by Lucy Walker
‘Is that why you’re so nice to me? And people like Mrs. de Berhans too? You think the Westons are going to make it tough for me? Well, thank you, Rick. I’d rather you didn’t worry about me. I’m tough too, you know. I learned the hard way …’
She broke off. She didn’t have to explain herself to Rick. She didn’t want to. Somewhere her pride was sticking bayonets into her.
Rick’s hand went out along the fence rail and gently caressed her arm. Kate’s lower lip trembled then jutted a little.
‘I think you’re a flirt,’ she said.
He dropped his hand.
‘I’m sorry, Kate. I was just being brotherly.’
In the moonlight he could see the stubborn line of her jaw. She looked like a lovely, young and petulant girl.
That was exactly what Kate felt. She knew Rick was brotherly. It hurt her, yet she didn’t want it otherwise. She herself had set the brotherly-sisterly pattern when she had first arrived.
The fiddlers in the wool-shed were rendering a syncopated version of Liebestraum.
‘Come and waltz with me … brotherly, of course,’ Rick said. He smiled at her and they went into the wool-shed.
The lights had been faded out, leaving only one shrouded in dark blue paper. The floor was flooded in ersatz moonlight.
Rick held Kate very tight. Her head was near his breast. Behind her eyes and in her throat something was aching. His arms had gone round her so firmly, so protectingly.
‘Just for a moment,’ she thought. ‘Just for one little moment. I won’t ever do it again … just for one moment …’
Her head rested against his heart.
His cheek rested on her head. She closed her eyes tight.
‘Just for one little moment …’
The music stopped and the lights came back. Rick stood beside Kate in silence. She did not look at him.
‘You broke that talk I was giving the boys, Rick.’ A tall thick-set man beckoned as Rick took Kate’s arm to lead her off the floor.
‘Come on outside, Rick,’ the man said. ‘Too blazing hot in here.’
Rick still held Kate’s arm. He wasn’t going to let it go. They went towards the door.
‘Can’t figure why you don’t come in with me, Rick,’ the man said. ‘You know these dam’ wool-growers are fleecing the country.’
‘It’s one man against many, Pop,’ Rick said. ‘You can’t beat the mob on a racket when the racket pays off; everyone’s in it and the government closes its eyes.’ He turned to Kate.
‘This is Peg’s father, Kate. This is Mr. Castillon.’
Chapter Six
Kate learned a lot about local politics on the night of the Arundel wool-shed dance. Mrs. de Berhans explained most to her, but she listened in as Rick and Mr. Castillon talked in their slow drawl as they leaned on the fence rail. Presently Hal Weston came to join them. Now and again someone carried over mugs of spilling beer.
Kate felt the waves of feeling ripple through the older man when Hal walked up. She also knew that somehow Rick held the balance of their dislike and distrust in a way that had prevented unpleasantness.
She had listened, half her mind on what was being said, half on the lovely surging sense of pleasure and delight she was unexpectedly taking in the night.
She loved the smell of the hay fields mixing in the night air with barrel beer and roasting meat. Over all was the scent of burning gum leaves from the barbecue. Under the ancient jarrah tree the men, some still in khaki work pants and wide-brimmed hats, lounged around the barrel. Behind them the jangling music of the wool-shed filled the air with sentimentality. Beside her was the quiet drawl of the three men talking local politics.
Every now and again her glance stole sideways to Rick. Once or twice he glanced at her. Once when she moved as if to go away he put out his hand and held her own pressed down on the top rail. He said nothing but he wasn’t letting her go.
Neither Hal nor Mr. Castillon seemed to notice or care. While he held her hand down Rick did not stop saying what he was saying about wool storage in the Co-operative Society’s sheds. When he took his hand away it was to roll a cigarette for her. He lighted it and handed it to her. And went on talking to Hal and Mr. Castillon.
Kate felt bewildered.
