by Lucy Walker
Chapter Fourteen
Half an hour later, Ann, sitting in the back seat of Lang’s car ‒ because that way she could keep the injured foot on a cushion on the seat ‒ wondered at the authority with which he managed things.
While he had been so carefully cutting away her shoe he had said nothing. Then all of a sudden he had gone into action. Ross was to take Aunt Cassie home ‒ which meant Claire too; he himself would take Luie; supper was to be provided for visitors and invalid alike; then the car brought round and everyone on their way. No nonsense at all!
Nobody demurred, though Ross looked disturbed as Luie was shepherded into Lang’s car at the foot of the veranda steps. Once again Lang had come between Ross and Luie. Why does he do it? Ann asked herself for the dozenth time. Ross could have taken Luie home on his way back to the coast with Aunt Cassie and Claire. Why had Lang so ruthlessly deprived him of that pleasure?
Dr. Evans agreed that Ann’s ankle was badly sprained. After he had treated and bound it he warned her this meant keeping off her foot and sitting about for some time. ‘A week or two at least,’ he said sympathetically.
‘But I can’t do that!’ she cried in despair. ‘I have a job. It’s a most important job. They can’t do without me.’
‘They will have to do without you.’ Dr. Evans was a tubby-built man with an overgrown moustache and a firm manner. ‘Otherwise I shan’t be responsible for the total recovery of your ankle. You don’t want a weakness there for life, do you? I shall speak to Lang about it.’
He left the surgery in search of Lang, who was drinking tea with Mrs. Evans in the small sitting-room adjacent to the surgery.
‘Miss Boyd says she can’t afford to take time off from her job. How important is her work, do you know, Lang?’ Lang made a wry grimace.
‘It happens to be with me ‒ at Franklin’s. At the moment I would say she was indispensable. This is the sort of typist-crisis I’m always facing in the wool season.’
‘You’ve been through it before, old man. You’ll have to go through it again. We don’t seem to have enough young women around to do the office work these days. That girl’s ankle needs total rest.’
‘She’ll have total rest. I’ll guarantee that. I’ll find someone else, or go without.’
‘I’m afraid that’s the case,’ Dr. Evans said firmly.
Lang had added his decision to that of the doctor and Ann knew him well enough, by this time, to know that it was final. She was destined to sit in a lounge chair and feel she had let Miss Devine and Franklin’s Wool Exporters down sadly.
‘What beastly luck!’ was all she could say.
Claire, when she heard the news the following day, had sudden splendid ideas herself. She had gone with her aunt to see over the wool-stores.
It was an impressive visit. The girls in the office, and most of the men, had nearly fallen off their chairs when the impressive Mrs. Boyd had been brought in accompanied by the most extravagant ‘doll’ of a girl they had ever seen. They didn’t know which of the two visitors was the more interesting. They had never seen anyone like Mrs. Boyd before. The elderly visitor dispensed charm so naturally and said such outrageously forthright things that the whole office was at her feet in no time.
Miss Devine appeared in the role of an extra-fluffy hen in charge of a special assignment. She led Mrs. Boyd through the office, talking breathily and at top speed, for once entirely unnoticing of the fact that all work had stopped.
Claire walked with Lang, some yards behind her aunt and Miss Devine. She was conscious of the impact she was making on everyone, and she enjoyed the fact that the girls’ eyes moved backwards and forwards between herself and Lang. She read their thoughts like secrets exposed. She knew every girl was quietly saying to herself: ‘Wow! Look what Mr. Lang has bought himself by way of homework!’
Claire, from experience, knew office jargon very well.
When later, in the wool-store, she saw the vast fortune of wool flowing in and out she settled for the fact that Lang Franklin was the man for her.
With all that white fleecy stuff ‒ and someone did tell her how much per pound weight it was worth ‒ he had to be rolling in riches!
As a man he was something himself too. He had everything. Good looks, sudden flashes of charm, quiet strength, and a will of his own. The whole box and dice, in fact. He was a man who was a challenge to any girl.
She liked his long silences as she liked the small quizzical smile that sometimes wreathed the corners of his mouth, and the ironical gleam in his eye when she herself said something too devastatingly woolly about wool.
