by Lucy Walker
‘Yes,’ said Carey calmly. ‘It is like that.’
Across the room they looked at one another in silence.
‘Well,’ said Millicent, suddenly moving into action again, ‘I must have my bath. And yes, I quite agree about Jane and the room with the blue curtains. After all she will only need one bed. And there are two in the other room, aren’t there?’
‘Yes,’ said Carey.
Somewhere in the house a door closed and then there were heavy firm footsteps approaching down the cross passage.
‘That is Oliver now. I will leave you to meet him by yourself, Millicent. I’ll take this tray to the kitchen and see to ‒ see to Tony.’
On Tony’s name her voice actually trembled. Someone at Two Creeks to love, by whom to be loved. Yes, she must see to Tony at once. Except that she had to pass Oliver in the hall she would have fled.
As usual the sight of his tall strong figure and his face browned and just a little dusty from his day on the run made her conscious of his physical presence.
‘Millicent is here,’ she said. ‘She has just gone down to your study, Oliver.’
Oliver was hanging his hat on the hat rack in the side passage. He did not look at Carey.
‘I saw the car come up about half an hour ago. I expect we’ll be a little late for dinner. You might tell Cook, Carey.’
‘Yes, I will do that,’ said Carey and went on down the main hall with the tray.
I might as well have been a piece of furniture that talked and walked, she thought. He doesn’t even notice me. Then because this hurt and she didn’t like being hurt she indulged in a little unusual anger.
How silly can some people be, she asked herself. Even a strong-minded man like Oliver? Why did he marry me and not Jane Newbold? Was it kindness or just charity, because if it was charity he has picked the wrong client.
Carey hadn’t a great many years behind her but she had never had anything for nothing. In Wybong she had lived and loved but she had also worked … and worked ‒ and worked.
Oh dear, she thought, as she put the tray in the pantry, I’m not allowed to talk about Wybong and I’ll have to stop thinking about it. Millicent was right when she said Wybong was not Two Creeks. It was at Two Creeks she would have to learn to live and work ‒ and work ‒ and work.
Oliver, having hung up his hat, stood quite still in the passage. He took out a cigarette and lit it. As he did so he listened to Carey’s footsteps fading away down the hall. His eyes were tired. Then with a fine frown between his brows he went towards his study. Millicent could not be thwarted and she would have to be endured.
As he went in Millicent was standing behind his table, leafing through the envelopes brought in with the mail.
‘You really ought to keep an “In” and “Out” tray on your table, Oliver,’ she said. ‘I wanted to see Dalgety’s report and I don’t like opening your drawers. Things relating to the property just ought to be where I can find them at a minute’s notice.’
Oliver walked into the small room adjoining his study and brought out a pamphlet and tossed it on the table beside Millicent.
‘Sooner or later, Millicent,’ he said, ‘you and I will have to come to grips with the fact that I own Two Creeks and you don’t.’
‘It has always been my home,’ Millicent said without showing any feeling about this rebuff. She didn’t consider it a rebuff, and ignored the implications in Oliver’s remark. ‘You wouldn’t get on without me, you know that.’ She picked up the pamphlet and sitting down in Oliver’s chair began to look through it. She did not look up as she went on. ‘I’m here this week to put the place in order ready for the gymkhana influx. And, of course, the annual gathering of the Shire Council and their wives. By the way,’ she looked up, ‘you will be the next president as a matter of course, I suppose?’
Oliver walked over to the window and stood looking out. Carey had come around the side veranda and had jumped down on to the path below it. Tony had just come through the side garden gate. Oliver could hear Carey’s call to Tony. He watched the two … the boy and the girl … crossing the garden to meet under the big spreading pepper tree.
‘I suppose so,’ Oliver said, referring to Millicent’s remark about being President of the Shire Council.
‘You do realise, of course, that the president needs some well-trained support from his wife? It’s probably quite an art handling all the councillors’ wives. Then there is committee work …’
‘That is something of which you have been reminding me for years, my dear Millicent. I now have a wife. You can cease to worry.’
