by Tony Parsons
Digging the ground and preparing the soil was hot work and Steele was unaccustomed to it. After a while, he walked over to the spring where he’d left an enamel mug. The water bubbled up out of the ground and ran down a furrow to the creek. It was very cold and tasted like no water Steele had ever drunk. He marvelled that he had such a supply of spring water on his land; it was a big plus for the property. He turned to go back to his embryonic garden and there she was. Rather, there they were, Billy and a woman who had to be his mother.
“This is me mum, Mr Clay,” Billy said by way of introduction.
“I’m Lilly,” the woman said. Her voice was soft and sweet, seductively sweet, and it seemed to Steele that it was in keeping with her appearance, which was not exactly as he’d imagined. Steele had mixed with quite a lot of young women, some of whom had imagined they were hot stuff; Lilly Sanders was up there with the best of them. In fact, she was one of the most physical females Steele had ever encountered. It was there in her eyes, her smile and the way she moved. She was wearing tight jeans, a cream blouse and elastic-sided boots. There was a red ribbon in her dark hair and she was wearing long red earrings. The cream blouse didn’t entirely cover her cleavage, or the swell of her not inconsiderable breasts and she had a beautiful figure to go with the rest of her. Lissom was how Steele would have described her. Sensual. He had some idea of how she might have looked at sixteen when Billy’s schoolboy father couldn’t resist her. Nor, it seemed, had she wanted him to.
“Hello, Lilly, I’m Clay,” Steele said after his momentary appraisal of her.
“Billy caught a couple of fish and I’ve brought you one… and a cake. I thought you might like a cake,” she said, her voice a throaty purr.
Steele noted that she was carrying a small bag made from some woven material. He also noted that her skin was very much like Billy’s, kind of creamy and with just enough colour that it couldn’t be described as fair. Lilly’s eyes were like Billy’s too… brown and warm.
“That’s very nice of you, Lilly. We should sample some of it. I’ve just begun working on what is going to be my vegetable garden and I could do with a drink and some cake,” Steele said politely.
“Billy could dig that garden for you, Mr Clay. If you’ve been sick, you shouldn’t do heavy work,” she said.
Steele wondered how she knew he’d been ill because he hadn’t told Billy. Perhaps Josh had told him because Billy had always been very anxious to help him.
“I want to do it, Lilly. You see, I’ve never had the opportunity and now I have. I want to grow my own vegetables and herbs. But Billy can do some digging for me if he’s so inclined,” Steele said with a smile.
They walked up to the house where Steele washed his hands at a tap and basin at the back of the veranda and then shepherded mother and son up the steps and into the kitchen. He took down a plate from the dresser and handed it to Lilly. “For the fish,” he said.
Lilly took the fish from her bag, put it on the plate and took it to the refrigerator.
Steele shook his head. She wasn’t exactly a young girl, by his reckoning in her late twenties, but she really was a work of art.
“Would you like tea or coffee, Lilly?”
“Coffee, thank you, Mr Clay. I’ll cut up the cake if you like,” she said.
“Be my guest. You’ll find a knife in the dresser. You can make the coffee to suit your taste. I drink fruit juice. What will you have, Billy?” Steele asked.
“I’ll have fruit juice too if it’s all right with you, Mr Clay,” Billy said.
“Of course, it’s all right, Billy,” Steele said and touched the boy lightly on his shoulder.
The three of them sat at Steele’s big table and ate cake. Lilly eyed the computer at the other end of the table between quick glances around the kitchen. “I like what you’ve done with the pantry,” she said warmly.
Josh had made an arched opening from the kitchen into the pantry which added to the kitchen’s appeal. “There’s not much in there yet,” Steele said. “One day, I hope to have it well stocked. You can’t see from here but there are bins down the left side for potatoes, onions and the like.”
“Oh, I must see,” Lilly said and swayed her way into the pantry where she stood and examined the lidded bins. “What a good idea, Mr Clay.”
