‘You can forget that.’ Mark pulled at the brace. ‘I don’t need hospitalising. I had a bump on the head but there’s nothing wrong with my mental processes. As for my foot, the boot protected it so I reckon it’s just a bad bruise. Come tomorrow I’ll know if any bones have been broken and if they have I’ll deal with it then.’ He grabbed the vehicle’s bodywork and pulled himself to his feet, taking a tentative limping step. ‘See, good as new.’ His foot, now bare, was red and swollen, his limp, unsurprisingly, much intensified. He wobbled a bit and sat back down, casting a regretful eye at the boot Sandra had cut off. ‘Might as well toss that,’ he said moving his head stiffly to look around. ‘Where’s that blasted kid? You didn’t give him permission to take the bike out, did you Orla?’
‘Of course not! What happened?’
‘I was heading into town and he’s suddenly there on the road in front of me. Standing on the pedals, chucking wheelies like he’s the only vehicle in the paddock. Then he pulled her round in too tight an arc and lost control. He was heading straight for me; I never looked, just yanked the wheel to get clear, and I’m guessing I ran the front wheel up onto the rock there and she tipped on me. It all happened in a flash, and the next thing I knew you were there.’ For the first time I noticed the hefty boulder half hidden by the bulk of the vehicle. It must have been responsible for the damage to the driver’s door. Mark lifted a hand to rub his neck, then rose circumspectly and limped slowly across to where the abandoned bike was mashed up against the mulga. Mindful of his bare foot he skirted the headlight glass, shaking his head as he viewed the bike. ‘Jesus! Both eyes gone and he’s buckled the front too.’
‘S’worse than that.’ Roger had followed him over and was squatting to peer at the workings beneath it. ‘Look here. The tie rod’s sheered off.’ He sucked his teeth. ‘Hitting the tree would do it. Want me to chuck it on the truck and take it in?’
Mark swore again. ‘I suppose you’d better. How long before it’s fixed?’
‘Have to send for the part, new lights, see if we can pull that bend out of her . . . say a week?’
‘Okay. Give us a ring if you find more damage.’
He swayed a little then and I grabbed his arm. ‘Roger will see to it, Mark. You’re coming home now. You might be fine but you ought to be resting.’ I glanced at the Brigsons. ‘Could you run Sandra back to town, please? And thank you, all of you, for coming; I really appreciate it. Especially you, Sandra – if you’d been needed . . .’ I cleared my throat. ‘It could’ve been so much worse.’
Mark touched my hair. ‘But it wasn’t.’
I smiled at him, seeing, as I had so often in my dreams, the dark shadow of stubble on his lean jaw and the thick, virile column of his throat. It took a conscious effort not to bury my face in his neck and cling to him. ‘No. Thank God.’
‘What about the Rover?’ On the job, Roger was obviously single-minded.
‘Leave it for now,’ Mark grunted. ‘One expense at a time.’
‘It won’t be ours either,’ I muttered vengefully. ‘He could’ve killed you – like it or not, the PGs will be paying if I have to sic Ben onto them. Come on, hop in.’
I shifted the front seat of the Nissan right forward and settled Mark behind it then sat beside him, cradling him against me, letting Alec drive. His gaze flicked to us once in the mirror, then he turned his attention back to the road and didn’t speak until the buildings came in sight, their shadows long in the late afternoon sun.
‘Here – or where?’
‘The homestead, please.’ I glanced around. ‘I wonder where that kid’s got to? He’s probably in a blue funk by now. No sign of his family either.’ Of course we would have seen them returning unless they had done so before I left town, but their vehicle wasn’t on view. The wrath still to come then, I thought, with Darren in mind. I almost felt sorry for him. The larger part of my anger had passed with the reflection that, however drastic the means used, he had brought Mark back to me.
Mark said, ‘I’m bushed, love. I should go straight home. A night’s rest will see me right.’
‘No. Sandra said to keep an eye on you and I mean to. You can have my bed. No arguments.’ I smoothed my palm over the strained lines of his face. ‘I’ll get you some aspirin and you can rest until dinner.’
The door opened behind me and Alec said brusquely, ‘Are you getting out, then?’
