The Girl From Over the Sea

by Valerie K. Nelson

  She parked just outside the farm which advertised cream teas, though now there was the word ‘Closed’ across the notice. They must regret it, she supposed, in this glorious autumn weather with plenty of tourists still around. No doubt if the new Manor House was remaining open there would still be visitors. But she didn’t want to think about Trevendone or anyone who lived there this afternoon. She just wanted to breathe the air, find a warm sheltered spot on the cliffs and indulge her own misery and then brace herself for the future.

  She took only a cursory glance at the ruined church and the old gravestones. They slept quietly enough in this peaceful spot, those who had been laid to rest here.

  She shivered and hurried through the lych-gate into the meadow that led on to the cliff. Her mood was sombre enough without such thoughts. She held Dingo tightly on the lead when she saw some young heifers grazing nearby. His mood was far from sombre and he began to pull away and bark. Fortunately the animals were distant enough to take no notice and his attention was soon distracted by a late butterfly fluttering ahead of them.

  It was a windless day, but as Lesley reached the cliff path she could hear the surf thundering below her. Even on a day like this, a throwback to midsummer with the grass green and scabious and harebells still studding the hedgerow which marched right up to the cliff edge, when she peered over she could see the surf breaking in white foam against the black teeth which like a great monster’s fangs opened a giant maw to the waves. Yet beyond the breakers, the sea, summerlike, stretched in a band of dark blue silk to the horizon, cloudless too, and only a few shades lighter than the sea below.

  At first she sauntered along the cliff edge, watching the meadow grasses shiver and sway in a tiny breeze that was imperceptible at her height. Then the ground dropped suddenly and she was looking down into a steep combe. It was as if some giant hand had cut a perfect vee into the landscape. Beyond on the other side was the rich deep colour of purple heather.

  Lesley turned back and began to descend a steep path which led down to a tiny cove. There was some shingle and just at this state of the tide, a bit of sand. She would throw pebbles into the water for Dingo to retrieve. He never made any real attempt to get them, but he enjoyed dashing to the edge of the water and barking enthusiastically. In this lonely spot his vocal efforts would be of annoyance to no one.

  Then she had a slight qualm. Under Blake’s firm handling Dingo was losing some of his more offensive mannerisms. Perhaps it would be wiser not to encourage him in this barking session.

  She shrugged. Who wanted to be wise? Not she just now. After all, if she was thinking in terms of wisdom, then what she should have done was to have stayed in Australia and never come searching for the fairy gold of romance that didn’t exist.

  She had lost not only her own peace of mind in coming here but her close contact with the twins. They had their own thoughts now, their own dreams, and in a way were indifferent to hers. There was nothing more cruel than indifference. All at once her throat was aching and her thoughts now on someone else. Oh, what was the use!

  She began to plunge down the narrow cliff path, Dingo rushing in front of her in the headlong manner with which he did everything. He was at the bottom long before her, his tongue lolling out expectantly.

  It was hotter down here than she had imagined, for in the shelter of the cove the cliffs gave off a stifling heat on this day of midsummer-like languor.

  For a while she found bits of driftwood to fling into the lapping tide for him to retrieve. The water was very calm down here, but further out on the rocks, jutting cruelly out on either side of the cove, the surf was breaking with its usual angry roar. You never got far away from the cruelty or this coast, Lesley reflected with a shiver. Any more than she could get away from the stabbing cruelty of the knowledge that had come to her last night. Probably they were married already. It was a permissive society, but Blake Defontaine and Sorrel Lang ... no. It would be marriage for them.

  Dingo kept reminding her that they were supposed to be having a game, but in the end, even he grew tired of it. His barks grew less raucous and his chasing to the edge of the sea more languid.

  The tide had now turned, and whistling the dog, Lesley began the steep upward climb. She was sticky with perspiration when she reached the top. The afternoon seemed hotter than ever and the climb had left her completely exhausted—or was it last night when she had not slept at all?

  ‘Dingo, I’m all in, and so are you by the look of you, poor old thing. Come and lie down.’ She patted the sward on to which she had thrown herself and he came and put his chin on her knee and looked up at her with the adoring expression he knew so well how to assume.

