by Edna Dawes
“Matt, how can you say that?” demanded his wife hotly. “She has never reproached him.”
“I know, my dear.”
Coffee was taken in the lounge. Meg and Nancy were regaling Matt with tales of past days in England when heavy steps were heard on the veranda and a masculine voice called: “Hello, there!”
“Rod, come in, come in!” Matt was on his feet and walking to the open door. “Am I glad to see you! I am completely outnumbered tonight.”
“That’s a novel experience on Wonara!” Rod McNaughton came in and greeted Meg in an attractive husky voice, then turned to Nancy.
“How do you do? My word!” he breathed, his eyes suddenly brilliant.
Nancy had imagined the senior man on the station to be the senior in years, but he was no more than thirty-three, she guessed, and there was nothing remotely senile about him. Height and build pronounced physical strength to a high degree, the firm handshake and direct look betrayed a decisiveness which could verge on aggression, and the life he led had endowed him with bursting health. Rod McNaughton was certainly not the best-looking man she had ever met, but he was the most physical! The impact sent colour to tinge her cheeks.
Rod realized that he still gripped her hand, and, released it. “I’m sorry, I was quite unprepared. Ben said you were a—he said you had—” He turned apologetically to Matt. “You know what Ben is!”
Matt laughed. “Been doing some yarn-spinning, has he? You know, Nancy, it is quite on the cards that this poor fellow was expecting a skinny beanpole of a girl with buck teeth!”
“While I was imagining a grey-haired fusty old scientist,” said Nancy, her composure regained. “You are certainly a surprise, Mr. McNaughton—or should it be Dr. McNaughton?”
“Rod,” he told her, his gaze still on the burnished hair, provocative face, and dress of dull green silk which covered a shape guaranteed to make any man’s pulse throb. Just wait till he saw Ben!
“As head of Wonara Research Station, welcome, Nancy. We are delighted to see you. Pity we didn’t know you were arriving today, or we could have laid on something appropriate.”
“Her letter came on the same boat,” said Meg. “The poor girl didn’t realize what our postal system was like.”
“No.” Nancy smiled. “I have to confess I had no idea Wonara was so primi—unspoilt,” she amended quickly.
“Oh, really?” he said lightly. “Didn’t Meg explain in her letters?”
“She said it was the ideal place to relax in, but when one has never lived under these sort of conditions, it is difficult to imagine the set-up.”
“What sort of ‘set-up’ did you think it was?”
“I had visions of some sort of tropical paradise where people drank cocktails on a terrace flooded with moonlight,” she said laughingly, “and instead I find a generator called Bessie, who may throw in the sponge at any time, and a shower-bath one would only normally find in a refugee camp.”
As soon as the words were out, she realized what a mistake she had made. The habit of off-beat disparagement which went over well in her type of company would, and did, sound wrong in this present group of people. The laughter she expected didn’t come, and Rod covered the gap with a half-angry: “You obviously read the wrong sort of books!” He made an effort to be civil. “Tell you what! The boat delivered a new supply of records today, so I suggest we have a little party tomorrow evening to celebrate Nancy’s arrival. That ought to take Sheila out of herself. I’ve been worried about her. I’d like to give her a nice evening.”
So it was all to make things pleasant for Sheila Maitland, was it? The fire of anger kindled in Nancy’s eyes.
“How nice! A party! Has the waltz reached this part of the world yet?”
“That’s about all I can manage in this climate,” laughed Meg, missing the sarcasm, but Rod acknowledged it with a sizzling look across the top of Meg’s head.
“Mind you don’t fall over your own feet, Miss Smartie!” he said to Nancy, his voice husky with anger.
“Oh, I shan’t be wearing flippers. Or is it a full-dress affair?” she asked with mock innocence.
Matt intervened with: “Stop this nonsense you two and let’s get down to details.”
The conversation veered off into plans which excluded Nancy by virtue of the fact that she knew nothing of the amenities at their disposal, but, not easily outdone, she brought up the subject of photography, surely an item for general discussion.
