“Love to! I’ll get my hat and glasses.”
“Good on you, mate,” Mike joked. “Give me ten minutes. I’ll get Ma to hustle up some food and we’ll have a pleasant quiet day together,” he told her, and hurried through the house to the kitchen.
It proved to be a pleasant day, too. They ate their lunch under a clump of ghost gums, near a billabong.
Clare watched the kangaroos nibbling, sitting up on their hind legs, their eyes curious.
“I hate the idea of shooting them,” Clare said suddenly.
“You’re too soft-hearted,” Mike told her teasingly.
“This is very nice, eh, Clare?”
“Very nice,” Clare agreed. It was so quiet and peaceful, with no curious probing eyes, no malicious smiles.
The flies were a pest, that was all. She looked up at the big windmill, creaking a little as it slowly turned in the slight breeze, the wide troughs that had to be filled with water for the cattle. Would she like to be a farmer’s wife? There were so many of Nature’s tricks waiting to throw you.
Mike took her hand. “You’re happy with me, aren’t you, Clare?” he asked.
She smiled. “Yes, Mike.”
He spoke quietly but earnestly. “Look, Clare, don’t you think that’s enough to start with? I mean, we could have a good life together. I’d settle in a city if you’d, prefer it– or go back to England. Anything you say—”
“Oh, Mike!” she sighed.
She looked at him and, for a moment, was sorely tempted. She was so very fond of Mike, and surely from fondness love could grow? They could build a good happy life together. She would no longer have this emptiness, this desolation that haunted her. She badly needed someone to love and who would love her.
Could Mike be the person?
She jumped to her feet. “Don’t tempt me, Mike. It wouldn’t be fair to you or me.”
He stood by her side. “I know – it’s David,” he told her.
She looked up in dismay. “You know?”
“I guessed as much.” He smiled ruefully. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell him. He must be blind, though. Why don’t you fight for him?”
She was startled. “He loves Gillian,” she said.
A white cockatoo chose that moment to fly from one of the trees, squawking noisily.
Mike grinned. “He said it for me! David loves Barry and he’s a kind man. I don’t think he loves Gillian.”
“He does. They’re going to be married and – go to America—” She stopped speaking, her hand flying to her mouth. “Oh, it’s a secret, Mike, Gillian told me not to tell anyone.”
His hand was warm on her arm. “Stop flapping, -Clare. I won’t tell anyone.” He looked at his watch.
“Maybe we’d better go.”
They drove across the plain which sloped steeply down to a dry watercourse. Ahead was a thin line of trees and another old windmill. It was late by the time they returned to the homestead. They showered and went in to dinner. Gillian was in bed, with a headache, she had said. Barry was asleep, Zoe and Marge having supper in bed. It was a pleasant dinner – like the old days before Gillian came on the scene. No awkward moments, no quiet innuendoes. Later, Mike taught Clare to play two-up, a favourite Australian pastime according to him, and Ian and Val joined in. It was a good evening, and when she went to bed Clare felt more relaxed than she had done for a long time.
She was asleep when the scream woke her. Hastily she switched on the light, found her dressing-gown.
It was Barry– tossing,turning, screaming, his hands clutching at the air.
“Barry darling, it’s all right. Just a nasty dream,”
Clare soothed him, holding the small fighting body close.
The door behind her opened and Gillian came to stand by the bed. Her hair was curled and tied up in a blue gauze scarf; there was cream on her face. She wore an elegant yellow silk dressing-gown and her hand was holding her head..
“Barry, stop it this moment,” she scolded. “Screaming like that!”
The boy sat up in bed, suddenly awake, blinking in the bright light, the tears streaming down his cheeks.
“He had a nightmare,” Clare began quietly.
Gillian turned to her. “Don’t be a fool. I know what it was. Get out of here this moment!”
Reluctantly Clare stood, Barry’s hot hands still clinging to hers. “Barry—” she began.