He didn’t like clever women anyway. Claire knew this from her experience of other men. A number of them had told her this. Anyway, she would rather go to the hairdresser than read a wordy book. Men wanted beauty and good dressing, not blue stockings.
Miss Devine, between cups of tea served on her own table in her office, told Mrs. Boyd that Ann’s absence was a terrible loss to the office.
‘Just now, and we’re so busy! Of course Mr. Lang was lucky to get her in the first place, but he is most upset. Ann was very good at cataloguing. And checking at the sales too. That is quite an art, you know. Mr. Lang will probably be sore-headed about it till she comes back. If only we’d been able to find someone to replace her!’
This, and the many inquiries in the main office about Ann’s accident, had been more than enough for Claire.
She too had worked in an office. She had never been less than efficient, though it was true she would rather spend her life elsewhere than earning her living. However, it was clear that the Franklins seemed to put a lot of prestige-value on being efficient, and in working. It seemed to them to be an honourable way of passing time.
Ann was up there at The Orchard being interesting with that wretched ankle of hers.
Claire, because she was angry, was inclined to believe Ann had almost done it on purpose ‒ just to be near Lang Franklin.
Well, there was another way of being near that man. The office! She herself would offer to take Ann’s place so they would not be short of staff. The very fact of offering would impress. It would only have to be for a fortnight if she didn’t like it. But if she did? And if she saw Lang every day? Well ‒ you never can tell, can you?
The girls in the office dressed nicely and were quite pretty, but Claire knew she would outshine them all. On the typewriter too ‒ if she put her mind to it. She wasn’t altogether without brains!
Once again Ann and Claire changed places. The first time it had been done unconsciously, for neither had known that it was Claire whom Mrs. Franklin had intended to invite to stay with her, not Ann. Neither yet knew of Ann’s mistake in accepting the invitation for herself. On this occasion they both knew what was happening. Ann had been meant to stay in the hotel with Aunt Cassie and work in Franklin’s, and Claire was to be the visitor at The Orchard, a guest in Lang’s home.
A sprained ankle had altered it all. Now it was Ann at The Orchard and Claire working in Franklin’s.
‘Wouldn’t it!’ Ann said furiously, when she knew. She couldn’t bear to think of anybody in her special seat in the sale-rooms. She minded badly someone else in her place in Franklin’s office too.
She told herself she was glad for Lang’s sake the firm had a ‘replacement’. Nothing was worse than being short of staff. She just wished … wished with all her heart … that it wasn’t always Claire who was her replacement.
Poor Luie, too! was her recurring thought. Luie complicated with Ross and managed from off-stage by Lang! Poor Luie is worse off than I am.
Yet every night there was the consolation of Lang’s homecoming. Ann found herself waiting at each sundown hour for the sound of his car haunting the distant echoing hills long before he drove into the nearer valley on the last coiling turn to The Orchard.
She knew the sound of Lang’s car now, above the sound of all other cars. She knew, very particularly, the sound of his hand-brake as he pulled it on. Sometimes it was
Ross who came up … often on his way over to the Condons’. Sometimes it was Heather, visiting on her late way back from the studios. Sometimes it was some other neighbour, or Mrs. Franklin being brought home from a social do in Kalamunda or an even bigger social round down at the coast. Ann never mistook the sound of those cars or hand-brakes for Lang’s.
Sometimes Lang didn’t come home till late at night. On those occasions she did not see him. His place at the dinner was set but his chair was empty. All she heard, on those nights, was the sound of his car coming home, and his footsteps along the veranda as he came into the homestead.
She wondered, then, if he had perhaps taken Claire to dinner, or a cinema. Telephone calls from both Claire and Aunt Cassie mentioned Claire was having a wonderful time, had been out several evenings.
Claire’s idea of a wonderful time was plenty of male admiration. Ann knew that.
