Heart of the Outback

by Lynne Wilding

  Two weeks after Mickey’s funeral CJ came into town on Saturday night and waited until Mary had finished working. They sat in his van afterwards, talking. Mary sensed the tension in him as if it were a tangible thing, and in her naivety regarding relationships, she didn’t know how to bridge the gap that had developed between them. He had stopped touching her too, which hurt immeasurably. It was as if she had become an acquaintance instead of his lover. That hurt too. But, unbearable as it was, she bore it, hoping against all hope for a change in him, a softening.

  “New people have bought the general store,” she told him, trying for an impersonal topic to break the ice. “Gus says they’re immigrants and that they plan to open a cafe as well. I might try for a job with them.” Waiting on cafe tables had to be better than serving alcohol in a hotel bar.

  “Immigrants, hey? They’ll fit right in here,” CJ said with a disinterested grunt.

  She acknowledged that with a nod of her head. More than half of Coober Pedy’s inhabitants were foreigners who’d come here with the dream of finding their fortune in the desert town, which some likened to a twentieth-century version of an American frontier town.

  Out of the blue, CJ said, “I think we should get away for a while. You’d love Adelaide, Mary, it’s a real pretty city. You’ve always wanted to see the place. You could buy some new clothes and shoes and we’ll take in the sights. Come with me, Mary.”

  Hope began to beat inside her breast. Perhaps he was suggesting a new start for them — together. She allowed herself to hope again. “I’d love to go. When?”

  “As soon as you can fix it with Gus. You’ve been working for him for more than six months. You’d be entitled to a week’s holiday, I guess.”

  “I’ll ask him tomorrow.” She looked across shyly at him, still unsure of his motives and his mood. “Are you staying in town tonight?”

  CJ shook his head. He didn’t tell her that the level of precious opal had just about petered out, or that he’d lost the will to start a new search. It was time to move on — sell his cache of opals and make his dream come true.

  “I’ve work to do at the mine. I’ll come in tomorrow afternoon for a bite to eat and you can tell me what you’ve organised. We’ll drive to Tarcoola and get the train to Adelaide. How does that sound?”

  Her eyes sparkled. “Wonderful.”

  CJ took Mary to Glenelg, the most popular beach in Adelaide. They travelled there on a rattly old tram which had delighted Mary. Being late autumn it was too cool to swim but despite the cold she removed her shoes and paddled in the Great Southern Ocean as they walked along the shoreline.

  Her eyes were wide with amazement as she gazed out beyond the line of breakers. “I had no idea the ocean was so huge. It just goes on forever, doesn’t it?”

  “Yeah. All the way to Antarctica.”

  “It’s beautiful and scary.”

  He frowned. “Why’s that?”

  She watched a two metre wave peak and crash into the surf. “It’s so fierce and untameable.”

  “It is that.” He laughed briefly. “I went to sea once, to see if I liked it. I didn’t. I spent half the time in my bunk being seasick and the seas weren’t that rough. That helped me decide that a landlubber’s life was for me.” He looked down at her feet. “Mary, your feet are turning blue. We’ve time for a walk along the wharf and an ice-cream then we’d better be going. I promised to take you shopping, don’t you remember? We’ll dine out in style tonight so you’ll need a new outfit.”

  The thought of dining out in a posh Adelaide restaurant filled Mary with a sense of dread and nervousness. She feared she would touch or do or say the wrong thing. But really she knew she shouldn’t worry. Since they’d arrived CJ had been almost his old self so she was trying hard not to annoy him.

  “Of course. I want to buy some things to take back to Coober Pedy.” Baby things, but she didn’t tell him that. There was little to be gained by mentioning the baby and possibly starting an argument. Perhaps CJ just needed time to get used to the idea of being a father. Some men did, she’d heard.

