by Dorothy Cork
When she went back into the room Drew was hanging his clothes in the wardrobe with a composure that made nonsense of her hysteria, and without speaking to him, she sat down in front of the mirror.
She was brushing on eye-shadow when she became aware that he was watching her and she paused and stared back at him, her eyes wide and a little frightened.
`I don't know why you bother with all that stuff,' he remarked, coming closer. 'Your eyes don't need it. They're your most beautiful feature, you know that?—and that's really saying something.'
Edie's heart gave an unexpected and treacherous thump, but she managed a derisive smile.
`I wish you wouldn't mess around trying to flatter me. It's quite pointless. I'd far sooner you went downstairs to the bar or somewhere and waited for me there. I've used eye make-up for years and I like it,
`SO I'm to shut up? All right, all right, do as you please. God knows it will never do to quarrel on our
wedding day,' he said sardonically.
A minute later the door closed behind him and she was alone.
She took her time before she went downstairs to the lounge to join him.
They spoke to each other very little over their pre-dinner drinks, but the alcohol gave her at least a slight feeling that nothing mattered as much as she had thought, and by the time they went in to dinner she was more able to cope with the situation.
After dinner, they took a walk in the town. This inland city was as unlike Sydney—two and a half thousand kilometres away—as it could possibly be, and Edie was deeply aware of its isolation as she looked up at the sky bright with stars, and felt the warmth of the air flowing in from the vast plains and the desert scrublands. Drew talked pleasantly and impersonally, telling her that the mining of silver, lead, zinc and copper were responsible for the existence of this city, set in a district that was otherwise given over to the growing of beef cattle. They were facts that Edie had known before with her head only, but now, strolling along with Drew, she realised them on a different level, and had at the same time a strong sense of having cut herself off from a very distant past. All by rushing off quite crazily into the unknown to marry someone of whom she knew nothing.
But the strangest thing of all was that she had actually married him. And when Drew stopped to speak to a couple of men, casually introducing her as his wife, she looked at the newcomers through her lashes. They were both cattlemen, but very different from Drew, their faces so weather-beaten it was hard to guess their ages. She could have found herself married to a man like one of them, she thought. But now—she knew
she could not have faced it. As it was, she was married, and yet not married, to a man who appeared to belong to two worlds. At their first encounter, she had found nothing remotely resembling the cattleman about him. Since then—since then she had caught more than a glimpse of the other side of his character—the toughness, the ruthlessness, the disregard for the conventions that doubtless came from living the life he did.
These thoughts ran swiftly through her mind like little currents criss-crossing in a stream as she stood apart, not even trying to listen to what he and the other two men were saying. But when he took her arm and they were on their own again, she felt something in her relax. Which was—funny.
Back at the hotel he paused in the foyer to tell her, "Go on upstairs and get to bed, Alfreda. You look tired out. I shan't be up till later.'
She met his eyes. `Drew—' she began hesitantly. `What?'
She moved closer to him and spoke in a low voice though no one was about. 'You—you don't have to sleep on the floor. It's—a big bed.'
He gave her a slant-eyed look but said nothing, and after a second she turned and ran up the stairs, hoping desperately that he hadn't misunderstood her, and not sure why she'd said what she had. Except that it didn't seem fair—
Her pyjamas were short ones, white and sleeveless, with pink binding at the neck and the armholes. She'd never worn nightgowns and somehow she was glad of that tonight. She knew that lots of men slept naked and it was reassuring to see a pair of dark blue pyjamas on the chest. Belonging to Drew Sutton. Her—her husband.
She got into bed but left his reading light burning--
the one on the side nearest the door. She lay quite still for a moment, listening, then drew her left arm out from under the sheet and looked at the gold band on her finger. Her wedding ring. A ring that meant nothing—even though she had to share this room with a man tonight. And what about other nights? she wondered worriedly. At Dhoora Dhoora, would she sleep in the room she'd occupied before? Would it matter to Drew what Mrs Wilson might think? An image of his face floated into her mind—not only his face, but the whole of him. The broad shoulders, the narrow hips—his brown, long-fingered hands, whose strength she knew. They had been dusty yesterday, rough against her skin. She remembered with a burning intensity the way he had kissed her, and she could hear his voice saying, 'The way I feel right now I'm not inclined to wait.'
