Outback Angel

by Margaret Way

  Her voice was torn. “This is unbearable.” She made a half-hearted movement to get away from him. “Your cousin couldn’t have named me at all. Why don’t you speak to her, you’re such a doubting Thomas? Then, maybe, we can start all over again.” She stared briefly into his eyes. Found them strangely troubled. “You’d better go now.” Before this tiny scuffle tipped into something else.

  “I don’t think I can move from this spot.”

  She turned her head away, feeling close to tears. “What do you want of me, Jonathon? We scarcely know one another yet here we are—”

  “Desperate to fall back on that bed,” he completed her thought, his voice quiet and contemplative. “It can’t be all that unusual to want a woman on sight.”

  “You must go,” she said. “Really.”

  He grasped a handful of her hair and tilted up her head. “Why don’t I just lock the door?”

  She shook her head. “Because you think I’m a bad girl.”

  “No. Maybe I’m afraid of you. Of what you could do to me.” He began shaking out her sleep-tousled hair. It was like skeins of heavy silk.

  “Talk to me, Jonathon.” She found herself winding her arms around him, almost protectively. “How could you be afraid of me? Why?”

  “God knows! Feelings,” he said, resting his chin on her head. “So much so soon it’s like an avalanche. I didn’t even know you, yet I hated seeing Huntley’s hand on you. Hated him. My reaction was so excessive I veered away from remembering. Yet you stayed with me only to be brought forth in my dreams.”

  “As I remembered you,” she confided, looking back over the intervening three years.

  There was such a sweetness, an understanding to her tone he found himself continuing the moments of self exploration. “It’s that loathing of Huntley, my disgust at his callous hand that makes me say harsh things,” he said, shadows gathering on his golden-bronze face. “My father had the cruellest tongue and a way of glaring. I guess I worry there’s more than a bit of him in me after all.”

  “You’re not cruel, Jonathon,” she said, shaking her head, imagining him as a defenceless child taking that kind of treatment from a formidable father.

  “God, I hope not!” His voice carried the sounds of his deepest concerns. “You have that healing touch. It’s true, isn’t it, Angel?” He looked down, his gaze irresistibly zooming in on her mouth, a natural tender red like crushed strawberries. He couldn’t look at it without putting his own mouth to it, covering the plush, receptive surface.

  A moment of sliding back into a dream world, then he put her away from him. “You’re right, I shouldn’t be here. I should be doing my job. I have a station to run. But first, I want you to have breakfast with me.”

  “I’ll get breakfast for you, you mean,” she told him eagerly, swinging about to spy out her clothes. “I promise you you’ll lick the plate clean.”

  He laughed and walked to the door, moved by her soft, lovely mood. “In return I’ll find the time to teach you to ride,” he promised, and sketched a brief salute. “Ten minutes. No more.”

  She waved him away, suddenly incredibly happy. “I’m aiming for five.”

  The rest of the day passed very swiftly. There was much to be done. In Clary she had a fine, capable, enthusiastic lieutenant ready to do everything to make these Christmas celebrations work. Even Stacy and Gillian got into the spirit of it. It was clear they found her quite unthreatening, indeed they all did quite a lot of laughing as Angelica took them through her plans for the various functions one by one. “I think I might like Leah in on this,” Angelica announced at one point. “If you all agree she’s gifted—and she certainly is if you consider the sheer professionalism of that dress—she’ll be able to help out with the decoration.”

  “But Mum and I want to decorate the tree, Angelica.” Gilly looked dismayed. “We’d love to get involved.”

  “But of course. It’s your home, Gilly. I’m only here as co-ordinator and supervisor. I’m talking about the Great Hall for Leah.”

  “Oh, that’s all right then.” Gilly looked relieved. “As long as we don’t have dear Dinah getting into the act. Mum and I aren’t keen on Dinah.” Her pretty mouth thinned.

  “We should be able to avoid that,” Angelica said hopefully. “I’ve spoken to Jake about the tree. We’re going to shift the library table so it can soar dead centre.”

  “Shift the library table!” Stacy echoed, as though that was absolutely the worst thing that could happen. “But the library table has always been there, dear.”

  “Then it’s time we shifted it. For the occasion anyway,” Angelica coaxed. “Trust me, Stacy. It will look wonderful there.”