‘Yes.’ His gaze, when I met it, was stony. ‘Sorry,’ I added, not meaning the delay. ‘I did try to warn you. What about the steps, Mark? Should I get Joe?’
Alec drew in a martyred breath. ‘I can give him a hand.’
‘Thanks, I’ll manage,’ Mark said shortly.
Once he had proved his words, Alec, who had stayed at the bottom, said abruptly, ‘I should be off, Orla. If Joe’s around maybe he could run me back to town?’
‘No, please, you can’t. I need to see you about the Meissan bowl. Look,’ I stepped back towards him, keeping one eye on Mark’s halting process across the verandah, ‘I asked you to dinner so won’t you please stay? I never meant to upset you, you know. And I haven’t even thanked you for today . . .’
‘Don’t be silly. What did I do?’
‘You were there, and you went for help.’
‘And you risked getting burned alive for him,’ he said harshly, then drew a long breath and shook his head. ‘My turn to apologise. It’s just that I really fell for you, Orla. And don’t make it worse by telling me I’ll get over it and I’m bound to meet someone special – I have, and it was you.’
‘I’m sorry,’ I repeated hopelessly, ‘but you and I were never . . . I’ve loved him since I was seventeen, you see. He was married then but there has never been anyone else for me. I really am sorry, Alec. He’s the reason I’m still single, and the real reason I came back.’ I paused, meeting his eyes. ‘Can’t we remain friends at least? Because that’s how I think of you.’
His expression softened. ‘Well, if we can’t be lovers, we can’t be enemies either, so it’s either indifference or friendship, and God knows I’m hardly indifferent. Okay. Dinner it is.’
Marty, bless her, made tea for us all while denying having set eyes on Darren. ‘Not since lunch. Some ice will help.’
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘For his foot. Elevation and ice for swelling. I’ll fill a plastic bag, wrap it in a towel. What’s all that blood on your clothes?’
‘From his arm. I’ll shower and change in a minute, Marty.’ Sandra had cleaned Mark’s arm with alcohol wipes, pulled the edges together with adhesive strips, and replaced my makeshift bandage with a neat square of padded bandage, startlingly white against his tanned skin. With the tea disposed of and the ice bag in place, I left him resting on my bed and slipped into the shower while Alec was engaged in a further examination of the Meissan pieces. Then, with the hens still to feed I went down to the sheds using the chore as an excuse to look for the boy. In the absence of his parents I was responsible for his safety. His crimes, once listed, were legion – taking a vehicle unlawfully, driving without a licence, causing an accident that might have resulted in injury or death, leaving the scene of said accident . . . But he was only fifteen, I reminded myself – not an age known for rational behaviour.
I found him at last in the history shed perched on a shaft of my grandfather’s buggy. He was staring down at his hands, which were clamped between his knees, and didn’t look up until I spoke.
‘Would you mind not sitting there, Darren? That timber is old and very dry; your weight could crack it.’
‘So what?’ he said, but he got up, fidgeted around for a few moments then blurted out, ‘Is he back yet – the old man?’
‘No,’ I said, ‘but he shouldn’t be long. You do realise how foolish it was, what you did? Did you know there’s a very high incidence of accidents with farm bikes, Darren? Second only to tractors I believe. And they’re responsible for more rural deaths than any other cause.’
‘Yeah? Well, maybe you s
houldn’t leave the keys in ’em.’ He kicked at the dirt. ‘How was I to know he was gonna roll that old banger?’
‘The keys are left in all the vehicles; why not?’ I asked. ‘Station people – even station kids – know they aren’t playthings. Weren’t you ever taught not to take what’s not yours? You did very wrong and I think you know it. Boredom isn’t a good enough excuse. And I’m afraid your father is going to have to pay for the damage to the bike.’
‘Yeah?’ he said, but much of his bluster had gone. He looked scared and again I felt sorry for him.
‘Look, I know it’s hard being your age, but the whole world isn’t your enemy, and it’s absurd to imagine it is. You don’t have to work at being obnoxious, you know,’ I said severely. ‘Try using your manners. You’d be surprised how much difference that makes dealing with people – even your parents.’
In a much less pugnacious tone he asked, ‘Is he okay – that bloke?’
‘Yes, just bruised and sore. You do know you could have killed him?’