  ‘You’re a fraud,’ she told him dreamily. ‘You look like that for lots of us, but there’s only one person you’re all going for now, isn’t there? The slave-master. But I mustn’t call him that now. Even the twins object.’

  She sighed. She was back to the same theme and that tightness in her chest and throat was getting worse. She turned and lay quite fiat on the grassy down, pressing hard against the soft turf as if she could still the pain in her body by the pressure, her arms stretched out on either side of her as she dug her fingers into the grass.

  Around her was the low murmur of insects rejoicing in this golden day. A brown and yellow butterfly fluttered near and then sailed gently away, Muted by the height of the cliffs and her nearness to the turf, the roar of the breakers was like a dying symphony. All at once, the heat and exhaustion and that sleeplessness of last night took possession of her senses. The sweet smell of the turf was heady. Her right hand came up to her cheek. She turned slightly so that she was lying on her side ... and then came oblivion.

  Some noise had awakened her. Lesley blinked, sat up and rubbed the arm on which she had been lying. It wasn’t so warm now and the sun had moved down well towards the sea, sending a golden pathway over the water towards the creaming surf.

  She got up, looking around for the dog, whistling and calling him. There was no answering scuffle and Lesley’s anxious eves turned towards the meadow near the church where the young heifers had been grazing, but they were still standing around placidly, so he hadn’t gone in that direction. She peered over the cliff, but the cove where they had played earlier was covered with waves which splashed over all the rocks.

  She whistled again and this time there was a yelp of distress. Alarm tightened around her chest as she went towards the deep vee of the combe. Was he stuck down there in a rabbit hole? She peered cautiously over the edge where it was beginning to get very shadowy. When she whistled again she realised his yelp was coming not from below, but somewhere on her left nearer the cliff edge. Now she called, ‘Dingo, don’t be silly. Come, boy, come!’ His answering yelp convinced her that he was trapped somewhere or he would have been here by now.

  She began to speak quietly and reassuringly, though her heart was beating very fast and she felt sick with worry. ‘I’m coming and I’ll soon have you free. Just another little bark to say where you are.’

  As she spoke she was edging to where the combe met the cliffs facing seawards. When she had been in the cove below she had noticed that just here the cliffs fell precipitously and at the top there was a dangerous overhang of soft shale and turf. It was too risky to go near and peer over; she’d have to go a little way down the combe and look upwards from there.

  It was very steep, but the grass and shrubs gave her footholds and handholds as she edged seaward towards the cliffs, her legs and arms getting scraped and scratched.

  Now she saw Dingo, crouching on a ledge just a little way under the overhanging piece of cliff. She didn’t know whether he was hurt or suffering from dizziness. Perhaps he had looked down, realised how precarious his position was and had taken fright.

  At first she could not see how he had got on to the ledge and then decided he must have jumped from the nearest rock. In which case he should be able to jump back. She edged to it as near as she dared, pointing to it. ‘Com
e on, old boy, jump, then on to this one nearer me and you’re home. At least near enough for me to grab your collar and haul you up. Come on, pet.’

  The puppy gave an answering yelp and a feeble wag of his tail, but remained where he was. Lesley felt sure he wasn’t hurt and she said sharply, ‘Dingo, jump!’

  She went on talking and whistling. Dingo just stared with those adoring brown eyes. ‘You do something, chum,’ he seemed to be saying. ‘You’ve always got me out of scrapes before.’

  Lesley moved away with the idea of going back to tire farm to ask for help, but he howled so heartbreakingly that she had to turn back to the place where he could see her, He had stood up, but as soon as he caught sight of her he settled whimperingly on the ledge again.

  As she lay uncomfortably on the steep edge of the combe the vee of its entrance to the sea was suffused with crimson as though caught in a finely styled glass window. Then it faded finally to the dull grey of the oncoming night.

  She could scarcely see Dingo now, but very soon the moon would be up and then she would try again to persuade him to jump. Occasionally she spoke to him to reassure him she was still there. She didn’t know what they would be thinking of her absence at Trevendone Manor—perhaps she wouldn’t even be missed. She didn’t think she could have dozed, but suddenly she heard Blake Defontaine’s voice.

