After Sundown

by Anne Hampson

  ‘You enjoyed his response—’ Thoughtfully as Moira became interested in Horace again. ‘I expect he had to talk,’ she stated after a while. ‘He could scarcely stand there and say nothing.’

  ‘He asked me to join him and the men for smoke-oh.’ To Tina’s surprise Moira laughed then, and declared that Tina was trying to make her jealous.

  ‘We’re not going to quarrel over Charles,’ she decided, giving another laugh. ‘He just isn’t worth it.’ Her arm went round Tina’s shoulders and they strolled towards the garden of the homestead. The sun was dropping but still brilliant, and suddenly it was partly blotted out by a huge flock of galahs spreading a pink and grey cloud over the flat bush-land and spinifex slopes.

  ‘I do love the birds; and the cockatoos are so pretty.’

  ‘Not like the jackos. No one can say they’re pretty.’

  ‘But they’re endearing all the same. I think they’re cute the way they laugh.’ Tina’s gaze wandered over the magenta landscape, watching the shadows move and quiver as the galahs flew away. On a small hillock an Aboriginal stockman stood silhouetted against the pale sky; there was something noble in both man and horse, something that spelled pride and superiority. ‘I like it here,’ said Tina impulsively. ‘I’m going to miss it when I leave.’

  A shrug from her sister was all she received in answer to that. Moira would go home tomorrow if she could, thought Tina and a frowning expression settled on her face. To return to the gay life of pleasure—Would it be easy now? To Tina it seemed years and years since she had dined out or spent a week-end in Paris. Strange, but the loss no longer tugged at her consciousness. All she missed was her father, and Tina felt that if only Moira would be reasonable and take a turn with the cooking and other kitchen work then, she, Tina, could be happy in her new environment.

  But of course Moira would do no such thing, and as the days passed Tina lost more weight. She became lethargic and one evening she actually fell asleep on the verandah while everyone else was engaged in conversation. Charles’s sharp voice jerked her into wakefulness and she rubbed her eyes as she gazed round in a dazed sort of way. A forced laugh escaped her as she glanced from one to another of the occupants of the verandah.

  ‘I was just about to doze,’ she murmured shakily, her eyes now on Charles’s stern face.

  ‘You were fast asleep.’ He continued to stare fixedly at her, and entangled with sleep as her thoughts were, she nevertheless interpreted that sternness as something more than what lay on the surface. A tiny jerk of her heartstrings was the prelude to a pleasurable excitement that was recognized but not understood. All she did comprehend was that Charles’s expression portrayed that same anxiety which she had noticed on the day she had talked to him out there in the bush. ‘You’d better go to bed—’

  ‘Oh, no, Charles! I don’t want to go yet.’ Her eyes met those of Mac; he seemed to be telling her it was no use arguing with the boss.

  ‘And I’ll see that a milk drink is sent up to you,’ added Charles, just as if no interruption had occurred. And he looked at her across the intervening space of the verandah, his face set, impassive. Colouring, Tina rose reluctantly to her feet, her emotions mixed. On the one hand she had the instinctive urge to stand her ground, to refuse to be dictated to like this, but on the other hand she was possessed of a strange docility, and an unwillingness to bring Charles’s displeasure on her head.

  ‘Good night.’ Her glance embraced them all; Moira was considerably amused, she noticed, and her colour deepened.

  ‘Good night, Tina,’ from Mac and Flo together. ‘I hope you’ll be feeling better tomorrow,’ Flo added, and the sudden anxiety in her voice as she allowed her eyes to wander over Tina’s figure was not unnoticed by Charles who, to Tina’s amazement, brought up the milk drink himself. She was in bed, a book in her hand, the bedside lamp turned so that its light was directed on to the book. Putting down the large beaker in which he had brought her drink, Charles with cool deliberation took the book, closed it, and laid it on the table. After proceeding to fix the lamp in its correct position he told her to sit up straight. She obeyed, staring fascinatedly at him, and feeling as if the blood in her veins were flowing faster, and more warmly. He said sharply, handing her the beaker,

  ‘Drink this.’

