by Lucy Walker
‘They might have caused trouble,’ Mardie said cautiously, ‘but the men from the Dig-in got rid of them for us.’
‘Those two rifles?’
‘I think they probably weren’t registered. It was something to do with that. I’m not sure of the details. It was all beyond me. I don’t understand much about fire-arms.’
The builder shrugged his shoulders philosophically.
‘The pair of ’em have probably been passing themselves off as registered dingo-shooters. The mining people don’t like that type around. Mostly they’re snooping on what’s going on round the drilling sites ‒ waiting for a strike that smells like a goer.’
‘Yes. I have had that explained to me. I believe the spy-planes even carry telescopic sighters on them.’
‘They have everything ‒ if their employers are rich enough. That pair probably have a big firm behind them.’
Mardie was beginning to wonder if her new life up here really meant establishing motel units, helping run The Breakaway, or somehow getting herself tangled up with mining exploration and their camp followers.
She turned as she heard the steps coming along the cement path by the trellis.
It was Jard, his roustabouts following him. A minute later Joanna came too. She looked around and spotted Mardie, almost hidden behind the builder and by a double stack of bricks. She came towards them with her usual determined manner.
‘Mardie, have you two minutes to spare? I wanted to see you about something, but I mustn’t keep Jard waiting. He’s one frantically busy man, you know.’
This last sounded possessive as if Joanna was his personal and protective secretary. Or something else?
The builder said, ‘Excuse me,’ and moved away. Mardie came out from behind the brick stack.
‘Yes, of course,’ she said with a smile, trying to make it as natural as possible. ‘It was such a to-do in there it was impossible to say “hallo” to one another properly, wasn’t it? But thank you for minding the bar. It was good of you.’
‘Nonsense. We wanted Mrs Richie out of the way in case of trouble. Then, my dear infant, you had to come barging into it. You should have left us to handle it, you know. However, there was no real trouble to speak of.’
Joanna’s eyes had something near a reprimand in them. They were more like those of a schoolteacher talking to a difficult child.
‘Well, as it is my property,’ Mardie said mildly, but on purpose, ‘it was my responsibility, wasn’t it?’ She was determined the relationship should return to normal friendliness, if possible. Yet make her point. ‘I can understand that men wouldn’t want women around, but then you came, Joanna. They wanted you, so I didn’t think females had to be debarred altogether.’
‘I work with the men. And I’m experienced. There’s a difference, you see. And experience ‒’
‘At trouble-shooting? Joanna, you’re a real wonder. Don’t you ever feel scared?’
‘No. You can’t work with men and make a ploy at tender feminine susceptibilities. I’m not exactly all for Women’s Lib, but I do believe if you want equality with men in their jobs then that’s exactly what it means ‒ equality. You take on the same responsibilities. And I’m the official First Aid hand out at the Dig-in. Extra duties and all that, you know.’
Mardie’s voice was very quiet. ‘But that’s what I’m doing here. Being equal. Running The Breakaway and building my own motel units.’
Joanna laughed almost derisively, but not quite. ‘My dear girl! The Richies have been running The Breakaway for years and years. And you have a builder and skilled workers building your units.’
‘Touché. But I’m learning. And I’m helping. Sort of overseeing, if you know what I mean.’
The expression in Joanna’s eyes hardened. ‘Is that what you were doing in the bushes after the ’copter crash? Overseeing?’
Mardie flushed. ‘Jard was unconscious in that ’copter, and later. What would you have done, Joanna? Left him there? He could have died.’
‘You do have a point there. But don’t dramatize it, my dear child. As for what those two outsider-men said, it was a pack of downright lies, wasn’t it?’
‘If it was, why give it another thought? They’ve been run out of the area now, haven’t they? Is anyone likely to take any notice of people like that? They must be notorious anyway, or the Dig-in wouldn’t have sent you all over here to get rid of them.’
Joanna eyed Mardie thoughtfully.
Mardie met her gaze. She called up her good Will Power again, and did not blink.
