at that moment the plane landed, with a slight bump of the undercarriage, and her thoughts switched back again across the world.

  I am not so many miles from Martin now, she thought, with rising hopes. Why, if I had his telephone number, I could probably call him up.

  He had never had any occasion to give her his telephone number, of course, and so there was no question of putting the idea into literal practice. But that did not matter. The point was that he was within reachable distance at last, and nothing else seemed really important.

  Not until her uncle appeared at the airport to meet them had Juliet really thought about him as an individual who had an actual family tie with her. He had seemed nebulous, impersonal and no more a real connection of hers than Aunt Katherine.

  But when she
saw the tall, distinguished, gray-haired man who was so singularly reminiscent of her mother, she felt her heart suddenly throb with that strange knowledge and reaction that comes to us only at the sight of our own. He was her uncle—her mother’s brother. And he welcomed her—if not with warmth, since that was not in his nature—at least with the same kindly courtesy that he showed his wife and daughter.

  He looked tired, even ill, Juliet thought. And, pleased though he evidently was to see his family, as soon as the first greetings were over, he reverted to what was obviously his usual manner—one that held a hint of suppressed nervous irritation. Juliet, who was not unobservant, felt certain that this did not arise from natural ill temper, but rather from some constant worry or strain.

  It was a long drive from the airport to the hotel, and not until they reached the center of the city did Juliet catch glimpses of any individual features. Then, as they swept past a large park like square with what was obviously a beautiful War Memorial in the center, her uncle leaned forward and said, “That is Hyde Park, Juliet. I hope it makes you feel at home.”

  Juliet smiled gratefully and looked with genuine admiration at the splendid square. But, far from making her feel at home, it made her feel even more strange, to find so familiar a name attached to something so entirely unfamiliar.

  Rooms had been engaged at one of the principal hotels, although it was evident that neither Aunt Katherine nor her husband had any intention of delaying their departure to Melbourne longer than they could help.

  “I’ve booked seats on the plane tomorrow,” Uncle Edmund stated. “I hope you can all be ready by then.”

  “Of course,” Aunt Katherine unhesitatingly agreed. “Though we shall have to cancel Juliet’s seat. I’m afraid she won’t be coming with us.”

  “Won’t be coming with us?” Uncle Edmund, who had been standing at the window of the rather depressing hotel sitting room, looking out, swung around at that. “Why not, pray?”

  “She’s joining her fiancé, dear.” Aunt Katherine absently patted a strand of hair into place. “He lives somewhere beyond Katoomba, and, I understand, can hardly wait for Juliet to join him.” She smiled kindly at Juliet as though this were a touching situation that they had often discussed on the journey.

  “But I thought you wrote me that Juliet was coming to live with us for a while,” objected Uncle Edmund, in a tone that suggested some degree of real disappointment.

  Aunt Katherine tightened her lips slightly.

  “Well, she changed her mind, my dear. She feels the best thing is for her to join her fiancé. And I certainly don’t think we should stand in her way.”

  “No, of course we don’t want to make her do anything she doesn’t want to do.” That slight note of irritation sounded in Uncle Edmund’s voice. “I’m sorry you won’t be coming with us even for a little while, though, Juliet.”

  “I’m sorry, too, uncle,” Juliet said sincerely. “But I think I should—I should join Martin as soon as possible.”

  “Well—just as you like,” her uncle replied discontentedly. “Where’s this place you speak of?”

  “Tyrville, uncle. I think it’s about two hours’ journey beyond Katoomba. But I believe a local railway goes out there.”

  “Most improbable,” snapped Uncle Edmund crossly. “Anyway, it will be easier if I take you out there by car tomorrow. We’ll have to postpone our departure.”

  “Oh, Uncle Edmund, you needn’t do that,” Juliet cried, at the same moment as her aunt exclaimed incredulously.

  “Postpone our departure? But, my dear, Juliet is perfectly capable of finding the place herself. She’s most efficient and reliable. You can’t expect Verity and me to hang about in Sydney while you go chasing all over the Blue Mountains with Juliet!”

  “I’ve no intention of chasing all over the Blue Mountains, as you put it,” retorted her husband with asperity. “And as for what anyone expects—I don’t think my dead sister would have expected me to leave her daughter stranded in a strange continent with no better protection than some young man she hasn’t seen for goodness knows how long.”

  “Uncle, I shall be quite all right.” Juliet laughed a little, but she was a good deal touched by her uncle’s solicitude—the first genuine solicitude that had been shown on her behalf by any of her relations.

  “Of course she’ll be all right! She’s not a child,” muttered Aunt Katherine, without a trace of her usual sweetness.