‘Who do I belong to anyway?’ She shook her head. Perhaps it was Rick’s idea of being ‘brotherly’. Perhaps Hal was used to Rick doing this … to everybody. If Peg Castillon had been standing here Rick would have been doing the same thing. And Peg would have draped her arm along his shoulder …
‘He’s like it with everyone,’ she thought. ‘As for me … well, I love silly syncopated music on romantic moonlit nights. It’s bad but beautiful when you’re young and silly. And that’s what I am to-night. It’s fun being silly, very, very silly, just now and again.’
It was only for one little moment …!
Hal took Kate inside and danced with her again.
‘What is all that talk about, Hal?’
‘Castillon’s pique? The man’s a prig and a fool. If he was younger someone would horse-whip him.’
‘I couldn’t help liking him. In spite of the rude things he was saying.’
Hal’s face was arrogant. ‘You don’t know what you’re talking about. It’s not woman’s business. The man’s a liar, and a thief into the bargain. We’ve got enough on Castillon now to string him up …’ There was a hint of cruelty in the hooded look of his brown-black eyes. It was still there when at supper time he brought Peg Castillon into the firelight of the barbecue.
‘I wonder if he says things like that to Peg?’
Beatrix looked at Kate.
‘Of course he does. She’s easily hurt. So he goes on doing it.’
Later in the evening Mrs. de Berhans explained a little to Kate.
‘When there’s too much money to be got so easily, my dear, nobody attaches much importance to scruples where governments and taxations are concerned. After all, the country rides on the sheep’s back! It’s money from wool that runs the country. We feel we pay everyone, and that’s all there is to it. We grow the wool. It is ours, in spite of laws made in Canberra. The growers barter or sell a certain amount of wool to avoid paying taxation on the whole clip. Sometimes it’s simpler to loan one’s flock. None of the money exchanged goes through books or banks, and everybody’s doing it. Even the tradesmen live out of the till, you know.’
‘If Mr. Castillon is against it, who supports him?’
‘There’s plenty on fixed wages and salaries who can’t avoid taxation. And they’re hard pressed because of the high cost of living. Many of them are quite bitter about the easy money the growers get. They forget what we went through in the hard times …’
‘Do you think bartering wool is dishonest, Mrs. de Berhans?’
‘That’s a roundabout way of asking me if I’m in it too. No, Kate. I’m a woman. I can’t negotiate those crooked deals. And the dealers in bartered wool are crooked by nature. But … and here is the rub, my dear, a lot of wool disappears off my place and I say nothing. You see, being a woman and not a field hand, I’m dependent on my farm workers and on the overseer. I have a well-run place and no labour shortage. In fact I have the pick of the labour market. I have no shearing troubles. Everything runs like clock-work on Arundel. But I only ask a limited number of questions. Just enough to let them know I know. To be perfectly truthful, Kate, there’s still wealth in wool even when one pays taxation on the highest level. And I do.’
‘I see.’
Mrs. de Berhans laughed and patted Kate’s hand.
‘Honest in a negative kind of a way? Is that what you are thinking?’
Kate looked into the older woman’s eyes.
‘I think we’re all a little dishonest sometimes. Even if it is only with ourselves. We deceive ourselves, if we can’t deceive anyone else.’
‘Kate, my dear, you’re too young to think that way. Yours is the age of faith in the improbable.’
‘I wish I had it
,’ said Kate with a laugh.
‘Are you happy since you came to Blackwood?’
‘Yes, very. In an unexpected kind of a way.’
‘You might feel like telling me about it sometime.’
‘There is quite a lot I’d like to ask you sometime. I feel bewildered …’
‘That’s because you’re English, and the whole way of life is so different.’
‘Yes, that, and so much can happen in five days, can’t it? It rather shakes one’s confidence in oneself.’
‘Don’t lose your confidence with the Westons, Kate. After all, they’re only one family of pastoralists. There are thousands of others.’
‘Oh, I wasn’t thinking of them.’
The morning after the dance Kate lay in her bed.
‘Mother is right,’ she thought. ‘I’m in love with love … that’s all.’
Her hands were under her head and her eyes closed against the morning light dancing a fandango on the ceiling.
‘It only takes a sentimental waltz and dimmed lights … Five days! I suppose I could legitimately fall out of love with a Weston in five days!’
‘Oh, damn love!’