“You heard me,” Gillian said angrily. “Get out!”
Clare gently disengaged the clinging fingers and went to the door, looking back to see Gillian bending over the bed, talking crossly to the small boy, who was weeping quietly.
Clare went to her own room. The door was ajar and Zoe stood there, her eyes very bright, her black hair in pigtails, her pink dressing-gown clutched.
“You see,” she whispered hoarsely. “I told you she doesn’t love him, Clare. She’s just mad with him because he woke her up.”
Clare closed the door. “Oh, Zoe!” she said wearily.
Zoe looked at her. “She’s beastly to him, Clare. I can’t bear it.” The girl’s eyes were brimful of tears, and suddenly she was in Clare’s arms and they were both crying together.
At last, Clare stopped. “We may be wrong, Zoe,” she said. “Let’s hope we are. It may just be her way. I don’t see what we can do about it.”
“There must be a way,” Zoe said. “If only we could find it.”
“If only—” Clare echoed.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
IT was strange how you could talk about an event for weeks, could plan, even make new clothes for it, and then suddenly — and almost without warning — the day is there. It was the same with the picnic races.
The first day they left the homestead early. Gillian and Barry travelled with Val and Ian; Clare followed later in the Rover with Mike and the two girls. Even earlier the trucks had left, laden with excited Aborigines, all dressed in their colourful clothes, all talking and chatting gaily.
David would be at the picnic race meeting, Clare knew. It would be the first time she had spoken to or seen him since his lecture about Barry. She had done her best to carry out his wishes, though, keeping away from Barry and his stepmother as much as she could.
Before leaving, Gillian had asked for some travel pills for Barry, who was, she said, invariably car-sick. And they wanted none of that nonsense, she had added with a smile at the small boy and another smile for Ian, standing near them. So Clare had gone to the big medicine chest for the travel pills — and had found, to her dismay, that it was unlocked. The key was hanging in its usual place, out of the reach of Barry’s inquisitive fingers, but everyone knew where the key was, in case they needed to go to the box in an emergency.
Carefully she had checked the supplies, comparing them with the list Val kept. None of the drugs was missing. Clare sighed with relief and concluded that she or Val must have forgotten to lock the chest the last time they went to *it. She gave the pills to Gillian, but Val was already in the car so Clare had no chance to mention it to her. Maybe it did not really matter — the medicine chest was always available to anyone, for obvious reasons.
Now, as Clare sat by Mike’s side, listening to him teasing Marge, who was so excited she could hardly stay still, she gazed around her.
There was always so much to see in Australia. And hear. As they paused while Marge jumped out to open and shut one of the many gates, Clare heard a strange cackling from one of the trees. It sounded like the laughter of an insane creature.
“Kookaburras,” Zoe told them. “Haven’t you heard arm before?”
“Once, early in the morning. It’s a funny name.”
“It’s a kind of kingfisher,” Zoe told her. “Look, there are two up there.” She pointed.
Clare leant out of the Rover and looked, seeing the strange birds with their white heads, long tails and big beaks. The laughter went on and on, infectiously.
During the long hot drive they passed several homesteads. Some reminded Clare of Maggi
e’s home, so badly were they in need of paint, with so much rubbish round them. Others were large, but none so luxurious-looking as Noorla. They saw scores of kangaroos along the track, who leapt madly in front of them.
“I know they’re pests,” Clare said with a smile, “but they still fascinate me.”
“Wait until you see our koala bears,” Zoe told her.
“They’re cute. They live on eucalyptus leaves and always look sleepy. Nice to cuddle.”
“They’ve got horribly sharp claws,” Mike pointed out. “Most of them live in reserves, protected, Clare.”
“There are ‘possums, too,” Zoe said. She was always eager to instruct Clare in the wild life of Australia, and Clare was always ready to listen. “You even get those in the suburbs of the cities. They live in roofs and—”
“Raid the dustbins, waking people up in the dead of night, or wreck everything in the house if they get inside,” Mike said.
