by Jane Corrie
Vicky saw the homestead boundary fence in front of them and gave a curt nod of her head. `So you think ?' she left the sentence unfinished.
Mary nodded her head. 'Well, it would solve things from your point of view, wouldn't it?' she said. 'We'll have to get our heads together on it, won't we?' she suggested smilingly.
Vicky drove on steadily, and gave another curt nod but said nothing. For some reason the suggestion did not appeal to her. Ross ought to do his own courting, she thought angrily—if he could spare the time, that was! But it might be interesting at that, she thought with a sudden lift of spirits, and flung Mary a grateful look. It was nice to have someone on your side, she thought, particularly if it happened to be someone like Mary.
CHAPTER FIVE
Two days later the news that Ross was giving the shearers a send-off in the form of free beer and eats at Jarra Station the next evening, when they were due to finish at Dale's Creek, filtered over the grapevine.
Vicky felt a little peeved that it was not being held at Dale's Creek, since it outlined the fact that the two stations were now amalgamated, and that Jarra was the main station, and when Mrs George rang later that morning asking for Mary's help in preparing the mountain of food that would have to be got ready, and requesting that Mary make some meat patties, Vicky felt the altered status in the station even more keenly.
Ross would have told Mrs George to get Mary to help out, and it was a wonder to Vicky that he hadn't ordered her presence too, but then he wouldn't have thought that she could contribute any useful help in that line. She would be expected to attend, of course, but only in the role of a guest.
Nevertheless, Vicky did give Mary a hand by carrying out such mundane tasks as clearing up, and washing the mixture bowls, ready for the next batch of patties to be made.
The rest of that day passed pleasantly, and although Vicky would never have admitted it, she
had loved the bustle and the general air of expectancy that hung over the homestead. It was like the old times. Parties were few and far between these days, and although it was strictly a station affair, there were sure to be some. invitations thrown out to their nearest neighbours and that were bound to be accepted.
Had things gone according to plan, Vicky was sure that Ross would have used the occasion to announce their wedding date, and the fact that no such an announcement would be made would cause a few eyebrows to be raised, but no doubt Ross would handle that side of things with his usual aplomb, she thought dryly.
The following afternoon, Vicky ran Mary up to Jarra to help Mrs George with the cutting of the sandwiches. She had always been in a little awe of the stout, rather formidable-looking housekeeper who had been with the Janson family since Ross was in his early teens. What she had thought of Vicky as the new mistress of Jarra, Vicky could not hazard a guess, but as the situation would not now arise, it was of no consequence.
Whenever Vicky visited Jarra, she was never at her ease. It stemmed from a sense of inequality on her part, and this was outlined by the imposing homestead set in well-tended gardens, and her inward inability to come up to the standards Ross's mother had tried to instil into her.
Dale's Creek, in comparison to Jarra, would come a poor second in the grandeur stakes, if it qualified at all. It was a homestead for working
people whose interests lay beyond the old brick and wood building, and had no other pretensions. It was simply a homestead. There were no lawned areas and well kept flower borders as around Jarra, which looked to Vicky's rather sceptical eyes as if it had been bodily lifted out of one of Canberra's more fashionable housing areas and dumped right in the middle of surrounding pasture land.
It had not always been like that. Vicky's mother had often spoken of the old days before the homestead had been renovated. In those days Jarra and Dale's Creek had been much on a par, and Dale's Creek was considered a more superior dwelling owing to its size rather than its elegance.
When old Dan Janson had died, and his son John took over the reins, his new bride took over the renovation of the homestead. Money being no problem, she set out to produce a dwelling that she could live in, and Vicky's musings on the subject had not been all that far out. The homestead would not have looked out of place in any of the richer suburbs of a city, and all it lacked was a swimming pool, according to Vicky's amused thoughts on the matter.
As Vicky stood next to Mary in the large modern kitchen of Jarra, she was reminded of her mother's comments on the renovations, saying somewhat wistfully, 'Why, four could work in that kitchen and still not get in each other's way!'