  The city of Adelaide was a revelation to Mary Williams. Coming from the bush she had never seen the like. The roads were wide and straight, the buildings majestically tall and the many churches — of several denominations with their fine architecture, spires, and limestone carvings — were wondrous to behold. So were the parks and the diverse shrubs which grew profusely. She had never seen such colour or beauty in anything other than books. And there were streets and streets of shops with all kinds of merchandise for sale. She went about goggle-eyed at the variety of wares, and at the prices asked. CJ insisted on paying for everything. That rankled a little. She was independent enough not to want him to, but deep inside it pleased her that he offered, and she chose to believe it was a further sign of commitment.

  They were staying at an expensive hotel in separate rooms with an inter-connecting bathroom between them. They went everywhere in taxis. And if the truth were known she was enjoying being spoilt and cosseted. No-one had ever made a fuss of her before but CJ made her feel special. So, perhaps naively, she saw that as a sign that he was coming around and would, she hoped, before they returned to Coober Pedy, ask her to marry him.

  They spent three leisurely days exploring Adelaide. CJ crammed so much into their daytime activities that straight after dinner fatigue overtook Mary and all she’d want to do was climb into bed and sleep.

  On the fourth day, after breakfast in the hotel’s dining room, CJ broke from their topic of conversation to say, “I want you to see a doctor, Mary. Just to check things out.”

  “Why? The doctor comes to Coober Pedy regularly and there’s the FDS for emergencies. As well, Sister Damien’s a midwife. That’s enough, surely?”

  “Just for me. Please?” he coaxed, smiling.

  CJ was irresistible when he smiled. “Very well.” Besides, wasn’t this another sign that he cared and that he wanted everything to be right for her and the baby?

  They took a taxi to the address: a neat, unassuming claystone house in the suburb of Frewville. Inside, in the foyer, a nurse in white showed them to a small waiting room.

  Mary wrinkled her nose at the lingering odour of methylated spirits. It reminded her of the hospital and Mickey. She missed Mickey Edgars and his bright ways. The little man had been blessedly uncomplicated, not like CJ. The man she loved seethed with ambition and energy and continual schemes for making money. Even now when the M45 mine was making him wealthy she sensed that he wanted more. With a wisdom beyond her years she realised CJ would always be that way, driven by the need to be bigger, and to have more than the next man.

  A squat, bespectacled man wearing a white cotton coat came into the room and introduced himself. “I’m Doctor Becker.” He looked at Mary and smiled reassuringly. “Tell me, my dear, how far are you into the pregnancy?”

  “Twelve weeks, doctor.”

  “Good.” The doctor nodded meaningfully at CJ. “Any further along and there would be considerable risk.”

  “What risk?” Mary asked, perplexed. “What do you mean, doctor?”

  “Err, Mary,” CJ took her by the elbow and motioned her towards the window. “Doctor Becker is a special kind of doctor.” He looked into her eyes as he held both her hands, as if compelling her by his will alone to obey him. “I don’t want this baby, you know that. I’m not in a position to offer you anything official or legal. You understand? I have a commitment to someone else up north. Do you understand what I’m trying to say, Mary?” Without waiting for an acknowledgment he rushed on. “But … I am concerned about you and your welfare. Having a baby could ruin your life. The stigma, you know, on unmarried mothers is still severe, especially in country towns.”

  “CJ …” The revelation hit her hard — he was engaged to another woman. Oh, God, no!

  “Listen to me, Mary. You’re very young. You’ll get over this and find someone who’s just right for you. You’ll get married and start a family then — not no
w.”

  “I don’t understand, I thought…” What had she thought? She had thought this trip meant something special to him. It didn’t. It was his way of saying goodbye. Another woman! The harsh reality of what he’d said drummed into her brain. The nuns had been right, it was foolish to trust a man. Another thing was true too, they only had one thing on their mind.

  “It doesn’t hurt too much, Miss Williams. Just some discomfort and a pricking sensation. That’s all. Then everything comes away naturally,” Doctor Becker said matter-of-factly. “I’ll give you a light anaesthetic — you’ll hardly feel a thing.”

  Mary stared at CJ and suddenly understood what kind of a doctor Becker really was. “You brought me here for an abortion?” she cried.

  He nodded affirmatively. “It’s for the best, Mary. You mightn’t see it now, but later on you will. Of that I’m sure.”