Oh God! She moved restlessly-.under the sheet as the shaming realisation came to her that the memory of it all was stirring those desires in her body that he had wakened when he'd held her the way he had, kissed her the way he had. She edged further over to her own side of the bed and wished she hadn't said he needn't sleep on the floor. Heaven knew what he had made of that. She knew his strength now, and worse, she knew her own weakness. 'It can't go on,' she thought on the verge of panic. At Dhoora Dhoora she would flatly refuse to share a room with him no matter who had to be convinced their marriage was a real one. To do so, night after night, would be impossible and quite unnecessary. 'If only—' she thought, but her conscious mind stopped there. If only what—she didn't know.
It must have been very late before he came into the room, for she didn't hear him, although she had lain awake so long she thought sleep would never come.
When she woke, it was light and she turned cautiously to discover that she was alone in the bed. On the floor, Drew Sutton was stretched out asleep. He wore pyjama pants, but his torso was naked and she could see the mat of golden brown hair on his chest. There was no pillow under his head and his smoky brown hair made a wave across his forehead and the line of his lips was relaxed and strangely softened.
Propped up on her elbow, Edie stared at him for a long time. It caused her an odd feeling of shame that he had slept all night on the floor, uncovered, with no mattress. Their wedding night. But it wasn't that sort of a wedding, she reminded herself impatiently.
She slipped out of bed, quietly gathered up some clothes, then shut herself up in the bathroom to shower and dress. Before she came back into the bedroom she stood with her hand on the door handle, listening. Was he awake? She hated the thought of bursting in on him unawares, yet to knock seemed absurd, and finally she opened the door.
He was standing by the window in his pyjama pants, and his grey eyes looked across at her with a quizzical laziness.
`You're dressed,' he said amusedly, and she caught her lip between her teeth. It was almost as if he had accused her of doing something she shouldn't have done—or something prudish.
`Yes,' she said coolly. 'The bathroom's all yours. II hope you didn't have a bad night,' she added after a second. 'You didn't have to sleep on the floor, you know.'
`No?' His glance slid over her, from her face to her feet, still bare. 'I wasn't quite sure what your—invitation meant, so I thought I'd better be on the safe side. I probably slept better on the floor, anyhow.'
`What do you mean?'
`What do you think I mean? Do you imagine if I'd been lying inches away from a girl with your attractions —in a big comfortable bed at that—I'd simply have closed my eyes and fallen asleep? I wouldn't, you know—'
`You should have booked separate rooms for us,' she said, her cheeks scarlet. 'Or—or we could have gone straight back to Dhoora Dhoora.'
`Ah—the haven of Dhoora Dhoora,' he said mockingly, slinging a bathtowel over one tanned shoulder. His pyjama pants hung low on his
hips and she raised her eyes, embarrassed, from the line of darkish hair that ran down the centre of his abdomen from below his navel. 'You feel you'll be quite safe there, do you?'
`I—I ought to be.' She tried to keep her voice cool and even. 'After all, it was you who set out the conditions for our marriage, Mr Sutton—though they weren't exactly what you implied in your advertisement.'
He came close to her and put his fingers under her chin, tilting her face up roughtly to compel her to look at him.
`Do you feel like changing the conditions, Edie?' he asked, his voice harsh.
She jerked away from him as though his touch—or his words—had burnt her. Change the conditions, just because he found it hard to keep his hands off her !— just so he could—sleep with her!
`The conditions suit me perfectly,' she flung at him. `I realize I made a silly mistake in coming here at all, but I'll—I'll help you out, and then I'll go ... Are you coming down to breakfast soon? I'm hungry—'
`I'll be ready in minutes,' he said, unmoved.
