by Dorothy Cork
As she walked moodily in the direction of the waiting taxi, she heard the drone of a plane overhead, and shading her eyes against the glare, she watched it coming in to the airstrip. She had a feeling it was Larry Sandfort’s plane, and a moment later she asked the taxi driver, ‘Whose is that plane, coming in?’
‘Larry Sandfort’s,’ he said promptly. ‘Been out mustering on Mullamulla Downs, I hear. Don’t know what’s bringing him in to town today.’
Farrell stood for a moment, her hand on the taxi door, debating what to do. It looked as though she was going to have to see him, whether she chose to or not. Even if he went out to Quindalup to see her, he’d still be coming back to town after that—and she, as he would very well know, would still be there. It might as well happen now as later.
She discovered her jaw was tightly clenched. How she hated him!—for his power in being able to make a prisoner of her for no good reason at all. That was something that had to stop.
She told the taxi driver, ‘I’ll wait here and come into town with Mr. Sandfort. How much do I owe you?’
He told her, looking slightly startled, then handed out her beach bag as she got some money out of her purse As he drove off, she walked across to Larry’s Landrover and waited near it, in the shade. He brought his plane in, and presently she saw him leave it and stroll across to the administration building and disappear inside. She had kept herself discreetly in the shadow of the poinciana tree, but he hadn’t even glanced that way. Eventually he reappeared, and when he was close enough, she stepped into view.
She had expected him to be surprised and even angry, but he gave no signs of being either. And that, she thought with a feeling of irritation, was probably because his—his spies had just told him she’d been trying only five minutes ago to book herself on to a flight out of the area. For all she knew, he might even have been told she’d dismissed her taxi and was waiting for him. Anything was possible where Larry Sandfort was concerned.
He wore blue denim pants and jacket, and the bleached streaks in his thick hair gleamed in the sun. She watched him come closer and closer, with a reluctant fascination. His step was so damnably assured, and she hadn’t remembered his shoulders were so broad. And his eyes—his eyes were so blue they scorched like blue fire, right through to her very soul. Farrell felt a tremor go through her. Somehow, his reality was totally different from the image she’d been nurturing in her mind. Her confidence in herself slipped sideways.
‘You waited for me,’ he said, and her eyes traced the curve of his lips as he spoke, then returned to the enigma of his eyes. ‘Quite a homecoming! Get in, Farrell.’ He hadn’t locked the door and he swung it open for her with a flourish.
She had no idea what to say, and simply got into the seat with her beach bag, and in a moment Larry was beside her. She could have been a wife waiting for her husband to come back from a business trip or from work, and now, ridiculously, as they left the airfield, she wanted to ask him, ‘How did the muster go?’ Instead, she said disagreeably, ‘Why won’t you let me out of this place?’
‘That’s the sixty-four-dollar question,’ he said. ‘Why won’t I? I tell myself it’s out of an altruistic concern for you—but I’m not at all sure about that, Farrell. I expected to see you in town today, by the way. That’s why I’m here. A bright girl like you wouldn’t miss out on a trip into Ansell ... Have you been making the most of Quindalup?’
‘I—I hate it,’ she said. It wasn’t true, but she hoped it hurt him. ‘There’s not a thing to do there, and I’m not going back.’ Her voice wavered uncertainly on the last words. She had been so positive she was not going back, that he couldn’t force her. Now, she was not sure at all. If he chose, he could take her straight out to Quindalup now, and she supposed fatalistically that that was exactly what he would do.
He said pleasantly, ‘I’d have thought you’d be a lot happier there than in Ansell.’
‘With nothing to do? With no one to talk to?’ she said querulously. ‘That housekeeper of yours is no company—she has every minute of the day accounted for. I might as well be alone. I’m like a bird in a cage. Just don’t—don’t take me back there.’
She saw his brows rise. ‘We’re heading for Ansell, Farrell. We’ll talk about it,’ he added slowly. ‘You must have had a few ideas about your future while you’ve been fretting in your cage. I can’t believe you’ve been doing quite that, by the way. You’re more tanned than you were last time we met. Have you been exploring the gorge?’