  “Well, damn you, CJ Ambrose, I’m not, I won’t do it! How could you ask me? I’m Catholic, for God’s sake — it’s a sin.” Her wits were scattering to the four corners of the room. She couldn’t believe he wanted this. “Don’t you have any feeling for me or the child? Your child,” she reminded him pointedly. An intense pain tore into her heart and squeezed it violently. How could she love such a cold, calculating man? Didn’t he care for her at all, didn’t he have any sensitivity as to how she felt, or what she wanted?

  Sensing the matter was getting heated the doctor moved to leave. “I’ll wait in my office until you finish your discussion.”

  “I’m thinking of you, Mary —”

  “Bullshit!” She never swore but now, suddenly, she was beside herself with anger. All those months, thinking he’d loved her as she loved him. Lies. Lies! “You’re thinking of yourself. Solely of yourself. All right, so you don’t want to marry me, that’s pretty clear. I see everything clearly now. I was just a source of amusement for you, while you were away from your precious fiancèe. But,” her chin lifted, “you are not going to make me give up my child.”

  “Listen to me,” he shook her by the shoulders, “it’s not my life that’ll be ruined, it’s yours.”

  “I don’t care.” She raised her hand to prise his fingers away from her. “Don’t touch me. I love this baby we made together and I will have it, with or without your support.” She looked him up and down as if she were seeing him clearly for the first time, and disliking what she saw. The trouble was she still loved him, even though she now saw him in his true light. More fool her!

  “You’ve made your fortune and you didn’t even have to share it with Mickey,” she reminded him. “Why don’t you take your precious opals back to your sweetheart? Show her, I’m sure she’ll be impressed.” Her brown eyes moved about the sterile environment and when they returned to CJ they were full of loathing. “I want to get out of here. This place and you make me sick to my stomach.”

  The next day Mary returned to Coober Pedy on the train without CJ. She never saw him again.

  “CJ. CJ, are you awake?”

  A voice roused CJ from his memories. He jerked upright in the chair. His hand ran through his thinning grey hair and then stroked the stubble on his cheek. He listened to the rasping sound beneath his fingers.

  “CJ?”

  “I’m all right, leave me alone.” He heard Natalie’s purposely loud sigh through the solid oak door and grinned. His stepdaughter would hate being discharged like this, but he didn’t care. He’d needed time alone. Things to come to terms with. Memories to put into their rightful place.

  “It’s getting late. Shellie thought you might want something to eat. She’s worried about you.”

  “Well, I’m fine. Go away.” CJ’s tone was deliberately dismissive just to annoy her. He liked getting Natalie’s dander up. Always had. Ever since he’d married Brenda and become Natalie’s stepfather, he’d enjoyed getting under her skin. In many ways they were alike, too alike. Quick-tempered, ambitious, ruthless. Unfortunately, she had other character traits that weren’t to his liking — cattiness, a common tongue and she lied — and in all her thirty years of living with him a subtle cold war had gone on between them. The verbal skirmishes had escalated since Brenda’s death as his wife had been the only one able to keep Natalie in line. And now … and now, with Richard gone she would be regarded by all and sundry — including herself — as his rightful, his only heir.

  Hell and damnation. A deep-seated growl, like that of a discontented lion, rumbled from his throat and his lined features expressed his distaste. The thought of Natalie ruling his empire was not palatable, by any stretch of the imagination. At one time he had hoped that she and Les Westcott would make a match, but now they seemed totally incompatible. In deep contemplation the fingers of both his hands drummed staccato like on the sides of the chair.

  With his gaze focused again on the photo of the opal, for the first time in twenty-six years he allowed himself to consciously think about the child, Mary’s child, as a real person. What would he, or she, be like? The child would be about a year older than Richard. How had Mary fared raising him on her own? He’d sent her money before he’d left Adelaide, a bank cheque for ten thousand dollars. That would have set her up well enough, if she’d used it carefully. She never had. The bank had informed him the cheque had been returned and the money credited back to his account. Damned independent woman, Mary Williams. Then, in the wink of a mere second he was swept by an aching, desperate longing to know about the child. About Mary. To try to make amends for the wrong he’d done both of them, but that was impossible. Too many years had passed and, for all he knew she was most likely happily married to someone else.