Millicent got up from her chair, came round the table and went to Oliver’s side.
‘My dear brother,’ she said in a tone that manifestly showed she was trying to hide her exasperation, ‘Carey is very inexperienced. I think I should be here … at her side.’
Oliver did not reply.
‘You are not paying attention to me, Oliver,’ she went on. ‘What are you looking at so intently?’
She moved a curtain aside with one finger.
Tony had climbed into the pepper tree and Carey stood beneath it, her face upturned, watching the boy. She was smiling and one hand was lifted, pointing to something in the tree. The attitude was very pretty, for the sun had gone down, leaving a crimson sky, and Carey’s figure was silhouetted against it. The curve of her throat, the lifted arm, the tilt of her head, emphasised the slender youthful curves of her body.
Oliver stubbed out his cigarette in an ash-tray on the table by the window ledge without taking his eyes from the scene in the garden. Millicent heard the faint bite of his teeth, almost as if he had clenched them together. She looked quickly at her brother. He was frowning.
Millicent let the curtain drop back into its place.
‘I don’t believe you are paying any attention to me,’ she said again, turning away. She sat down in a chair across the room, crossed her ankles and helped herself to a cigarette from the box on the corner of Oliver’s table. She lit it with a quick jerking movement of the match. Oliver remained, looking out the window, his back to her.
‘Oliver,’ she said peremptorily, ‘will you please come to life and listen to me. You’ve got enormous responsibilities as President of the Shire Council …’
Oliver turned round.
‘Supposing we worry about that when the time comes,’ he said, going back to his desk and himself now leafing through the mail. ‘What sort of a trip did you have out of Melbourne, Millicent, and how is Mother?’
Millicent watched her brother for a few minutes in silence. He did not appear to notice she was not answering his questions. He slit open a letter with a paper-knife and read it. As he read he frowned.
‘You must be tired, Oliver,’ Millicent said. ‘Why don’t you sit down and read your mail?’
He picked up another letter, slit the envelope and read its contents. He did not appear to have heard his sister.
Millicent stubbed out her cigarette, stood up, and walked to the door.
‘Oliver,’ she said loudly and firmly. ‘Two things are of importance. The curtains have to be taken down, dry cleaned and replaced in the next two weeks. And we have visitors for the week-end. Has that penetrated, because you are clearly not in a listening mood.’
‘Leave the curtains to Carey,’ said Oliver, not looking up. ‘And I know about the visitors. Jane Newbold and a Mr. Harry Martin from Wybong.’
‘What a combination!’ said Millicent with a disdainful laugh.
Oliver looked up over the letter he was holding in his hand. He was still standing.
‘I’d be grateful if you’d keep your feelings on the subject of Jane and Harry Martin from Carey,’ he said.
Millicent knew what that hard cold light in Oliver’s eyes usually meant.
‘That, I suppose, is what you intend to do?’ she said.
‘If I had feelings about them that is what I would do,’ said Oliver quietly.
Millicent gave a little depreca
ting laugh.
‘My dear Oliver,’ she said. ‘It is when you have feelings that you put up that ice-cold facade. I know you better than you think. As for the curtains, Carey wouldn’t dream of interfering in something about which she knows nothing.’
She went out and closed the door quietly. Oliver went on slitting envelopes and letting his eyes flick through the contents. He put the last of the letters in a pile at the side of the blotting pad and a paper-weight on them. He went back to the window.
Night had come down swiftly with the going of the sun and nothing could be seen in the garden now. He drew the curtain, went out of the study and upstairs to his room. Ten minutes later the water could be heard pouring from the shower-room.
Carey, at the top of the staircase, stood quite still and listened to it for a minute. She walked quickly towards Oliver’s room, picked up his discarded shirt and put it with his underclothes in the laundry box in the corner. She folded his riding-pants and put them on a chair with his stock neatly on top of them. Then she went down to her own room to dress for dinner.
