by Lucy Walker
Mardie had busily marshalled up this sequence of ironclad thoughts while still in the office. She didn’t feel that way. Only thought that way. Her feelings and thoughts were having a war of their own. Everyone wanted her safely out of the way because she might be a liability. She was a novice at this sort of situation. She knew that. But her feelings said ‒ if trouble started she not only had a right, but she wanted to be here. She had slept beside Jard in the bush that night and those two men in there had recognized her, and knew it. Jard did not know it. Dear God … what was worse, Joanna did not know it. Not the details of that night. And Jard, so it seemed from appearances, belonged to Joanna. If there were to be explanations, not trouble, coming out in the confrontation next door, she needed to be able to supply some of her own.
If there was trouble only, then in spite of Joanna’s expertise she, Mardie, was going to come in on the First Aid deal too. She was not going to be the useless little woman tucked off in the office out of harm’s way.
Sitting at the table in the room on the wrong side of the wall, her elbows on the table and her chin resting on the backs of her folded hands, she was not so surprised at the steel in Jard’s voice but at the softness of it. And the command in the very softness.
She wasn’t surprised at her own reaction. It made her heart turn over because now she admitted she had been keeping a near-secret even from herself. She was falling stupidly and blindly from her perch of independence. She was in love with him. And that was that!
Dear heaven! Was it with the man holding to ransom the baddies next door? Or was it that pale face with the bloodstain across the brow that had lain so close to her all that long, cold night? She didn’t know. Or care. All she did know was that The Breakaway stop-over was hers. And Jard ‒ that night ‒ had been her care too. Hers.
So she was here where she had a right to be. And her heart was beating its own lonely race ‒ all because of Jard.
Joanna had turned the register round and Jard glanced at it. Then he looked up straight at Jim Smith. Bill Brown was clearly the follower, not the leader, for he spoke not one word.
‘Smith and Brown?’ Jard’s cold voice came through the space between the wall-top and the ceiling. ‘What original ideas! Brian Renton and Phillip Sexter, I charge you, in the presence of two witnesses, with misrepresentation by signing a register in a public stop-over with assumed names ‒ therefore false ‒ and false addresses. More serious, I charge you with being in possession of two rifles not registered with the police or any other properly nominated authority.’
There was dead silence for a moment. Then Jim Smith laughed.
‘Who the heck do you think you are?’ he demanded. ‘Police? Judge and jury? The lot? As for rifles. Search us and search that truckies’ dump up the back where our bags are, and see if you find rifles.’
‘Look through the door behind you,’ Jard said. ‘There’s a man bringing two rifles across the yard. He’s just taken them from your station waggon …’
Smith and Brown swung round and stared over Jard’s shoulder. The third roustabout from the Dig-in was coming across the cement way carrying the two weapons.
Mardie could not see it, but she guessed Jard all but smiled. He’d made a random guess and guessed right. These drop-ins were the two men who had been at the scene of the ’copter crash and had been carrying rifles then. David Ashton had given him that information from Mardie’s description. His guess had been they would still have them in their possession. In the interim period between the crash and this now-time he had checked over the radio if Renton and Sexter … the two men he knew them to be … had registered their rifles with the police.
Mardie ‒ behind her wall ‒ put all the twos and twos together, and took in a breath. How thorough could Jard be! David had said Jard would be interested in these two men and that meant the Dig-in people knew about them, and that they were in the district. Also, that they were up to no good as far as Dig-in affairs were concerned. Mardie’s description had tallied with their own foreknowledge of the two men.
What sort of ‘baddies’ were they? she wondered. Well, she didn’t have time to think now.
‘As for being police or law,’ Jard’s voice was steadily going on. ‘You are not up with the law yourselves. Any civilian ‒ repeat ‒ any civilian may charge another civilian with a legal offence and report the charge to the police. I’ll officially report the charge re the rifles, so I suggest you clear out and stay out of the area, because they’ll catch up with you. Preferably not here.’
