by Jane Corrie
`Cooky could do with some help at smoko,' her father said as she joined him, and gave her a searching look. 'Made it up with Ross, have you?' he asked quietly.
Vicky shook her head. 'No,' she said abruptly, and as she felt the colour rise in her cheeks, she turned away from him 'and walked towards the door on her way to the cookhouse, before he saw her embarrassment.
`Then what was that little scene in aid of?' he asked persistently, before she could make her escape.
For a moment Vicky was at a loss for an answer. If Ross hadn't made such a big scene out of it, she could have explained the reason for his grabbing her at that particular moment, but as things stood, he wasn't likely to believe her. 'Oh, I think he was annoyed because I wouldn't reconsider going ahead with our engagement,' she said carefully. 'I think he's trying to make up for lost time. We weren't ever on that kind of relationship, were we?' she went on quietly. 'That's why I called the whole thing off. The truth is we're more like brother and sister than an engaged couple.'
Her father thought this over for a second or two. `He's a good catch, girl,' he said gruffly. 'There's plenty waiting on the sidelines hoping he'll look their way.'
`I don't want a "good catch",' Vicky said crossly. `I want someone who really cares for me. It's probably just that I hurt his pride in breaking off the arrangement. You know how he likes his own way.' She turned to face her father. 'Well, I ask you—he's never done ' she hesitated here, and willed herself not to blush, 'anything like that before,' she added lamely, thinking it was a good job her father didn't know the whole of it, for if he did, Ross's amused comment of a shotgun wedding would become a reality, of that she was sure.
Gordon Dale nodded his head. 'There might be another reason,' he said slowly. 'It'll cause talk, you know. He takes over the station, but doesn't marry you. It won't take folk long to come up with an answer to that one. It won't look too good for
Ross. Sure, he's highhanded and has a mind of his own, and if he's satisfied with the arrangement, he'll go ahead.' He paused for a second, then added, 'Guess I'm not too pleased with the way things have gone, but I've let things slip around here, and I had it coming, but he's a good man for all that. The way I see it, you'd be saving yourself a lot of trouble by just going along with him.'
Vicky's small chin jutted out, a sure sign to her father that she had other ideas. And that's a good enough reason, is it?' she demanded crossly. 'I should marry Ross simply because everyone expects me to? because of an old arrangement made years ago?' she declared pithily.
`It never worried you before,' her father said quietly.
Vicky's indignant eyes met her father's eyes, and she gave a small shrug. 'I'd never really thought about it before,' she said with a hint of an apology in her voice. 'It always seemed so far away Her voice trailed off, and she stared down at her sandals.
`Look, girl,' said her father gruffly, 'I've some idea of what's wrong. I guess it's partly Ross's fault, and I've not been much help lately, have I?' He passed a hand over his forehead. 'Your mother would have known what to say. It's sincerity that counts and I ought to know,' he added, with a bitter twist of his mouth. 'So Ross isn't the hearts and flowers type well, that sort of man flits from girl to girl like a bee collecting honey, and you wouldn't want a man like that for a husband,
would you? If Ross isn't hung up on you, he certainly isn't hung up on anyone else—that's for sure. As long as you respect each other, all the rest will follow. All I'm saying is give him a chance.'
Vicky's eyes remained on her sandals. It all sounded so easy, she thought miserably, and she couldn't explain how she felt, not to her father. Her mother would have understood. She sighed inwardly. She would have to try to make him understand, for her and Ross's sake. Her fine eyes lifted to meet her father's. 'That's what I'm trying to do,' she said quietly. 'Give Ross a chance. Oh, not only Ross,' she added quickly, 'myself as well. You said there'll be talk if we don't marry, but you know what they'll really be thinking?' she demanded. 'They'll be nodding their heads and inwardly congratulating him on a wise decision. He's never had a chance to look around. At his age most men have flirted with several girls until they've found the right one.'