Kate did something she hadn’t done since she left England. She turned her face into her pillow and shed tears.
She dozed again and when she woke the sun was very high, and it was hot. She slipped out of bed and, putting on a silk dressing-gown, went to the bathroom. When she came out her hair was wet and tousled from the shower, her face shining as if it had dew on it. Beatrix was carrying a tray into her room.
‘You cover me with shame,’ Kate said.
‘Well, it’s your holiday, my dear. Why not sleep when you can?’
‘Did you sleep in, Beatrix?’
‘No. I knew the cockatoos would get the orchard if someone didn’t take a gun down.’
‘Didn’t you go to bed at all?’
‘No. I made tea and waited till daybreak. Only one hour. Then I went down the orchard. Got two birds before Hal joined me. And they didn’t get an apple. I’m going to have breakfast now and then I’m for bed.’
Kate was sitting on the end of her bed buttering a hot, new-made roll.
‘Nice to be you, Kate, eating bread like that. You don’t have to worry about your figure.’
‘I worry plenty. But I’m not going to spoil my holiday.’
Beatrix sat on the other side of the bed and watched Kate.
‘I’m sorry about Hal … last night,’ she said.
Kate looked up in surprise.
‘Hal was all right,’ she said. ‘Or wasn’t he?’
‘He spent all the rear end of the evening consoling Peg for neglecting her the first half. It’s a pity about that girl, you know. Quite apart from you, Hal would never marry Peg.’
‘He was consoling her in public,’ Kate said. ‘That’s better than dimmed lights when no one is looking.’ She looked with bright, mischievous eyes at Beatrix. The irony of it all!
‘I guess you are more philosophical than most, Kate. He rather sprung it on you about going away next week-end. Of course he only does that to hurt you. Or perhaps to show his power to come and go irrespective of people’s feelings. He doesn’t really want to go away, you know. As soon as he gets there he’ll be sorry for himself and take it out on the horses and men.’
Kate went on buttering and eating rolls.
‘Then why does he go? I don’t understand …’
‘I don’t suppose you’ll ever understand. Nobody ever does understand him. He’s always been driven by Mother, you know. It was worse before Dad died and Hal took over Appleton. For all his show of independence and even arrogance he’s conscious of being driven by Mother. All the time he wants to punish her … to pay back. He can’t do this because she’s a cripple. It would be cowardly to fight a cripple. And when Mother is properly crossed she goes to bed and is ill. The tyranny of neurosis!’
‘What is wrong with your mother’s knee?’
‘Nothing. She tried that one on Dad and it worked. I don’t suppose she could straighten her leg now if she wanted to. It’s been crooked too long. But she doesn’t want to. It pays dividends.’
Kate stopped eating.
‘Oh, Beatrix, you are hard.’
‘Just truthful. I’m only hard when it comes to getting my way against Mother. I don’t mind looking after the orchard when the cockatoos come over, but I won’t be a handmaiden in the house. I wanted to tell you, Kate … I’m going to Kattanup on Saturday with Hal. That’s mean of me, I suppose. I want to see John … and in some respects I’m like Mother. I want my own way too.’
‘It’s only natural that you should want to see John. And Hal’s going is a legitimate excuse.’ Kate smiled at the other girl. ‘You don’t have to tell me the subterfuges of love, Beatrix. Pride is an obstacle, not an asset. Don’t be too proud to admit you want to see John.’
They were both silent a minute. Beatrix took the last of Kate’s rolls and ate it herself.
‘It’s funny how the heart battles through on its own,’ Kate said. ‘It finds solace in spite of pride.’
‘I don’t believe you’ve learned all that in three months’ knowledge of Hal, Kate.’
‘Three months and five days.’
‘I ought to stay at Appleton with you.’
‘Humbug!’ said Kate. ‘I’m going to explore Appleton.’ She didn’t say that a week-end at Appleton with Mrs. Weston, dear but deaf Uncle Harry, and the duty-bound Annabel would be like spending a week-end in the ring-barked forest.
Heavy boots came up the passage.
‘You up, Kate?’ It was Hal. ‘Cook’s putting up a billy and sandwiches. Like to come out-back with me? We’re dambuilding.’
