by Lucy Walker
‘I’m sorry,’ she said at length. ‘I would offer to dismiss myself … only … I think I could still help somehow. I want to help. I must do something to make up for … for leaving the homestead.’
Greg was silent. His back was still turned on her.
After another long heavy silence Sara spoke again.
‘Would you prefer I went, Greg?’
He turned round now and faced her across the room.
‘No, I prefer you to stay.’ He walked slowly to his table. ‘Sit down, Sara. I want to say something to you.’
She felt the blood pulsing through the arteries in her neck. She had seen a touch of his anger out at the cattle camp. She was prepared to take that and a great deal more on her own head.
‘I need someone to manage this homestead,’ he said unexpectedly. ‘And this family.’
He stopped short. Sara looked at him in surprise. She had bared her head, as it were, for his anger but it didn’t seem to be there any more. There was a bitter coldness in his voice. Then it was suddenly tired. He sat down. He picked up a paper knife, then let it fall to the table. He took a cigarette from the box and lit it. He put both hands down on the table, the one holding the cigarette letting the spiral of smoke rise into his eyes. He seemed like a man making a harassing decision.
At last he lifted his eyes to Sara. They were like marbles that had no light in them.
‘Would you consider marrying me, Sara?’
Before he could read her astonishment for himself he got up abruptly and began pacing backwards and forwards under the window.
‘You can see what it’s like. You understand the business arrangements by which this property is run. Everything I do has to be done with a velvet glove on my hand. And my hand has to be as strong as steel.’
He stopped and faced her.
‘There it is, Sara. I’m sorry to put it all that way. It’s a business proposition. I wish I could make it more. I wish I knew the right kind of words to say. I like you and I trust you. I know you could handle the homestead as most of the station owners’ wives do. I don’t feel as if I’m being unjust to my cousin Clifford. He would never offer you this … offer you Ransome. A man who bets on women is not a good acquaintance in life, Sara.’
Then he sat down as suddenly as he had stood up and leaned his head on his hand.
‘Go away, Sara, and think about it. Don’t answer me. Just go.’
As she stood up, white-faced and feeling as if something in her stomach had caved in, he looked up at her again.
‘I wish I had the right words, Sara. It is not fair to you to offer you … well … myself on these terms. But if you will accept … and if you will accept the responsibility of the homestead for me … I will see that you are not unhappy.’
Sara felt her lips were dry and her tongue clove to the roof of her mouth.
‘Don’t answer me. I know I’ve shocked you. Just go away, I want to think.’
Chapter Ten
The following morning Sara, rather pale-faced, made her way to the office after she had had a breakfast of grapefruit and half a cup of tea. Even these she could barely swallow. She had not spent a sleepless night but she had spent long hours thinking about Greg’s proposal.
First there had been the shock of surprise. She hadn’t known Greg had any kind of opinion of her at all … except that she had got her work done. Secondly, one recurring name kept leaping in amongst her thoughts. Julia!
Where was Julia in all this?
Greg, she convinced herself, was making a bargain for Ransome. He hadn’t been as blind about Julia as Sara had thought. Whatever her attraction for him, romantic or physical, he had been shrewd enough to know that Julia as chatelaine would do no good to Ransome.
Did his proposed bargain with Sara mean a renunciation of everything for Ransome? Was it a renunciation he had to make in order to let Ransome survive the disintegrating forces of a foolish family?
The office door was, for once, closed.
Sara took in a deep breath, tried to still the restlessness of her hands and knocked.
Greg’s voice said, ‘Come in.’
When she went into the room he stood up and faced her. He was very serious and his ‘Good morning!’ came unevenly.
‘Good morning,’ Sara said. She had never felt as nervous as this even when being faced by mistresses or prefects at school. But she had to go through with it.
Sara’s mouth was dry.
‘Greg,’ she said, looking up at him, ‘I know that you spoke to me last night in a moment of great irritation. Perhaps you think differently now, and if so …’
‘I don’t think differently, Sara. I repeat my proposal and I apologise for all that it lacks …’ He hesitated a moment.
