hydrofoil was ready to leave.
`It's a good way to see things,' said William Bower, helping Jane on.
Jane loved that harbour trip, loved the sails of the Opera House poised ready, one would think, for flight, loved the red roofs of the houses, the endless unfolding of little bitten-in bays all with their own golden beaches.
They had tea at Manly after walking to the ocean side, one long wave-kissed stretch of sand.
`You like the sea?' William asked as Jane poured. `Yes. Only
He raised his brows in inquiry.
`Only I like "inside" the best,' she admitted, 'I like meadows, brooks, villages.'
`How do you judge paddocks, creeks, towns? As rather a bit too much, even though you say you like the "inside"? As too raw?'
`No,' she said, 'not at all.'
`Then does that mean you like our "inside" as well?' `It's very beautiful,' she said sincerely.
`You'll see a different aspect of it tomorrow. We'll take the non-toll roads home for better scenery as well as less trammelled traffic.'
`After we get the fellows,' she said with anticipation; she had not thought she could look forward so much to seeing her contingent.
`Of course. That's our purpose.'
They left soon after that, returning this time by ferry. `Want to see any more of Sydney?' Bower asked. `Am I allowed?'
`I never said you weren't.'
`Then your words, Mr. Bower, emerge differently.'
`I'm glad you told me. I must watch myself when I say something I mean, otherwise you won't believe it. You never answered as to what you wanted to do.'
The hotel,' Jane said, and got into the taxi he called over.
The next morning her summons to get up came with coffee. 'The maid told Jane that Mr. Bower said just coffee would do as they would breakfast afterwards on the road. Jane wasted no time and was downstairs almost on Bower's heels.
'Good girl,' he nodded.
They went direct to the quarantine, and there Jane went straight to the three D's, to talk to them, assure them it wouldn't be long now, to fondle Dotsy, pat Devil May Care, run her fingers round Dandy's soft ears. Dear, dear Dandy. And he, the great Bower, said the horse had nothing. Perhaps, in all honesty, Dandy hadn't, not if you put it down in figures, but he did have, Jane knew lovingly, a girl's heart. He had had it right from the beginning, ever since they had exchanged that mutual look.
'These three are staring daggers at you.' William Bower strolled across. 'Do you always play favourites?'
'They'll have me all the time now, but the D's won't, not for three more weeks.' She touched each D in turn. 'Be good,' she smiled.
Even after he had left the city traffic snarl behind them, William Bower drove moderately over the minor roads he had chosen. They took the Blue Mountains route, riding into soft blue air that changed to green at closer quarters, because that air, Bower told Jane, was coloured by distance from the wind turning over the eucalyptus leaves.
Then, the range conquered, they turned south once more. They lunched from a picnic hamper that the hotel had packed, and William Bower took out the horses and exercised them. Resuming south again, Jane noted fewer and fewer motels and inns, which was only to be expected, she thought, on a secondary road. She asked William where they would put up that night.
'A place called Iroola. It's comfortable and I can paddock the fellows. Not many motels or inns these days can accommodate horses as well.'
'That will be good for them,' Jane appreciated.
The travelled through the warm afternoon. Occasionally Jane napped. Then, at an ejaculation from the man beside her, she opened her eyes ... and gasped. It was now near elf light, the sun had gone down almost an hour, but instead of a last apricot flush, a first hint of dark pansy, the sky in front of them was charcoal, with, here and there, a streak of vicious red.
Tire,' William Bower said. Even as they watched a dark smudge began spreading ominously, the blurred beginnings of a smoke pall to take over.
All the time William Bower kept driving, and thinking of bush fires of which she had read there were many in Australia, Jane asked shouldn't they stop.
`No. Never go back. Anyway, it's localized. It's no fire of nature.'
`How can you tell?'
`The shape of the pall. It could almost be an atomic explosion, couldn't it? No, it'll be a homestead.' he added, `Poor devils.'
They drove for another half hour. It had become quite dark now, and Jane was concerned for herself as well as the horses. Where on earth on this dark smoky road were they to lodge?