‘Love to,’ said Kate. ‘Give me ten minutes.’ She looked at Beatrix and smiled. ‘I’m going to enjoy myself before winter sets in.’
‘A week-end without Hal is winter?’
‘It could be being without you, Beatrix.’ She laughed as she pulled her clothes on. ‘To-day I’ll throw my hat over the windmill.’
She pulled on her hat and ran out into the passage. Hal, leaning lazily against the papered wall, was waiting for her.
‘You look very bright this morning.’
‘Why not?’ she asked. ‘Look who’s waiting for me!’
Quite unexpectedly he held out his arms. Equally unexpectedly Kate flung herself into them.
‘Hal, do you love me?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then work at it, darling. Please work at it!’
He looked at her studiedly. Then she ran down the passage in front of him.
Mrs. Weston was at the veranda table drinking morning tea. Annabel, in the floral overall, was fussing with Sugar. Only Uncle Harry looked pleased to see Kate.
‘You’re going riding, my dear?’ And as he couldn’t hear he didn’t wait for an answer.
‘Can’t understand why Hal has to go to Kattanup next week-end,’ he went on. ‘Seems like he takes the law into his own hands.’
As Hal emerged on to the veranda Uncle Harry turned and looked at him.
‘What are you up to, Hal? Driving the men? You’ll have trouble.’
‘Wait till he hears Alan Castillon is going along,’ Beatrix said under her breath and knowing very well Uncle Harry could not hear.
Hal ignored his uncle. He bent down and kissed his mother’s cheek.
‘I’m taking Kate off your hands for the day, Mother,’ he said.
‘She’s not on my hands,’ said Mrs. Weston. ‘She’s been in her bedroom all the morning. Not that I mind. I think young girls ought to get their beauty sleep. In my day they didn’t gallivant round in the sun and ruin themselves the way they do now. I do think, Hal, you might have thought of taking us into Blackwood in the car or driving me over to see Mrs. Benallen. Or even Mrs. Willy … though goodness knows, I’ve given up one afternoon this week to her. You don’t take me anywhere, Hal. Kate is young, of course, so it’s Kate who has to be taken out.�
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Clearly a late night had not agreed with Mrs. Weston.
‘Mother, you must rest after the dance. I will take you out to-morrow.’
‘Rest after the dance? What do you think I am?’
But neither Kate nor Hal heard. They were out of the wire door and sprinting down the garden path.
Uncle Harry, being deaf, was spared Mrs. Weston’s reflection on the ways of the young. It was Annabel who consoled her mother. There were tears in her eyes as she saw the last of Kate and Hal as they ran for the stables.
‘She’s a lovely girl, Mother. It’s not fair of you and Hal …’
‘What do you mean, “not fair”? Hal’s treated her honourably, hasn’t he? He’s offered her marriage, hasn’t he?’
‘Oh, Mother, don’t put it that way. He’s courted her, if you like. But he can’t be kind to her, any more than he can stay being kind to anyone else.’
‘Kind to her? What do you mean “kind to her”?’
‘Oh, Mother …’
Annabel gave it up and, gathering together Sugar and the teapot, hurried off in the direction of the kitchen.
‘That’s a nice girl,’ said Uncle Harry, catching up with the conversation six sentences behind everyone else.
‘In my day they wouldn’t have called a girl “nice” who gallivanted round Australia after any man!’
But Uncle Harry did not hear.
Kate was away and across the fields with Hal. To-day she rode Darkie, a good horse.
She made no attempt to account for the sudden high spirits. They were infectious and for a little while she and Hal were back again on the terms of fun and good fellowship which had led to their engagement in Sydney.
It was a glorious day, the horse under her was pounding up the rise and the smell of the stubble and the oil of the eucalypts filled her nostrils. Appleton was a glorious place. Its staid and careful beauty was a work of art. Into it had been deployed many thousands of pounds of investment.
Only the people in it did not fit the pattern.
What was wrong with the Westons anyway? They were arrogant and rich and a little mean. Well, what of it? Wasn’t that the way with a good many people?
And it was a glorious day!