  “Yes, Mum, let Angelica handle it.” Gilly joined forces. She let her blue eyes rest on Angel’s tall, striking figure. Everything about her was perfect, she thought. Even her height, though she wouldn’t want to be so tall herself. Angelica was wearing a simple pink top, but in a very nice sort of slinky fabric, teamed with a full pink skirt printed with huge cyclamen peonies. Not a dress-up outfit but it looked great. “I bet you brought some beautiful dresses with you,” Gillian said wistfully. “If you had a moment I’d love you to take a look at what I’ll be wearing. Compared to you it’s all out of date. Mum and I haven’t bought a thing since the last time we went shopping in Sydney. That was eighteen months ago.” She groaned and let her head fall forward on the table.

  “Your clothes are lovely, Gilly darling,” Stacy remonstrated as if Gillian didn’t fully appreciate how fortunate she was.

  “No they’re not, Mum. You’re way behind the times.” Gillian tugged rebelliously at her shirt.

  “I’m sure Angelica can give you some guidance, pet.” Clary patted Gillian’s arm. “Why when you’re all dolled up you look lovely. You too, ma’am.” She nodded at Stacy. “If I was you two, I’d really go to town for the parties. Give everyone a surprise.”

  “But you’re coming, too, Clary,” Angel said. She didn’t want Clary left out.

  “I’m tempted to.” Clary’s cheeks went hot and ruddy with surprise.

  “But of course you must!” Stacy’s face lit up as though she’d only that minute thought of it. “You’ve been an absolute rock.”

  “That I have!” Clary nodded her agreement, not one to hide her light behind a bushel.

  “Well, that’s settled.” Angelica looked around with satisfaction. “We might arrange a private dressing-up, but it has to be soon just in case we decide on something completely different.”

  “How? Isn’t it all too late?” Gillian looked like she mistrusted her hearing.

  “Never too late,” Angel assured her blithely. “I have friends all over, including designers and boutique owners. Clever people who know how to dress their clients. All you need is the money.”

  “We have it if we need it,” Stacy offered, pretty much like a schoolgirl. “Jake handles all the money. We can get it from him.”

  To Angelica, the modern working woman, that was quite bizarre. It seemed Victorian in fact. She turned to Clary for a little relief. “So you’ll speak to Leah when she comes in?” Clary rolled up her sleeves.

  “Better yet I’ll get her up to the house and you can speak to her.”

  “Lovely.”

  Angelica was in Jake’s study, sending off a batch of e-mails to various distributors when Leah, wearing another one of her enchanting hand-painted dresses, tapped gently on the door.

  “You wanted to see me, Miss?”

  Angelica clicked the e-mail away and looked up to smile. “Yes, Leah. Come in and take a seat. Mr. McCord has very kindly allowed me to use his study.” She broke off as she realised Leah wasn’t alone. Almost hidden behind her mother’s skirt was one of the most adorable little girls Angelica had ever seen. She had a wonderfully engaging face and the huge melting black eyes of her mother, but her skin was a shade or two lighter and she had a head full of stunning toffee-coloured curls.

  “You must be Kylee,” Angelica said, delig
hted by the child. “How are you?”

  The little girl grinned shyly but didn’t speak, bunching her mother’s skirt with her hand.

  Leah gave her a little prod as though the child’s silence might give offence. “Say hello to Miss.”

  Angelica heard the anxiety, felt a pang of pity. “That’s all right, Leah,” she said easily, thinking life for Leah must have been a grim business.

  “She’s shy.”

  “Hello, Miss,” the child, knowing she was being talked about, piped up. Her bright expression turned earnest.

  “It’s lovely to meet you, Kylee. Come take a seat beside Mummy. We need to talk about all the Christmas parties we’re going to have.”

  “With presents?” The very idea gave Kylee a huge buzz. She made a sudden rush for a chair and in the process took a tumble on the slightly raised edge of the Persian rug.

  “Silly girl!” Anxiously Leah scooped her daughter up and deposited her rather hard into the leather chair. “I’m sorry, Miss,” she apologised as though Angel was about to remonstrate. “I shouldn’t have brought her.”