As though he read her thoughts, Bower said : `Iroola. I told you. Only a few minutes to go now.'
They did the last mile in silence. Jane knew that William Bower had grown as concerned as she was by the times he poked his head out of the window to try to pierce the gloom without the intervention of glass, by the occasions he sniffed deeply and estimatingly.
`It's close,' he said at last.
`The fire?'
`Yes.'
`Close—to us?'
`To the hotel.'
`You mean
mean I believe the hotel is the blaze. I only hope—'
She knew what he hoped, and she hoped with him.
Turning a corner, they both saw their hopes were in vain. All that remained of what once had been an inn was a smouldering ruin. Only a small annexe remained intact. Bower turned the car and float into a side track, drove some safe hundred yards, then told Jane to wait there.
He was a long time gone. Jane got out and talked to the horses, who seemed supremely unaffected, thank heaven, by it all, then she turned eagerly as she heard steps through the bush.
It was her boss again, and he gave her a reassuring smile
`Bad ... but could be much worse. Not one life lost. The place is a shambles, but I have no doubt the Donnisons would be well insured. Mrs. Donnison is as cool as the proverbial cucumber ... how do you women do it? ... she even rang up Yanni for me—Yanni's further down—and got us a room.' He darted Jane the quickest of glances.
Only when they were on the road again did Jane recall that look. It came at the same time as she heard in retrospect that got us a room.'
Us. Not you. Not me. And a room. Not rooms.
She opened her mouth. She shut it again. She moistened her lips.
Yanni coming up,' said William Bower presently, `no doubt the horses will be pleased.'
`No doubt.' Heavens, Jane thought, that was almost a croak.
William was going slowly now, it could be that they were
almost at the place ... a very small place, Jane saw, straining her eyes through the darkness ... or it could be
`It's this way, Miss Sidney,' William Bower was saying. `Yes?'
`In England do you have family units?'
`In hotels, you mean?'
`This is a motel.'
`I don't know. I mean
`Perhaps I'd better tell you what I mean, then. A family
unit is—well, for a family. It's larger than the usual accommodation. Generally quite a dormitory of beds. Well, to put it briefly that's all they have left. To put it more briefly still' ... a pause ... 'we have it.'
`We?' she echoed.
'We,' he said. And drove up to the door.
Mecahanically Jane helped him with Gretel, San Marco and Ruthven. She did the automatic strapping things that should be done to an animal which had been cooped up, even if it was in a roomy, comfortable box, for some hours. She fed, watered, brushed, massaged, soothed. Not that they needed soothing, they were perfectly calm and well adjusted.
Not like I feel, Jane thought.
At last she went to the room. A glance around the car-filled courtyard had assured her that it was in all truth a last offering, the motel was small, and, probably because of the fire at Iroola, now taxed to its limit.
The unit proved large, as William Bower had said it would be. There was a shower recess and its own kitchen. There were at least six beds.
&nbs
p; `We could put quads in here as well.' William was standing at the door and looking across the room at Jane.
Suddenly Jane knew she had to say something Anything at all would do. But what she could not do was to stay silent. And meet his eyes.
She began to chatter. Shocked at her nervous babble yet somehow unable to stop herself, she agreed : 'Yes, we could put up a whole family, couldn't we? Which bed for you? I'll take this. I'll shower and then you can. I'll ... you'll ... we'll ...'
At last she found she could stop, and she did.
He was still looking at her, but differently now.
`Don't waste your breath,' he advised. 'But do have that shower.'
`The shower, Miss Sidney.'
His eyes compelled her, she didn't want to go, she wanted to calm herself, to be matter-of-fact, sensible, practical, a woman of the world, a girl of today, not the—well, the near-hysterical ninny she was being now. But she went.
When she came out again from the bathroom, he wasn't there. Jane got into her selected bed and shut her eyes. Around ten o'clock, she judged, the motel electric plant cut out, and the light she had left on for him Switched off.