  ‘Thank you, Charles.’ Tina put the beaker to her lips, her eyes still fixed on his lean brown face. She noted the set of his mouth, the glint in those deep blue eyes. That he was far from pleased was for sure, and a strange tingle ran along her spine even before he spoke.

  ‘I told you to eat well. What have you eaten today?’

  ‘I’ve had my usual three meals,’ she answered with what she believed to be well-feigned lightness, but, glancing up through her lashes after a small silence during which she sipped the warm milk, she encountered what could only be described as a dark and warning expression.

  ‘I asked what you had eaten today.’ His voice was soft and tinged with the familiar Australian drawl, but it seemed to warn just as his expression had done. Tina felt a little frightened of him, so severe he looked, standing there above her, masterful and superior, the Boss of Farne River Downs rather than her adored stepfather’s son.

  ‘I didn’t have much breakfast,’ she admitted, forced to truthfulness by those piercing eyes that looked so straightly at her.

  ‘Your lunch?’

  Tina licked her lips.

  ‘I had—had that—’ Under his slowly narrowing gaze she tailed off, and averted her head, taking a sip or two of her milk and wishing with one part of her mind that he would leave, and with the other that he would stay ... but be kind to her, not stern like this, looking very much as if he would derive considerable satisfaction from slapping her.

  ‘All you’ve had today is your dinner, apparently— and that only because I was watching you.’

  This was true; all through the meal his eyes had repeatedly moved to her, and to her plate. Tina had eaten because she had to, not because she had an appetite.

  ‘It’s the heat,’ she faltered, raising apologetic eyes to his. ‘I shall be quite different once I get used to it.’

  A sigh of exasperation and a further narrowing of those disconcerting eyes. Tina felt small, and overpowered, and now she had no wish for him to stay. His presence was too much for her, and in addition the fatigue was making itself felt again and she wanted nothing more than to lay her head on the pillow and go to sleep.

  ‘You have a week to get that weight on again,’ he told her, and Tina’s head jerked.

  ‘A week?’

  ‘Father will be here a week tomorrow. I want you fit by then.’

  ‘Father!’ Her eyes brightened in spite of their drooping lids. ‘He didn’t say in his last letter. When did you know?’

  He had heard that afternoon, Charles told her. His father had let Charles’s lawyer in Sydney know and the message had come over the air. The decision had been sudden, made swiftly because a business friend of Austin’s had been coming over and Austin decided it would be pleasant to pay a visit when he could have company on the plane.

  ‘You appear to be very happy at the prospect of seeing him again.’ Charles’s voice held an odd inflection; his glance was one of interest, which had replaced the severity in his eyes.

  ‘Of course I’m happy! I love him!’ the exclamation burst out before she had time to think. Father coming! Only now did Tina fully realize just how much she had missed him. His dear face and kindly smile; that love which always looked out of his eyes when he came into a room in which she and Moira were sitting. The same expression leapt to his eyes if one or both girls entered a room where he was, or if they should come upon him suddenly in the garden, where he liked to stroll sometimes, especially in the early morning, or the evening. Tina would sometimes accompany him—if she happened to be in, that was. Almost always she and Moira were out at parties or dances, or going off for the week-end. When she returned home, Tina said to herself with resolution, she was not going to go out h
alf so much. She would stay in and keep her father company.

  ‘You love him, eh?’ Charles’s crisp voice cut into her musings and she glanced up. ‘I’d quite forgotten.’ The dry inflection brought a hint of colour to Tina’s face. She watched as Charles, having taken the empty beaker from her hand, placed it on the bedside table. ‘My easy-to-handle father, who’s allowed you all your own way for as long as you can remember—You’re bound to love him—in some shallow manner of your own.’

  Naturally Tina’s colour deepened, but she made no sharp retort to Charles’s unkind words, and after a moment he said again that she must be fit before his father arrived.

  ‘I shall see that you eat,’ he warned her darkly. ‘You’ll have your meals with me—all of them!’

  She followed his figure with her eyes as he went to the door, where he turned and said sharply,

  ‘Go to sleep. You’re not to read, remember. I shall expect the light to be out in five minutes’ time.’

