The One Who Kisses: A Heartwarming Australian Outback Romance

by Lucy Walker

  ‘You’re not dead, you ruddy fool,’ he was saying. ‘Pellets all over you but not through you …’

  ‘Better not be. If my number’s up I’m going to blow the gaff about how much you’re in on the firing of Parsons’ sheds.’

  ‘Shut up, you fool. I was miles away hunting a colt with the mob. There’s every man on Appleton and a few on Arundel and Allandale to prove it. Not to mention the girls!’

  ‘Oh yeah … you took good care to hide yourself in a pack of witnesses. But it was your idea … and if I get out of this it’s going to be your cheque that pays out.’

  ‘Lie quiet there, you damned fool,’ Hal whispered. ‘You’re not going to die now. You’ll get up and walk away when those two cows have gone. They’re looking for the girls. No one saw you in Blackwood after Sunday. Nobody’s got anything on you … and I’m the only wool-grower who collects substantially on the insurance. And I was with the boys.’

  ‘You let the colt out … you broke down those fences …’

  ‘We’ve had all that out before. Play your hand out, Alan. We can’t lose.’

  ‘Why didn’t you let the wool sell in the bloody auction? You’d have made more.’

  ‘The war’s over. Korea is finished. Wool will drop overnight.’

  ‘And I’ve heard that one before, too. I don’t see no change in the prices quoted in the last sales …’

  Hal had given up peering between the trees.

  ‘All right. They’ve gone,’ he said. ‘Now get up and walk. We’ll have to get that blood and muck off you before we begin to prize out that lead.’

  Alan Castillon groaned as he made an attempt to rise.

  ‘Get up,’ said Hal. ‘Or I’ll kick you up.’

  Swearing horribly, Alan Castillon dragged himself up. He staggered once or twice. Hal seemed to realise he was in need of some help, because Kate heard him grunt as he took Alan Castillon’s weight under his shoulder. Shuffling and swearing they turned the jam house corner. After a minute Kate heard them inside.

  She lay in the creepers too sick to move.

  What she had overheard could earn Alan and probably Hal twenty years’ gaol. Arson in Australia ranked next to murder and rape in the crime catalogue. No wonder Hal had been offhand … even rude to her. He had had a lot on his conscience! After a little while she made an attempt to climb out of the creepers. She knew Hal was still inside the jam house with Alan Castillon.

  ‘If he sees me he might guess I know who is in there. He might guess I know …’

  It was suddenly borne in on her that her knowledge was as dangerous to herself as it was to Hal and Alan Castillon.

  ‘They wouldn’t touch me …’ she thought. But wouldn’t they? As long as she lived a charge of arson would hang over their heads. As long as she lived they were in danger of twenty years’ gaol. Twenty years was a long time. Twenty years! What would a man like Alan Castillon do to save himself from twenty years of penal servitude?

  Kate felt sick. She lay back in the creepers.

  ‘I’ll have to stay here all day.’

  She heard Hal go and come back again. She saw Burns come up to the jam house. Then he went away. By and by he came back with a saddle horse which he brought into the corner of the saddling paddock right by the jam house.

  Then Hal came out with Alan Castillon. The latter looked pale and there were bruises and patches of sticking plaster all over his face and hands. Between them Hal and Burns got Alan on to the horse and Burns led it away down the paddock. Hal stood and watched them for a long time. Then he turned and slowly walked up beside the pine grove towards the homestead. He took out a cigarette as he walked and stopped once to light it. Kate thought he would never go.

  She crawled out from her nest of creepers and walked down between the loam furrows to the bottom of the orchard. She sat on the upturned box and buried her face in her hands.

  She waited a long time and then, walking along the creek bed at the bottom of the orchard, came out on the paddock the other side of the pine grove. She began to walk towards the homestead. Long before she got there she could see Rick coming down the hill towards her … but she could feel nothing about it. ‘If only I could “unhear it”,’ she thought.

  Rick waved to her, but she could hardly lift a hand. At last he came up to her.

  ‘Kate? Where have you been, Kate?’

  She stopped and stared at him. He put one arm round her.

  ‘Kate, are you all right?’

  ‘Rick … who burned down Parsons’ wool-shed? Did they find out?’

