Cyclone Season

by Victoria Gordon

‘Well it certainly must be fairly serious if you have to go all the way to Perth for tests,’ Holly exclaimed.

  ‘I tell you it isn’t serious,’ Jessica insisted. ‘Just a few tests that can’t be done here. The serious part is the timing. I feel horrible about having to leave you here alone so soon after you’ve arrived.’

  ‘Yes, the timing certainly isn’t the best,’ Holly agreed. ‘But only because if we’d known, if you’d told Wade ... Mr Bannister when he phoned, then I could have stayed in Perth and been company for you.’

  ‘Oh, no,’ Holly’s aunt proclaimed in tones that revealed she’d already thought of that. ‘One of us would have to be here, you see, to look after the house. You don’t leave houses sitting vacant in Port Hedland, not even for a few days. Not in cyclone season.’

  ‘Not in any season, 1 should imagine,’ Holly said. ‘Judging from the security measures, it must be a terrible place to live.’

  She was somewhat taken aback by Jessica’s immediate laughter, and not entirely without reason. One of the first things she’d noticed about Port Hedland was how every home had massive security screens at every window. And here inside Wade’s house, the exit doors all had four separate bolts on the inside. It was like an armed fortress!

  Jessica followed Holly’s gaze, then laughed again as she rose, gesturing to Holly to follow. They entered the house’s main bathroom, and it, too, had the required heavy bolts.

  ‘The security isn’t from people; it’s in case of cyclones,’ Jessica explained. The greatest danger in a cyclone is from the things being blown about by the winds — which can reach two hundred kilometres an hour. Anything left lying around — and I mean anything — becomes a deadly missile under those circumstances. And in a really bad cyclone, the house itself could come apart, which is why the bathroom is designed to be a sort of shelter.’

  Holly shuddered. ‘It’s difficult to imagine,’ she said.

  ‘Not when you’ve lived through one. 1 was here for Dean, which was only a baby when compared to Tracy, which destroyed Darwin on Christmas morning back in 1974. Dean was as bad as I ever want to see, thank you very much!’

  ‘Yes, I remember reading about Darwin, and seeing the television reports,’ Holly said. ‘But surely, that was unusual? I mean, all cyclones can’t be that bad?’

  ‘Every one has the same potential,’ Jessica replied soberly. ‘It’s more good luck than anything else that some are much less destructive than others. With any luck at all, you won’t even get to hear of a cyclone while you’re here, but by the same token, we could have one start up tomorrow. So I want you to read all the literature on what to do; it’s more important than you’d realise, never having been through a cyclone.’

  She spent the next half hour showing Holly the steps to be taken, explaining the cyclone warning system and the rules that accompanied it, and also explaining in more detail the aspects of her own role in Wade’s home.

  Most proper house-sitters, she explained, were locals who lived in caravans or temporary accommodation except when called in to care for a house when the owners were absent, usually in a situation of long-service leave or holidays.

  ‘I’m in a different situation,’ she explained, ‘because Wade is on the move so much. I’m actually a combination of conventional housekeeper and house-sitter, as he’s so often called out on very short notice.’

  Part of Wade’s house was designed as a ‘granny flat’, a self-contained unit in which a housekeeper, children’s help or relative could live with reasonable privacy while still being conveniently close to the family.

  ‘In my case, the flat is something of a waste,’ Jessica said, ‘because Wade insists on treating me more like a mother than a housekeeper, even when he’s home. But you might find the privacy comforting; the Northwest has a casual attitude that even southerners find a bit trying at times.’

  Despite the outlandish temperatures outside, the two women ate a light but filling dinner, then spent the evening chatting before making an early night of it. Holly began to relax, very comfortable in Jessica’s company despite unspoken fears at the reception she might expect when the time came to share the house with only Wade Bannister himself.

  She had a room to herself in the flat, and no fears about occupying herself in Jessica’s absence, but dealing with Wade, she thought, might be a problem.