Her eyes went beyond her father and rested on a picture hanging on the passage wall. It was a landscaped painting of meadows and old oaks, and simply titled 'An English Landscape' and was a favourite picture of hers. It had a timelessness about it. It spoke of the past and the future. It was the future that Vicky was more concerned with now. 'I believe that there's someone special for everyone,' she said in a low voice. 'Sooner or later you meet. that someone.' Her eyes left the picture and came back to her father. 'What happens when Ross or I meet that certain person?' she asked
quietly. 'It's all very well saying that such a thing is unlikely. You met Mother, didn't you? How would you have felt if she hadn't been free to marry you?' she asked softly.
`That's different,' said her father impatiently.
`I don't see how,' Vicky replied. 'The trouble is, it's so easy to forget how it was at that time, and it's not convenient to remember, is it? Not when it doesn't suit. It's my life, Dad.' She gave a little shrug. 'If I went ahead and let Ross and you bully me into marriage I'd feel I'd cheated him and myself,' she shuddered. 'I can see the future. Ross making excuses for his absorption in the station with me sitting in that huge homestead of theirs wondering how to fill in my time.' She gave her father a half-amused, exasperated look. 'He's more out than in, isn't he?' she said scathingly, 'and my being his wife wouldn't make the slightest difference to him. I can't see him hurrying home with tender thoughts of keeping me company, can you?' she asked ironically. 'Not me, anyway—for the right person, yes.'
On this determined note, Vicky left for the cookhouse. She was certain that she hadn't managed to convince her father, or Ross, come to that, that she meant to stick to her word, and not be browbeaten into carrying out their respective parents' wishes just for the amalgamation of the two stations, which now had actually happened without the necessity of marriage.
Once in the cookhouse, Vicky pushed all these annoyances out of her mind. She loved shearing
time. The whole station took on an urgency that transformed it. The drovers' shouts, the constant cries of 'Keep 'em moving!' The endless supplies of food and strong sweet tea at smoke time, accompanied by the constant blatant flattery from the younger bloods of the shearing team, calculated to produce a thicker slice of the puddeny cake they were so partial to.
Only one remark marred the day for her, and that was when one of the team rather overdid the flattery, and received a good humoured rebuke from the foreman. 'Easy on the blarney, lad. That's Ross's girl you're chatting up, and we need his business!'
Vicky then had to endure a lot of teasing, and when was the wedding? remarks, and considering what had taken place that morning she was in no state to humour them, but did manage to hold her tongue. People would know soon enough that there wasn't going to be a wedding, but the remarks gave her food for thought. She was used to being called 'Ross's girl', but there had been no mention of a wedding before, and this worried her. She knew that news travelled fast on a station, and it often had nothing to do with the usual channels of communication. All it required was a couple of station hands with Aboriginal blood in their veins and who had inherited the uncanny knack of 'knowing'.
So it was now common knowledge that Ross owned Dale's Creek, she thought sourly, and sincerely hoped that the whys and wherefores behind his sudden acquisition of the station would not be
bandied abroad, and although this was unlikely, for all the hands were trustworthy men, she felt very uneasy. The only consolation was that she was still expected to marry Ross, and surely this was a good sign. They were expecting the wedding to take place in the near future, adhering to the old agreement between the two families, and that had been common knowledge for years.
However comforting this thought was, concerning her father's affairs, anyway, it was not so helpful
for Vicky. It showed only too plainly that her father's comments that it would look bad for Ross if the marriage did not take place was a fact, and not a ruse to make her change her mind, as she had earlier suspected.
The way things were going, she thought irritably, as she walked back to the homestead in good time to prepare the dinner, she would have to marry Ross, in spite of her fine speech that morning when she told her father that she meant to give Ross a chance—a chance that he didn't seem to appreciate, she thought crossly, only because there was no room in his life for sentiment. His first and last love was for the land, and anything else would be dovetailed to fit in its allotted space. Everything, that was, but her, Ross was man enough to meet any criticism, and would soon plough through anyone who hoped to disconcert him by even as much as a hint in that direction. Ross, she decided, could well look after himself, and there was no need for her to worry on that score, for she had no intention of being pigeonholed into the role he had
allotted her, even though it did mean becoming the wife of the State's largest station owner.