“Mike!” Zoe protested, laughing. “Clare wants to hear the romantic side, not the ugly.”
“But that’s giving her a one-sided view. Now is •that cricket?” Mike teased.
And so the teasing continued as the miles were eaten up. The big car had gone on ahead so that Mike and his passengers would miss the cloud of their dust, but soon there was plenty of dust and heat, as they were caught in the stream of traffic making for the races. Every sort of car or vehicle, so long as it could crawl, seemed to be there. Some were real old vintage cars that looked as if a breath of wind would make them collapse. Others kept together by small pieces of string and masses of faith, according to Mike. Going to the picnic races, he said, was a must. There were also huge luxurious cars, filled with elegantly dressed women and wealthy-looking men, and plenty of trucks, loaded with Aborigines who shouted and waved to the children. Everyone for hundreds of miles around was making for the same destina-tion.
Clare spent most of her time slapping at the flies. It was a happy journey, all the same, with plenty of laughter and teasing. Mike was in one of his best moods, and even Zoe was teasing him in turn. It was amazing what a difference it made when Gillian Hirst was not with them. How glad Clare was that she had elected to travel with Mike and the girls rather than in the big car, although there would have been plenty of room for her.
Zoe was telling her what she could expect during the day ahead.
“Of course it’s not like your Derby or Ascot, or the Melbourne Cup,” Zoe said airily. Zoe had a rather prim, pedantic way of speech at times, and Mike and Clare shared a smile above her head.
“People come hundreds — even thousands — of miles, Clare,” Zoe went on importantly. “The bookies fly up from the cities. Everyone tries to have a new dress, so it’s a real fashion show. And you meet old friends, people you probably only see once a year. There’s not much of a grandstand, though, so don’t be disappointed.”
“I won’t be,” Clare promised. Zoe’s mixture of apol-ogy and pride reminded her so much of David’s behaviour when he had first shown her Baroona Hospital. She had been impressed, and shocked and rather hurt, when he said he had thought she might laugh at it.
Then she had realized how little they knew of one another. Now she realized how much less they understood one another than in those early days. How could David believe that she would try to come between small Barry and his stepmother? Surely he knew that she only wanted Barry’s happiness and welfare? And how little she knew of David. It hurt as well as shocked her to think that David could believe she could do anything to hurt Barry. Val was right — Gillian was evil. She would lie, do anything, to twist David into her way of thinking. Yet it seemed surprising, however you looked at it, that a mature man like David could believe everything she told him. Was it because he loved her so much that he wanted to believe it?
“Look we’re nearly there!” Marge shouted, nearly falling out of the Rover with excitement.
The traffic was growing more and more dense as the cars and trucks crawled, nose to tail, through the heat.
Occasionally an impatient driver, tired of the inch-by.
inch movement, would pull out and race along, trusting to luck and any possible oncomer’s kind nature not to bump into him. Crowds of Aborigines in their bright red and yellow shirts shouted and waved to one another, while groups of small children, with their pipestem legs, clung to their mothers, who had to hang on to what bit of truck space their men had left for them.
.
“There’ll be a corroboree after the last day. Like to see it?” Mike asked. “The Abos dance and sing. Quite fascinating.”
“I’d love to, Mike,” Clare said eagerly. Maybe it would be her only chance to see a corroboree. She still could not make up her mind — whether to stay in Australia, just to be near David — but had she forgotten Gillian’s plans? David would go to America. Could she stay in Australia, Clare wondered, remembering
Mackenzie?
“Do drive faster, Mike,” Marge urged. “I could walk David, or should she go back to England with Mrs.
faster.”
Mike grinned. “Patience is a virtue!”
“Which Marge does not possess,” Zoe finished with a laugh.
At long last they reached a wide open gate through which the trucks and cars were passing, stopping to pay their entrance fees where a bald-headed man stood waiting, a large cash bag slung over his shoulder. He looked terribly hot — he wore shorts and sandals but no shirt on his sunburned skin, down which the sweat streamed.