  ‘Yes. A loose wire connection running under the floor.’

  ‘Rick, it was …’

  One arm tightened round her and the other hand came down hard on her mouth.

  ‘It wasn’t anyone. Do you hear, Kate? It wasn’t anyone.’

  Her eyes looked at him over his hand. He loosened his grip on her and let his hand fall.

  ‘It wasn’t anyone, Katie girl … Believe me.’

  ‘Did you see Burns take someone down the paddock on a horse?’

  Rick nodded.

  ‘I saw … but I didn’t see.’

  ‘I was in the creepers behind the jam house. I heard them.’

  ‘No you didn’t, dear. You were in the creepers, but you were asleep. You dreamed it all.’

  ‘I … I … what?’

  ‘You dreamed it all.’

  Dreamed it all? Did she dream he had called her ‘dear’? And what was the other he had said … ‘Katie girl.’ Had she dreamed that too?

  ‘What did you say, Rick? What did you call me?’

  ‘Nothing, Kate. You’re still in a dream. Come on, let’s go up to the house. There’s a search party out for you, you know.’

  She stumbled a little bit and he steadied her. He put both hands on her shoulders. A tiny voice inside her said, ‘Oh Rick, let me put my head on your shoulder! More than anything on earth I want to put it there … just for a moment. Just for one little moment. I’ll never ask again … I promise.’

  But he held her firmly, almost at arm’s length.

  ‘Are you all right now, Kate?’

  ‘Come on then. Let’s go up to the house. They’ll be making breakfast.’

  ‘Breakfast? Is that all the time is?’

  ‘What time did you get up?’

  ‘A lifetime ago.’

  Chapter Three

  On Sunday afternoon everyone went to tennis. The death of Chester and the extraordinary events which occurred in the orchard in the morning before breakfast had very little meaning for Mrs. Weston.

  ‘I suppose you people on the land always live dangerously?’ Kate told Peg. ‘It’s just ordinary life to you. To me it is rather staggering that one could have so many “near deaths” in a fortnight and nobody think there is anything strange about it.’

  Peg gave a hollow laugh.

  ‘You should be here in spring when the snakes come out. Life’s just a walking death then.’

  ‘Does anyone ever die of snake-bite?’

  ‘Oh, occasionally. Same as there’s always two or three deaths from shark-bite amongst the swimmers. Over there in Sydney now you take your life in your hands every time you go swimming.’

  ‘I take my life in my hands every time I cross a road or board the Manly ferry at the peak hour.’

  ‘Exactly. Well, why worry about a mob of wild horses run berserk … or a boundary rider smitten the same way? After all, you didn’t die, any more than you got run over by the King’s Cross tram that wasn’t going to wait for you to get out of the way. Remember the story you told me the other night?’

  ‘I suppose one has just got to accept the fact that life “down under” is exciting and leave it at that. Still … I’m not going to stop worrying about Bellew till I hear someone has found him and is looking after him.’

  ‘He’ll turn up the other side of Australia and be somebody’s boundary rider there. He’ll be eccentric and silent, and nobody will ask him the secret of his life �
� for obviously he’s a person with a secret. It really is that he’s always loving someone or something too much. It goes away or gets killed or turns him down, or something. He goes berserk for a week and turns up and starts life and love again somewhere else. Those boundary riders are all the same. Men with a past.’

  ‘You sound very cynical.’

  ‘I feel cynical. And glamorous too. Kate, how’s my glamour going?’

  Peg preened and twisted her head in front of the mirror. They were in the billiard-room waiting for the others to gather, ready to go across to the School Hall.

  ‘Your glamour’s all right, Peg. Who is it for?’

  Peg gave Kate a long dark look.

  ‘Who do you think it’s for?’

  Kate shook her head.

  ‘One moment I think it’s for Hal … the next moment I think it’s for Rick. I’ll tell you something if you tell me something.’

  ‘Okay. What’s your question?’

  ‘Did you sleep in the little bed on the veranda at Allandale? And did Rick bring a rug round for you when it got cool and tuck you in?’

  ‘I slept on the veranda … I always do. And Rick brought the rug round when I got into bed. He always does. Now what are you going to tell me?’

  ‘I’ve got a feeling you’re not interested in Hal any more … but in case you are … he has noticed the glamour. And is very impressed.’