On going into the kitchen, Vicky noted with a sigh of exasperation that she had forgotten to take the lamb chops that she had planned they would have for their meal out of the freezer, and she stood wondering what else they could have at such short notice, and searching in the freezer, came up with meat patties. Their meals these days seemed to consist of last-minute preparations, for Vicky was no hand at cooking. To be fair, there had been a time when she had really tried to produce meals comparable to what her mother used to serve, but trying was as far as she had got, for it could not be said that she succeeded, and she had come to the conclusion that her talents must lie in other directions. Her father's absence from the evening meal during the last two months, had resulted in her not bothering to cook anything on a grand scale, but getting herself quick and easy meals when and if she was hungry.
This state of affairs was shortly to be put to rights, for Jake had told her that afternoon that Ross had suggested that he and Mary, his wife, should move into the homestead directly, as befitted his new position as manager, and at the time Vicky, who had not taken the news too well, even though Jake had assured her it would only be until Ross had fixed them up with permanent quarters on the station, had wondered sarcastically why Ross hadn't made it a permanent arrangement.
When she had got over her annoyance, she had to concede that this was an unworthy thought. She liked Jake, and she got on with Mary. Neither of them was likely to take advantage of Jake's newfound promotion, and, she suspected, had put up some opposition to the scheme when it was put to them by Ross. But Ross's 'suggestion' would have been an order, and seen as such, and therefore would be carried out.
After clearing away their evening meal, Vicky slipped up to the bedroom that Jake and Mary would be occupying the following evening, and saw that all was made ready for them. In her mother's time it had been the main guest bedroom, and in some small way would show Jake and Mary that they were welcome, in spite of her rather unenthusiastic acceptance of the news from Jake earlier that day, and of which she was now ashamed, for her mother would have heartily approved of the arrangement; in the old days, Mary had helped in the homestead, and Mrs Dale had been very fond of her.
When she went back to the sitting-room to join her father, Vicky also conceded that having Jake around meant company for her father. They were both fond of a game of cards, and all in all, it should work out very well.
Her father would have been of the same mind, where Vicky was concerned. Mary would keep Vicky company, only Vicky had other ideas. As soon as it was possible she intended going ahead with her cherished scheme of moving out of Dale's
Creek, and getting herself a job, but first she had to get in touch with Aunt May, she reminded herself.
She had also, she thought guiltily, to tell her father, and there wouldn't be another opportunity after this evening, not with Jake and Mary around, she thought, as she settled down in her usual chair by the window and glanced across at her father browsing through some catalogues giving the latest price of fleece. 'I've put Jake and Mary in the front bedroom,' she said casually. 'It will seem odd having company after all this time, won't it?' she added conversationally.
Gordon Dale grunted an absentminded affirmative but continued to study the catalogue in his hand, and Vicky wondered if he had heard what she had said, but after a moment he lowered the catalogue and looked at her. 'Get on all right with Mary, don't you?' he asked. 'She's a good cook, too,' he added ruminatively.
Vicky's eyes widened. 'Thank you!' she said indignantly. 'I didn't think I was that bad!'
Her father grinned. 'Now I didn't say you were, did I? It's just that Mary's got a light hand with the pastry,' he added.
`So you kept telling me for a week after she'd sent over that steak pie a few months ago,' Vicky said dryly. 'It might just have been a one off success for all you know,' she added teasingly.
`Best cook on the station,' said her father. `Everyone knows that. Even Cooky admits it, and he doesn't hand out compliments often.'