Mary's low remark on the side to Vicky as they waited for Mrs George's appearance, that she would need a pilot's licence to operate the cooker,
echoed Vicky's thoughts on the matter, and she gave her a conspiratorial grin, but she could have hugged her. Mary was a 'Dale's Creeker' through and through, and no ostentatious equipment was likely to woo her to the other side, for that was how Vicky saw things, and how she must have felt for a long time, without realising it.
By five o'clock, all was prepared for the party, which would start around seven-thirty. It was held in the store barn at the back of the homestead, and the long low bench was left in its usual position at the end of the roomy barn and was now loaded with piles of sandwiches, meat patties and various cold meats, all covered with damp cloths to keep fresh.
The store's serving counter had been brought into action as a bar at the side of the food bench, and a huge urn of tea placed sedately on a shelf behind the counter for those who preferred a milder beverage.
Mary had been roped in to help with the serving of the food, and after much argument Vicky had allied herself with Mary, taking on the tea counter, although neither Mary nor Mrs George had approved of this arrangement. It was Vicky's task to entertain the guests—not serve them, though neither of them actually said so, this was clearly what they thought, but Vicky was having none of it. As Mary had said, parties were not Vicky's favourite events, and as long as she felt useful, she was happy.
They were back at Dale's Creek in good time to
prepare themselves a light meal to keep them going until the evening, and to change into what Mary referred to as their 'glad rags'.
Mary's ideas, however, slightly differed from Vicky's, for she frowned at Vicky's choice of trews and blouse. 'Haven't you a nice dress, Vicky?' she asked, as she straightened Jake's tie in a wifely way while they waited for Gordon Dale to join them.
Her choice of words was unfortunate, for it echoed Ross's sentiments, and Vicky swallowed back the cutting remark that she would please herself how she dressed. 'I'm more comfortable like this,' she said, surprising herself, for her tone was very mild.
`You'll be the only one in trews, 'Mary persisted. `You know how it is. We don't often get a chance to dress up. All the frills and furbelows will be out, you'll see,' she added.
Jake coughed. 'I'll see what's holding Gordon up,' he said hastily, sensing a battle royal between the women, and coward-like made his retreat.
Vicky's lips firmed as she looked back at Mary. `You've not gone to town,' she said accusingly, casting her eye over Mary's simple dark blue dress, `so why should I?' she asked.
Mary's brows lifted. 'I'm a working girl,' she said with a grin, showing that she had not taken exception to Vicky's remark but had taken it as Vicky had meant her to take it.
`So am I,' Vicky replied quickly.
`You know what I mean,' Mary answered, and
gave a sigh of exasperation. 'Do wear a dress, Vicky, please. You'll feel quite out of it if you don't,' she pleaded.
As much as she wanted to argue the point, Vicky suddenly gave in. Having Mary there brought back memories of her mother and how she used to coax her into dressing up for a party, and she reluctantly went back to her room to comply with Mary's request.
Back in her room, Vicky wished she had not given in to Mary. To make a special effort now would be sure to give Ross ideas, and she liked things as they were.
He would reason that womanlike she had taken heed of his remarks on her manner of dress, and taken trouble to please him. Before she knew what was going on, he would be announcing their wedding date, she thought irritably.
When she reappeared ten minutes later, wearing a soft pink dress with a flounced skirt, she earned an approving nod from Mary, and a quick grin from Jake, but her father's look of surprise and whimsical remark that he had a lovely daughter brought a lump to her throat. Her mother had used the same tactic years ago to make Vicky feel good when she had complied with her wishes, and it made Vicky feel worse, rather than better.
For a moment or so it was touch and go whether she went to the party or not. She didn't want to go one little bit, and only the thought of carrying out her cherished plan of goading Ross into having a blazing row in public with her made her allow her-
self to be ushered into her father's Land Rover along with Mary and Jake.