Sara looked up at him and was struck by the fact his face also was pale.
‘Sara, I have a problem on my hands. I am offering you a partnership. Come in with me and manage the homestead for me.’ He paused. ‘There is more than one man can do in the next few weeks. Two of my relatives are arriving here with their solicitors. One of them wants to carve up Ransome into blocks, the other … and mind you, he is not a Camden, only married to one … wants a complete investigation into the expenses of running the homestead the benefits of which, he claims, his wife does not have or get recompensed for. Added to that, my mother will bring or invite here a host of feather-brained parasites who encourage her in extravagance that irritates the other shareholders. Moreover, I have to endure their company as well as their lack of ethical principles.’
He stopped and went to the window again.
‘Mrs. Whittle,’ he said, ‘is a tower of strength. She will always be that. But a Camden, any Camden, is inviolate to her. Therefore, by standing aloof from any of their foolish ideas and conduct she is silently condoning much that individuals do that is wrong in the interests of the unity of the Company.’ He turned round. ‘Do you see the problem, Sara?’
‘Yes, I do.’
‘You could help me. But I don’t want to press you to do something that would make you unhappy … or that would be …’ He hesitated. ‘… distasteful to you. But I need you.’
Sara lifted her eyes.
‘You, Greg? Or Ransome?’
‘Ransome.’
Then he had told the truth. Somehow Sara felt relieved. If he had been dishonest about that she would not have stayed. It was his honesty that mattered. He had said last night that he liked her and trusted her. She in her turn liked and trusted Greg. It was a good foundation. No starry-eyed romance, but who in the world really attained that dream state? Sara did not forgo that, however, without a pang. Nor was she dishonest with herself. It was a good bargain … but she was not selling herself. Something about Greg had stirred her ever since she had sat on her horse when they crossed the creek below the river and he had stood, holding the bridle and looking up at her. He had a fine face. It was strong and honourable and she had wanted to help him.
Millions of people all over the world entered arranged marriages and found not only happiness but also love.
Deep in her heart, before she had spent hours thrashing out the pros and cons, Sara had known she would accept Greg. The only thing she would not let herself know … would not let herself investigate … was some little dancing elf of hope to which she could not at the moment put a name.
They sat in silence a long time. It was not an uncomfortable silence. Each was thinking, for each had much to think about. It was Sara who broke that silence at last.
‘Greg, I must ask you a question. You will do anything for Ransome. I know and understand that. You cannot forgo the right to children … and heirs …?’
She was trying very hard to control the deep flush she felt creeping up from her bosom, over her throat and into her cheeks.
Greg’s face softened and he no longer looked so serious or so remote.
‘Yes, Sara, I would like children. But … that could come in time. The big hurdle is the next few weeks. Later … w
ell, who knows?’ There was actually a smile there now. ‘I think we could manage that, don’t you?’
The awful question was out and answered. Sara took a deep breath.
‘Yes,’ and she, too, smiled. ‘I’d like a family. Quite a family … but one kept strictly under control.’
They both laughed for they both knew that though their children might be Camdens in much they were not to be Camdens in all. There was trouble enough in the present generation.
Greg stood up.
‘It’s very early in the morning, Sara, but I think we’ll drink to that. And it’s going to be champagne.’
He walked to the door and his step seemed light. Sara too felt suddenly light-hearted. Could it be possible he felt the same as she did?
Well … the omens were good. They liked and trusted one another. They were both willing to keep faith with a bargain with Ransome. And one day … never mind when … they would have children.
Greg came back into the study. He had a bottle of champagne in a bowl of ice cubes from the refrigerator. He popped the cork and poured out two glasses of the lovely dancing bubbly.
He touched Sara’s glass.
‘What sort of a toast shall it be, Sara?’
‘To Ransome,’ she said.