Chapter Twelve
Oliver, in spite of his lateness, was the first downstairs and as neither Carey nor his sister were there he went once again to his study. He picked up one of the letters that had come in with the mail and carried it into the small room adjoining. He put it on a ledge while he took down the pedigree book from a shelf. He stood resting the great tome on the ledge by the open letter and when he had found what he was looking for he stood reading the pedigree table, glancing occasionally at the letter as if checking something.
The door was ajar, leaving a wide crack through which he could see part of his study, particularly the part that showed the corner of the big table on which the telephone rested. He heard a slight tap on his study door but he did not lift his head or answer it. He was busy.
It was Carey who came into the study and went to the chair at the side of the table near the telephone. She lifted the receiver and asked the exchange for long distance.
Oliver, one finger on his place in the book, looked up. Carey, through the crack, was sitting with both elbows on the table, resting her chin in one hand and holding the telephone receiver with the other. She was obviously waiting for long distance to come through on the line. Oliver bent his head and went on checking his pedigree reference. He heard Carey give a Melbourne number and he supposed she was ringing through some order to a store. He didn’t want to interfere. He wanted Carey to order whatever she wanted without restraint.
He lifted his head with some surprise when the number was connected and Carey asked for Mrs. Cleaver. He then could see she had a note-book in front of her.
‘It’s Carey, Mrs. Cleaver … Oh, yes, very well, thank you … Yes, everything is lovely on Two Creeks … Please. I want you to do something for me if you will? … It might be a little trouble but you see I had to ask you because it’s a matter of taste and I just couldn’t leave it to a store, even a good store.’
Oliver bent his head to his book again. Women’s affairs!
He lifted his head sharply when he heard Carey giving measurements of rooms, of window frames, and details of furniture and colours in some of the upstairs rooms. He looked through the crack and could see the tiny frown of concentration on Carey’s face as she consulted her note-book.
‘If you go to the store straight away and tell them it is urgent they’ll send them out express. They did for Oliver, before I was married … You will? Oh, you are a darling. I suppose you think it’s dreadfully extravagant having the curtains already made up for me but you see I have to have them before the others come back from the dry cleaners and up before … well, before Millicent minds. You do know what I mean, don’t you? You do understand? … You see, if I just start with one or two rooms and let Millicent do the others we’ll both be happy. You do see, don’t you? … Oh, thank you so much, and I do know your taste will be perfect …’
Oliver could see Carey’s face suffused with a glow. The light from the overhead bracket shone down on her and caught the glint of sudden unshed tears.
‘Oh, Mrs. Cleaver, I would so love you to come and see me sometime … Could I ring you up when you’re not so busy?’
Oliver closed his book on his finger and stood watching Carey. She put the receiver back on its rest and sat looking at it. Then she lifted her hand and wiped a tear from the corner of one eye.
Oliver took a step and opened the door wide. Carey looked up to see him standing there, the big book in one hand, the letter in the other. She started.
‘Oh, Oliver …’ she said. ‘I didn’t know you were standing there.’
‘I’m sorry to have been an unconscious listener,’ he said. ‘I thought you were probably ringing through on some business. I’m afraid I overheard you.’ He crossed the short space to his table and put the pedigree book and the letter down. ‘What goes on about the curtains?’ he asked.
Carey blinked her eyes and hoped Oliver had not seen that tears had been so near.
‘Well, you see …’ she said. ‘Well, Oliver, you did want me not to let Millicent be too bossy, didn’t you? I didn’t want to upset her though. I thought if I just began with one or two rooms … Of course I wouldn’t dream of replacing the curtains in the big downstairs rooms, or in here. They are beautiful curtains, anyway. The ones upstairs are good, too … but I just had to show my metal … as it were … somewhere. Rather an extravagant way of doing it, I’m afraid.’
She looked anxiously at Oliver as if expecting his censure.
‘Go on,’ he said quietly.
‘Well, you see … when the curtains come down to go to the dry cleaners I’ll put my new ones up in the two side upstairs rooms instead of the old ones when they come back. I’ll have made a beginning, won’t I? I mean about managing things myself. Sort of inch by inch, if you know what I mean?’