“I copied the idea from a pantry in Provence,” Steele told her.
“Provence?” she murmured with lifted eyebrows as she resumed her seat at the table.
“Provence in France,” he said. “They’re very big on food in France. They do wonderful things with vegetables because they don’t have the meat we do. They do have pork, chicken and fish and the way they present them is really something.” Lilly was already presenting herself to him as a character for one of his future books. She was wearing quite ordinary clothes but the way she moved suggested she was modelling a new outfit on a catwalk.
“Can I show Mum me guitar?” Billy asked. His voice broke in on Steele’s guarded appraisal of his mother. He’d just realised that Lilly was very well-spoken and he wondered why she hadn’t picked Billy up on his speech.
“Of course, you can, Billy. It’s in my bedroom,” Steele said.
Billy almost ran for the guitar, brought it back and thrust it at his mother.
Lilly took the guitar from its case and inspected it. She plucked at the strings, tightened one a little and then began to play in earnest. Presently, she began to hum and then to sing. It was not a song Steele had ever heard; it was a love song and he thought Lilly sang it beautifully. She had a very tuneful, melodious voice and she wasn’t at all shy about using it. Billy sat and watched her, his eyes glowing with pride.
“Come on, Billy, you know this one,” she said.
So Billy sang with his mother and Steele sat, watched and listened. He gained more pleasure from their singing than he’d experienced from anything for a long time. It was as if both of them had been born to sing; they did it so well and so naturally. He had a very good idea that most boys of Billy’s age couldn’t be prevailed upon to sing for love or money.
“Nice guitar, Mr Clay,” Lilly said eventually. “Billy is a lucky boy to have you for a friend.” She got up and swayed her way through the house. “You’ve got this very nice now. I never thought I’d see the old cottage come back to life. But it’s better now than it ever was. It never had floors like you’ve got them, nor any of the electrical things. Never had electricity. It was lamps. And it never had water laid on from the creek.” And then, “You got oil to cook that fish, Mr Clay?”
“Yes, I have oil, Lilly,” Steele said.
“The fish from here need stuffing to give them some flavour. You got anything like that?” she asked.
“I have some dried herbs and some garlic. I’m used to cooking, Lilly. Before long, I hope to have my own fresh herbs. I’ll put them in as soon as I get the garden ready,” Steele said.
“You get Billy to do the garden for you. He owes you a lot for that guitar. You can grow good melons here. They grow really well along this creek. We have lots of them, don’t we, Billy?”
“Lots,” Billy agreed.
“That’s something to look forward to,” Steele said.
Lilly’s eyes met his. “We better go, Billy,” she said with some reluctance.
“Thanks for the cake and the fish, Lilly. It’s good to know I have a nice neighbour. And I’ve told Billy he can come and play his guitar any time he feels like it,” Steele said encouragingly.
“You surely wouldn’t want Billy twanging away while you’re writing, Mr Clay,” she said.
“One day, I’m going to get Josh to build me an outside study near the old outhouse. Nothing flash, just somewhere I can work out of the house sometimes. If I’m there, Billy can play in the house and if I’m in the house, he can play in the study. Until it’s built, I’m sure we’ll manage just fine,” Steele said.
Lilly giggled and her brown eyes gleamed with humour. “How funny, to use the dunny.” It was Steele’s f
irst experience of how skilled she was in making up rhymes and composing songs. He was soon to learn that she could make up a rhyme at the drop of a hat.
“I don’t like pulling it down but it looks horrible and might fall down before too long. But I want to keep the bougainvillea,” Steele said.
“You’re a good man, Mr Clay, and you’ve been real nice to Billy. You let him help you as much as he can,” Lilly said, brushing up against Steele as she moved past him. Her eyes met his, lingering, and then she swept away.