He went into the bathroom but he didn't close the
door. Edie put on her sandals, folded her clothes away, packed up her bag. She could hear the sound of the shower, and then his voice called, `Alfreda!'
Her heart jumped. Did he think she'd gone down to breakfast without him?
`I'm still here,' she said clearly. 'I'm packing up.'
`I know you're still there. I was wondering if you'd like to come out to the muster with me when we get back home.'
`What?' She had heard him perfectly but she'd been taken by surprise.
He said something else and this time she didn't catch it, and she said, 'What?' again.
`For God's sake, if you can't hear me, come to the door ... I asked how you'd feel about camping out for a couple of nights.'
Camping out—with the stockmen. Drew had turned the shower off and she stood where she was, in front of her open suitcase. She wasn't at all sure she'd like camping out with the stockmen, but couldn't it be better than the alternative?—staying alone in the house all day, being alone in the house at night with him—She turned, her mouth half open, ready to ask exactly what he meant, and discovered he had come into the bedroom, a towel around his hips, his body and hair still wet, and the sight of him so disconcerted her she forgot what she was going to say. She glanced away from him uneasily and he exclaimed impatiently, `Well? Did you hear what I asked you?'
`Yes, I heard—'
`Then?'
`I was—I was thinking about it. Did you mean—camping out with the men?'
`Sure I did.'
`And if I—don't camp out, will you?'
`No, of course not. I can't leave you at the homestead on your own all night. Not when we're just married,' he concluded sardonically.
She bit her lip. 'Then I'll camp out.'
`Great. That suits me,' he said almost grimly. He took a minute to gather up his clothes, then disappeared into the bathroom again.
CHAPTER FOUR
THEY were back at Dhoora Dhoora by late afternoon. The business of getting there had kept them on a nicely practical level as far as Edie was concerned, and by the time they reached Narrunga, where Drew had left his car, she was feeling desperately tired. It was a tiredness more emotional than physical, and yet it drained her as effectively as anything could have done, so that on the long drive to the station she was satisfied to sit back in a semi-conscious state, neither talking nor worrying.
Mrs Wilson's welcome at the homestead shocked her into full and uneasy consciousness. There were flowers everywhere and she had prepared a special celebration dinner that included wine—the latter possibly on Drew's instructions, Edie realized. Over dinner he raised his wine glass to Edie and toasted her—`To you, Mrs Sutton'—as he looked across the candlelight straight into her eyes.
Her glass halfway to her lips, she asked him coldly,
`Do we have to keep this up even when we're alone?'
The half smile in his eyes vanished instantly. 'Tell me the way you want it,' he said equally coldly, 'and I'll do my best to comply.'
Edie was silent, twisting and turning the long-stemmed glass, half closing her eyes and seeing it sparkle like crystals through the tangle of her long lashes.
`Well?' he persisted relentlessly.
How did she want it? She hadn't yet given herself sufficient time to think that out. But she did know that she felt suspicious of him—wary.
`You might try taking the situation in good part, at least,' he said, 'seeing you got yourself into it. Forget whatever it is that's turned you sour on the deal—my duplicity, or however it is you think of my tactics for getting myself a wife. I did give you a chance to renege, you might remember—and you didn't take it, did you? I don't really know why not, if you're determined on being hard to get on with now.' He paused, and she thought he was talking sense, yet she resented having him do so in that particular way. Besides, she couldn't look at things as dispassionately as he seemed to. What girl could, with a man so handsome and virile sitting opposite her at a candlelit dinner table? How could she help suspecting deep in her heart that if she started being too friendly, he might take advantage of it? And when she began to think that way, she was brought back to the absurd realization that she had come here, of her own volition, to marry a stranger.
He, of course, had had no such intentions.
She stirred uneasily and told him, `I—I don't mean to be hard to get on with.'