On the first Saturday after the accident Lang, who had stayed over-night at the coast, drove Claire up to The Orchard for the day. Aunt Cassie had already made a pleasant acquaintance with some people called Bassett staying a day or two in the hotel. They came from the south-west and they had taken her back to their farm for the week-end. This was the week-end Aunt Cassie was to have spent at The Orchard, but she insisted on the occasion being put off. She felt sure that Mrs. Franklin had her hands full with Ann as an invalid, and now Claire, who was anxious to spend the week-end there herself.
‘I would much rather come when you are not cluttered by those nieces of mine,’ she had declared. ‘Then I will be the centre of all attention. Vanity, alas, all is vanity! I’m sure you understand, dear Mrs. Franklin, and in the meantime I want you to think about coming and spending a week-end in this delightful hotel with me. Two Italian singers entertain us at dinner every night. Quite, quite wonderful!’
Aunt Cassie, it was clear, was on top of the world. Claire, giving news of her, declared her elderly great-aunt was the main attraction at the floor-show in the hotel ballroom on one evening during the week.
‘The spotlight was on Aunt Cassie and all her regalia more often than on the dancers,’ Claire said resignedly. ‘Really, what chance does a girl have? They actually had the TV camera trained on her for nearly half the time. Aunt Cassie, of course, played up to it like anything. She was more than a duchess. And all those beads! She wore fourteen strings that night.’
‘Oh, I do wish we’d known!’ Ann said from the lounge chair on the veranda. ‘We would have looked at it on the set.’
‘It was for some Eastern States company who filmed it for a special coast-to-coast programme. Heather said it won’t be released here until after the big cities like Sydney and Melbourne have seen it. She’ll watch out for it. Aunt Cassie, of course, wrote to the TV company and demanded a private viewing in advance.’
‘No!’ laughed Ann.
‘She did. She mentioned she had been used as an unpaid star and demanded special privilege in return. She understood there was such a thing as Actors’ Equity.’
There was laughter all round the veranda, for Mr. and Mrs. Condon had come across from their property to inquire after Luie’s whereabouts. Claire and Mrs. Franklin made up the party round the tea-table. Lang had no sooner arrived home that he had excused himself and gone off round the orchard with Ted and was the only one missing the recital of Mrs. Boyd’s television experiences.
‘He’s worrying about fly in the apricot crop,’ Mrs. Franklin said. ‘Such a nuisance to kill out. Quite expensive, too.’
Claire wondered why a few apricots mattered when there were all those acres up on their station property; all those sheep and all that wool too ‒ never mind the brokers’ fees for handling other people’s wool in addition.
So much money ‒ and they worried about apricots!
She waited until tea was finished when she thought it would not be an affront to Mrs. Franklin’s idea of politeness if she went to look at the orchard herself.
Ten minutes later Ann could see her fair head and pretty cherry-coloured dress down at the end of the orange grove with Lang.
‘They are looking over the citrus trees now,’ Mrs. Franklin said. She also had seen the two figures at the bottom of the home orchard.
Ann noticed Mrs. Franklin could not hide the note of satisfaction in her voice. She had been wonderfully kind to Ann but it was clear that Claire was her favourite. In Mrs. Franklin’s eyes Claire was perfect.
‘A lady, born and bred. Such an air!’ she had said more than once.
Mrs. Condon thought Claire was a ‘lovely girl’ and she too said so. She was a woman eager to please Mrs. Franklin.
Mr. Condon was serious, and too preoccupied in worrying about his younger daughter Luie, to join in this conversation.
While Mrs. Franklin and Mrs. Condon discussed first Claire, then the impact Mrs. Boyd would make if they asked her to open the flower display at the Kalamunda Agricultural Show two weeks hence, Mr. Condon drew his chair closer to Ann.
‘Did neither Claire nor Lang say anything of Luie to you?’ he asked. ‘I understood she went down to the coast last night to go to some theatre. She was to go in a party with Claire and Lang. I know Lang would look after her.’
Ann knew from a few of Claire’s purposeful remarks that she had been somewhere interesting with Lang on the evening before.
‘She would have been all right in their company,’ Ann said easily, in a putting-off way. ‘In any event Heather stayed down last night too, didn’t she? I understand she uses a small flatlet ‒’
‘Yes, yes. That is where Luie said she would stay, as Lang was not coming up to The Orchard till this morning.’