‘Exploring!’ she repeated scornfully. ‘Don’t try to humour me, as if I were a child! You—you dumped me out there, yet you—you go on about other people deserting me.’
‘I didn’t desert you, Farrell, and you know it,’ he said curtly. ‘And I certainly didn’t compromise you, make you my mistress—and then leave you.’
Farrell coloured angrily. How he did like to take it for granted that she and Mark had been lovers! Well, why should she try to argue her innocence with him? He wasn’t likely to believe her, and anyhow, she no longer cared what he thought. All she wanted was to get away from him and from here.
They had reached Ansell by now, and he glanced at his watch.
‘Mrs. Adams will be leaving for Quindalup in a few minutes,’ he remarked.
‘I’m not going back to Quindalup,’ Farrell said quickly.
‘Did you tell my housekeeper that?’ he asked dryly as he drove slowly along the tree-lined street.
She hated herself for feeling guilty and dishonest. ‘No, I didn’t. It happens to be my own business.’
‘So you were just going to let her wait for you—and not turn up.’
‘Of course I wasn’t. I—I intended to meet her and let her know.’
‘I see.’ He didn’t sound as if he believed her, and to tell the truth Farrell was not clear in her mind just what she had intended. If she’d been able to take off in a plane this afternoon, she’d have done so without a qualm, and left Mrs. Adams high and dry. Yet she hadn’t really believed she’d get a seat on the plane today—or on tomorrow’s flight either, come to that. She had known in her heart that Larry Sandfort wouldn’t let her escape as easily as all that.
‘Well, where’s the meeting place?’ he wanted to know.
‘At the shopping complex. But don’t think I’m—’
‘All right, all right, you want to press the point that you’re not prepared to go back to Quindalup ... Have you left your luggage somewhere?’
‘No. I—I didn’t have time to get packed up. I didn’t know Mrs. Adams was coming to town.’
He made no comment on that, and presently pulled up near the shopping complex. Mrs. Adams was already there, and Farrell and Larry both got out of the Landrover and walked along to her car.
‘Hello, Mrs. Adams. How are things? I hope you haven’t been kept waiting. I’m afraid Miss Fitzgerald won’t be going back with you in any case—she’s staying in Ansell to have dinner with me.’
Mrs. Adams smiled pleasantly, said that that would be nice and thanked Mr. Sandfort for the information, then without further ado got her car moving.
When she had gone, Farrell said emphatically, ‘I don’t want to have dinner with you, Mr. Sandfort. All I want is to be able to take the plane to Port Hedland tomorrow.’
He looked at her intently, his blue eyes narrowed. ‘So you’ve made plans around Port Hedland, have you? Well, you must have dinner somewhere, Farrell, so you might as well have it with me, and you can tell me all about it.’
Farrell grimaced and gave in. There wasn’t anything to tell him, but maybe by the time she had to explain herself she would have thought of something plausible, though at the moment her mind was a complete blank—and so, it seemed, was her future. She began to have an uncomfortable feeling that she would finish up back in Perth with Aunt Jean.
‘Get in, Farrell,’ said Larry, opening the door of the Landrover.
Farrell got in.
‘I’ll get my key and see if there are any mes
sages for me,’ Larry told Farrell when they reached the motel. She was carrying her beach bag and wishing futilely that she had managed to bring all her luggage with her. It would make things so much easier. ‘You can have a brush-up in my suite.’
‘No, thank you,’ she said, colouring furiously. ‘I—I’ll take a room here for the night.’
‘I very much doubt whether you’ll get accommodation. There’s a coach full of tourists here and as well as that we have several official visitors in Ansell. I can practically promise you there are no vacancies.’
Farrell wasn’t prepared to accept that. ‘I’ll find out for myself, Mr. Sandfort.’
He raised his eyebrows. ‘Go ahead, then.’ He turned his back on her and moved towards the desk, and she brushed past him quickly, determined to get in ahead of him, in case he had ideas of issuing instructions that she was to be told the motel was full.