Joanna suddenly relaxed. ‘So long as no one allows Jard to start worrying about it,’ she said. ‘A man could be put ‒ wrongfully ‒ in a difficult position. I don’t think the Mansells will talk, but we do owe it to Jard not to compromise him unjustly. Don’t you think?’
‘Of course. Don’t worry, Joanna. I know you have a duty to protect the Boss. I feel exactly the same. Mainly because he and the Dig-in are amongst our most valued customers. There’s nothing more likely to come out of the whole incident. Do let’s forget it. It wasn’t very pleasant and is best forgotten.’
Joanna smiled. ‘Good girl, Mardie. I did think the first time I met you that you had sense. Thank God for that. Well, sorry I can’t keep the men waiting. ’Bye for now.’ She turned away ‒ then back again as if having second thoughts. ‘I’ll give you a call from the Dig-in some time. You must come over when we have our next film show. We have them regularly to give the men some kind of entertainment, other than cards and two-up. A wide screen and a projector are part of our equipment out there. Supper laid on ‒ ad lib!’
‘Lovely! Thank you. I’d love to come.’
‘Good. I’ll speak to David Ashton about it. He sent his love. I think he’s really falling for you, Mardie. He’s a nice guy so I wouldn’t pass him up, unless you have someone with top priority tucked away down south?’ This last was more a question than a quip but Mardie did not answer it.
‘I’ll be seeing you,’ was all she said.
‘And me you,’ Joanna replied cheerfully. She turned away towards the Dig-in’s utility. Jard was already in the drive seat He was leaning his elbow on the steering wheel, cupping his chin in his hand and looking steadily and thoughtfully in front of him.
Not even a wave goodbye?
Mardie wondered about that, sadly.
Time passed so quickly Mardie almost lost count. The units were finished.
Next came the business of interviewing sales representatives from the south who came to quote for furnishings. Mardie had read up her business journals and realized that if her accommodation venture was to be a success, the units had to match in furnishings with the standard motels in the north-west towns catering for the big mining interests at Mt Tom Price, Karratha and the busy northwest ports shipping out the iron ore. A bigger generator had to be installed at The Breakaway to cater for extra demands such as air-conditioning as well as better electric lighting.
Because of these affairs Mr Lawson made another flying call to The Breakaway.
Mardie had earlier been anxious about his reaction. She had all the confidence in the world about The Breakaway’s future. So many, many people passing through had been delighted at the prospect of having a real modern stopover. And they had said so warmly. The old truckies’ accommodation at the back of The Breakaway could be repaired or pulled down.
There were so many decisions to be made and Mr Lawson, since he was the trustee of the estate, had to be consulted.
‘Well done, Mardie!’ he said as he looked over the units. She was so relieved she could have cried. ‘And your bookkeeping is a wonder to behold. You went to a good business college, that’s clear.’
‘Thank God for that,’ she said, hugging his arm.
‘You can also thank God for being blessed with brains too, my child.’
Mardie’s eyes widened. ‘Brains?’ she said. ‘Me? You ought to see what Joanna Seddon can do. She’s one of the geologists at the Dig-in. Had a First Aid
training too. The only woman …’
‘Yes. I know all about Joanna. She could run the country ‒ given a chance. A good-looker into the bargain. She has managed to keep her femininity along with it. Quite a girl is Miss Seddon.’ Mr Lawson seemed to be indulging in a very private sort of smile.
‘Yes. Quite a girl,’ Mardie agreed gently.
Mr Lawson glanced at her. ‘Do I detect a note of sadness? I thought you admired her?’
‘Oh, I do. Tremendously. I guess I’m just envious because I can’t do all the things she can do.’
‘Like what?’
‘Talk about things in scientific terms to scientists, to begin with,’ Mardie said with a laugh. ‘That’s a foreign language to simple people like me. I almost feel a dim-wit when the mining people call in. They talk about gossans and costeans. Pre-Cambrian to Mesozoic granites … Did you know that that is what this area is in geological age, Mr Lawson? Pre-Cambrian?’
‘You’re learning, aren’t you, Mardie? No one can learn things like that in a day.’
‘I listen. And I’ve bought a book. You see, I want to catch up with …’ she hesitated.
