After Sundown

by Anne Hampson

  ‘And the distance?’ he supplemented softly. ‘Did that also pass without your noticing it?’

  ‘Yes.’ She hung her head. ‘I know it all sounds weak, but—’

  ‘Pathetically weak,’ with cold sarcasm. ‘Obviously you’re unable to invent a feasible explanation—but that’s understandable, as there couldn’t possibly be one.’ A small pause and then, ‘I suggest your behaviour stemmed from a determination to flaunt my advice. In other words, it was a deliberate act of defiance.’

  She stared at him in disbelief, sorely tempted to make him an angry retort. But she remained guarded, because his expression was not to be treated lightly. It could portend trouble for her—and Charles did hold her future in his hands.

  ‘It was not an act of defiance,’ she contradicted quietly. ‘I don’t know how you can make an assumption like that, for you must know that to be lost out there is scarcely an experience one would deliberately ask for. A scrubber almost got me,’ she added with dramatic emphasis, looking intently at him in order not to miss the concern that must surely appear on his face. His blue eyes swept her with contempt.

  ‘We’ll stick to facts,’ he told her crisply, and even her sudden start of surprised indignation failed to convince him of her sincerity. ‘Have you anything at all to say in your defence?’

  She looked at him, her lip quivering slightly. He knew full well that she hadn’t anything to say in her defence; he was just putting her through a mild form of torture—and probably enjoying it, aware of her fears that he would report her escapade to his father. Self-pity took possession of her and she had to blink furiously to hold back the tears. Charles read her like a book; she noted the contemptuous curve of his mouth and once more averted her head, mumbling something about its not being a pleasant experience to get lost in the bush, and certainly not what one would ask for. It was a repetition of what she had already said and Charles asked,

  ‘Is that all you have to say—after causing so much trouble?—after getting my men up from their beds?’ Suppressed fury was evident in his tones now and prudently Tina held her silence. ‘What you deserve is a damned good hiding,’ he snapped at last. ‘If Father had given you one now and then you’d probably have grown into a more responsible person—with more consideration for others. As it is, you’re self-willed and perverse. Added to that is this self-pity which even now you’re exhibiting—now, when you should be contrite, and admitting to your irresponsible behaviour.’ His voice was quiet but the sting was there—and it hurt Tina more than she would ever have believed possible. For a fleeting moment she recalled her dejection at his unkindness towards her last evening, and she did now wonder if that circumstance had anything to do with her wandering off, all alone, into the peace and quietness of the bush. ‘Go back to your work, and be warned that should you ever consider defying me again you’ll not get off as lightly as you have on this occasion.’

  Tina lifted her head, and asked the question that was troubling her greatly.

  ‘Are—are you going to tell Father about—about last night?’ She was blinking, not to stem the tears, as they had been successfully held back while Charles was talking about her shortcomings, but from sheer weariness and dejection and the ache of lost sleep which hurt the backs of her eyes. How was she to keep awake? she wondered. As she felt now it seemed impossible that she would not fall asleep over her work.

  ‘Go back to the kitchen.’ Charles spoke after a small hesitation—not the hesitation of compassion, as his mouth was hard and his eyes harder still.

  ‘You mean—you haven’t yet made up your mind?’ She couldn’t help persisting over the question which was so vitally important to her future. Charles glinted at her, his mouth compressing into a thin harsh line. But his voice was very soft when he spoke.

  ‘I told you to go back to your work.’

  Tina coloured, muttered an almost inaudible ‘yes’ and left the room.

  By lunch time she was exhausted and after seeing to the men’s food she went up to her room with the intention of lying down for an hour. No sooner had she got on to the bed than Moira entered and, laughing, made herself comfortable on a chair before saying,

  ‘Tired? No wonder! What in heaven’s name made you go off when Charles had told you not to?’

  Tina sat up, frowning and hoping her sister was not intending to stay too long.

  ‘I just felt like walking on my own. I really don’t know how I came to go so far that I got lost.’