  She frowned at the closed door. It was not that she wanted to read, quite the reverse; she wanted to sleep. But the order rankled and although she put out the light she got up from the bed and went to the window. It was sheer obstinacy that prompted the action. It was also stupid, for Charles would never know that she had disobeyed him. Nevertheless, it afforded her some odd sort of secret satisfaction to be standing there, by the window, looking down into the moonlit garden. She saw Mac and Flo go off together, and then Oily could be seen, ambling along, presumably making for his bungalow— or Bertha’s.

  So Moira and Charles would be left—Suddenly Tina stiffened. The two were strolling across the lawn, and Moira was keeping very close to her companion. And as Tina watched, Moira seemed to trip, sending her off balance, so that she was forced to grab at Charles’s coat in order to prevent herself from falling. His arm went around her, and he seemed to turn her towards him. The next moment they were locked in an embrace, and Charles’s lips sought those of Moira.

  Something hurtful seemed to lodge in Tina’s throat. Charles and Moira—Were they in love?—or was this the beginning of the affair that Moira wanted? Turning, Tina walked back to the bed and got in. But she lay awake a long while, staring at the ceiling, shining white in the light from the moon. Her mind switched at length and she was thinking of her father. In a week he would be here. With swift determination Tina decided on a line of action. She would not eat! She would be thin and tired and haggard when he arrived. How filled with remorse he would be ... and in this mood of deep contrition he would without doubt insist on taking her home with him when his visit came to an end.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  TRUE to his word Charles made Tina eat with him. She was told to leave the kitchen and go to the small breakfast room where Charles usually ate alone. Primly she sat down, watched as he piled bacon and eggs on her plate, and then calmly told him she had no appetite.

  ‘Start,’ he ordered abruptly, taking his place opposite to her. Obeying, Tina took a couple of bites of bread and then began toying with the bacon. This she continued to do, nibbling now and then at her bread, and putting a morsel of egg or bacon into her mouth. At last she was gratified to hear a deep sigh of exasperation from Charles, whose hearty breakfast had long since disappeared.

  ‘I’m not hungry.’ Putting down her knife and fork, Tina leant back in her chair, creasing her forehead as if to convey the ordeal through which she had just passed. ‘I told you I had no appetite.’

  His eyes narrowed; Tina decided to adopt an attitude of apology, and she looked at him with wide frank eyes as she shrugged and spread her hands and secretly hoped she was sufficiently convincing to allay any suspicions he might have. ‘I just can’t eat, and that’s that.’

  ‘You’d better have the doctor,’ he said softly, and Tina gave a slight start.

  ‘I don’t need a doctor.’

  ‘If you can’t eat more than that—’ a flick of his hand indicated her plate, still piled up with the food he had put on to it, ‘—then there’s something wrong with you.’

  ‘Anyone can suffer from loss of appetite,’ she hastily assured him, ‘but that doesn’t signify that there’s anything seriously wrong. I shall soon be all right,’ she added speciously, averting her head in order to hide her expression from his all-examining gaze.

  Another sigh of exasperation and then, rising from his chair,

  ‘We’ll see how you go on at lunch time. Meanwhile keep out of the kitchen.’

  Her head still averted, Tina said,

  ‘My work is in there, Charles, you know that—’

  ‘Keep out!’ he repeated, and strode from the room.

  Exultant, she actually gave a light little laugh as the door closed with rather more noise than she would have associated with Charles.

  ‘I’ve got him worried! And serve him right. Father will soon realize that I’ve been exceedingly ill-treated, and he’ll take me home.’ Moira could stay behind if she wanted to, and she could have Charles—Slowly Tina rose from her chair, frowning because of the dejection sweeping over her at the recollection of that intimate scene in the garden last evening. Why had it disturbed her so? Sidestepping the question, mainly owing to the mental tangle in which her thoughts seemed to be, Tina left the room and went out on to the verandah. She did not care if Charles was in love with Moira ... of course she did not!