Vicky was glad that her father had got his appetite back and was looking forward to his meals, cooked of course by Mary. 'In other words, leave the cooking to Mary,' she said with a smile, and at her father's quick nod of confirmation she added, `I'll be glad to. In fact, she'll have to take over anyway shortly.' She hesitated; now was the time to mention her plans for getting a job. 'I've decided to get myself a job,' she said casually, and before her father could interrupt, added hurriedly, 'I shall ask Aunt May if I can use the flat above the shop while I'm looking around.'
Her father stared at her. 'Ross won't like that,' he said emphatically, 'and I don't like it either. I don't know what's got into you—not going to marry Ross, and now all this talk about getting a job. What sort of a job, for goodness' sake?' and not waiting for an answer, he carried on, 'This is your home and it's where you belong, and that's how Ross will see it too, you mark my words!'
Vicky sighed. She had known it wouldn't be easy, but she hadn't expected her father to rely on Ross's co-operation in ganging up on her. 'It's got nothing to do with Ross,' she said impatiently. 'As for this being my home—well, it isn't now, is it?'
Her father's tight features told her that she ought to have chosen her words more carefully. 'I'm sorry, Dad,' she said quickly. 'I didn't mean it that way. I know you won't believe me, but I'd decided to get a job before that happened. When I told Ross that I wasn't going to marry him, he put it down to loneliness—said I'd been too much on my
own,' she gave a small smile. 'I suppose in a way he was right. I was fed up with everything. I wanted a change but didn't see what I could do about it—not until—well, you know what,' she said, hastily skimming over that part of it. 'I still didn't see how I could leave, but then I heard about Jake and Mary moving in with us and I knew you'd have company. It's not as if I'm going far away,' she added. 'I should be able to come home for weekends now and again. As for the job I shall get, I shall have to wait and see what turns up. One thing's certain, whatever it is, it will be a change for me,' she declared firmly.
Her father said nothing, but his lips were tight as he turned his attention back to his catalogue again, making Vicky feel wretched, but she was determined to stick to her resolution. Once Jake and Mary were there, things would be different, and he wouldn't even miss her, she thought consolingly.
To Vicky's disconcertion, Ross called shortly after eight, and she found herself hoping that it was a business visit and was not going to be a repetition of what had taken place that morning, but when he settled down in the sitting room with them, and made no attempt to talk business, she knew it was a social call.
She also knew that she ought to feel flattered that he had taken the trouble to keep them company, but she only felt a sense of annoyance. She couldn't remember the last evening he had spent with them. It was so long ago. The days of the
family gatherings had ended shortly after the death of his pare
nts.
In all fairness, Vicky had to admit that Ross's father's sudden death had given him a lot of responsibility. Instead of a gradual takeover of the station, he had had to take full charge at a moment's notice, and considering the size of the station, this was no mean task. Being the type of man he was, he succeeded, and the station prospered, but at the cost of the close friendship between the families.
`I'm thinking of throwing a shindig for the shearing gang,' Ross said casually, as he stretched his long legs out and eased his lean frame into a more comfortable position in the deep armchair opposite Vicky's father's chair. 'They're throwing enough hints around,' he added with a grin.
Vicky looked up from the two-ply jumper she was knitting, and almost dropped a stitch. As long as that was all they were throwing hints out about, she thought darkly.
`Better get it organised while the girl's still around,' Gordon Dale said gruffly, and ignoring the accusing look Vicky sent him, went on, 'Got some daft idea of getting a job in Albury.'
Ross's expressive brows lifted and he stared at Vicky, who hastily turned her attention back to her knitting. 'Since when?' he asked softly.
`Don't ask me!' growled her father. 'She's no call to leave, and so I told her. Perhaps you can talk some sense into her,' he added as he got up, and collecting his catalogue, marched to the door.
`Think I'll see if Jake wants a hand in packing up,' he said, and refusing to meet Vicky's indignant eyes, left the room.
`So?' Ross asked softly.
`So—what?' Vicky replied crossly, determined not to be browbeaten by him.