  ‘I’d almost rather face a cyclone,’ she mused half-aloud, once secure in her room. Jessica’s astute understanding of the situation didn’t help either, but it was her own vulnerability that worried Holly the most. How could she maintain any impression of respectability when all Wade had to do was touch her and she collapsed in a heap of wanton sexuality?

  But at the very least, she thought, I can manage not to aggravate the situation. Whether we get along is less important than Jessica’s health, and even Wade can’t argue against that.

  Holly drove Jessica to the airport next morning, and was far too concerned afterwards with finding her way home again than worrying about Wade Bannister. With any luck, he’d stay over in Perth until the tests were completed, which Jessica insisted would take only three days at most.

  And what if he did return first? At least in this large house they could manage to stay out of one another’s way. Holly thought, it would definitely be a less explosive scene than that damned flat.

  What bothered her the most was Jessica’s eventual admission that the matchmaking was no spur-of-the-moment thing, but had actually been a lengthy campaign that had merely intensified with Holly’s decision to visit her. She had shown Wade all of Holly’s pictures, read him her letters, done everything but organise the two of them as pen-friends. Hardly any wonder he’d been outraged at her giving him first impressions that she was no better than a gold-digger, and even less likely now that he’d ever totally forget that first meeting.

  Holly spent most of the day driving around Port Hedland, eyes wide with wonder at the bustle and activity. Even in the heat of the day, she found men working shirtless and hatless out-of-doors, women shopping with small children, roads filled with traffic.

  It was a strange, unnerving sort of heat. Holly found. The air was so dry she could almost feel it plucking the moisture from her skin, and despite the car radio’s assurance that it was thirty-nine degrees, far hotter than anything she’d ever experienced in Britain, simply stepping into the shade produced astonishing cooling effects.

  But it was still too warm to consider a hot meal that evening, even if she could have bothered cooking just for herself. Some cold meat and salad sufficed admirably, and she was asleep by nine o’clock after a half-hearted attempt to watch the town’s single television channel.

  She was up with the sun, next morning, determined to take advantage of the early hours’ relative coolness to potter in the garden and get a start on her suntan at the same time. Wearing only a pale turquoise bikini and some borrowed gardening gloves, she spent a pleasant hour weeding the flower beds, shifting from sun to shade in a regular pattern and acutely conscious of the dangers of sunstroke in such a climate.

  It was the garden of Wade’s house, she decided, that declared the nature of the owner. There was a judicious mixture of orderliness and nature taking its own course, but the overall effect was of a property well cared for, appreciated. So many of the homes she’d seen in Port Hedland, especially in the newer suburbs, seemed raw, ill-kept and somehow impermanent.

  Jessica had explained the reasons. Port Hedland, she’d said, was to all intents and purposes a company town. Despite having existed as a community for nearly a century, the town as it now stood was almost entirely the entity of the mining firms, and company employees were catered for in the extreme.

  ‘Their rents are subsidised, they’ve got an excellent home purchase scheme, paid holidays like you wouldn’t believe. The company does just about everything for them,’ she’d said. ‘At one time — I believe it’s now changed — the company would send an electrician all the way out to South Hedland just to change
a light bulb or replace a fuse. True! And what’s worse, a fair proportion of employees would think such a service was normal! Spoiled rotten, I say, but that’s the way of it. The company established most of the social facilities in the town, built most of the houses, did just about everything. And gets damned little credit for it, although I do feel there’s probably fair value given somewhere along the line. But you’d know from your sociology studies. Holly, that the more people are given, the more they want — and the less they’ll do for themselves. That’s why so many of the homes are in a mess; people just take the attitude that the company should do everything.’

  There were also, Jessica had said, a variety of special concessions to all people employed in the development of the country’s northern, isolated regions. Special tax concessions applied to workers ‘north of the 26th’ although not even Jess could explain what bureaucrat had selected that particular line of latitude to establish northern concessions. Or why.