  “Whyever not? I love children. I’m a proud aunt already. My brother, Bruno, has a little boy just turned two. I’m godmother to two others. The children of girlfriends. Relax, Leah, everything is fine. What I want is to enlist your help with the decoration of the Great Hall. It will be in use for the Polo Ball. You’re a creative person. You might be able to come up with some ideas? I believe in consulting clever people.”

  “Me, Miss?” Leah looked astounded.

  “Yes, you, Leah.” Angelica laughed. “Is that totally unexpected? Please call me Angelica, or Angie, if you like.” She looked steadily into the young woman’s eyes.

  “Better not, Miss,” Leah said simply. “No one has ever asked me to do anything before.”

  “Well this is your big chance.” Angelica leaned forward encouragingly.

  “Are children coming?” Kylee chirruped.

  “I told you you must be quiet, Kylee,” her mother warned in a quick aside.

  “All you children are coming to the staff barbecue,” Angelica told the child kindly, trying to see beyond Leah’s uptight manner to what experiences lay behind it. “And there will be presents.”

  Immediately Kylee started to bounce up and down in her chair when oddly her mother seemed distressed.

  “Why, Leah, whatever’s wrong?” Angelica asked in quick concern.

  “No one likes me. Or her.” Leah dashed a hand across her cheek.

  “That can’t be right.” Angelica curled her fingers tightly around her pen, almost as if she were going into battle.

  “That’s the way it is, Miss.” Leah’s long curly black lashes languished on her cheeks. “I want everyone to like me but they don’t. The station ladies, they don’t like me. They don’t want Kylee to play with their kids.”

  “Have you any idea why?” Angelica was amazed.

  “Oh, different things,” Leah said vaguely. “I can’t talk to people like I want. I can’t say, hello Mick, hello Vince. I tell you, them women are funny. They think I want to take their man away. ’Course I don’t. I learned men are cruel. Me own man left me. Took off whoosh, just like that the minute he knew I was pregnant. Reckoned it wasn’t his. Reckoned it could have been anybody’s. It was his all right. He knew.”

  “Life has been hard for you, Leah,” Angelica said, seeing that Leah needed lots of loving care let alone repair. “Where did you get that scar?” It was the first time Angelica had seen it. Leah wore her shoulder-length dark hair side parted and falling forward onto her cheeks. Now as she spoke she pushed the heavier side behind her ear, revealing a long welt of a scar running from temple to ear.

  “The old man.” Leah winced, putting her fingers to it. “Ran at me with a bottle,” she said with droll disdain. “Drunk. Saturday night. Wasn’t good to me. Reckon I’d be dead only Mr. McCord found out about me and Kylee and offered me a job at the homestead helpin’ out. I’ll never be able to thank him, but I try. I like it here at the house. Clary is kind to me. And my little one.” She pointed a finger at Kylee who tried to grab it.

  “But of course.” Looking at Leah with her delicate exotic looks, a by-product of her mixed blood, Angelica could well see why some of the station wives might be wary of the effect of those looks on their menfolk. At the same time she felt Leah in her vulnerability of body and mind was seeing antipathy where there was none. She thought she might call a meeting of the station wives, citing plans for the staff barbecue as the reason. It would present an opportunity to find out why Leah should consider herself and her child outsiders. There were always two sides to a story.

  Almost without thinking Angel hunted up a small notepad and a pencil and held it out across the table. “Would you like to draw like Mummy, Kylee?” she suggested to keep the child entertained.

  Without a second’s hesitation Kylee scrambled out of the chair and dashed around the desk. “Is this mine?” She grabbed the pad and pencil.

  “If you want it to be.” Angelica didn’t think the station would miss a small notepad and pencil.

  Kylee jumped back and laughed merrily. “I like you, Miss. You’re nice. Other ladies tell me to be still when I can’t be still.”

  “What other ladies?” Angelica looked to Leah.

  “The Missus and Miss Gillian don’t like Kylee running around the house.” Leah squeezed her elegant fingers together. “She gets away from me sometimes when I work. She’s a real little monkey.”

  Moments later four-and-a-half-year-old Kylee jumped up and presented Angel with her finished oeuvre.