‘I never meant to,’ he muttered miserably. ‘I saw the keys and thought, Why not? It was just something to do.’
‘Well, actions have consequences, Darren.’ Right on cue I heard the rumble of an approaching vehicle. ‘That sounds like your father now, so I think you had best go and find out what those consequences are going to be. Explain and apologise; if you do you can eat your dinner in the kitchen tonight, out of the firing line. How’s that?’
He shot me a look, half grateful, half puzzled, and I wondered if any adult – his mother say, or a teacher – had ever tried talking to him. ‘Yeah, okay.’ After a beat he added, ‘Thanks.’
‘You’re welcome,’ I said cordially. Despite the terror and upsets of the afternoon, his behaviour had brought Mark and me back together. One pep talk wasn’t going to solve his problems but, as I wasn’t willing to write off the damage to the bike, it was as far as I was prepared to go in return.
Dinner started off awkwardly but Marty’s cooking worked its magic and the company soon relaxed. Darren’s absence in the kitchen probably helped. Mark was, at my insistence, having his dinner in bed, and despite tangling his feet in the chair legs when he sat down, Alec rose nobly to the occasion, keeping up a stream of comments and questions aimed at both the Culvetti adults. Matt worked on his plate and, when he thought himself unobserved, happily fed morsels to No Name, ensconced beneath his chair. Earlier Reg had apologised stiffly for his son’s behaviour, and when I raised the question of paying for the damage, agreed to meet the repair bill on the bike. ‘He can get a Saturday job and pay me back. That should teach him to keep his hands off other people’s property. Send me the bill when it comes. Which reminds me, we’ll be getting an early start in the morning. A seven o’clock brekkie okay?’ At my nod he continued. ‘Good. It’s a long day’s drive so we’ll need to be off first thing. I’m sure you’ll be glad of it after today.’
‘Not at all.’ My protest was a trifle half-hearted, which was possibly unfair. If you dealt with the public you had to take all comers, I knew that. I’d keep the incident in proportion by talking it over with Marty tonight, as I would be sharing her room. Much as I yearned to, with the state Mark was in and the house full of guests, it seemed best not to try joining him in my bed.
After dinner I left the PGs in the parlour with the coffee tray and took Alec off to discuss the selling of the bowl. To maximise its value, he advised sending it to Sydney to await the right sale there. ‘I’ll contact Bartholomew’s,’ he said, turning the bowl in his long fingers. ‘They specialise in fine art stuff – porcelain, paintings, silver, miniatures – anything collectors seek. How soon do you need the money? Because it might take a month or two for the right sale to come up. We’d put a decent reserve on it, in case of an off day, and I’d take it down myself, of course.’
Touched, I protested, ‘I can’t ask you to do that, Alec. The expense . . .’
‘It would come out of the price. Seriously, it’s the safest way to travel it, and if for some reason it doesn’t sell – well, you’d want it back in one piece, wouldn’t you?’
‘Yes,’ I said meekly. ‘Thank you.’ Feeling that he was owed an explanation I added, ‘I want the money to make a trip to Melbourne. I have a very old and frail friend there who has recently gone into care. I want to get down and see her before it’s too late.’
He looked startled. ‘You’d sell it for a plane fare? Orla, it’s worth thousands more than that! Can’t you get the money from the station?’
‘No. The bowl is mine, that’s the point.’
He looked puzzled. ‘Well, isn’t the station yours too?’
‘Yes, but I can’t just go taking money out of it. You’ve no idea how hard and long they’ve fought – my uncle and Mark and Joe – to keep it mine. Take that old bomb of a Land Rover today. It wasn’t new when my father was alive, but the men have kept it going all this time, scrounging parts, using secondhand tyres . . . Landowners’ expenses don’t stop, you see, just because their income does. So the station needs every cent it has. That’s why I’m selling the bowl.’
He shook his head as he swaddled the china carefully in the cloth I’d provided. ‘No good suggesting you just sell up?’ I shook my head. ‘I thought not. It’s an attitude I’ve struck before out here – must be something in the water. Well, I’ll do my best for you, Orla, with this and the ring and the lamp stand. The rest of the stuff we’ll auction next week.’