  “She’s my niece,” replied Uncle Edmund obstinately. “And I don’t intend to leave her on her own until I’ve seen her handed over to the care of some responsible person.”

  It seemed that Aunt Katherine knew when it was no good arguing further with her husband. She withdrew from the discussion, but with a gravely displeased air and an expression that, on a less determinedly charming face, would have been called sulky.

  Juliet was sorry to have proved a bone of contention so quickly, but there was little she could do about it. Only, she decided that, if her aunt left her to her own devices during the afternoon, she would go out to one of the tourist offices, which must surely exist in the center of the town, and make inquiries about the possibilities of getting to Tyrville by some simple means that might satisfy her uncle’s concern on her behalf.

  This, however, proved unnecessary. At lunch Max Ormathon joined them and when, in the course of conversation, Uncle Edmund said something about his having to take Juliet to Tyrville the next day, Max looked up and said, “But I’m driving that way myself tomorrow. I’ll take her with pleasure.”

  Aunt Katherine, nonplussed for once, gazed at her plate, while Verity caught her breath on an angry gasp but dared not do more. Uncle Edmund, however, was delighted.

  “Why, that’s splendid!” It was the first time Juliet had seen him display so much enthusiasm. “I shall feel perfectly satisfied if you will undertake to see Juliet safely to her destination. You say it won’t be out of your way at all?”

  “Not in the least.”

  Max Ormathon smiled slightly at Juliet, but—uncomfortable and embarrassed by the presence of her aunt and Verity—she could not smile in return. She could only look away and say a little ungraciously, “It’s quite unnecessary for Mr. Ormathon to come. Really, I’d much rather go alone.”

  “I won’t hear of your going alone, my dear,” her uncle insisted. “This is a most happy solution of the difficulty.”

  “I thought you were coming on with us to Melbourne, Max,” Aunt Katherine said a little reproachfully.

  “Not for a week or ten days, Mrs. Burlett. I promised my sister I would spend a short while with her as soon as I got home. She and her husband have a place between Bathurst and Cowra. I can easily drop Juliet off at Tyrville.”

  “Excellent, excellent,” pronounced Uncle Edmund.

  And there really was nothing left for Juliet to do but thank Max Ormathon for the promised lift, and try to look as though she didn’t know Verity would willingly have killed her by inches.

  But, immediately after lunch, she made her escape from her relations and from the hotel. Not only did she feel she was entitled to a couple of hours on her own and the chance of catching a glimpse of Sydney, but she wanted to avoid any possibility of further clashes.

  Even now she had only a vague idea of the relationship between Verity and Max Ormathon. Evidently he was an accepted friend of the family, but Juliet could not really say that she had seen any indisputable basis for Verity’s assertion that Max was the man she was going to marry.

  Possibly, or course, she had meant that he was the man she intended to marry. And if so—and she had not yet gone much beyond the stage of wishful thinking—that would do much toward explaining her fury and resentment over any fancied display of interest on Juliet’s part.

  If she only knew how welcome she is to him, thought Juliet, with an amused, exasperated little laugh. She can have all the Max Ormathons in the world, so long as I have my Martin.

  And thinking once more of Martin and their a
pproaching meeting she went out into the sunshine of Martin Place—an augury that she found both amusing and charming.

  After a few minutes Juliet realized that she must be in the business and banking quarter of the city and, following what she thought she remembered of the drive that morning, she was pleased to find that she successfully retraced the route as far as the Hyde Park, which her uncle had pointed out.

  This time it had a faint familiarity about it, and she welcomed it almost as an old friend. It was a cool, bright afternoon—not at all what one would regard as a winter afternoon at home—and Juliet sat down on one of the benches and looked her fill at the beautiful Anzac War Memorial and the Pool of Reflections beyond. Indeed, if was some time before she realized that she also had a distant but impressive view of the Harbor Bridge once more. And here, too, she seemed to recognize an old friend again.

  She spent most of the afternoon sightseeing, and each time she recognized some landmark she had seen before, it seemed to her that she strengthened some small link with her new homeland, and she thought, I am going to know and like this place! It’s Martin’s country now and soon it will be mine. England will always be home—but I like this place. I like the feeling of vitality and experiment—and those skyscrapers rising on the skyline—and that wonderful, wonderful bridge. It’s like the embodiment of the strength and determination of a new country.

  And now she was glad she had come—even if she had only twenty pounds or so in her cruelly depleted bank account. Tomorrow she would see Martin, and they would be able to talk over the future together, and it was inconceivable that they would not find some solution that would mean their being able to be near each other—even perhaps to marry right away.

  The departure next morning was not an easy one. For one thing, everyone was pretending so hard that things were what they were not that it was dreadfully hard to arrive at a nice compromise between amiable pretence and brutal fact.