Suddenly everyone’s attention was distracted by the sound of a powerful-engined car pulling up, car doors slamming, then footsteps crossing the yard. They came on, a heavy man’s tread, and the lighter sound of women’s footsteps. Three people came along the cement by the trellis, then in through the doorway.
‘Hallo, hallo, everybody!’ A woman’s light, cheerful voice saluted them. ‘Joanna … nice to see you! And Jard! Jard darling, how are you after that awful time you had with the crash? We had our ears glued to the Session listening for news of you, didn’t we, Ted?’
Ted ‒ tall, lean, sun-browned to bark colour ‒ was very much the station man. He nodded in agreement with his wife, and shook Jard’s hand warmly ‒ as of old friends well met. The second woman, very fair, was younger but with a pretty face seared with tiny wrinkles from too much exposure to the outback sun and heat. She slipped her hand in Jard’s arm.
‘Hallo, sweetie!’ she said. ‘Long time no see. What you been doing, pet? Looking for underground water or finding nickel? You will let us into the big strike come the day, won’t you?’
‘Everyone round this district is waiting to make his fortune out of you boys at the Dig-in,’ the man called Ted said jovially. ‘This Mansell family not least. As you darn-all know, Jard, we’ve pegged our own property come the day you fellers want to start sinking drills on it.’
The Mansells, Mardie thought from next door. Do I or don’t I go in now? She thought hard. Did it matter now that she was the one to identify the two men who had been at the crash that early morning? Jard was giving them the go-about on account of the rifles. Wasn’t that enough? You can’t arrest people for not giving assistance to accident victims ‒ or can you?
From the sounds and chatter next door Joanna was already acting as The Breakaway’s hostess. Mardie tried not to feel indignant. The Breakaway was hers. Her very own! Glasses were clinking. Jard’s voice could be heard, ushering Smith and Brown doorwards, with a few well-chosen words. Apparently he was not letting the Mansells know they were currently in the company of two district baddies. Did mining men always have to be so secretive?
Mardie stopped thinking and went into action. She moved across to the sideboard drawer ‒ a piece of furniture on the way to being an antique. Nearly a century old. She took out the powder compact she kept hidden at the back of the drawer against emergencies. She did the right things to her face, pushed up her hair to make sure it was neat and tidy, then headed for the glass-clinking society next door.
She tried not to notice that Joanna, amidst much smiling, was pouring drinks for the newcomers ‒ very much in charge. The best Scotch whisky too.
When Mardie came in from the rear doorway, Jard had reached the front entrance with the two men. He was almost shouldering them through it.
‘Oh, come in, Mardie dear!’ Joanna said ‒ a throwaway invitation over her shoulder. ‘All’s well now, except for our welcoming your station neighbours from up the track. Mrs Mansell, this is Mardie Forrester.’
Mardie went on trying not to mind that Joanna was still playing the hostess in her, Mardie’s, house.
‘How do you do, Mrs Mansell,’ she said and with her best smile. She turned to the tall sunburned man. ‘You must be Mr Mansell?’
‘And I’m Sylvie … just the sister-in-law,’ the younger woman announced.
At the mention of Mardie’s name, the ‘Jim Smith’ man looked back over his shoulder. He knocked his friend Bill Brown with his elbo
w.
‘Look who’s here!’ he said savagely. ‘No wonder Mr Jard Hunter is anxious to show us the way out. That’s the girl he was sleeping with in the bush. Recognize her? Not a stitch on, the pair of them, either … if I remember rightly.’
‘You always had a memory for faces,’ Bill Brown said in equally ugly tones. ‘For the upper works too, this time. That’s the girl-under-the-rug sill right.’ He gave a short laugh. ‘A faked injury as some excuse, eh? A real new one, that. We could add it to our own repertoire.’ Revenge seemed very sweet ‒ for the moment.
For one minute the room was frozen into silence. Mardie’s flush all but equalled the angry astonishment in Joanna’s face. The Mansell party stood and stared, first at Mardie, then at the group in the doorway. Jard’s face had gone white with anger. It read as if he was controlling himself to the pitch of extremes.