  ‘Lesley, are you there? Answer me!’ To imagine that there was anything like desperation in his voice was rank foolishness. She was dreaming, and yon could put all sorts of wishful thinking into dreams. If by chance someone had traced her here, it wouldn’t be the slave-master pacing up and down on a cliff, a note of desperation in his voice.

  But she wasn’t dreaming and he had come himself. For that was his voice again: ‘Lesley, for God’s sake, answer me!’

  Dingo had perhaps been asleep too on his precarious perch. But now he too was alert and had recognised the voice. He began to yelp excitedly.

  ‘Dingo,’ Blake shouted, ‘where is she? Find her, old fellow. Find her!’

  And then to Lesley’s petrified astonishment there was a rattle of stones, a swift leap and the dog was bounding at her as she lay precariously on the slope, wedged between a bush and a big rock.

  ‘Dingo, you wicked, wicked fraud!’ she gasped, and burst into tears.

  Dingo yapped excitedly at his own cleverness and then went pounding up the side of the combe. Lesley managed to stagger to her feet, feeling cold and cramped. Tears were pouring down her cheeks and she wasn’t sure whether she was laughing or crying.

  She called out, ‘I’m here a little way down the combe. Will you shine your torch? Unlike Dingo, I can’t see in the dark.’ The moon hadn’t risen yet.

  ‘Lesley!’ There was something odd about his voice. ‘You’re hurt. Stay where you are. I’ll come down and carry you up.’

  ‘No, I’m not hurt, and now I’m beginning to see better. I can manage.’ Everything in the world suddenly seemed all right, gay and bright and glistening though the hunter’s moon was still behind the hill.

  She began to pull herself up the slope, then a pencil of light caught her. A moment later, strong hands clutched hers and dragged her over the edge.

  ‘You’re not hurt?’ he demanded, putting his hands possessively on her shoulders and bringing them down her arms as if he was testing whether anything was broken.

  ‘No, I ... I’m all right,’ Lesley began, feeling shy and yet elated by that possessive touch. And then all at once her flesh crawled and all the gaiety and brightness ebbed away, leaving only a cold flood of despair.

  For Sorrel’s voice demanded raspingly, ‘Then why this vigil on the cliffs? You aren’t hurt, the dog isn’t hurt, so what does it add up to? Have you taken to bird-watching, or is it just another dramatic episode from down under?’

  Dominic was there too. He gave Lesley a quick hug. ‘Glad you’re all right, little Yseult. We were worried.’

  Lesley swallowed. She had thought this afternoon alone would enable her to recapture her composure. But the sight of one man and the sound of his voice had left her in the same abject state, and as usual in her misery she said the wrong thing.

  ‘There’s quite a search party out. Why the panic?’

  Sorrel could be sarcastic and there was no reply; but mockery from her, and here he was gripping her arm so fiercely that it hurt and saying gratingly, ‘Lesley, stop acting the fool. Somebody at the farm who knew you lived at Trevendone phoned to say your Mini had been parked there for hours. What happened?’

  Again she forced herself to flippancy. Nobody must guess at this awful pain in her throat that was threatening to choke her. ‘Dingo, the silly old thing, got stuck on a ledge on the cliffs and I couldn’t persuade him to jump. I couldn’t leave him, so...’ Her voice almost broke there.

  ‘A likely story,’ Sorrel’s voice rasped. ‘The yellow pest is here, not on a cliff ledge, and you’d better get hold of him or Boris wall nip his throat out.’

  ‘What a pity you brought him if you were really looking for Dingo and me,’ Lesley flashed back. ‘Dingo hates the sight of him.’

  Again it was an unfortunate remark. Blake said grimly, ‘Sorrel brought Boris along because he might have been able to find you if you hadn’t been able to speak.’ Once again, Lesley’s flesh crawled in abject misery.

  They found it hard to understand that according to her Dingo had been trapped and yet he had come bounding up the moment Blake had called his name. How could she explain that they were both in the same boat, she and Dingo? The slave-master called, and they were there ... to heel.