  ‘What an excuse!’ Moira lifted her finely-arched brows. ‘What did Charles have to say?’ she asked curiously, adding that he was white with fury when at last he realized that a search party would have to be organized.

  ‘He was angry with me, naturally. I deserved it,’ Tina added frankly. ‘You’ve no idea how awful I feel about putting him and his men to all that trouble.’

  ‘You’ve got yourself into his bad books,’ Moira informed her unnecessarily. ‘If you don’t watch out he’s going to blight your whole future.’

  ‘I know.’ Tina stopped a moment as a couple of kookaburras laughed heartily outside in the blue gum tree where they spent a good deal of their time. Until now she had had to laugh with them, but today nothing could have made her laugh. ‘I asked him if he intended telling Father what I’d done, but he wouldn’t answer me.’

  Moira breathed on her polished nails and rubbed them gently on the bottom of her skirt.

  ‘He’s rather attractive—in a he-man sort of way. But I expect that fact has escaped your notice?’

  ‘I don’t find him attractive; he’s too arrogant. All these squatters are. Do you know what the word “squatocracy” means?’ Moira shook her head and Tina went on, ‘It’s such an odd sort of word that I asked Flo. It means something between autocracy and aristocracy. So you see, these Outback graziers have even invented a word to describe themselves. If that isn’t pompous and arrogant I don’t know what is.’ Tina brushed a hand through her hair, felt the grease in it and frowned again. Never before had she been like this—so very weary and unkempt.

  ‘You don’t find him attractive?’ rather musingly as, having ignored the rest of what Tina had to say, Moira stared at her sister. ‘Have you seen yourself?’ she asked suddenly, diverted by the drawn expression on Tina’s face.

  ‘I know what I look like,’ Tina returned almost sharply. ‘You seem to be able to get out of the real hard work.’ She was ashamed of the antagonism that had crept into her voice and made the excuse that it was due to her tiredness. Moira looked pained. ‘You sound as if I’m shirking.’

  ‘No, it isn’t that—not exactly. But you never take a turn in the kitchen.’

  ‘Well, if it makes you look like that you can’t altogether blame me.’

  ‘It isn’t fair, Moira. We ought to be sharing the work differently from what we are doing. Will you do the cooking tomorrow?’ She wouldn’t have to get up at five, then, Tina was thinking, but her sister was already shaking her head emphatically.

  ‘I can’t cook, for one thing—’

  ‘Bertha will show you. She taught me. It isn’t difficult in the least.’

  A smile lit Moira’s lovely blue eyes.

  ‘You can’t tempt me, Tina. No, thank you; cooking pots and the kitchen sink are definitely out as far as I’m concerned.’

  ‘Charles hasn’t noticed that you don’t do any proper work.’

  ‘Proper work? I make myself useful about the house, as he told me to do at the beginning. He told you the same, but like a silly idiot you chose the kitchen.’

  ‘I didn’t choose it. I just went there, because you were doing the vacuuming and dusting. I expected we’d be taking turns.’

  Moira became thoughtfully silent. When she spoke her voice was pensive, and so were her eyes.

  ‘I’m sure Charles wouldn’t like it in the least if I worked in the kitchen—not if it made me look so scraggy as you look now. He—er—likes me. Surely you’ve grasped that fact?’

  Tina’s eyes opened wid
e despite her tiredness.

  ‘Charles—! He likes you? In—in that sort of way, you mean?’ Tina had known of course that Moira stood higher than she in Charles’s opinion, but never had it occurred to her that he actually liked her—and certainly not in the way Moira was suggesting. ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Isn’t it obvious? You must have seen the way he was with me last night at dinner. He’s quite something, Tina. Different from any other man I’ve known. He’s big and bronzed and oozing with the health of the outdoors. He makes such a change from the pale fops we’ve spent our time with up till now—’

  ‘I didn’t spend my time with pale fops!’ interrupted Tina indignantly.

  ‘Oh, well, don’t let’s argue about that. As I was saying, Charles is different. I feel that there might be some fun to be had during this year that we’ve to remain here.’