‘With whom?’ He was watching her face with extra interest.
She looked away as if trying to identify something … which was nothing … in the distance.
‘Well, with them all. I mean, they come in here for stores, you know. And they sit talking. I sort of wish I could join in …’
‘Them? Who are they precisely?’
‘Oh, Joanna. David Ashton. Lots of the other men from out there. And …’ She broke off. She was aware that Mr Lawson was looking at her in a not so usual way.
‘And who?’ he asked.
Something in her bones told her the name for which he had been waiting.
‘There’s Jard Hunter, of course.’ She said the name casually. This was hard for her. It was hard even to think of him casually. Mr Lawson was too experienced in reading, not only law, but people.
‘There is something special about Jard Hunter, isn’t there, Mardie? Is it because of the night of the crash?’
Mardie looked in other directions. She did not want to meet his eyes.
‘Well … naturally.’ She made a good attempt at sounding casual. ‘We were together in a very nasty accident. No one could forget that, could they? Also he happens …’ She broke off. Something had clicked with her. Mr Lawson’s words … ‘Because of the night of the crash’. There had been the faintest underlining of the words ‒ ‘the night’ and not so much of ‒ ‘of the crash’. It ought to have been the crash that mattered. Not the night.
She looked straight at him, meeting his eyes.
‘Who has been telling you about it, Mr Lawson? What have they been saying?’
‘This is one of the reasons I have come up to see you, Mardie. I knew how your motel units were coming along. Naturally I had to take a business interest in them. But there was this other matter. Shall we go inside and talk about it? Perhaps Mrs Richie will be kind enough to make us some tea.’
‘Yes, of course.’
They walked in silence past the bright-coloured creepers lining the trellis, in through The Breakaway’s main entrance, to the sitting-room on the far side of the bar wall.
‘Tea please, Mrs Richie. Can you manage it? Mardie and I have much to talk about. Tea always helps, don’t you think?’
‘Well, with some.’ Mrs Richie was being philosophic again. ‘With others it’s a glass of beer or a good stiff whisky. Sure you wouldn’t like a whisky ‒ scotch, Mr Lawson?’
‘No. Tea please, Mrs Richie. Perhaps we could have a drink together before dinner tonight. That is, if you and Mr Richie will join us. We also have some business to talk about, don’t we?’
‘Jard Hunter coming in to see you this time, Mr Lawson?’ Mrs Richie asked. But Mardie thought there was something extra in her tone. Maybe it was just that she herself was on guard; sick with doubts. Even anxieties, when it came to mentioning Jard’s name. This specially when coupled with the re-telling of the ’copter crash incident. It had been a talking point with the through-travellers for weeks. Its importance had grown out of all proportion to the facts. Two eagles had now become a covey of them. The crippled ’copter had become a complete burnout. One injured person had now become someone crippled for life. Oh! How that story had altered and grown, finally to become unreal with the re-telling of it!
Mr Lawson and Mardie, seated in the sitting-room, talked about eagles in general and ’copters in particular till Mrs Richie brought in the tea. She made her usual bright contributions to the conversation, then departed, closing the door firmly behind her. Clearly she thought her ‘dear child’ was now in proper hands.
Mardie poured the tea.
‘Why did you want to talk to me about the crash?’ she asked as she brought him his tea. Their eyes met and this time Mardie’s did not flinch. She wanted to know. The truth … whether it hurt or not.
‘I think Jard Hunter would like to come and see you about it, Mardie,’ he said quietly. ‘I happen to be his legal adviser amongst other things. But that has little to do with it. My concern at the moment is with you. I think he has something special he would like to discuss with you. I’m the note in the cleft stick ‒ the old primitive way of the messenger bringing the news.’
He took a lump of sugar from the bowl Mardie offered, and looking down at his cup stirred the tea vigorously.
‘Yes?’
‘My concern is for you, Mardie. Not Jard.’ Mr Lawson was being very paternal now. Not legalistic. ‘I think you should know, in advance, what he has in mind.’
‘But what could he have in mind? It’s all over now. It’s something in the past.’
‘But not forgotten.’