By nine o'clock the party was in full swing, and Vicky, enveloped in one of Mrs George's aprons to protect her dress from any accident that might occur from the tea counter, felt safe from any persuasion to join in the dancing that started up when one of the station hands produced a violin, and was soon joined by another with a mouth organ. After a short time, another station hand appeared with a huge old accordion, and when some enterprising hand put a dilapidated-looking saucepan to use as a makeshift drum the evening was set for success as an improvised barn dance.
Looking round at the happy assembly, Vicky had to concede that Mary had been right. She would have felt very much out of it if she had stuck to her guns and worn her trews.
Even Mrs George had made a concession in the matter of dress, and had discarded the dark dresses that Vicky could only recall ever seeing her wear for a light summery one, and actually took part in the dancing at Ross's instigation.
Up until the dancing started, Vicky had not seen much of Ross; he had been busy seeing that the shearing gang were liberally served with refreshments, and chatting to the other landowners. When he had glanced over her way, Vicky had still been covered by Mrs George's apron that was so large that it gave no clue to the dress beneath, and she thought she detected a look of exasperation from him before he turned his attention back to his guests.
The look pleased her. It made a good, start to the evening, and come what may, she meant to hang on to the apron, thus annoying him further.
When the dancing started, however, her plans went awry, for it was Ross who demanded that she come out from behind the counter and join in the fun, and no amount of black looks or excuses that she was quite happy where she was would he accept, and his annoyed, 'Are you coming? Or do I fetch you?' produced a shout of laughter from his men, and murmurings of, 'That's it, Ross. You start as you mean to go on,' from the delighted bystanders, giving Vicky no choice but to comply with his wishes, for it was no mean threat on Ross's part, and however much she wanted to annoy him, she wanted it on her terms, not on his.
His amused, 'And you can take that tent off,' as she stamped round the counter towards him further infuriated her, and did nothing for Mrs George's aplomb, who after a surprised blink gave a smile of amusement. No one else but Ross would have got away with such a remark, Vicky thought furiously, as she flung the apron off and turned to face Ross.
For a fleeting second his bright blue gaze flicked over her slight figure in her pink dress, then he gave a lift of the eyebrows and then gave a jerk of his autocratic head at the musicians to start playing, as he led her on to the floor. 'You'll do,' he said grandly, as he whirled her into the dance.
Do for what? wondered Vicky crossly, although
she already knew the answer. She would do for him, was what he was saying, and she hoped that no one else had heard those words, for it would hardly help her in her campaign. He had decided to forgive her, she thought sourly, and intended to keep up the pretence of their arranged engagement.
As Ross twirled her round in the dance with twice as much energy than was necessary, making Vicky feel like a bullfighter's cloak, a sense of desperation crept over her. If Ross was determined to go ahead, what chance did she have? What chance did either of them have for true happiness? She would always feel crushed by his personality, and he would always look on her as his responsibility, as he looked on the station as part of his inheritance, and nothing more.
When the dance ended, and she stood by Ross's side catching her breath, she caught sight of Ella Waden standing by the doorway, accompanied by her father and several of the station hands they had brought with them, and who had evidently just arrived.
Seeing Ella reminded Vicky of Mary's remarks about Ross having a crush on Ella years ago, and her veiled hints about something turning up in that direction, and her spirits lifted. Mary was a shrewd observer, and maybe she knew something about Ross and Ella that Vicky didn't know.
Now, as she watched Ross move forward to greet the Wadens, and heard Mr Waden apologise for their somewhat tardy arrival, explaining that he
had got caught up with a bunch of visitors from the consortium that owned the station, she took particular notice of Ross and Ella's attitude towards each other, but disappointingly could detect no special attraction between them.
Mary's cool remark that Ella still hadn't married, and making special mention of her age at the same time, made Vicky feel more hopeful, for Ella was much too good-looking a girl to be left on the shelf, not unless she so willed it, for she could have had her pick of the neighbouring bachelors.