‘To Ransome,’ he added and they both sipped their wine.
He put his glass down on the table.
‘Would you ask Mrs. Whittle …’ He stopped, then looked momentarily embarrassed. ‘I don’t give you instructions any more, do I, Sara? I’ll go and get Mrs. Whittle myself.’
‘I’d rather you spoke to Mrs. Whittle alone, Greg. I think she would prefer it that way.’
‘I think you’re right. I’ve got a stockman down at the quarters almost doubled up with fibrositis. I asked for a Flying Doctor service last night over the radio. They may send out a plane tomorrow from the Airways. Do you think you could make it? It will take us straight across to the west coast. From there we can catch the mail plane to Perth.’
Sara felt a sudden lurch of the heart.
Tomorrow? So soon? But of course it would have to be in the next day or two if they were to be here … in the married state … before the influx in a fortnight’s time. And the men were all out at the camps.
‘You weren’t thinking of telling the others? I mean Marion … and Clifford …’ She hesitated a fraction of a second before she added ‘And Julia.’
‘Mrs. Whittle will have to break the news, I’m afraid. Of course I wouldn’t have dreamed of going without my mother knowing, but we’ll find her in Perth.’
‘Yes, of course.’ Sara finished her champagne and set down the glass. ‘I will leave you with Mrs. Whittle … if you don’t mind.’
He stood aside for her to precede him out the door. Sara turned down the little-used part of the passage that led immediately on to the veranda and to the same aspect of the garden that one could see from the study window. She knew that Greg’s own bedroom lay off the study on the other side and, bidden by some new instinct of inquiry, Sara stopped at the other door, on the far side of the office. She turned the handle and looked in the room. The blinds were drawn and it was an unused room but furnished as a spare bedroom. It was a big square room and there was a connecting door leading into the study. Sara remembered a bookcase stood in front of it in the office and she had forgotten about the door behind the bookcase.
‘Quite a suite of rooms,’ she said. ‘I suppose the best way to adjust ourselves is to use all three.’
She went on down the passage and passed through the door on to the veranda.
Beyond the garden stretched Ransome, a thousand square miles of it. Sara stood looking at it for a long time.
‘For Ransome …’ she said to herself and wondered if she was really speaking the truth.
At midday the following day she and Greg flew out of Ransome in company with the sick stockman in the plane chartered by the Flying Doctor Service.
As they flew over the home paddocks Sara noticed that by the hangar that housed the station Anson was a small glittering Dove plane. For the first time she realised Jack Brownrigg must have flown Clifford Camden and himself in one of his own Airways planes. How easy might pursuit be, she thought. The others were due in at the homestead tonight. Supposing there was a family revolt at the marriage! Supposing they followed! Could they stop it?
She stole a glance under her lashes at Greg. He was looking through the small buttressed window and frowning as if in deep contemplation of his domain.
Then Sara looked away and caught the sick stockman’s eyes looking at her curiously. Sara smiled and he smiled back.
‘Nice day,’ he said.
Sara thought how much he would love to know the secret news this plane was carrying. What gossip for the hospital on the coast! Her eyes sparkled with merriment at the thought. Greg, turning, caught the look in her eyes.
‘What are you laughing at, Sara?’
‘This plane’s secret cargo,’ she said. ‘A bride and a bridegroom. It’s supposed to carry only the sick, isn’t it?’
‘Most times it carries the sick who are going to get cured,’ he said. He looked into Sara’s eyes and then, slightly embarrassed, turned away.
For the rest of the journey Sara talked to the stockman and the nurse who was accompanying him.
They had no difficulty in getting on the night plane for Perth, and in the early hours of next morning found themselves at Perth Airport.
A radio sent to Mrs. Camden from Port Hedland had brought a waiting message for Greg at the Air Office.
HAVE SUITE AT ADELPHI WILL WAIT UP FOR YOU
MAMA
‘Then to the Adelphi it is,’ said Greg.
