Walkabout Wife

by Dorothy Cork

  By now he had slipped down the narrow straps of

  her dress, and his fingers were on her bare skin and she was too stirred to pull away. Why stop him—why not let him go on? she asked herself, her thoughts blurring. They were married—legally married. They—they didn't have to part as soon as the marriage had served its purpose. He—he wanted a wife—a family. Yet going to bed with him was no guarantee they wouldn't part. The arrangement was that he'd give her a suitable monetary reward when she'd fulfilled her contract—and if it was generous enough, he just might feel it covered certain things that hadn't initially been included in that contract.

  Of course, he'd make sure she didn't get pregnant, she found herself thinking insanely.

  He twisted her round gently and held her close against him, then bending his head he began kissing her, long and deliciously and drowningly, and she stopped thinking altogether. The passion of his kiss spread through her body like the green tendrils of a swiftly growing vine, and all her nerves leapt to life and some sensual yet mystic communication seemed to pass from him to her. Edie wanted him never to let her go. All she wanted in life was that he should gather her closer and closer and carry her away to some bed of roses ...

  A second later, he pulled her down on the lounger and she could hear the cane squeaking and groaning as it received their weight. For a long moment, she was crushed beneath his body while his kiss went on and his hands caressingly explored her bare skin.

  She had just dimly become aware of the disturbing fact that something hard was pressing against her shoulder blade when Drew lifted his mouth from hers and raising his body away from hers, set his feet on the floor. He straightened himself and stood upright, his hands on his lean hips, his hair dishevelled. She saw the

  flash of his teeth as he laughed deep in his throat and remarked, 'Oh God, Edie, here we go again ! I can't make love to you like this—it's hopeless, really hopeless. Come to bed.'

  She lay looking up at him, disturbed by his laughter, by his withdrawal, by his ability to break into their lovemaking this way—when she would have gone on oblivious, even though she'd become aware of physical discomfort.

  He reached out a hand to her, but she didn't take it. She slipped the straps of her dress back into place and pulled her skirt down over her knees, sitting up as she did so. How much of a fool was he making of her? And how weak was she being to want him to make love to her when he hadn't gone back on his assertion it was to be a short-term marriage?

  Half of her—more than half of her—didn't care, but with her head lowered she told him huskily, 'I'm—going to drink my coffee. And you said—you said we'd dance.'

  There was a little silence, and she glanced quickly up at him and saw a nerve move in his jaw.

  `I'm sorry, I guess I've been too precipitate. I was forgetting I have to woo you—even if we are married ... We'll have our coffee—and we'll dance, if that's how you want it.'

  He vanished into the sitting room and she pushed back her long dark hair and got up dazedly to reach for her coffee. She heard the music begin, but it was a couple more minutes before Drew came back with two tiny glasses and a squat bottle.

  `I hope the coffee's not cold. I thought you might like a liqueur with it.'

  `Yes, I'd like that.' Edie tried to sound poised and at her ease, but she felt desperately uncertain of herself

  and she almost jumped out of her skin when he asked her conversationally, as he handed her one of the glasses that he'd filled, 'You've slept with a man before, of course, Edie?'

  She had taken a large sip of the liqueur brandy and she almost choked on it. 'No, I—I haven't,' she said, avoiding his eyes. She knew her answer was not the one he'd expected, for she could feel him staring at her.

  `Good God,' he said slowly at last. 'Is that the truth? You really haven't? You're not telling me that in case I'm shocked or disappointed or something?'

  She shook her head and swallowed hard. `I—never wanted to—' She stopped. She wasn't used to talking about this sort of thing, and the eyes she raised to his were unconsciously wide and innocent.

  `You wanted to last night, didn't you?' he said softly. `You wanted to five minutes ago. Why, Edie?'

  Why? Edie's head swam. How could she tell him why when she didn't know why herself ?—except that he had somehow made her want him. She couldn't even ask him why he had done that. She looked at him dumbly and took another mouthful of the liqueur. Their eyes held as he drained first his coffee cup and-then his glass. He held out his arms to her.