He greeted Mike by name, holding out a large horny-surfaced hand, grinned at the two girls and gave Clare a quick intense look.
As they drove on, Mike chuckled. “They’ll be talking about you in the pubs tonight, Clare. Old Gus has an amazing memory. He’ll tell them just what you’re wearing and how nice you look.”
“Thanks, Mike,” Clare said with a smile.
Val had been busy in her sewing-room, making them all new clothes. Zoe wore a burgundy-red flared skirt and a white blouse; Marge had a green-and-white gin-gham; while Clare was wearing a new caftan, jade green silk, with a broad-brimmed hat to shade her face.
Mike drove to the place where another man directed them as the cars, trucks and Rovers were being neatly parked close together, and Marge was out of the Rover with a whoop of joy as soon as they stopped. She shot off in the direction of the paddock, where the horses, straddled by jockeys wearing striped silk shirts and riding breeches, were being paraded.
Mike looked at Clare. “She’ll be all right,” he said reassuringly. “She’s been coming to these things ever since she could walk. Like to wander around? I’ve got to find the boss and get the lunch and everything under control.”
“I’ll look after Clare,” Zoe announced.
“I’m sure you will — and most efficiently,” Mike laughed.
It was very hot, the sun glaring, and there seemed to be a very great many people. Clare thought how strange it was to see so many people together — it seemed a lifetime since she had left London, and she had grown used to wide open spaces and only a few people scattered around. There was a real feeling of excitement and pleasure in the air. Trucks were being unloaded, the men shouting as they rushed off to find a place close to the track, their women and children following. A group of young Aboriginal girls in bright purple, yellow and red dresses were walking about, laughing shrilly, their feet bare.
Zoe pointed out the bookies who were balanced on wooden crates as they shouted the odds while before them queued people, both black and white, waiting to place bets. She pointed to the blackboard where a man in spotless white slacks and shirt was chalking up the names of the starters.
A man who Zoe said was the course steward was riding up and down on a big white horse, his wide-brimmed hat pulled down over his eyes, his khaki shorts and shirt immaculate.
Looking round as they walked over the uneven ground through the groups of talking, laughing people, it was as ifClare’s heart skipped a beat as she saw three people walking towards t
he paddock — David, tall, broad-shouldered, in a suit of fawn-coloured demin, his wide-brimmed hat on the back of his dark head, as he looked down at Barry who was holding his hand and looking up at him. On the other side of Barry was Gilliam elegantly glamorous in a suit of deep crimson, with a large cream-coloured hat decorated with enormous red roses. How happy they looked. They made a complete family, good-looking, well suited.
Clare closed her eyes quickly with pain. So long as David and Barry were happy… .
Zoe took her arm. “Oh, golly, it’s them!” she said.
“Let’s go to the paddock this way and then we’ll miss them.”
As they walked, Zoe gave a little skip as if she was excited and Clare was rather surprised, for, as a rule, Zoe remained indifferent to the charms of horses. It was cattle for her, she always said. Marge could keep the horses!
People and noise and dust everywhere. Somewhere a band played lively if somewhat noisy music. Above it all came the shouts of the bookies as they called the odds. Clare stared at the fashionably dressed women in amazing hats and elegant dresses, wearing high-heeled shoes as they strolled through the thick dust, and at fat older women in flowered print dresses as they stared at the elegant creations and giggled happily. Everyone seemed so happy … except Clare Butler, Clare told herself miserably.
“There’s the grandstand,” Zoe said proudly, and pointed to a rather Heath-Robinson affair of canvas and wooden posts. There were benches underneath which offered a little shade and people crowding towards them. Numbers of Aborigine men were clam-bering on to the tops of trucks to get a better view. And all the time the sun beat down mercilessly and the flies seemed to enjoy crawling over Clare’s face.
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