She listened for him, but did not hear him. She listened ... listened ... Then she was opening her eyes to the first pale buttering of piccaninny daylight ... and at once turning those eyes to the rest of the dormitory beds. They were all still closed up. No one had slept there.
Jane dressed rapidly and went out to the courtyard. The car was where it had been last night, and the float beside a shed that they had been given for a shelter for the horses.
She went to the barn and looked in. Gretel, San Marco and Ruthven looked back, and San Marco whickered. She glanced around, but saw nothing—and nobody—else. 'Then that must mean that the motel had found William Bower a room after all. She was glad about that, but felt he could have come back and told her.
As she came out of the barn she had a feeling that someone was watching her. She hesitated, then looked to the car ... and saw that it was William Bower. As she looked back, he yawned, stretched and heaved his big person from the back seat.
'Sleep well?' he asked her.
'Yes.' Jane hesitated. `Did you?'
`No. Ever try a fitted box?'
'You needn't have slept there, Mr. Bower.'
know,' he nodded. Then he mimicked cruelly : 'Which bed for you? I'll have this one. I'll shower and then you can.'
What,' broke in Jane in anger, 'did you want me to say?' He regarded her with cool estimation. 'Ever consider try-ing the truth?'
`You must have read it even though I didn't say it,' she flung, 'by coming out here.'
came out here because I preferred out here, because I have no time for humbug. Why in heaven couldn't you have said : "Bower, I will not sleep in a family unit if you're there, I know it's the only thing offering, but it's not for me." Why did you try to slide out like you did?'
didn't, I—'
`You floundered and dithered and generally made me sick, Miss Sidney. Either you wanted me not there or you wanted me there, but you were too "nice", too "polite"— and too damn puerile to say it !'
`Then I'll say it this time,' said Jane. did not want you there. As for the other possibility, that
`Wanting me to remain'
`As far as that's concerned, I'm now not too nice, too polite, too puerile to tell you that that would be the very last wish I could ever make, Mr. Bower!'
`How soon' ... frozenly and finally ... 'before we push off?'
CHAPTER SIX
AT mid-afternoon, when they reached the Urara valley, Jane leaned out to wave to Maureen and the twins, who again were swimming in the creek, but William Bower did not stop, presumably since he had a tricky run in front of him to gain the plateau, but more probably, Jane thought feelingly, because he was still in that filthy mood.
They had barely spoken since they had left last night's hotel. They had eaten lunch in near-silence at a roadside teahouse, then resumed the return journey just as silently. The man did not even acknowledge the children as they crossed over the small bridge. He made it seem as though driving the float on this final lap needed all his attention, and perhaps it did, but all the same ...
It was so unfair of him, Jane's mind ran on resentfully. Perhaps she had babbled too much, been a fatuous little fool, but the unit had taken her by surprise. He had. She saw now that she had marked something that was really nothing at all by dithering over it, but good heavens, not everybody was as cool, as certain of themselves, as supremely composed as he was.
If she could have explained now, she would have, but she still had no words, and ... a surreptitious glance at her driver ... no reception.
As they ascended, in all fairness Jane had to excuse William Bower's absorption. The hairpin bends, the tortuous curves were all in a day's work to her mini model, but for a big car towing a float it was a hard, hazardous trip. But at last they were on the top and travelling the last miles to the stud.
William Bower drove up to the stables. 'I'll get a couple of the boys to help me unload them,' he tossed, 'settle them in. You can knock off.'
`No, thank you.'
`That was not a consideration, Miss Sidney, it was an order. You've had a long day.'
`So have you. And I' ... getting a word in at last ... 'at least had the benefit of a good night's rest.'
`I didn't. But I'm still signing you off.'
`I'm not going. After all, I'm a partner, not an employee in this.'
He looked thunderous a moment, but he must have seen he would have to climb down.
`All right then, do the chores yourself. I'll send Andy and Bert along.'
`We don't need four for three horses.'
`I'll sign myself off. No need for everyone to be tired.' About to retort, 'I'm not,' Jane left it at that.