  Even so, his right hand reached for the bottom drawer of the desk. He opened it and retrieved an old tin. Rummaging through the contents he found a photo and pulled it out. The photo was dog-eared and badly faded. It showed a young woman in a cotton dress. Mary.

  It wasn’t often he admitted the error of his ways, he was too bullheaded and ruthless to dwell on them and the finer points of life. But in Mary’s case he should have done more. Made her take the money and seen her set up so that she’d be comfortable, only at the time he’d felt so damned guilty over what he’d tried to get her to do, he’d wanted to get as far away as he could from Coober Pedy. She had once been very important to him but not as important as his dream of being successful. He had allowed nothing, not Mary, not Brenda, not even his son Richard to come before that.

  Nostalgically his thoughts returned to his son, gone, forever. His mouth turned down in a travesty of a smile. Perhaps God was finally getting even with him for what he’d done to Mary. Well, he was paying a higher price than he’d ever thought possible.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Aden Nicholson leant his tall, trim frame against the office door jamb to better observe the woman bent over a large drawing board. A fax sheet lay loosely in his right hand and he slid his left hand into his trouser pocket. A contemplative smile hovered around his mouth as he watched her, while silently he marvelled that she could remain so still, or relatively still, for so long.

  Francesca Spinetti, Francey to everyone, Chief Assistant Architect at Nicholson, Drew and Carlyle, was such a bundle of energy and Italian volatility that her ability to concentrate when she was drawing up a plan constantly amazed him. Aden had enough nous though, considering her capacity to speak her mind at an instant’s notice, not to mention it to her. Francey had come to work for the firm after graduating with honours from Sydney University. In a few short years she had livened up the traditional thinking of his architectural firm more so than any other architect had done in Sydney for years with her nouveau architectural designs, her love of colour and of mixing the traditional with the ultra modern.

  “You know I don’t like people looking over my shoulder when I’m working.” Her tone was soft, a touch husky, and she spoke without lifting her head from the drawing board.

  “Is that the thanks I get for lobbying the partners to let you have your own office with good light?” Aden retaliated
as he came into the room. “I’m not watching what you’re drawing,” he added softly, “I’m watching you.”

  Francey’s mop of long dark curls that swayed at every twitch and turn of her head jerked up from the drawing board as she turned to look at him. “Well, it’s nice to know that the boss has so much leisure time.” Her direct gaze studied his angular features, the dark hair, the wide shoulders. He would strip well, she thought. Yoicks! What on earth had made her think that? He was her employer, for God’s sake. His remark, personal without a doubt — I’m watching you — had set her thoughts along lines not at all related to work.

  He grinned boyishly as he sat on the side of her desk. “Mmmm, one of the perks of being the boss, wouldn’t you say?” He liked the way they fenced verbally with each other and especially liked the undertone of attraction that shivered invisibly between them. It had become more pronounced since they’d worked together on a few projects. There. Just below the surface. Not that he’d made a move in that direction. Yet.

  Actually, why he hadn’t he still didn’t understand. Maybe he hesitated to step over the employer/employee line or the obvious social differences between them. There wasn’t much he didn’t like about Francey Spinetti though. She was easy on the eye, as the saying went. Wide-set, huge blue-green eyes, lustrous black hair that seemed to have a mind of its own, just like its owner, and she was unusually tall and slender for someone of Italian extraction.

  He shook himself out of his reverie and became all business. “How’s the plan for the Monroe building going?”

  “Slowly.” She gave him a droll look. “Mainly because Mr Monroe and his board of directors keep changing their minds about what they want.”

  “Problems?” She shrugged her shoulders, giving him a tantalising glimpse of pink lace between the vee of her deeper pink blouse. Her just-a-fraction-too-wide pink lipsticked lips pursed in contemplation. They were very kissable lips. Oh, yes, he’d fantasised about them often lately.