Her anxious blue eyes looked into Oliver’s, seeking some hint from them of his approval or disapproval. Her smile wavered.
What clear eyes he had! How directly he always looked at people and things. She had never really looked right into his eyes.
She had never had the opportunity. Looking into them like this she was finding new undiscovered things. There was a fine dark ring round the grey. That was what made the white part of his eyes seem so very white. Like his teeth. It was the deep brown of his skin that made his teeth so white.
Suddenly Carey knew she had been looking into Oliver’s eyes too long. She blinked. Then looked down at her notebook.
‘Mrs. Cleaver would like to come and stay on Two Creeks for a few days … later. She’s booked up just now. And I would like her to come. I would so very much, Oliver …’
She looked up again quickly, again seeking his approval. To her surprise his eyes had softened. Carey’s heart leapt. For the first time they were nearly smiling at one another; their eyes were meeting and something of understanding was passing between them.
‘Oh, Oliver …’ she breathed to herself.
He only had to put out his hand and perhaps some of the barriers would be down.
‘You go right ahead and do just what you want to do about the curtains, Carey. They are your curtains, you know. Two Creeks homestead is your homestead …’ He paused. ‘And I’d be delighted for your sake if Mrs. Cleaver came to us for a visit.’
‘Oh, thank you so much.’
‘Don’t thank me, Carey. I want you to be happy.’ He bent his head while he took a cigarette from the box and lit it. ‘Quite a busy time you’ll be having with visitors in the next few weeks,’ he said through the smoke drift of his cigarette. ‘There’s Harry Martin …’
He watched the eagerness in Carey’s face as she said, ‘Oh, yes. You’ll like Harry, Oliver. I love him. He’s a darling.’ Oliver’s eyes went back to the cigarette he was holding in his hand.
‘He was something special in that life back there in Wybong?’
‘More than that. When I was ever so young I used to think I’d marry Harry wh
en I grew up. I was always longing to hurry and grow up. I was always telling Harry I was hurrying as fast as I could … and to wait for me.’ She laughed.
‘And didn’t he?’ asked Oliver.
‘He never asked me,’ said Carey. ‘Well,’ she added, laughingly, ‘I suppose I didn’t give him a chance, did I? I married you.’
‘And left poor Harry standing?’
‘Oh, no. He’s my best friend. He wouldn’t come down here to help me with my farm if he didn’t still like me. Oliver, you don’t think Harry is just a fencer, do you? Millicent is afraid he’s only a workman. He’s not. He’s a contractor and in Wybong he’s very important.’
There she was … talking about Wybong again!
‘Very important to you, too!’ said Oliver dryly. He shook the ash from his cigarette into the ash-tray. ‘Don’t worry, I won’t let Millicent cast him out with the roustabouts. We’ll have to hope for the best with Millicent and Jane. By the way, did you know that Millicent is bringing Jane Newbold here at the end of the week?’
For three glorious minutes Carey had been talking to Oliver as if he too was her friend. The barriers had seemed to melt away. New vistas had begun to open before her inner eyes.
In some curious way Carey felt as if suddenly those barriers were materialising again. She could feel as if iron bands were tightening round her heart, too.
Why hadn’t he told her about Jane Newbold coming when Jane must have arranged it with him that day she called in at Two Creeks? And did they all really think that anyone from Wybong was bound to be a country hick with whom they would put up for Carey’s sake?
‘Harry is the finest man I’ve ever met,’ Carey said, her thoughts leaving Jane for the moment. ‘He’s very good-looking, and well dressed. Even the people on the big stations defer to Harry Martin.’
Oliver’s eyebrows flickered. His eyes grew remote again.
‘I have every confidence in your good taste, my dear child. You do not have to defend Mr. Martin to me. I’m concerned only with Millicent and Jane. I want peace there, too …’
‘Oh, you’ll have that,’ Carey said, rising. ‘I’ll see to that, Oliver. Jane will be charming to you … quite naturally. It is no effort for Jane to be charming. And Millicent will be busy with the curtains …’