“I have my camera with me. You must have some wonderful sunsets and dawns on Wonara which are worth photographing.”
“The most beautiful things in this part of the world are beneath the sea,” said Rod. “Can you swim?”
“Yes, of course.”
“I don’t mean frolicking in a hotel pool. I mean really swim.”
“Yes, I can really swim.” The fire rekindled very quickly. “Why?”
“I might take you down while you are here. We shall have to wait for the right day.”
“A few waves won’t worry me.”
“That’s not the point. It will have to be a day when I haven’t anything important to do.”
“Let’s forget it, in that case. I’m not that interested, and it would be a pity to waste your valuable time.”
“All right, let’s forget it,” he agreed readily.
The evening was brought to an end abruptly by Bessie, who after valiantly trying to keep going, gave up the struggle and ceased to function.
“There goes my night’s sleep.” Rod rose and stumbled out.
“I’ll give you a hand,” offered Matt.
“That’s not necessary. It would be senseless to keep you out of bed when it only needs one on the job.”
“What about T’iang?” said Matt.
“He won’t be round tonight; there’s too much moonlight.” Rod disappeared across the compound.
“Surely there is no need to panic like that,” Nancy commented. “It’s not as if we are all in pitch darkness.”
“He’s not worried about the lights, dear,” Meg told her. “It’s the equipment in the laboratory and the deep-freeze which cause concern. If he doesn’t get Bessie going within a couple of hours, his experiments will be ruined and our fresh food will have to be thrown out.”
“I hadn’t thought of that. But surely Rod shouldn’t have to mend the generator! Don’t you have an electrician on Wonara?”
“Yes,” put in Matt, “six of us. We take it in turns. Tonight is Rod’s stint.”
“I see.” What an impossible place this is, she thought.
Meg retired for the night at Mart’s insistence, leaving the other two tidying up. “I have to take care of her,” Matt confided when he and Nancy were alone. “Her heart’s not too good but she won’t admit it.”
Presently, to break the brooding silence, Nancy asked: “Who is T’iang and why won’t he come in the moonlight?”
“He’s our local Ned Kelly, who has organized a gang of youths from the village and they come here every so often to see what they can commandeer. Rod’s right; they usually choose an overcast night. However, he gave T’iang such a fright last time that I’m hoping they have been scared off for good.”
Half an hour later, Nancy had her doubts! She was standing at her window, looking across the compound to where the sea lay silvered by the moon. A figure moved out from the darkness surrounding Sheila Maitland’s bungalow and it set Nancy’s heart thumping. So much for Rod’s assertion that the local bully-boys would stay at home tonight!
She watched the man move stealthily along the side of the veranda towards the sea, and she had second thoughts about his identity. Unless the native boys went thieving in western-style clothes, this prowler must be one of the residents of the research station. Her natural conclusion that it was Rod was quickly dismissed—he was a lot bigger. And Ben must be ruled out, because of his height. Could it be Cockney Charlie, or were there other members of the staff whom she hadn’t yet met, who were concerned with th
e welfare of her blonde neighbour?
*
Breakfast was already set on the verenda when Nancy walked out of her room next morning.
“What a glorious day!” she said in a sudden upsurge of spirits.
“Make the most of it, dear, the temperature will rise to the nineties by midday. The men usually work until twelve, then have a break and start again at three. You’ll soon adjust to the routine, and you are here to slow down a bit, aren’t you? Anne hinted that you were heading for a breakdown and needed to relax.”
Nancy laughed. “Mother always exaggerates! I have been working long hours more or less continually for over a year, but I don’t think I am anywhere near a breakdown yet.”
“You are rather thin,” said Meg, looking at Nancy’s slender waist, “compared with Sheila.”
“Sheila is an Australian girl. Everyone knows they are beautifully built and brimming with health—it’s their climate.” Nancy tried not to sound acid. “Is Bessie working yet?”
Matt nodded. “It took Rod the best part of the night to fix her. He couldn’t have had much more than two hours’ sleep, because I saw him taking a boat out a short while ago.”