He ordered a taxi and a few minutes later they were on their half-hour journey into the city.
They had no difficulty in entering the big hotel nor in finding Mrs. Camden’s suite. The corridor lights were on though the lift staff were not yet on duty.
Mrs. Camden, on their entry, rose majestically from a couch in the small sitting-room. She was draped in a silk kimono and her make-up and hair-do were as immaculate as if she had not spent the greater part of the night on the sofa. The only thing missing was the necklace.
‘Darling,’ she said, kissing Greg and then patting his cheek. ‘What are you doing? Not hunting me, I hope. And Sara? Sara dear, what are you doing? Have you thrown in your job at Ransome? But come in and sit down. I had iced coffee and sandwiches left for you. I could rouse up a maid, I expect … only well, Greg darling, you know what hotels are like these days. Even if you’re prepared to pay they don’t like to get the maids out of bed.’
‘They’ll be up in an hour anyway, Mother.’
Then he told her why he and Sara had come to Perth.
A curious smile spread from Mrs. Camden’s eyes to her lips. She sat down on the sofa and said, ‘Well, isn’t that the loveliest joke played on everybody? Mind you, Greg … you had to run away to do it. No one would have let you. A dear little typist from the town! Sara darling, I’m so glad for you. And Oh!’ Here she threw back her head and laughed. ‘Just serve Julia right,’ she said. ‘Just serve her right.’
Sara flushed but Greg took no notice of any of this.
‘How many rooms have you in the suite, Mother?’
‘This room and two bedrooms, darling. And a bathroom, of course.’
‘Then let Sara have a rest in one of the rooms, will you? I’m going down to the Palace Hotel. Then I’ve a host of things to do, including finding a special licence and a best man.’
‘Oh yes, darling. Put Sara’s case in that room there. And if you’re going to get a special licence make sure you get married in a church. You’d better find a clergyman, too.’
Greg’s eyes caught Sara’s.
‘Yes, please, Greg,’ Sara said. ‘I would like a church.’
‘Not to take away with you, darling. Just to get married in,’ Mrs. Camden said and went off into a laughter that sounded like the peal of silvery
bells.
Greg put Sara’s case in the second bedroom.
‘Good night,’ he said. ‘Or is it good morning?’
‘Good morning, I think.’ Her voice quivered a minute because she nearly added, ‘My wedding morning.’
Greg hesitated in the door. Then he took a step back into the room and held out his hand to Sara.
She stared at it a moment. For a fleeting unaccountable second there came back to her the memory of Greg standing in the horse yard at Ransome, his hand outstretched to a beautiful frightened colt.
Sara moved the few paces towards Greg, her eyes on his hand. It was so strong. She hadn’t noticed Greg’s hands before. She put her own hand out slowly and when he took it his hand was strong and firm and drew her towards him.
‘Good morning, Sara!’ and he kissed her on the forehead.
Sara closed her eyes. When she opened them he had dropped her hand and gone out the door.
Sara put her hand to her forehead. Then suddenly her eyes filled with tears. She had wanted starry-eyed romance, after all.
Chapter Eleven
They were married in a tiny little suburban church at five o’clock the following afternoon.
‘Isn’t it fortunate we can get married in Australia at any time of the day?’ said Mrs. Camden. ‘I don’t suppose you two would have been able to wait.’
She insisted on putting the ‘passionate runaway’ aspect on the marriage. Moreover, Sara guessed that her barely concealed delight at the marriage was not so much for Greg’s sake as for a touch of malicious pleasure at the expense of the rest of the Camden family.
‘Oh, I’m going to love this!’ she kept saying. ‘Just wait till the family comes to Ransome. It will be such fun.’ And her eyes would crinkle up with laughter.
Poor Greg, Sara thought. The Camdens would go to any extreme to take a rise out of one another. They didn’t see beyond that, and Sara was quite certain Mrs. Camden was not looking into the future to see what effect Greg’s marriage might have on her own way of doing things.