As Lilly swayed up the drive, Steele thought that Lilly’s backside, shown to advantage in tight jeans, was about as perfect as a woman’s backside could be. She wasn’t a lavish user of perfume, as there was only a faint trace of it left behind after she’d gone, but her offer remained as clear as if she’d spoken the words aloud.
“See ya, Mr Clay,” Billy said.
It was very quiet in the house after his visitors had left. Steele thought he could now better understand why Dooley Davis went off his brain about Lilly being near other men. Lilly exuded sex. She didn’t have to work at it; it was there as part of her makeup, as natural as breathing. Whatever she’d been like at sixteen, she was dynamite now. Lilly was the kind of woman some men would do almost anything to possess. But as desirable and as provocative as she was, Lilly’s overt sensuality would only serve to attract the kind of men who would never do anything for her because they would only want what she could give them. And they would use her because she had so much to give.
And he wondered how Dooley Davis could bear to leave her.
Chapter Six
Steele soon slipped into a comfortable schedule that allowed him to write several hours a day. He’d work in his garden quite early before the day became too hot, often prior to breakfast, and then move inside to write. After lunch, he’d swim in the creek and then spend an hour or so with a book before going back to his writing. Just before dusk, he’d go for a walk to work up an appetite for dinner. He very much liked the hour or so before darkness set in. An hour when dusk’s soft light draped his land in a misty sheen.
It was on one of these walks that he saw Lilly again. She was sitting on a low divan on the front veranda of her house reading a magazine. It was the first time he’d walked in this direction and he hadn’t realised that her house was so close to his or that it was so near to the road. Her house was what was generally referred to as ‘a Queenslander’ which meant that it was built well clear of the ground with perhaps a dozen steps up to the veranda. It was so well clear of the ground that a tall person could walk around under it and not bump his head, which made it a good area for drying clothes in wet weather or for use as a workshop.
“Hi, Mr Clay,” Lilly called to him in her sultry voice. When she stood up, he saw that she was wearing very tiny yellow shorts with a matching bra top and she was barefooted. The way she descended the steps to the ground had to be seen to be believed. Her hips swayed rhythmically and her breasts heaved as she breathed. “How was the fish?” she asked as she came nearer to him.
“Very tasty, Lilly. I stuffed it with tomatoes and onions,” Steele said apprehensively. The last thing he wanted was to be seen talking to the half-naked Lilly. Not that Lilly appeared concerned about her appearance or the fact that she was talking to him, but Steele was aware from what Josh had told him how fast gossip travelled in the bush. And at that precise moment, a car went past and the male driver’s eyes swivelled at right angles to take in Lilly talking to a man across her fence. ‘Damage done’, Steele thought.
“Where’s Billy?” Steele asked.
“Doing his homework, Mr Clay. How’s the garden coming along?”
“Nicely, thank you. I work at it before it gets too hot.”
“Get Billy to do any hard digging, Mr Clay.”
“He’s done a little bit. Well, I’d better be going. See you again, Lilly,” Steele hesitated. “I wasn’t aware you lived so close,” he added as an afterthought.
“And now you do,” Lilly said warmly. “How’s the writing going?”
His neighbour seemed disinclined to terminate their conversation but Steele had no wish to prolong their discussion. He saw no profit in discussing writing with Lilly dressed as she was. “Fine thanks,” he said and turned towards home. “Bye, Lilly. Say hi to Billy for me.”
Steele walked back to his restored dwelling with some apprehension. He now knew that Billy and his mother lived not more than half a kilometre from him. While you couldn’t see Lilly’s house because of the intervening bush, that didn’t alter the fact that it was there. Billy was a nice, young fellow and he was quite fond of him, but Lilly was another matter. Lilly spelt trouble with a capital T. She might not mean to cause it but she was the kind of woman that trouble followed. And once a man had sampled what she had to offer, she would be hard to forget. Steele wondered once again – bearing in mind what Josh had told him about Dooley Davis – how any man, let alone a jealous one, could bear to leave Lilly Sanders for any period. It would have to be because of financial necessity. Life in the shearing sheds would be very dull for a fellow who’d been used to living with Lilly Sanders.