To her chagrin, he was right. There were no vacancies, and of course there was no other hotel in Ansell. He certainly had it all his own way! So what on earth did she do now? She waited helplessly while he exchanged pleasantries with the girl on duty, and told her as she handed him his key and a bundle of letters, ‘I’ll make arrangements for Miss Fitzgerald here—there’ll be no worries.’ He tossed his key casually into the air and caught it, and as casually said to Farrell, ‘Come along now.’
Farrell felt trapped. She was getting used to feeling that way. She wondered what arrangements he had it in mind to make for her, and as far as she could see there were just two alternatives. One was that she should stay here in his suite, which she quite definitely was not going to do. The other was that he should take her back to Quindalup. She wasn’t prepared to do that either, without first exacting a promise from him that he would let her leave town on the plane tomorrow. Unfortunately, she was hardly in a position to bargain. She was, in fact—as usual—at his mercy. The very thought made her feel tired.
‘Do you want to take a shower?’ he asked her when they reached his suite.
‘No, thank you,’ she said distantly. ‘A—a wash is all I need.’
One corner of his mouth quirked up. ‘Don’t read too much into my enquiry. I was merely being polite in offering you first option ... Do you have a change of clothing, by the way?’ His eyes skimmed over her abbreviated top, her long skirt, then went thoughtfully to her bulging beach bag.
Farrell made a frantic effort to think what she had stuffed into that beach bag when she had gathered up a hasty armful of clothes, but she had no idea. Nevertheless, she told him coolly, ‘I have everything I need.’
‘Well, change your blouse,’ he suggested. ‘The skirt will do.’
‘Thank you,’ she said sarcastically.
He moved towards one of the doors that opened off the suite, and opened it. ‘Make yourself at home in here,’ he offered.
A little suspiciously, Farrell looked inside the door and discovered a small attractive room furnished with a divan, a couple of armchairs, and a chest over which was a big mirror. A further door led into a washroom.
‘Take your time,’ said Larry. ‘Pour yourself a drink when you’re ready, if you feel like it.’ The look in his eyes suggested she looked as if she needed something to buck her up. ‘There’s plenty of your favourite tipple—gin and tonic, isn’t it? I’ll join you presently.’
‘Don’t hurry on my account,’ Farrell said. But she said it beneath her breath as he turned away.
She waited till she heard the click of his bedroom door before she went back to fetch her beach bag, and then she locked herself into the small room and used the washroom, discovering fresh towels and soap there. Her skirt had a black background with a pattern of small flowers on it, and luckily she had scooped up a black blouse—a slinky one with long sleeves and a bateau neckline. She changed into it and looked at herself critically in the mirror, and decided she didn’t look bad. The red sandals she had on were passable for evening wear, too. Not that she cared what she looked like really, she told herself.
She gave her hair a thorough brushing and made up her face lightly, taking her time about it, so that she was surprised when there was a knock at the door and Larry called, ‘Are you coming to join me in a drink, Farrell?’
She made a grimace, then shrugged at her reflection and tried a smile. Life was certainly strange lately! When she’d left Aunt Jean’s it had never entered her head that in a few weeks’ time she’d have been through a number of experiences totally unrelated to the life she’d lived in Perth. She’d imagined she’d be ‘home’ with her father and her stepmother—safe and loved, with plenty of time to decide what she was going to do now she’d abandoned the idea of following in her aunt’s footsteps. Instead, she had been far from safe, and at this very moment she didn’t really know if she was safe or not...
She unlocked the door almost expecting to find Larry waiting for her in his dressing gown—he surely couldn’t have showered and dressed in so short a time. But he had, and by now he was standing at the cocktail cabinet, his back towards her. He wore a white shirt and charcoal grey lightweight pants, and his hair was dark from the shower. He turned when he heard her move across the floor, and his gaze flicked over her before his blue eyes looked directly into hers. It did curious things to her and she didn’t know why. It was perhaps just that he seemed to look at her in a different way. He thought she looked good—she could see it there unconcealed in his eyes, and it made her unaccountably nervous. Because wasn’t it supposed to give you confidence if you knew someone approved of your appearance?