This was not hearsay, it was a plain fact. Vicky could recall the various events she had attended during the years, and even though Ella was that much older than she was, her popularity with the young bloods of the neighbourhood had been too marked for anyone to miss, even the tomboyish Vicky. This was not to say that Ella was a flirt. Her looks had commanded such attention, and Vicky, when she had thought about it, had come to the conclusion that Ella had not always appreciated being made the belle of the ball. It had invariably made her enemies, and Vicky doubted if she had any close friends in the female line. Human nature being what it was, the single girls out for a husband would be more likely to give Ella a wide berth.
All this went through Vicky's mind as she looked at Ella, prettily dressed in a blue and white gingham dress, with a small lacy collar that was not fussy but just right. Her golden-red hair, that was
naturally curly, was now pulled back in a ponytail, and her smooth, almost too perfect features now relaxed in a smile as she exchanged small talk with Ross.
Vicky's silent observation passed from Ella to her father, who stood by with an indulgent expression on his face as he surveyed his daughter talking to Ross. There was no doubt in Vicky's mind that a match between Ross and his daughter would be welcomed with open arms, and would mean a relaxing of the constant guard Mr Waden had kept on Ella, if all that Vicky had heard was true, and it was said in some quarters that this was the reason for Ella's single status. All admirers, particularly the less endowed ones, were given short shrift by her ambitious father, who did not intend that his beautiful daughter's accomplishments should be wasted on any Tom, Dick or Harry who happened to catch her eye.
Ella, like Vicky, had lost her mother, but at a much earlier age than Vicky, and her father had had to cope with her upbringing, and perhaps this accounted for his almost fanatical over-protective attitude towards his daughter, Vicky thought, as her gaze turned back to Ross, now escorting the party over to the refreshment stand, his height and broad shoulders making his progress through the crowded storeroom easily discernible.
A few minutes later, he led Ella on to the dance floor, giving Vicky ample opportunity to watch out for any sign of affection between them, but try as she might, they were just two friends dancing. The
only difference being between the way he had hauled Vicky round the floor and the way he seemed to be taking extra pains not to have his partner bumped into by the less inhibited couples on the floor.
Out of the corner of her ey
e Vicky saw that Mary was watching her, and they exchanged a confidential look, then Mary grinned and turned her attention to the counter to serve the rest of the Waden party with food.
If she had not been looking in Mary's direction at that particular time, Vicky might have missed making an interesting discovery, for the man, standing directly behind Ella's father, and who she knew to be Pete Noonan, Mr Waden's foreman, had his attention firmly fixed on Ross and Ella, in what she could only describe as frustrated fury.
In itself, this was no unusual happening, such was Ella's effect on the male fraternity, but Vicky was surprised to find Pete Noonan adopting such an attitude towards his boss's daughter, for Pete was a ladies' man, whose good looks and smooth manner had created havoc among the local girls, and as Ella could have taken her choice of the bachelors, so Pete could have chosen any one of the local girls. His 'devil-may-care' attitude to life formed a fatal attraction to the opposite sex. All, that was, who did not see beyond his smooth-talking manner and the oversized ego that pushed him relentlessly towards any target he had set his sights on.
As her gaze passed from Pete Noonan and
returned to Ross and Ella, now laughing and catching their breath at the end of the dance, Vicky could not help but feel sorry for Pete Noonan. She did not like him, principally because of the kind of man he was, but if he had fallen at last in love with someone, and that someone was Ella Waden, then there was little chance of a happy ending. Quite apart from the fact that Ella's father would not contemplate such a match, Ella was much too sensible a girl to waste herself on such a man. Of this, Vicky was confident. Possessing beauty had not spoilt Ella, or blinded her to the constant flattery she received; if anything, it had put her just that little bit more on her guard, and a man with a reputation such as Pete had earned would be brushed aside without a second thought.