`You don't? You're going to get into the spirit of the game?'
She tried to smile and wished she didn't find it so enticing to look into his grey eyes and try to read what was going on in his head. She wished too that she didn't feel that undeniable shiver of physical pleasure every time her glance rested on the strong curving line of his lips, the fall of hair across his very masculine forehead. If only he could have been the lean, rangy cattleman she had conjured up in her mind before she came here, she wouldn't be so disconcerted. She could have dealt with a lean rangy cattleman. Though she was far from sure that she'd have married him .
Drew was tackling his dinner, but raised his head to advise, 'I suggest we come to terms—make the best of it, anyhow.'
What did that mean? Edie wondered cynically. If she were pleasant, friendly, heaven knew where it would all end. The fact was, she had taken his name, given him legal rights, and she was in a very physical way completely at his mercy. Physical superiority was probably a thing a man took very much for granted, and he wouldn't know how it could intimidate a girl who had only her guile to use when it came to fighting back. And Edie was far from sure she had enough guile to deal with Drew Sutton.
She raised her eyes and said unevenly, 'I'm prepared to make the best of it according to our agreement.'
His eyebrows rose. 'I wouldn't dream of suggesting anything else. But I take it you're still happy about coming out to the camp with me tomorrow?'
Yes, she was still happy about that, though it wasn't quite the way she would have put it herself.
`Then eat up,' he said with a tone of finality. 'You'll have to get yourself a good night's sleep. We'll be leaving at first light in the morning.'
Edie nodded. She tried to enjoy the chicken and its
delectable sauce that Mrs Wilson had evidently gone to some trouble to prepare. It was followed by fresh fruit salad and cream, and after that it was Drew who made the coffee, telling her as he handed her a cup, `Don't drink too much and keep yourself awake ! You'd better get your gear ready before you go to bed—jeans, shirts, a change of underwear—a swimming costume if you like. Bundle it all up and give it to me in the morning and I'll shove it in with the bedding.'
`Shall we—shall I be sleeping in a tent?' she asked. `Sure you will, you'll be really pampered, seeing it's your honeymoon,' he said lightly.
She smiled, but she wasn't really amused, and she drank her coffee down thinking that Barb was probably wondering what was happening to her in western Queensland. Her eyes would fall out
of her head if she knew—but somehow Edie didn't think she was going to give her the facts. She'd have to write, she supposed, but she hadn't the least idea what she was going to say ...
`It's all quite crazy,' she wrote that night before she got into bed, safe and secluded in the room where she had slept before. 'I've married him, but don't worry, it's not really a marriage at all.' She stopped and chewed at the end of her pen, caught the elusive perfume of roses drifting in from the garden and felt suddenly too languorous to go on writing—elaborating on this mad tale that Barb would find quite unbelievable anyhow. What was the use of writing a letter in any case? She had no idea when she could post it, particularly as they were going out to the muster camp tomorrow.
Edie Asher going out to the muster camp, she mused. Sleeping out. Because of this—this man in her life.
Suddenly she became aware of the silence, of the fact that there were only two people in this big house in the outback—herself and Drew Sutton, her—husband. She got up restlessly from her chair. The letter to Barb would have to wait. She stood listening, something in her urging her to leave her room, to look for Drew. But why? Was it because the silence was unnerving? Or was there another reason?
She didn't go and look for him. Instead, she crossed the room and locked the door. Then she undressed slowly, conscious as she had never been before of her virginal white skin, her untouched breasts. Remembering without willing it the way Drew's eyes looked at her, the feel of his hard body against her own. And then, as she got into bed, she thought of him—last night—sleeping on the floor beside her bed. The thumb of her left hand rubbed against the ring he had given her, the ring that had made her Mrs Drew Sutton.
`Do you feel like changing the conditions, Edie?' he had asked her.
`No,' she heard herself say aloud, and she added beneath her breath, 'It's just that I'm—feeling lonely.'