“I said last night he is driving himself too hard.” Meg put a large breakfast before her guest. “That will do you the world of good. It was nice of him to arrange a party for you, wasn’t it?”
Nancy was getting used to her Aunt’s grasshopper conversation. “Yes, I feel honoured.”
It was nine o’clock before Nancy walked across the compound to the beach. The surf hurtled against her and knocked her off her feet. She laughed and jumped for joy in the exhilaration of the moment, then remembered Rod hinting at frolicking in a hotel pool, and began a period of earnest swimming.
She walked from the water after her swim, so deep in thought that Ben Garrett’s greeting made her jump. “Don’t I get a look in this morning?” He was standing on the jetty, clad in faded blue shorts and a cap. The rest of his lean body was bare, burnt brown by the sun.
“Oh, Ben, how nice to see you! You vanished so suddenly yesterday that I began to think I had imagined you.”
“No such luck! From the safety of my advanced years I can tell you that you look a real cookie, without getting my face slapped.” He sat on the boards with his legs dangling down, and crinkled up his eyes. “What the heck did you do to Rod last night? After the yam I told him, I expected a bit of slanging this morning, but he never said a word. I asked if he’d had a good time and he just said ‘Yeah’ and went out. That’s not like him.”
“Perhaps he was feeling off-colour after spending the night with Bessie.”
“Not him! Why, that feller’s so fit—hello!” He turned at a familiar sound and looked out to sea. “Talk of the devil! He’s back early! There must be something wrong.”
The boat came in rapidly; the minute it drew alongside, Rod jumped out beside Ben, holding a large cylinder. “Unload my gear, will you,” he instructed. “I shan’t need it again today.”
“What’s up?” asked Ben. “You look like you’ve seen a shark carrying a knife and fork.”
“I was up half the night, that’s what!” He walked away down the jetty—a tall, muscular figure in brief swim-wear—without even glancing at the lovely girl in a blue bikini.
“I can’t make it out,” mused Ben, half to himself and half to the girl. “He’s as badly shaken as I’ve ever seen him.”
“Do you think he really saw a shark?” asked Nancy in her innocence.
“It wouldn’t worry him if he did,” was the abstracted reply. “No, I’d say it was more likely the fact that he had Jim Maitland’s camera in his hand. He’s known men drown before. Why has this business hit him so hard?”
Nancy watched while Ben took Rod’s wetsuit, face-mask, breathing set and spear gun from the boat.
“Has Rod been diving?” she asked. “I thought Uncle Matt mentioned a rule about not diving alone.”
“Sure. Rod made it, so I guess he feels entitled to break it. That’s all right, he’s experienced; but what is darned stupid is to try to do all his own photography. Rod’s no cameraman. He hasn’t been able to get a replacement out here yet, and he refuses to let me go down.”
“Explain, please.”
He gave a grin and said modestly: “It so happens I am the best underwater photographer in the business, but a few years ago we ran into a tricky situation and I had a bad attack of the bends. The resultant medical check made the doc warn me against deep diving in the future. Well, me and Rod have worked together for more than ten years, so I came to Wonara as his general factotum. I usually take them out and do all the surface work while they dive, keep all the equipment and boats in running order, and deal with the paperwork Rod doesn’t want to be bothered with.” The grin widened. “I also befriend any redheads who feel a bit out of things.”
“I’m glad,” she said. “I have to confess this life is vastly different from my own.”
“It’s your turn to do some explaining now. That classy camera you brought with you hasn’t anything to do with it, by any chance?”
She nodded. “I’m a fashion photographer for an expensive fashion magazine. I also do freelance work for several fashion houses, which is how I came to be in this part of the world.”
“The fashion business has rubbed off on you. You’ve taken this place by the ears.”
“I haven’t noticed! There seems to be a marked preference for competent blondes with a liking for the simple life.”
Ben held out a hand to pull her up beside him. “Did I detect a touch of the old acid in that remark?”