  Peg stopped posing and looked at Kate squarely.

  ‘That would be very funny!’ she said.

  At that moment Hal came into the billiard-room, swinging a racquet. He looked more blond and more beautiful than ever in his immaculate white shirt and shorts. Kate began truly to believe she must have dreamed all that had taken place in the morning. No one could be more debonair, more nonchalant than Hal this early afternoon.

  ‘Hullo, you two,’ he said. ‘Any bachelors allowed round here?’

  Kate turned away and began to gather her white string bag and tennis racquet. She did not want to speak to him.

  Hal and Peg stood off and took stock of one another. Peg did indeed look a different person. Her tennis dress was beautifully pressed, her shoes gleaming white. Her hair on top of her head looked tidy and was not without style. Kate’s darkest lipstick carefully outlined her naturally generous mouth.

  ‘You look magnificent, Peg,’ Hal said. He looked at her curiously … his curiosity tinged with surprised admiration.

  ‘Are we going?’ Kate asked.

  ‘The car’s outside,’ Hal said. ‘I’m just waiting for Mother.’

  ‘Tell me something, Hal?’ Kate said. ‘How did Beatrix get to Kattanup?’

  ‘She rode there. I left her there when I went out to see the sheep. That’s when Chester took it into his head to play up.’

  ‘What about her clothes?’

  ‘They went up in the station waggon with the stores. Any more questions, Miss Curious?’

  ‘No. Do you know it hadn’t occurred to me to ask before?’

  ‘Are you worrying about Beatrix?’

  ‘No. Only wondering how long she will stay now that you are not there.’

  ‘If I know Beatrix,’ Peg said, ‘she’ll stay till John throws her out.’

  Kate had walked to the veranda door. Rick was sitting in a cane chair by the meal table talking to Uncle Harry. As soon as Hal and the girls appeared Uncle Harry slipped his finger in his breast pocket and switched off his battery.

  ‘He’s an old rogue,’ thought Kate. ‘He doesn’t want to hear.’

  Rick looked like a brown man in the white of his tennis clothes. Mrs. Benallen had sent them across with one of the men. Rick had showered and dressed down in the jam house with the others. Kate wondered if there had been any signs left behind of Alan Castillon’s accident.

  ‘But Rick said I dreamed it all!’

  As the girls walked along the veranda, Rick and Uncle Harry, unfolded themselves from their chairs and stood up. Rick smiled down at Kate.

  ‘How are you, mate?’

  ‘I’m fine, thank you,’ she said.

  He shifted his gaze to Peg.

  ‘Mn … mmn,’ he said.

  Peg waggled her hips the littlest bit. ‘Thought you’d like it,’ she said.

  Mrs. Weston came hobbling out on to the veranda. She was snowed down with veils. One was for the wind, one for the sun and one for the flies. Kate was to discover the dexterity with which she was able to manoeuvre these veils while watching a game of tennis.

  ‘Have you got the big car out, Hal? That’s right. There’s room for three in front really. I’m going to sit in the back with Kate. Peg, you and Rick sit in the front with Hal.’

  There was a chorus of protestation. Mrs. Weston had never been known to take a back seat before. The suggestion was thought to be outrageous by everybody but Kate. Kate stood swinging her racquet and saying nothing.

  The front door of the car was opened, but nothing would induce Mrs. Weston to get in that seat.

  ‘I’m going in the back,’ she said stubbornly. ‘And Kate’s coming with me.’

  ‘Come on,’ said Peg. ‘Let’s stop fighting. I like the front seat anyway. And I certainly like the prospect of having both the men for company.’

  She turned round and smiled at Kate.

  ‘You can have them coming back, Kate.’

  Kate said, ‘That’s a bargain,’ and smiled back. She sat back in the corner and looked at the backs of their heads.

  ‘You’re very quiet,’ Mrs. Weston said. She watched Kate critically. Kate fancied her manner was heavy with satisfaction.

  ‘They win all along the line,’ Kate thought. ‘All I hope to salvage is a little pride.’

  The tennis provided a relief to her pent-up feelings. If she had been tired earlier she soon regained her energy. Once again anger was coming to her aid as a friend. Just as on the night of the de Berhans’ wool-shed dance anger gave pride a flag for her cheeks so now it gave her energy, a sparkle to her eyes and a proud tilt to her head.