  `Well, never mind ... Shall we dance?'

  She hesitated, then with a feeling of helplessness let him pull her into his arms.

  He held her close against him and bent his cheek to her hair as they danced, but she knew she was waiting for something more, that her body was hungry for his touch. The liqueur had gone to her head and she was unsteady enough on her feet to have to cling to him, so that she was dizzyingly aware of the warmth of his body, the scent of his aftershave lotion, the talc he used ...

  It was a shock to discover the music had ended and that Drew was releasing her.

  Drew looked down at her and said with a smile that was almost formal, 'That was delightful.'

  Had it been? Edie stared at him—questioningly, half expectantly.

  He made a slight movement towards her, then his hand fell to his side, and his mouth and eyes were serious as he told her, 'I think it's time you went off to bed.'

  `You', he had said. So he meant she was to go—alone. She felt a blind flash of hatred for him. It was like a slap in the face—a snub. Why? she wanted to ask. Why? But in a low voice, she wished him goodnight and walked away, feeling herself just a little off balance.

  In her room she lay on the bed and wept out her frustration and hated herself instead of him Because she shouldn't feel this way. But why had he changed? Why? She said the words aloud, thumping her pillow futilely. Because she was a virgin? And if it was because of that, then it was obvious it hadn't even occurred to him that they might make their marriage a real one—one that would last way beyond the time covered by the terms of their contract.

  She, Edie Asher—no, Edie Sutton—she'd have been willing to make it a real marriage. She'd fought against the thought, but she was ready to admit to it now. Though only to herself.

  In the morning. Drew told her, 'We're going over to the outstation today. Damien contacted me over the transceiver—he wants my opinion on some problem he has.' _ 'You—you go,' Edie told him shakily, her eyes

  darkly shadowed from a troubled night. 'You don't have to take me along.'

  `I damned well do,' he said, his voice suddenly hard. `Dame and Mickie know about my marriage. They want to meet you and I want them to meet you.'

  She didn't believe him. There was no reason why he should want his friends to meet her. Besides, she wasn't ready to meet anybody herself. She raised her eyes cautiously to his. Was she in love with him? She'd better not be—

  They were in the small breakfast nook off the kitchen. Drew had awakened her and she'd dressed and come out to breakfast, surprised he hadn't already left the homestead. She had been deeply asleep after a long restless night, and a little resentful at being recalled from dreams that were at least more comfortable than reality. Now, looking at the hard implacability of his face, she knew there was no way she could get out of going to the outstation with him, and she got up from the table without saying anything and began to stack up the dishes.

  `Leave that,' he said sharply. 'The girls can do it. It doesn't matter about the rest of the house. I want you to get yourself ready right away—we've a long rough drive ahead of us.'

  A long rough drive. It needed only that. Edie's head was throbbing, her eyes felt burnt out. Had he even noticed? She doubted it, as she hurriedly tidied her room, straightening the disordered bed that bore witness to the bad night she'd put in. She looked a mess too—and all because of him. It could have-been so different this morning, she found herself thinking. But beca
use she was a virgin—because she hadn't given her body to anyone else—he had refused it. Yet shouldn't she be glad? Of course she should be. But she wasn't.

  She wanted him badly. She wanted him to—to need her, and somewhere deep within her heart she was convinced that if she became his wife—really his wife —she could make him love her. As she would love him. As she had already begun to love him, in spite of everything.

  A tear splashed on the back of her hand and she wiped it away furiously.

  She had dressed rather hurriedly when he'd called her, pulling on white jeans and a white T-shirt printed with flowers across the front, and now she, wondered if she should change, seeing she was going to be presented to the people at the outstation as Drew's wife. But he'd told her to hurry, so perhaps she wouldn't bother. She looked at herself doubtfully in the glass—a pathetic-looking girl with tear-stained black-shadowed eyes, and not a vestige of sophistication. It was ironic that, because she was the way she was, and hadn't slept around, she had been rejected by her husband. It was even more ironic that she should feel about Drew the way she did, when she had picked him blindfolded.