  The thought made her start to giggle uncontrollably and a moment later there were tears. ‘Hysteria now,’ said Sorrel in disgust. ‘Let’s get back to the cars.’

  ‘Lesley.’ This was Blake’s voice again with, that odd note in it. ‘It doesn’t matter now. You’re both safe. Come along, put my coat round you. It isn’t exactly cold, but you’re shivering.’ As he spoke he shrugged out of his thin tweed coat and pressed it around her shoulders.

  She tried to protest, but he kept it around her by the pressure of one arm. ‘Get going, Dominic,’ he said curtly. ‘Take Sorrel and Boris ahead. Lesley, where’s the lead for this ridiculous hound of yours?’

  ‘It’s in my pocket,’ she said, getting it out. Her voice was faint and the giggles and the tears had gone. She was cold and hungry and never before had she felt quite so defeated as she did now.

  He took it and called to Dingo, who immediately stopped his snapping and snarling at Boris and came to heel. Still with an arm round Lesley, Blake said again, ‘Sorrel, go ahead. Do you mind?’

  Sorrel obviously did mind. She shook off Dominic’s arm, but then as lights appeared near the lych gate of the church, she said pettishly, ‘It looks as if half the village has turned out. Well, it will be something else to tell your cobbers when you arrive in the Outback, Lesley Arden!’

  ‘Australian jargon always sounds so elegant on Limey lips,’ returned Lesley with a venom worthy of Rita, and immediately felt ashamed. Had Blake noticed the name Arden? Well, he would have to know either tonight or tomorrow.

  ‘I’m sorry you all bothered to come rushing out here,’ she said now to Blake as they walked across the meadow. ‘I’d have managed.’

  ‘It looks like it,’ he jeered. ‘Your precious pet stayed put till I came along. Then he jumped.’

  ‘His Master’s Voice,’ quoted Lesley ironically. ‘I suggest you take him off our hands at the end of this week when we leave Trevendone.’

  ‘I might do just that,’ he drawled. ‘With a name like his he may feel that he’s going home. Not exactly to the Outback, of course. Did you know I’d accepted a chair at Melbourne University?’

  ‘Melbourne!’ Lesley’s voice was almost a soundless whisper. ‘I knew you were taking a university appointment, but not in Melbourne.’

  ‘Any objections?’ Lesley’s heart had almost stopped beating. It couldn’t be true. Sorrel and he ... in Melbourne! It was more than
she could bear. She held her head down and let the tears fall silently, not daring to search for her handkerchief, while his arm was closely around her, holding his coat in place, about her shoulders.

  Now they were through the lych-gate and the moon was coming up, big as last night. Last night! Lesley gave a little gasp, pulled away from Blake’s hold and ran to the Mini, fumbling in her pocket for her keys. If only she could get away, right away, without saying anything more to any of them.

  They had evidently all come out here in Blake’s big green Leopardia which was standing next to her tiny car. Sorrel had already pushed Boris into the back seat. ‘You’d better drive back with Lesley, Dominic,’ she ordered. ‘Blake, I promised the Radleys we’d call in there for drinks tonight. Come along, darling.’

  ‘Sorrel!’ It was just the one word, but on a note that Lesley and perhaps the others had never heard before. It came from Dominic. ‘Sorrel, don’t you think this is a good time to tell Blake what we decided last night—that we’re going to be married—that we got engaged last night?’

  ‘Dominic, you’ve been drinking,’ Sorrel’s voice was lightly contemptuous, but there was an undercurrent of alarm in it. If she had intended saying any more, Blake didn’t give her the chance.

  ‘That’s wonderful—the news I’ve been waiting for for a long time,’ he said heartily. ‘My congratulations to you both. Well, that seems to settle it. Dominic, you take my car and I’ll follow on with Lesley in the Mini.’

  Even In the half-light Lesley could see the angry indecision on the Cornish girl’s face. ‘I want to get Boris home, so we’ll do as you suggest. You know, by the way, that you’ll be bringing back a lying little impostor, don’t you, Blake? Her name is Arden and she’s no relation to the twins.’