  The reasons were manifold and made some sense. Tremendous distances were involved. Perth was nearly three thousand kilometres from Adelaide, the nearest of the ‘eastern’ cities, and that distance was mostly through the vastness of the Nullarbor Plain. Port Hedland was yet another two thousand kilometres to the north of Perth, and such distances created vivid price distinctions and an undeniable isolation factor. The concessions were required to stimulate development by making it attractive to workers, giving them a bit of a push to move north and stay.

  But it wasn’t a complete success. The kaleidoscope of heat, drought, the ‘wet’ of the monsoon season, the cyclone risks and the sheer isolation all combined to take a toll of the work force. There was a tremendous turnover in Port Hedland’s population, Jessica said, with a three-year stay about average.

  ‘It’s the kind of country you either love or you hate,’ she’d said. ‘Personally, I love it, but most people come north for the money and when they’ve made their stake they get out as fast as they can. And because it’s such a new town, in so many ways, the social order isn’t the same. There are very few grandparents, for instance, very few people with actual roots.’

  Wiping away a trickle of perspiration, Holly wondered if she could ever put down roots in such a place. Or were her roots already planted, in Britain?

  Certainly it appeared that Wade Bannister was a Northwester to the core. Jessica had said he’d actually been born in Port Hedland, although of course he’d gone south to Perth for his education and then overseas to get even more experience as a geologist and mining engineer.

  The shade of the patio, where a hammock was slung between two of the uprights, finally claimed Holly’s attention. She sprawled into the resilient netting, surprised at how quick the heat and sun had sapped her strength, but quite sure she’d been properly careful not to get too much sun. Setting the hammock in motion, she closed her eyes against the glare and relaxed into daydreams that as quickly became ordinary dreams. The nightmare started when she woke up!

  ‘Is this some new luncheon dish you’re planning — broiled Hollyhock?’ And there was no mistaking the voice that shattered her nap, nor the bite of sarcasm in it.

  Holly opened her eyes to find Wade Bannister, hands on his hips as he shook his head from side to side, his lips quirked in a half-amused grin.

  She didn’t understand his question until she started to get up and found the world swinging dizzily around tier. By then it was too late; Wade was already leaning down to scoop her into his arms, muttering something beneath his breath that she was just as glad not to hear.

  ‘Put me down!’ she started to cry, but then the pain began, a ringing shrieking pain that started between her eyes and seemed to lash like a stockwhip inside her head.

  And with it the realisation of tenderness. Wade couldn’t have lifted her more gently, but just the touch of his soft denim clothing against her skin was like fire.

  ‘Damned little fool,’ he muttered in her ear. ‘Lie still or you’ll make it worse than it is already.’ And she did lie still as he shouldered his way into the house, moving straight to the bathroom.

  ‘Right, in you go,’ he growled. And in she went, the pain now so intense that even his voice hurt, although not so much as the first blast of water when he turned on the cold tap.

  The water was cold only in comparison to the reddened flush of her skin; she already knew there was no such thing as truly cold tap water in Port Hedland during summer. But her sunburn was nothing when compared to the blistering heat of Wade’s tongue as he proceeded to abuse her for being so damned stupid.

  ‘I should have known you’d pull something like this,’ he charged. ‘Where the hell were you when they were handing out the brains, hiding behind the door?’

  Futile to argue, even if she’d had the strength. And she didn’t. If it hadn’t been for him holding her, she was quite certain she’d have crumpled into a heap on the floor of the shower stall.

  Wade seemed oblivious to the soaking of his own clothes as he stood in the shower with her, turning her this way and that, directing the stream of lukewarm water across every portion of her sunburned body.

  Holly was like a shop-window mannequin, silently allowing her body to be manoeuvred as he wished.

  Her mind was numb, unable to find the words for any sort of argument, uncaring as he kept up a running commentary, most of it uncomplimentary to say the least. Odd words crept into her consciousness, words like idiot, bloody Pom, no brains, and yet other words, too, like lovely and exquisite. None could maintain a place in her aching, confused mind.

  Wade worked with consummate gentleness, holding her steady with one hand as he soothingly applied soft, liquid soap, then rinsed it carefully away again, his fingers like moth wings on her sun-sensitised skin.