  “Goodness me!” Angel held the drawing in her hands, amazed at how easily and swiftly the child had done it. It wasn’t the typical simple four-year-old drawing. It was of a tree. A quite extraordinary tree with thick gnarled branches and prop roots rising out of swift impressions of rocks and tufts of grass. “Kylee, this is very good,” she said, much surprised. “I like it very, very much. Aren’t you a clever girl.” Clearly, Kylee, like her mother, had a gift.

  “She knows her alphabet. She can count. She can spell lots of words,” Leah said proudly. “Better than me. The nuns could teach me how to sew but they couldn’t teach me anything else. I never saw much of the classroom. I had to help a lot with me foster mum.”

  “Were you happy there?” Angel had grave misgivings about the foster mum.

  “I hated her,” Leah said. “And him. Especially him.”

  Angelica very nearly moaned, thanking God for her parents and her happy childhood. “Well you’ve produced a very talented little girl.” She tried to console. “This drawing I’m sure is far beyond her age ability. It looks like a real tree.”

  “It is.” Leah gave Angel a kind of challenging look as though a white woman, however nice, couldn’t possibly know. “This tree has great power. Kylee and me often go there to talk to it. It’s one of the old spirits.”

  “It actually looks like one,” Angelica said. “I’m going to keep this, Kylee,” she told the child gently, “and I’m going to find you some drawing books and coloured pens and pencils. Would you like that?”

  “To take home?” Kylee asked, her eyes huge.

  “Where is home?” Angelica turned in the swivel chair to ask Leah.

  Leah gave a radiant smile. “Mr. McCord give us a nice bungalow. Best place I ever lived in in me life. I can show you if you like.”

  “Yes I do like, Leah.” Angelica leaned back in the deep comfortable desk chair. “I just can’t quite figure out how I’m going to do it, but I’d like to help you. We can arrange a time for me to see your dress designs and your paintings. Charles Middleton told me he’s bought a few off you and they’re very good. I’m sure Charles would know.”

  “And who might Charles Middleton be?” Leah giggled.

  “Why, Charlie, the jackeroo.”

  “Oh, Charlie!” Leah rolled her eyes. “He’s nice. He’s funny. He’s never been mean to me.”

  “I should thi
nk not,” Angelica said. “Charlie is a gentleman. You’ll have to tell me who is mean to you, Leah. We’ll take it up with Mr. McCord. For now I want to tell you my idea for a theme for the Polo Ball. I was going to get someone in, though I fancy I’ve left it a bit late, but maybe you could handle what I have in mind. With your aboriginal blood you’d have great affinity with the land, this extraordinary channel country. I’m thinking of a mural. A kind of dream landscape. Dreamtime, if you like. Sun, rocks, billabongs, waterlilies, all those marvellous birds, the vivid coloration that comes as such a shock. On the ceiling, and perhaps a little down the walls, depending on how you feel and how it turns out.”

  Leah almost jumped out of her chair. “On the ceiling? You mean, like Michelangelo?” she asked with a great flare of interest. “The Sistine Chapel in Rome?”

  “You know all about it?” Okay, Angelica thought, I’m surprised.

  Leah smiled, looking happy and in the process quite beautiful. “I love looking at books about painting and artists. Only books I like. That would be a wonderful idea, but I’d have to do it all the time so I couldn’t work here. I’d have to have ladders and trestles and everything.” She threw out her arms as if to say this venture was on the level of building a city bridge.

  “We’d better get cracking then,” Angelica said. “I want other things to figure in that landscape, Leah. It’s a polo theme. Would it be pushing it to ask if you can draw animals.”

  “’Course I can draw animals,” Leah lightly scoffed. “What kind of animals? It’s not gunna be kangaroos?”

  “Horses.” Angel sat back. “Polo ponies, to be specific, though they only call them ponies.”

  “Even Kylee can draw a horse.”

  “I can’t,” Angel freely admitted. “Can’t ride one, either.”

  “No big deal, Miss.” Leah smiled.

  “So, a landscape, horses, floating umbrellas. The kind of striped umbrellas you see at polo matches.”

  “Never been to one,” Leah said laconically.

  “Never mind. I’ll get you a brolly to copy. Sporting cups. There are dozens of them just behind you. Somehow Mr. McCord managed to acquire them. You can’t back out now, Leah.”