‘For goodness sake! He doesn’t feel all grateful ‒ or something? I couldn’t bear that. All it was was a case of both of us preserving ourselves.’ That earlier phrase of Mr Lawson’s rang in her mind ‒ the night of the crash. There was a slight tremor in her hand as she stirred the milk into her own tea. ‘Jard couldn’t possibly believe the implications of what those two hateful men have said,’ she went on. ‘He knows he was unconscious. What does he fear? Or suspect? That I …?’ She couldn’t go on. She felt her cheeks burning. Alas! She couldn’t hide that from Mr Lawson. Yet his expression was kindly. Concerned. It all but brought tears to her eyes.
She wasn’t so very alone now. There had been her godfather, and he was dead. He had loved her. Mr Lawson had stepped into his shoes. He was being kind. She wanted to forget that awful alone period of her life when her mother died, and her father had remarried.
‘Please go on,’ she said in a steady voice. ‘I know there is something you want to tell me. Something important.’
‘Important because of my feeling for you, Mardie. I have great admiration for your energy and enterprise up here at The Breakaway. For your thoroughness. And for something more. For yourself.’
‘Thank you.’ Her voice was so low she could hardly hear it herself.
‘I also think you have courage. So you must have the courage to listen now. There are matters I believe you should know.’
‘Please go on.’
‘Very well. I’ll begin ahead of events. I know Jard Hunter very well, Mardie. I will sum him up in one sentence. He is a very fine man. He can be a tough man, if necessary. A hard man when events demand it. Dedicated to his work and outstandingly brilliant as a hydro-geologist. Have you got the picture?’
She nodded.
Mr Lawson said very slowly and meaningly, ‘You know, Mardie, if I had a daughter I would like to see her marry such a man.’
‘Marry? But what has that to do with me? I mean …’
There was a long silence as he looked straight at her. Right into her eyes.
‘That is a matter I thought you had a right to know ‒ in advance. I’m reasonably sure ‒ from a long experience of mankind ‒ that Jard Hunter would like to ask you to marry him, Mardie. I know him well. I know he will
come in here and ask you that question. He’s a brief-and-to-the-point kind of man, Mardie. I imagine there’ll be no preliminaries. No awkward sentimental declarations. At least these last are a matter of my own opinion only.’
‘But …’ She was utterly bewildered.
‘Please let me finish. I have heard there may have been some kind of attachment to that girl out at the Dig-in. Miss Seddon. Jard … being the kind of man he is … gave me no explanation whether that attachment had come to an end, nor at whose wish. How deep the attachment is or was ‒ if ever ‒ I cannot surmise. I’m a legal man and deal in facts, not suppositions. But he did tell me why he wished to propose marriage to you. He felt that I ‒ as your trustee ‒ was entitled to know. I think he is too chivalrous to give you the reasons. However, I think … because I have a special relationship with you … that you have a right to know those reasons. And not make a mistake because of “chivalry” alone. I want the best for you, Mardie, which means I want happiness for you.’
‘Please go on.’ Mardie’s voice was very quiet. Her face had gone white.
‘Remember what I said earlier. If I had a daughter I would like to see her marry such a man. I would go further now. I would like to see you marry Jard Hunter, Mardie. It would give great satisfaction and great happiness to me. But only provided you knew what you were doing. And why. And that you cared for the man.’
‘Please go on.’ Mardie had never fainted in her life, and she didn’t think she was likely to faint now. But she felt strange, odd, as if she wasn’t here. Or she’d been hit on the head or something.
‘Well, here goes! I’m afraid an ugly rumour has been the rounds concerning that night of the crash. You may prefer to disregard it and let it die ‒ if such things ever do die in an area that has a limited population.’
Mardie was calm now. In spite of the heat she was stone cold inside herself.
‘You mean,’ she said after a long pause, ‘that because of what those two exploration-spy men said, my good name is being smeared ‒ or something? That’s how they put it in melodramatic terms, isn’t it? You want me to know ‒ because of your sense of justice to us both, Jard and me ‒ that he will come and offer to marry me to clear my fair name? Is that it? And all this out of chivalry?’