  Mrs. de Berhans was already there … with a great linen-covered basket of cakes and scones for afternoon tea. Hal retrieved a similar basket from the back of the big car. There were several farmers and their wives whom Kate had not met before. They had small-holdings on either side of the School Hall and their children attended the school. One of them acted as caretaker for the Hall and had access to the kitchen, where tea could be made and where cups and saucers and tea things were housed.

  There were six other men … all of them farmhands from off one or other of the three big properties. There were two Cricks girls. One of them had a beard nearly an inch long. To Kate’s amazement she observed that Riley … the kitchen boy from Appleton, paid deep obeisance before this bearded amazon.

  They all played good tennis, very fast on the hard gravel court.

  ‘You going to be captain, Rick?’ one of the farmers asked.

  ‘Not to-day. I’ve got to get back at four o’clock. Most of the men are off and I’ve got thirty cows in milk.’

  ‘You, Hal?’

  ‘I’ll play easy to-day. You take it on.’

  ‘Right!’ the farmer said. ‘Muriel Cricks, you play along with Miss Osborne here and Mrs. de Berhans, you and my wife play the other end. One set game.’

  Kate and the bearded lady played and won easily chiefly because the bearded lady had a forearm drive like jet propulsion. Mrs. de Berhans was active, but no one … not even the men … could stand up to Muriel’s drive.

  The men played a set, and then two sets of mixed doubles were arranged.

  At one stage during the afternoon while Kate was sitting between Mrs. de Berhans and Mrs. Weston on the narrow wooden form under the thatch shade of the school veranda an old dilapidated tourer bumped up to the Hall and stopped with a series of staccato grunts. Mrs. Willy, thick-set, brimming with importance and news, descended on them.

  ‘Saw you playing. Just dropped in for a minute,’ she said.

  ‘What’s on your mind, Mrs.
Willy?’ Mrs. Weston said. ‘I see you’ve just come from Blackwood. I suppose you’ve heard something there?’

  ‘Me heard something? Goodness gracious me, can’t I call in and have a friendly word without being expected to supply everyone with news?’ First she looked injured and then coy.

  ‘As a matter of fact,’ she went on, ‘Blackwood is as dead as could possibly be. No one in town to-day at all. I hear those insurance agents have gone away and it’s quite clear the fire got started by bad wiring in the Parsons’ stores. Well, that lets everyone out. Including old Pop Castillon.’

  Everyone was paying rapt attention to the tennis. Only the corners of Mrs. Weston’s mouth … being drawn in a little grimly … registered any reaction to this news. If Kate had gone a little pale no one was looking at her, so no one noticed.

  Mrs. Willy sat on the end of the form and favoured the world with a fatuous smile.

  ‘I must say Blackwood on a Sunday afternoon could do with a little waking up. Of course, they’re playing tennis over on the Recreation Ground. They don’t play as well as you people out here. You’ll have to stage another match …’

  Mrs. Willy paused and everyone sitting on the form knew that this talk was leading up to whatever piece of news Mrs. Willy was bursting to impart.

  ‘Of course last time you played them a match they had Annabel’s husband on their side. He’s the only match for these boys …’ A long pause ensued while Mrs. Willy took in a wheezy breath. ‘Of course since he’s booked into the hotel to-morrow he may be going to stay some time. Long enough to play in their team.’

  Silence.

  Then slowly Mrs. Weston turned her head and looked at Mrs. Willy.

  ‘So!’ she said. ‘That is what you’re so anxious to tell us. Tom Watson is coming back to Blackwood, and to-morrow. The day Annabel comes back.’

  Kate drew in a long breath. Didn’t these people care for any privacy? Or did they know that privacy was hopeless anyway … and so give up trying for it?

  Mrs. Willy looked offended.

  ‘I certainly supposed you knew. After all, he is your son-in-law and he had made the booking for Mr. and Mrs. Watson. Mrs. Rudolf at the hotel told me. We had lunch there. And by the way … their Sunday lunch has gone off terribly. We had chicken instead of turkey. As if we don’t get enough chickens at home. And not a soul in except the usuals.’