She answered obliquely. “Have you ever found that however much you like lemon cake, when it is forced on you at every meal you begin to go off the flavour?”
“Hmm! How about giving them a taste of ginger for a change? They may fight it at first, but I’ll guarantee it’ll catch on. If it doesn’t—there’s always me.”
She laughed. “Oh, Ben, I’m so glad you’re here.”
“Yeah, but you just mention once that you feel I’m an uncle figure, and you’ll blight my remaining days, straight up you will!”
“I promise I’ll never do that,” she swore solemnly. “Now tell me about the work you do here. Why is everything so second-rate? I mean, it shouldn’t be Rod’s responsibility to mend the generator in the middle of the night, surely? I thought Australians were pastmasters at the art of straight talking, but everyone got frightfully touchy when I pointed out the disadvantages of this place.”
He looked at her skew-eyed. “Getting back to the lemon cake, have you ever baked a rotten one and resented being told the truth about it? It’s a sore point with us that conditions are so trying, but this ain’t a Government-sponsored project. See, a professor at the University developed a theory about volcanic evolution beneath the sea. He prepared a thesis on the subject but none of the authorities was prepared to finance a research team, so he got in touch with Rod, who is an old pupil of his. Rod was fired with enthusiasm and agreed to head a small team, providing permission to work on Wonara for two years was given. Money was raised by the University and various philanthropists, but it takes a lot of cash to run a project of this calibre. All the members of the team are working at a personal loss, but we feel the subject is important enough to warrant it. It was a severe blow in more ways than one when Jim Maitland died. So far, none of the better-known photographers is willing to come out here at half his normal pay, so Rod has been trying to do the job himself.” He shifted his weight. “But didn’t Meg or Matt explain all this before you came?”
The red head shook emphatically. “My visit is a terrible mistake, I can see that. My mother told Aunt Meg that I was in Australia for a year or so and that I had a six-week break between assignments. I suppose she must have indicated that I was over-working—Aunt Meg said as much—and the result was an out of the blue invitation from an aunt and uncle I hadn’t seen or heard from for six years. Pressure was put on me from all sides,
so I gave in. Aunt Meg said it was only a small community here, and that I would be able to relax and recover from overwork, but I had no idea what I would find when I arrived. I have put Rod’s back up, already.”
“That’s nothing! That feller has been acting strange ever since Jim Maitland died. We know each other well enough to chew these things over, but he’s as tight as a clam these days and I don’t like it. This business today just ain’t right, somehow. It’s three months since Jim died, yet his camera just turns up, drifting on the surface? Knowing the weather and the sea around here, it’s pretty obvious to me that Rod is lying his head off for reasons of his own, and he’s not a man to play devious games. I can’t think what has got into him.”
“Aunt Meg thinks he feels guilty because of Jim.”
“Rod?” Ben looked astonished. “Never on your life! Jim ruined a set of valuable shots, then took off alone in seas running high, to try to get another series. A man as experienced as Jim must have had a brainstorm to take such risks. Naturally, Rod feels like we all do when an accident happens—but it is certainly not guilt he is suffering from.”
Chapter Two
Rod’s vitality struck Nancy anew when she entered the messroom that evening. Despite his hard work, he had apparently not forgotten the party, ostensibly for Nancy but mainly to cheer up Sheila Maitland.
The hut was about thirty feet by forty and contained a small bamboo bar, a bookcase crammed with volumes, and a record-player. The table and chairs had been cleared to one end, leaving a reasonable space for the party activities. It was a fairly cheerless room, with several lighter patches on the cream walls where the men had hastily removed pictures in honour of the ladies; but as Rod had anticipated, the spirits of those present were lifted above the depression of recent weeks.
Having seen the plain dress her aunt intended wearing, Nancy chose her least formal outfit, which was a vivid green and black trouser suit with cut-away open panels from bra to hips on both sides. The effect was still far too sophisticated for Wonara, but Ben had told her to give them a taste of ginger so that’s what she would do!