  `You poor little virgin,' she told herself pityingly, then swiftly put on her big sunglasses and ran out of the room.

  Drew had already driven the station wagon out of the garage, and in less than a minute she was installed beside him and they were on their way.

  They had driven some distance in silence when he asked, 'How are you feeling this morning?'

  Edie tensed. She was feeling rotten—absolutely rotten—and she was sure she looked it. She told him brightly, 'Fine, thanks. And you?'

  `Well, how would you expect?'

  `I—I have no idea,' she said, disconcerted.

  `Then take note—I'm feeling virtuous,' he said with an ironic quirk to his mouth. 'I can't say I slept well last night, Edie. In fact, I did a lot of thinking.'

  `About—what?'

  `You, of course. Us.'

  Her nerves began to tingle. 'And—and what conclusion did you reach?' she asked with difficulty.

  `If you want to know, I reached the conclusion I've been behaving damned badly. I've been pretty rough on you, especially when you consider that the sort of thing I've been doing just wasn't included in the deal we made. It's a conclusion you've possibly reached yourself long ago,' he went on, 'and I can only excuse my behaviour on the grounds that I took certain things about you for granted. The plain fact is, however, that I've done my best to break faith with you.'

  He paused and she glanced through the window, and without really taking it in, saw two kangaroos bounding along gracefully by the fence. She realized that what he had taken for granted was that she had slept with other men, but mainly she was pondering the fact that he was apologizing for his behaviour. Obviously, he hadn't the least idea how she felt about him.

  Dry-lipped, her heart thudding, she stammered out, `You—you said human emotions were more important than conditions

  She saw him smile faintly.

  `I know I said that. When a man's passion is aroused, he's likely to say almost anything to justify himself,' he said ironically. 'But I suspect you're being sarcastic. I guess you must see me as something of a male chauvinist pig.' She uttered a sound of protest, but he silenced her. 'Oh yes, I'm aware I've ignored your feelings completely—I admit it. I've said it before, but you're not at all the sort of girl I expected to answer an

  ad like mine.' He was silent as he steered the car deftly through clumps of long spinifex grass—he appeared to have abandoned the wheel tracks they were following, and she thought he must be taking some short cut of his own. 'I really don't quite know what to do with you now,' he resumed presently. 'If you weren't innocent, it would be a great deal simpler,' he concluded almost to himself.

  Why? Edie wondered, and the insane idea came into her mind to say, 'I wasn't telling you the truth—I'm not innocent, I'm not a virgin.' She halted on the brink of the lie. Wouldn't he soon find out it wasn't true? Didn't it—hurt the first time if the man wasn't —considerate? And if he thought she'd had a lover before, he wouldn't be all that considerate. He was too passionate; she knew that already. Besides, everything else apart, something in her revolted at telling such a lie—especially, paradoxically, to Drew ...

  `I rather think,' he drawled into her troubled thoughts after an interval of several minutes, 'that I'll have to devise some rigid scheme to force me to keep my hands off you. Have you any suggestions, Edie?'

  Edie shook her head. She didn't want him to keep his hands off her. What didn't seem to occur to him was that they could agree to make their marriage a marriage for keeps, after all. But perhaps he was sounding her out—giving her an opportunity to make the suggestion herself, if she wanted it that way. Her mind flashed back briefly to the day following their marriage. He had asked her, in the hotel bedroom, if she felt like changing the conditions, and she'd said they suited her perfectly, that she'd made a mistake in coming to Dhoora Dhoora to meet him at all. So now—

  She swallowed hard and said with difficulty, `Couldn't we just—change the conditions, Drew?'

  `What?'

  They were crossing the dry sandy bed of a river and the honey-sweet scent of gum blossoms mingled with the smell of dust as Drew braked suddenly in the shade of the gums and swung round in his seat to give her his full attention. 'Exactly what do you mean, Edie Asher?'