After Andy and Bert had got Gretel, San Marco and Ruthven out and into their boxes, Jane still stayed on. She brushed them, cosseted them, watered them, fed them, extending each chore unnecessarily. She knew she was filling in time, but she had to work off her frustration.
It was dark when she came out at last. It was several hundred yards to the big house, and Jane looked across to the twinkling lights rather nervously. Had Rodden come again? Was he likely to step out at one of those shrubs? And yet it was what she really should strive for, another meeting, but this time with a definite understanding, with Rodden.
She forced herself to walk calmly, not hurry as she had before, to the house. But Rodden did not step out, and when she entered the building he was not there either.
After dinner she sat in the common room and listened to records. The men obviously enjoyed her company, particularly as tonight neither Kate nor Maureen were there. Kate, they reported with malicious glee, was child-worn; that should learn her, trying to get a family the easy way! Over Maureen, they were more serious. It was strange, Jane thought, how in a small community individual troubles be-
came public cares. Maureen didn't look happy, they said, and for a while they looked unhappy themselves.
Feeling false, Jane made the suggestion of pre-wedding jitters.
`But Maureen's not being married for ages,' said the nutritionist.
Tim, the vet, added: 'She's a damn pretty girl, I can't understand what's holding Gair up.'
suppose after his last experience—' murmured someone.
`First I've heard of a man being a jiltee,' said someone else. 'Is jiltee a word?'
They argued amicably, and pleading weariness after a long day Jane went upstairs.
She regretted that at first when she reached her room. Maureen was sitting at the window.
`I'm sorry,' the girl said. shouldn't have come in.' She shrugged. 'But I did.'
`That's all right, dear. I'm glad you're here. Tea?' `No. That is ... All right, then.' A pause. `Jane—'
Jane switched on the jug before she turned. She made
herself do that.
`Yes, Maureen?'
`You're always so calm.'
think calmness is something a strapper acquires, you have to be calm with horses.'
`I'm a hand, too, but ' Again the girl was quiet a
moment. lane '
`Yes, dear?'
can't ask Kate, she's younger than I am, only a few months, but—well— Not that you're much older.' `Almost five years, Maureen.'
`Is it five? It doesn't seem it, I mean not just in looks, but—well, in the way you look.'
`How do I look?'
`Not unhappy. Not ever. But then you haven't been in love, have you, Jane?'
'Love shouldn't make you look unhappy.' Jane hoped Maureen did not notice she had not answered her question.
'It does me. I know you can't help me, but Kate is quite hopeless. All she says are things against Rodden—she doesn't like him, never did—but it can't be all Rodden, can it, some of it must be me. My fault, I mean.'
'Some of what?'
'The change in him. The ' A pause, quite a long one
now. 'Jane, I don't think Rodden wants to marry me.' 'But, dear, you have his ring,' Jane heard herself say, and was a little shocked at her duplicity.
'His ring ... or someone else's? I think that sometimes. I don't know why. Jane ... Jane, what's gone wrong? Oh, I know you can't say, you wouldn't anyway, you're too sweet. But I just had to blurt all this out to someone, not to young Kate who would only say "Ditch him" I—I won't have that tea after all. Thank you, Jane.'
She was gone before Jane could protest.
Jane did not have tea, either. She went and sat where Maureen had sat, by the window. Most of the lights had been switched off before she went to bed.
A few days from a stud made a big difference. Jane had found that out in Little Down. She supposed it was nature; nature never stood still. In the short period she had been away, Persian Princess had foaled. She had come through wonderfully, Tim reported to Jane, for a mother of twins. Maureen, he added very warmly, had been a marvellous help. But the little fellows, a colt and filly, seemed to be slipping back. Tim asked Jane to attend and see what she thought.
Jane had had no experience in this. Rusty had had a twin birth, but it had been the mother who had looked ill, though eventually she had recovered. This mother, Persian Princess, obviously was in perfect condition. But the two foals ... Maureen, kneeling by them, looked up at Jane and shook her head sadly.
The Mutual Look Page 10