‘Out!’ he said through half-closed lips to the two men. His voice had the crack of a whip in it. He and the roustabout shouldered the two men outside.
Mardie never did know what really happened next, or the exact manner in which the two men were literally put off the premises. She closed her eyes.
Inside The Breakaway things were different.
‘What did that man say?’ Joanna asked in a meaningful but quiet voice. She stared at Mardie, right in the eyes. She was demanding an answer from her. Not from anyone else in the room.
The Mansells fidgeted with their glasses in a mixture of discomfort, curiosity and disbelief.
Mrs Richie, returning to her own province through the rear door, hustled to the rescue.
‘They’re baddies,’ she said in a matter-of-fact voice. ‘Jard put those two men off the premises at my request. It sometimes happens, you know. We serve drinks here and, as it’s an isolated place, occasional drops-ins get out of hand. But it’s very rare, mind you. Very rare indeed. Ever only happened once or twice.’
‘Yes … but what the dark one said … about …’ Mrs Mansell looked around, puzzled. Her expression was shocked.
Mrs Richie gave Joanna her best smile.
‘Thank you, miss, for helping out. I’ll take over now.’ She turned to Mrs Mansell with her best house-warming smile. ‘Men like that pair have to say something, you know, if they’re put off the premises. They always have an excuse for themselves by putting the other person in the wrong. Unpleasant types. Very nasty minds, if you ask me. It takes all sorts to make up the world. Good and bad. Such a pity!’
‘But …’ Sylvia Mansell again had a puzzled expression in both voice and face. ‘The Breakaway is not a place like that, is it? I mean, it’s more a place for through-travellers and … and social meetings. Like today, I mean. Well, like it was meant to be today, that is. Just a call in. The Breakaway …’
‘Quite right, Miss Mansell.’ Mrs Richie’s manner was comforting. ‘The Breakaway has had a wonderful reputation for three generations. But just now and again, well, once in a blue moon, there might be a nasty type drop in. It was a good job we had Jard and one of his men here today. What with Mr Richie outside settling some matters with the builders. But mind you ‒ you never take any notice of what the unpleasant types say. They say anything that comes into their heads. They have to get their own back as it were. That was because Jard was putting them out, of course.’
‘Quite right,’ Mr Mansell said. ‘Why, over the years we ourselves have had one or two stockmen we’ve had to deal with pretty firmly. You know that, May. Once it was a jackeroo. And remember what he said? It was poor Sylvie here. Thank God she was in Perth at the time so the feller was proved a liar. No trouble about that. Everyone knew where Sylvie was at the time.’
Joanna was looking steadily at Mardie.
‘But you weren’t in Perth, were you, Mardie?’ she asked, her voice demanding an explanation.
‘No. I was at the crash. With Jard.’ She swallowed the frog in her throat. ‘But Mister Falldown came after those two men left. Mister Falldown thought that whatever I had done ‒ First Aid sort of ‒ was the right thing. He’ll say so, I know.’
Mr Mansell came across and put his arm along Mardie’s shoulder.
‘We don’t have to call in the old feller to give you an alibi, Mardie,’ he said, giving cheer. ‘Forget it, girl. No one will take notice of a pair like that. Two days ago we had the police over the air making enquiries about a couple answering to their descriptions. No-good-’uns, all right. And ‒ like Mrs Richie said ‒ they always have to say something nasty to get their own back. It’s routine with that type.’
Alibi? Mardie was thinking. Alibi? But I didn’t need an alibi. I haven’t got one. I did do that. I did lie close to him … like that …
She was shocked herself. Bewildered too. And Jard? What would he think? It was only what Jard might think that mattered …
Her gaze wandered round the room, seeking yet not seeing. About these people here … it doesn’t really matter! Not all that much. But it matters about Jard …
Her thoughts broke off as she met the other girl’s eyes. Joanna was clever and she would read the misery in her face. She would interpret it her own way. And, because she was clever and a scientist, she would interpret it the right way. Joanna would know.
Joanna did know.