  ‘Fun?’ repeated Tina with a frown. ‘You mean—you don’t want to marry him, but you’re willing to—to—’ Allowing her voice to trail away to silence, Tina went red. She had never been able to talk in the same uninhibited manner as her sister, and she was not in the least surprised to hear the laughter ring through the room.

  ‘To have an affair? But of course. What a lover he would make—!’

  ‘Really, Moira! You wouldn’t—no, I don’t believe you’re in the least serious.’

  A small sigh now as the laugh died on Moira’s lips.

  ‘I must say that marriage would be attractive, but I’m sufficiently knowledgeable about men to realize that he’s not the marrying sort. This kind of work fulfils most of his desires, that’s quite plain for anyone to see ... but he’s a man, and I’ve yet to meet a man who’d be averse to having an affair.’

  ‘I don’t believe you would,’ said Tina again, shaking her head. ‘You’re not a bit like that.’

  ‘Perhaps I haven’t been in the past—not going so far as to indulge in an affair. But then I hadn’t met anyone like Charles. Nor have I ever been dumped in the Outback for twelve long months. An affair will at least relieve the monotony.’

  Yawning, Tina said, diverted from the main issue by the word ‘monotony’,

  ‘You find it monotonous here?’

  ‘Good lord, yes! And so do you.’

  ‘No, as a matter of fact, Moira, I don’t. In other circumstances I could actually like it. The quiet and the vastness gets hold of you—somehow. If I didn’t have to work so hard I believe I could be happy.’

  ‘Heavens, I couldn’t! I’d die of boredom within a couple of years.’

  ‘But you said a moment ago that marriage to Charles would be attractive?’

  ‘It would, but only if we could live somewhere else. I daresay he’d leave here if he loved me. But Charles isn’t the man to fall in love—not love as a woman knows it.’

  Thinking about this Tina for some quite incomprehensible reason found herself suddenly recalling such things as the softness she had suspected he possessed, and the little lost dejected feeling that had swept over her at his unkindness. Why should she recall these things at this particular time? she wondered, putting a hand to her mouth as she yawned again. She supposed it was her tiredness; it caused her thoughts to flit about, uncontrolled.

  Noticing the yawn, Moira rose from her chair. ‘You’re intending having a sleep?’

  ‘That’s right.’ Tina glanced at the clock on the bedside table. ‘Will you call me at half-past two, prompt? Bertha will have come back by then and I can’t let her do all those dishes and pans by herself.’ Moira nodded unconcernedly.

  ‘I’ll call you,’ she promised, and left her sister to snatch what sleep she could.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  As October neared its end the real heat of summer began to make itself felt. Already the temperature had been up to ninety degrees Fahrenheit, and it could eventually reach a hundred and ten. Working in the kitchen, Tina invariably became soaked with perspiration and the result was a steady losing of weight. Moira noticed, but no one else. What really troubled Tina was that she was beginning to feel fatigued much more easily than at first, and one day she had actually fainted, being unconscious for a short while when alone in the kitchen. She said nothing to anyone except Moira, who kept this to herself. Charles was the last person Tina would have told, simply owing to his scepticism and his ready assumption that she was insincere.

  ‘He hates me,’ she said one day to Moira when, after he had let Moira have a horse, Tina asked for a similar favour and was instantly refused. ‘Why does he differentiate between us like this? Will you let me have Grey Prince on Sunday—just for an hour?’

  ‘You can have him, yes, but after lunch.’

  ‘It’s too hot then.’

  ‘I want to ride in the morning. Charles hinted that we’d ride together.’

  Tina said she would have the horse after lunch. She put on a pair of tight trews and a cotton shirt. Her hair was held right back from her face by the broad-brimmed hat and, glancing in the mirror before going down to where Sonny, the roustabout, had tethered the young gelding, Tina told herself that she looked a little better than of late. There was slightly more colour in her cheeks and her eyes seemed to have lost their familiar dull glaze.