  What work was she supposed to be doing? Tina wondered a short while later on hearing the vacuum cleaner in the room behind. Turning her head, she saw Moira, but was herself not noticed. The noise of the machine stopped and Moira dabbed negligently at a vase with her duster. There was a superficial flick or two for the chairs and table, and then Tina heard the door close. A few moments passed before Moira appeared, coming from the side of the house with a basket in one hand and a pair of scissors in the other. Crossing to the flower border, she began to select the half-open buds from the rose trees. These, with their long stems, she placed in the basket. A tender task, thought Tina, her eyes following her sister’s shapely figure as she moved from bush to bush. The sun shone on her fair hair, lending it tints of gold and bronze. From the casuarina trees edging the garden came a sudden burst of laughter from a pair of jackos and Moira glanced up, tilting back her head, searching among the branches for a glimpse of the birds. Another movement ... Charles, striding from the house, as he always did at this time. But today, instead of making for the home paddock, he stopped in his tracks, and stood there, tall and bronzed and so very superior-looking with his white shirt and tight-fitting trews and his slouch hat tilted slightly to the back of his head. One hand was nonchalantly tucked into his belt, the other tapping his thigh in a mechanical sort of way. Without doubt his whole interest was with the lovely girl who still stood with her head tilted, one hand to her eyes, shading them from the sun.

  ‘What is it that interests the lovely maiden in so absorbing a way?’ His slow Australian drawl was in itself a caress. Shrinking back into the shelter of the passion-flower vine, Tina peeped through the leaves. Having reached Moira, Charles took one of the roses from the basket and idly twirled the stem between his fingers. A heavy frown creased Tina’s brow. Soppy thing—speaking like that! And how silly he looked, holding the flower! Moira was no better, turning and staring up at him in that starry-eyed sort of way!

  ‘The kookaburras, Charles! Aren’t they adorable!’

  Tina’s frown became heavier still. What affectation! Moira didn’t used to be like that—at least, not so that anyone would really notice. And probably she did not consider the jackos adorable at all.

  ‘They’re attractive, yes.’ A move ... bringing him closer. ‘And so are you—but I expect you’ve been told that many many times before?’

  Coyly Moira fluttered her lashes and glanced down at the ground.

  ‘I don’t know why you should say that, Charles. I’m not a flirt.’

  Twisting her head, Tina strove to catch a glimpse of Charles’s expression, but failed. His voice, though, was not quite what she
herself would have liked to hear, were she in her sister’s place.

  ‘No?’ A shrug of his wide shoulders. ‘If you say so, my dear.’ He returned the flower to the basket.

  ‘Of course I say so! Charles, I think you’re not very nice to me today ... not as you were last night,’ she added in purring husky tones which caused Tina to give vent to her feelings by a little snort of disgust.

  ‘Last night.... Yes, it was rather pleasant,’ came the admission that Tina found excessively unwelcome; it sounded in her ears long after being uttered, and she raised a hand to rub her eyes, as if she had just come out of a nasty dream, and wanted nothing more than to speed the awakening, so that she would find it had not really happened at all, that those words had never in fact been spoken. But they had been spoken ... and meant.

  Charles bent his head and whispered into Moira’s eager ear, then he patted her cheek affectionately, and walked away. Dreamily Moira stared after him until he was lost to view behind the trees. Tina rose and went down the steps on to the lawn where sprinklers were working, keeping it green. Heavy rain had fallen last week, and like a miracle succulents had sprung to life everywhere. The lawns and flower borders had been lavishly watered, but the hot sun had soon dried them again and artificial watering had soon to be resumed.

  ‘Hello,’ from Moira as Tina joined her. ‘Did you know that Father’s coming in a week’s time?’

  ‘Charles told me last night—when he brought my drink up,’ added Tina spitefully.

  ‘He brought your drink up?’ frowned Moira, sending a glance in the direction in which he had just disappeared. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘He brought me a milk drink up. He was worried about me.’

  Moira examined her critically.

  ‘I don’t know why he should be. I can’t see anything wrong with you.’ Tina said nothing and Moira went on to ask why she wasn’t in the kitchen, seeing to her chores.