It was perhaps a fortnight after he’d had his chance meeting with Lilly that Dooley Davis made his initial appearance. He arrived in a cream Holden utility liberally coated with red dust and Steele stood on his front veranda waiting for Davis to get out of his vehicle. Steele guessed it was his neighbour because Josh had called in late the previous day and passed on the news that Dooley Davis was back from the sheds. He had some trepidation about the reason for the visit but was prepared to be neighbourly if Davis behaved reasonably.
Steele waited at the top of the steps and watched his caller as he walked from the utility. Steele’s first impression was of a slim man with dark hair that was mostly hidden under an old wide-brimmed black hat ornamented with a band of red leather. As Davis came up the steps, he noted that he was slightly darker skinned than either Billy or his mother and his brown eyes shifted about a lot. Davis wore a pair of faded blue jeans with a short-sleeved navy shirt and his elastic-sided boots were badly in need of a polish.
“G’day. I’m Dooley Davis. I live next to ya,” the shearer said.
“I’m Clay,” Steele said and put out his hand.
“Yeah, I know. Billy told me. He said he’s been helpin’ ya.”
“That’s right. Billy’s been a big help here. Especially, when we were demolishing the old building,” Steele said equably.
“The old place looks pretty good now. Bloody good, in fact,” Davis said.
“I can’t offer you a beer because I don’t drink but you can have tea or coffee. Or orange juice,” Steele said.
“That’s bloody decent of ya. I wouldn’t say ‘no’ to a drink o’ tea. I drink a lot of tea in the sheds,” Davis said.
“You won’t come to any harm on tea,” Steele suggested.
Steele took him through the house and sat him at the kitchen table and Davis looked about with interest. The shearer had hardly believed it when he heard that the old cottage was being restored. Now, it was hard to come to terms with the fact that he was sitting in the restored dwelling.
Steele observed Davis with some interest, though without appearing to do so. The fellow was quite good-looking with nice features except for those eyes which shifted about continually. Steele had doubts about a man who wouldn’t look at him directly. He wondered if Dooley Davis was the kind of man who was passable when sober but a bad man when drunk.
“How’s the shearing business?” Steele asked.
“It’s orl right. I can keep most of the other blokes honest. I do me two hundred and a bit in good sheep.” And then, quite abruptly, “Lilly been down here?”
“She and Billy came together after we finished the house,” Steele said.
“You seen her since?” Davis asked.
“I saw her over her fence when I took a walk up the road. I only walked that way once because I don’t want people getting the wrong idea…
me a single man and Lilly up there on her own. I realise how people like to gossip in the country,” Steele said. He thought the best way to deal with Davis was to be absolutely up-front with him.
Davis looked at him sharply and then at the biscuits Steele slid onto a plate.
“People will talk, won’t they?”
“Too bloody right they will,” Davis agreed. And then in the next breath, “What made you buy this place?”
“I’m a writer and I thought it was perfect for my purposes. It’s very quiet and it’s a lovely spot into the bargain. There’s also some history attached to the place. I didn’t know that when I bought it but I’m aware of it now. It simply appealed to me, Dooley,” Steele said.
“I getcha. Lilly mention me?” Davis asked.
“Not a word. I’ve only met her twice,” Steele said firmly.
“What about Billy? He say anything to ya about me?”
“Billy doesn’t say much about anything… unless it’s something about music. He had a black eye the first time he came here and he said you gave it to him,” Steele said. He thought it wouldn’t hurt to let Davis know he knew about the black eye.
Davis sipped his tea, ate a biscuit and said nothing for a little while. “How’d ya get on with Josh Evans?” he then asked out of the silence.
“I got on very well with him. We never had a cross word. I think Josh did a great job putting the old place back up the way I wanted it.”