  It was good to be riding and she cantered the bank of the creek which wound about, dry now, but with the coming of the Wet it could very easily overflow as the headwaters rampaged down from their source high on some crag of the MacDonnell Ranges. The sun blazed down, on the sepia landscape where, at the coming of the rains, a myriad shades of green would evolve as dormant bushland vegetation sprang miraculously to life almost overnight. Cattle and men roamed the plains and low hills—so many cattle that it seemed impossible that they could ever be counted. Along the creek bed grew those patriarchs of the eucalypt family, the Red River gums, their trunks artistically marked. Ti-trees grew some distance away, and the bottle-brushes of such glorious perfume and colour. Dismounting, Tina made for the shade of one of these trees, wondering at the numerous genera of the myrtle family, which included the eucalypts of which there were about five hundred and thirty species, some of them so beautiful that the most able artist could not do them justice. After tethering the gelding to a branch Tina flopped down in the grass. The earth was warm beneath her, the sun hot on her arms and face. But it was restful in spite of the heat and she leant back, supporting herself on her elbows, so that her head was raised. An inquisitive little kangaroo-rat came out of the grass and sat up on its long hind legs and looked at her through its big round eyes. She lay quite still and he ventured closer, but the sudden whipping at the tree branches by a sharp breeze sent it scuttling away out of sight. Moments later a cheeky little lizard became equally interested in her until some sound unheard by Tina caused it to make for the security of a crevice in the hard sunbaked ground.

  All at once the gelding’s head came up and he whinnied. Tina glanced around, then her skin prickled as she saw the horseman approaching. He had seen Grey Prince and Tina estimated that he was expecting to see her sister somewhere hereabouts.

  ‘So it’s you!’ Abrupt words; Charles swung down from the huge chestnut and tethered it, bringing a frown to Tina’s brow. She wanted to be alone. Certainly Charles’s company was not what she would have chosen, even had she desired a companion. He turned and stood for a long moment regarding her. She had risen to a sitting position, bracing herself for an unpleasant few minutes before he should decide to leave her to the peace and solitude she craved. ‘Did Moira give you permission to ride her horse?’

  ‘I should never have taken it without her permission,’ replied Tina coolly. The position between her and Charles had deteriorated since that fatal night when she had been lost in the bush. For about a week he never spoke a word to her, and since then he spoke only when it was necessary. His tones would be edged with an iron inflection and, resigned to the fact that she had surely earned several black marks, Tina answered back in kind. She had been prepared to adopt a humility fitting to her crime, but she saw no reason why
that humility should continue indefinitely, especially in view of Charles’s own attitude towards her. She had done wrong—committed the first crime of the Outback, which was to go off into the bush without taking due precautions. But surely by now she should have been forgiven. The men had forgotten the inconvenience to which they had been put and were back to their friendly state; Bertha had also forgotten and so had Mac and Oily. So it seemed out of all reason that Charles should continue to keep her in disgrace.

  ‘I said you weren’t to have a horse.’ Charles moved closer but made no attempt to sit down. Tina gazed away towards the luminescent warmth of the colours predominating over the mountains, the result of an admixture of light created by the position of the sun and its reflection on the rocks.

  ‘Have you any special reason for denying me this privilege, Charles?’ She refused to look up at him, but knew instinctively that he glinted at her with those deep-set blue eyes.

  ‘Privileges come the way of those who deserve them,’ he said at last, and he sat down then, some small distance from her, on a rise formed by an ancient cut-off meander core of the creek.

  ‘And does Moira deserve them?’ The question was out before Tina stopped to think; it was not one she would have asked and she felt a flush of pink rise to her cheeks.

  ‘Moira has more consideration than to stroll off into the bush, uncaring how much trouble she might cause.’

  Turning her head, Tina looked squarely at him.

  ‘Am I to carry the stigma for the whole of my stay here? I’ve apologized—’ She spread her hands in a little gesture of helplessness. ‘I don’t know what more I can do.’ The words were in effect a plea for forgiveness, but Tina herself failed to realize this. She had spoken that which came automatically, voicing what had been subconsciously striving for release. A slight change took place in her companion’s hard features; his gaze became intent, all-examining. Perhaps he was searching for some change in her, she thought, and faced the examination unflinchingly.