She seated herself and more to conceal her attack of nerves than for any other reason told him argumentatively, ‘Gin and tonic’s not my favourite tipple, if that’s why you’re planning to give me. I—I’d sooner have a small dry sherry.’
He smiled slightly. ‘Right—you may have whatever you like. There’s some cheese and a few olives in the refrigerator if you’d care to fetch them.’
Farrell felt him watching her as she crossed the room, and she wished she knew what went on in his head, but there was no hope of that. She opened the refrigerator and found small cubes of cheese in a covered container, green olives in another. Self-consciously she placed them on the low coffee table and sat down again, not even raising her eyes when he handed her a small glass of sherry. Disconcertingly, she recalled what Cecile had said to her father that day at the Coral Reef Hotel—‘He’s the kind of man who starts making love to you at the dinner table’. Well, they weren’t at the dinner table, but they were very much alone. And he had once asked her to marry him. That seemed so incredible now that without meaning to, she looked up and caught him looking back at her, a totally baffling expression on his face.
She sipped her sherry, took one of the olives, and said jerkily, ‘I had a letter from my father. Did he—did he write to you too?’
‘I suppose he may have,’ he said absently. ‘I haven’t looked through my mail yet. It can wait—so long as you can assure me your father’s not likely to be uttering dire threats of revenge unless I free his daughter from the cage I’ve shut her in.’
He spoke half humorously, but Farrell refused to smile. Not for anything would she have told Larry Sandfort that her father seemed actually pleased he was taking an interest in her, and even had ideas in his head that there could be a romance in the air. She would make sure, when she wrote back, that she disillusioned him on that point...
‘Oh no, you really fooled him,’ she told Larry, and had the satisfaction of seeing an expression of annoyance cross his face.
‘And what do you mean by that?’
‘Just that I think you’re behaving very badly. You—you’re keeping me here against my will. And if you don’t see that I’m able to get a seat on the plane tomorrow, Mr. Sandfort,’ she added, warming to her theme, ‘then I shall write to my father and tell him the truth.’
His eyes narrowed. ‘I don’t quite know what you mean by the truth ... But I’ll write to your father too, Farrell—and tell him that w
hen I found you, you were with a man. Your stepmother will back up the truth of that, no doubt.’
‘You’re not—fair,’ she said angrily, though she knew that once again she was defeated. Yet why was he so intent on keeping her here, now he no longer wanted to marry her?’What do you want of me?’ she demanded, raising her head to look at him challengingly.
He appeared to consider her question, staring at his glass of Scotch while he did so. Finally he said enigmatically, ‘I don’t know that I want anything of you, Farrell. I just haven’t made up my mind what’s to be done about you. A short time ago, I’d have been in no doubt. As it is, I haven’t yet come to terms with the situation. But it won’t do you any harm to cool your heels while I come to a decision.’
‘Then I wish you’d hurry up.’ Farrell, who wasn’t at all sure what he meant, felt herself smouldering. The arrogance of him—taking her over like this, holding her helpless in this tiny oasis of a town, isolated in the wild ranges!
Possibly there were other places in the world where a girl could be more helpless, but to Farrell, who had never been out of Western Australia, this was the ultimate. She had done herself not one whit of good in managing to get away from Quindalup. She might just as well have stayed there and submitted to her fate. At least that way she would have been spared a little more of his company!
CHAPTER SEVEN
Farrell was very cool over dinner. She’d had plenty of training in being cool and detached in Perth, but she found it didn’t come so easily now. It needed a decided effort. She was thankful anyhow that he didn’t make too much of a thing about what she planned to do once she reached Port Hedland.
‘Just look for work,’ she told him indifferently when he asked, and he let it go at that.
‘What about the writing? Have you tried your hand out there lately? You must have accumulated a few experiences you need to work out of your system, lately. That’s said to make good material, I believe.’