  ‘Right, that’ll have to do,’ he said finally, and lifted her out on to the cool, tiled floor. ‘Reckon you can stand?’

  Holly nodded a yes, or at least he thought she did, because he let her go and began drying her off And still with that incredible gentleness, the towel dabbing, patting, soaking up the water without abrading her sunburn.

  Finished, finally, he stood off and surveyed her, his eyes taking in every detail. And Holly knew, somehow, that he was seeing not only the sun’s ravages, but all the softness, each curve and hollow of her figure.

  And for one, single instant, so fleeting that she thought she’d imagined it, there was something in his eyes that was as gentle as his touch, a look that was a total caress, filled not with lust or wanting or needing, but simply of caring. But it was too quick to be caught, too elusive to be sure of.

  Then his eyes were their normal icy green, not really angry, perhaps even slightly compassionate, but certainly not loving.

  ‘Now comes the fun part,’ he muttered in what was almost a growl. ‘Good thing you’re not ridiculously modest.’

  And before Holly could catch his meaning, the top of the bikini was unfastened, whipped away from her to reveal two tiny patches of white at the end of her breasts and the thin white lines where the ties had been.

  ‘Don’t fuss,’ he snapped as she cringed away from him. ‘I just had to be sure you weren’t wearing one of those damned tan-thru things; and just as well you weren’t, or you’d be in real trouble; sunburned nipples are no joke.’

  ‘You ... you might have asked,’ Holly stammered, attempting to cover herself with her hands, yet realising it was a silly, useless gesture. He’d already seen her, indeed had seen her breasts before, had kissed them, touched them intimately. There was nothing intimate in his attitude now, however.

  He shook his head, not sadly, but in the manner of a scolding parent. ‘You’d better hope my sunburn remedy works, young lady, or you’ll be spending the next three days on your feet. Now stand still; I’m not going to hurt you.’

  Holly did as she was told, but she closed her eyes as he prowled round her in a circle, alternately shaking the huge aerosol can of sunburn spray and directing it on to her body in sweeping bursts of cool
agony.

  His fingers were undeniably gentle as he rubbed it in, slowly but without a hint of sensuality, although she could somehow tell also that his touch wasn’t totally impersonal. Then he sprayed on another layer.

  ‘Right. I’m afraid you’re going to have to stay sitting up for a bit, long enough for that to really soak in,’ he said. ‘How do you feel now, sick? Headache? Tell me the truth, too, and don’t underplay it, because it’s important I know.’

  ‘A ... a bit of a headache, but I’m not going to be sick or anything, 1 don’t think,’ she replied shakily. ‘I just feel really weak and ... and a bit dizzy.’

  ‘Hummmmph,’ he muttered. ‘Well, we’ll take your temperature just to be sure, and if that’s okay then some salt tablets are probably in order. I think you’ve just got a bit too much sun, although not enough for sunstroke or anything really serious. With skin as fair as yours, I’m surprised it isn’t worse.’

  He slipped the top of her bikini into place with unexpected expertise, then commanded her to open her mouth and receive the thermometer beneath her tongue. She endured his ministrations without complaint, even gagging down the bitter salt tablets he prescribed.

  She let him lead her to the lounge, already feeling much recovered but certainly not enough to argue. Only when he directed her to sit down in a cloth-covered armchair did she demur, only to be told, ‘Don’t be stupid; it’ll wash.’

  ‘That’s hardly the point,’ she replied. ‘Surely it would be just as easy to cover it first with a towel or something.’

  ‘You are the most argumentative, stubborn female I’ve ever met,’ he replied. ‘Even worse then Jessica, and I’d never have thought that possible.’

  But he did get her the towel, and even spread it over the chair before helping Holly position herself as comfortably as she could, under the circumstances.

  The anaesthetic properties of the spray were taking effect, and apart from the remains of her headache, she felt almost normal. But the redness of her skin assured her it would be days, perhaps, before she finished paying for her folly.