‘We’ll talk this over later, Mardie,’ she said quietly. ‘For now I think you’d better have a drink.’ Her eyes, very composed, swept round the room. They included Mrs Richie and lingered there just one fraction of a second longer. ‘As for the rest of us,’ she added, ‘perhaps Mrs Richie will give us all a drink. And, of course, we all know that was a load of rubbish we’ve just heard.’ Her glance took them all in again. ‘No one in this room even remembers what they said, do we? That’s for Jard’s sake, of course. We all know he was unconscious. We all heard the news bulletins from the Flying Doctor Service over the air, didn’t we?’ Her tone was commanding, not asking.
‘Oh, of course!’ Mrs Mansell relaxed almost too obviously. ‘It was just such a shock to hear anyone talk like that, wasn’t it? I mean, that’s why we all looked so aghast. Now we’re all agreed, aren’t we? No one in this room ever mentions it again … for darling Jard’s sake. It could make such mischief!’
‘For Mardie’s sake too,’ Mrs Richie said very quietly.
Sylvie Mansell gave a nervous, brittle sort of laugh. ‘Oh yes. Of course for Mardie’s sake too. After all, a girl’s reputation is her most treasured possession, isn’t it?’
‘What is her most treasured possession?’
Jard was standing in the doorway. His voice was steady.
‘Oh, a diamond ring on her left hand, I expect,’ Mrs Mansell said thoughtlessly. Then, when she realized what she had said, she flushed. ‘I mean jewellery, of course. Or … or …’ she stammered. ‘Any kind of jewellery. Women … girls … do love pretty things, don’t they? I mean … I do …’
‘If you will excuse me for a few minutes,’ Mardie said coolly, ‘I want to speak to the builder before the men knock off.’
She felt Joanna’s eyes burning holes in her back. To have turned and gone through the rear door would have beat a retreat. She must go the normal way ‒ through the front entrance. With her head up ‒ high. She did that.
She walked quietly towards the door. To keep up the pretence of dignity she had to lift her eyes and give Jard a wry smile.
He was looking at her steadily, a contained, watchful expression in his eyes. Yet, this time, his eyes were saying something. What? They were no longer cold stone. There was almost compassion in them. It made Mardie’s heart turn over, all over again.
Oh why, why, why did this have to happen to her?
Will power, please come to my aid.
It did.
She smiled. She was unaware of a prayer for understanding in it.
He knows I did sleep with him that night. He realizes it had to be true. That it made sense because of the cold. And he’s sorry for me.
Sorry! Who wants pity!
‘Not to worry!’ s
he said, looking straight into his eyes. ‘The funniest things happen in the outback, don’t they? And get said too! Who’d ever have thought an eagle would attack a ’copter, for instance? Or make such a noise about it? But you wouldn’t remember that, would you?’
He stood aside for her to pass through.
‘But the eagle did attack,’ he said. ‘Fifteen inches of rain have been known to fall overnight in the middle of the desert too. An earthquake, not known in this continent for millions of years, shook the State and wrecked a whole town. The strangest things do happen. I agree.’
Mardie’s laugh was genuine. It was going to be all right. He was taking it lightly. Her flush died away and the stiffness went out of her conjured-up dignity.
‘Wonders will never cease!’ she said, and managed a laugh as she went through the door.
Chapter Twelve
Mardie talked to her builder about the window frame and the door frame. About these bricks and those. She tried to keep her mind on what he was telling her because, after all, these were her units going up. The cost of them would take all the capital money left to her by her godfather ‒ along with the rights to the property. She had to find and keep a business head on her shoulders. And watch the dollars. She would never be able to look Mr Lawson in the face again if she made a mess of it.
If only her heart would stop pounding long enough for her really to hear and digest what the builder was saying.
He was pointing out that Jard’s utility had been moved back by the roustabout before he, too, had gone to join ‘the mob’ in The Breakaway.
‘And downy-looking wallops that pair of no-good-’uns looked when they came out and took off in the station waggon. Guess they’re the type that look like something that spells trouble,’ he said.