‘I suppose she has gone swimming, or water-skiing,’ Ann said lightly. ‘She does love it, doesn’t she? I mean … the ocean, and water-sports?’
Mr. Condon cogitated as if he wanted to say something more yet was not certain of his will to do so. Eventually his anxiety won the day.
‘I’m not at all happy about that young man Ross Dawson. Well, to tell the truth, he is not so very young, is he? Almost or about thirty, I should say. I believe he was to be in the theatre party. He is very travelled and experienced …’
He said ‘experienced’ as if this was a fault, not a matter of passing years.
‘Please don’t worry,’ Ann said gently. ‘I travelled all the way out from England with Ross, and a nicer, kinder companion I couldn’t imagine. He took the greatest care of me, and if Luie is with him I’m sure he will take the same care of her.’
‘Yes ‒ well ‒ that is the point! I’m sure he is a well-intentioned young man, but after all Lang feels he is your friend, Ann. Of course Ross couldn’t possibly know Luie well. She is quite difficult at times, you see …’ He fell silent.
He seemed now to wish to withdraw his words. He dug in his pocket for his pipe and his hands trembled as he went about filling it, tamping it down, then lighting it.
Ann was puzzled. Life seemed so free and easy here in this bright sunlit land. Why the tremendous care of Luie all the time? Had it been because the Condons were afraid that Ross’s attentions to Luie had been making Ann unhappy? That by playing up to Ross so much Luie might lose Lang?
Surely Lang did all the Luie-management Mr. Condon could possibly want. As for herself … if Ross and Luie were attracted to one another, Ann was all for it. Luie might bury her unrequited love for Lang in Ross’s affection. It could develop into something more. And why not? Luie was a nice girl, if just a little naïve and sometimes over-gay and other times over-sad and even grumpy. Ross was a man with an established job, an interesting one too, because of the amount of travelling involved. It was a very highly-paid job, in addition.
Did Mr. Condon fear for her, Ann’s feelings?
‘Mr. Condon,’ Ann said tentatively. ‘If Ross and Luie are attached to one another, as friends or as ‒ well ‒ as anything else, I would be very happy.’
Mr. Condon dropped his pipe. He stooped down to pick it up. When he straightened, his face was
flushed. He seemed distressed.
‘If you’ll excuse me, Ann,’ he said, ‘I’ll go down to the orchard and see Lang. I’m a citrus-orchard man myself and I’d like his advice.’
He left the veranda so abruptly that Ann was startled.
Whatever might have taken place between Mr. Condon and Lang, Ann was never likely to know, for at that moment a car could be heard coming over the spur of the range. Ann recognised the sound of a Holden ‒ the type of car Ross was using. She saw Lang and Claire walking towards the boundary fence as if to intercept the car when it came along the track. Mr. Condon stood amongst the trees, uncertain, then he started to move slowly between the rows, looking at the trees as if no longer interested in Lang’s opinions but only in the flowering and budding of oranges.
Mrs. Franklin and Mrs. Condon went on chatting beside the used tea-things unconcernedly. They had even forgotten Ann was there not six feet away from them. They were involved in a programme of local affairs.
It was a beautiful afternoon. The sun shone over the valley with an extra sparkle on the dark foliage of the orchard trees. The air was heavy-laden with the scent of orange-blossom, reminding Ann of weddings, and all things that were happy.
If only she could get out of this chair!
Actually she had been practising walking on her injured ankle now and again but whenever Mrs. Franklin caught her at it she rushed her back into the chair and began all over again a sort of over-kind cosseting that half-embarrassed Ann. The girl had begun to wonder if she was being kept in a chair on purpose. It seemed too ridiculous. It was even more ridiculous to be spoken of in hushed tones when neighbours rang up to inquire; and very specially when Lang came home at night during the week.
‘The poor child’s ankle is a wreck,’ Mrs. Franklin had said on Thursday night when Lang had come in. ‘Dr. Evans came today and he insisted there was to be the utmost care. Absolutely no walking at all. There could be permanent injury. I’m afraid Ann will be out of action for quite some time.’