‘Thank you, Alec,’ I said, ‘I’m very grateful for all your help, including today.’
‘It’s been a pleasure,’ he said formally. ‘Thank you for a splendid dinner. You wouldn’t get better in a Sydney restaurant even celebrating after a highly successful sale – which I hope I’ll have cause to do.’
‘Come and tell Marty so yourself then,’ I said getting up off the rug where I’d been sitting. ‘Joe’ll be in the kitchen too. He’s waiting to run you back to town.’
Chapter Thirty-one
The PGs left after an early breakfast, a subdued Darren silent in the back seat. He didn’t shake hands with me – that, I thought, was too much to expect – but he did say, ‘Thanks. See you.’ The fleeting smile that accompanied the mumble changed his habitual sullen expression into something open and likeable, revealing a resemblance to his sunny-faced younger brother. Reg was all bustle and bluster and Hilary, this morning, somewhat aloof. I doubted they would be repeat visitors. I waved them off and turned back to the front gate where Mark waited.
‘You can’t win ’em all,’ he said, correctly reading my expression.
‘I suppose not. You know, despite everything, I do feel sorry for that boy. Puberty’s bad enough without a father like his. What was Gil like as a dad, Mark?’
He passed a hand across his unshaven jaw, considering the question. ‘Not too bad. I suppose we had a couple of years rubbing each other the wrong way but that settled down when I quit thinking I knew everything.’ He leaned heavily on the cane I had fetch from the cottage for him. He should be resting I thought, eyeing him anxiously, but I knew he wouldn't. A livid bruise bloomed across one side of his face where it had hit the steering wheel, and his injured foot was blue-black and very swollen. I’d re-covered the gash on his arm, which didn’t look too bad today, but there was little I could do about the multiple bruises on his torso. His leg, he swore, was fine, though it plainly wasn’t.
I repressed a sigh for male intransigence and nodded at the verandah chairs. ‘Come on. Lean on me. If you’re not going to rest, tell me what you think you’re going to do.’
‘When did you get so bossy, woman? Of course I’ll do it – and it isn’t much, just a bit of shed work.’
‘I’ll see about that.’ I raised the hand that was steadying his slow turn to smooth the little whorls of dark hair about his ear and, as I felt his grip tighten, blew gently into it. ‘You can’t even get a boot on. Seriously Mark, how is your leg? Perhaps you should see a doctor just in case you’ve damaged it fur
ther.’
‘It’s all right.’ He heaved himself up the final step and sank into the closest chair. ‘Okay, so it aches like a bastard but that’s fairly normal. I daresay it got wrenched a bit yesterday, but it’ll settle down if I take it easy for a bit. Don’t fuss, Orla. If I needed a doctor I’d see one.’
‘Mmm.’ I remained unconvinced. ‘Tell me how it happened – was it broken?’
He grunted a brief laugh. ‘You could say so – femur, tibia, kneecap . . . The femur was a compound fracture.’ A little silence as he stared back into ugliness, remembering. ‘Miracle really I’ve still got it – the leg, I mean. The whole front end of the car pancaked, then rolled.’ He shuddered. ‘Being in the back saved Celia. But Gail took the full brunt of the impact . . .’
‘Yes.’ I touched his hand to bring him back then held his gaze. ‘What caused it – the accident?’
‘The vehicle skidded in the loose gravel, took us across the centre strip.’ The blue eyes were bleak. ‘My fault. I should never have braked like that. I was mad at her. We’d been fighting since we left the Park; she was in a foul mood and my temper made me reckless. If the truck hadn’t been there I would’ve got us out of the skid. As it was, there was no chance.’
I said carefully, ‘Around town I heard – somebody said – that you’d been drinking?’
‘Not true.’ He sighed and touched his face where the bruise was puffy and swollen. ‘That was Gail’s people. Her parents blame me for the accident and it was part of their campaign to get hold of Celia. I killed their daughter so they took mine . . . They’d have had her, anyway. There was no one else and it was six months before I could walk, let alone look after a child. Even now, half my days I’m not home before dark, and she’s got school . . .’ His voice tailed tiredly away.
‘I know,’ I soothed. ‘Have you seen her since? Is she happy with her grandparents?’
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