  Edie Asher? But wasn't she Edie Sutton? If that was how she had begun to see herself, he evidently saw her differently, and the very fact that he had used her maiden name shook what little confidence she had. She couldn't tell him what she meant, after all. She couldn't propose what she was proposing. Besides, he knew—surely he knew—

  His silvery grey eyes narrowed as he moved one hand to lift the concealing sunglasses from her eyes and push them up into her hair. Then he said with a deadly seriousness, 'Do you by any chance mean you're willing to be my wife—for us to sleep together—to procreate?'

  Edie thought she'd die of embarrassment. She felt exactly as if she'd been as explicit as he had. Her eyes felt so naked she didn't know what they might tell him if she allowed him to look into them much longer, and in self-defence, she lowered her lashes. She should have kept quiet. She should have forced him, subtly, to be the one to suggest they change the conditions, if only so he could make an honest woman of her. The rather ridiculous phrase floated into her mind and for a second she wanted to laugh hysterically. Instead, she tipped the sunglasses back on to her nose and said nothing—and hoped Drew didn't know what an emotional turmoil she was in.

  He moved his shoulders, rubbed his chin, and then he said slowly, 'It's a pretty serious decision to make,

  Alfreda. After all, we're virtually strangers—even if I have made a couple of very heavy passes at you. Life in the outback is hard in many ways still—I can't deny it. It's certainly not the life you've been used to, and as you said yourself the other day, it's lonely out here. Damnably lonely, sometimes.'

  Yes, she had said that, and she couldn't gainsay it. But hadn't his answer been that a woman could be happy having her man come home to her at sundown? She couldn't remind him of that, though. She'd gone far enough already—too far, perhaps, in blatantly offering herself to him when it was true they were strangers. She wished she knew what he was really thinking—then decided it might be as well she didn't.

  He was scowling now, his brows drawn down, his eyes narrowed to mere slits as he stared into the glare of the sun beyond their little patch of shade. Her own nerves were quivering by the time he turned back to her to say, 'You're tempting me almost unendurably, Edie, do you know that? It would be just too damned easy to say, We're married, let's get on with it and forget the way it all began. But I think—I really think—we ought to get to know each other better, forget all about being married, admit we're—well, how shall I put it?—mutually attracted to each other physically, and take it from there. Not rush our fences. That way, we might sort ourselves out honourably. It's not going t
o be easy,' he finished, his eyes going to her lips, 'but if you like, we'll give it a try.'

  Edie didn't answer immediately. She found her eyes tangled with his, and it was more the way he was looking at her than the rational-sounding things he was saying that made a wild happiness rise up in her heart. Suddenly, everything looked different. Her headache

  had gone, the mists were clearing, and she said on a sigh, 'Yes, let's—give it a try.'

  Two black and white magpies materialized from the stiff grass on the river bank and flew off together, and she and Drew smiled at each other. Then he started up the motor and drove on.

  The sun had grown hot, and soon Edie slept a little as though some problem that had troubled her had been solved.

  She didn't wake until, unconsciously registering that the car had come to a halt, she opened her eyes and found someone standing not far from the car window, and a pair of hazel eyes regarding her. It was a girl with short-cut red-gold hair and a boyish figure, a girl who looked to be somewhere in her mid-twenties. A few feet away, Drew stood talking to a man—chunky, bearded, probably younger than he looked. He had laconic blue eyes and a casual yet intelligent air, and he sent Edie a nod and a smile.

  Still a little dazed from sleep, she got stiffly from the station wagon, glancing about her as she did so. Tall trees, a gate, a garden—a couple of dogs. A slightly shabby biggish bungalow—the home where Drew had spent his childhood—

  Drew moved towards her, took her arm, made the introductions. 'My wife, Edie—Mickie and Damien Shaw.' Smiles, friendliness, a veiled but positive interest in Drew Sutton's bride.

  Mickie said cheerfully, 'Come on inside—dinner's just about ready.' She and Edie went ahead into the house. An open door led straight into the living room where an electric fan whirred in the ceiling. There was the faint and tantalising smell of roast beef, and Edie felt pleasantly hungry. She had worried about meeting the people at the outstation, but now she was beginning