by Jane Corrie
tion had been uncannily near the mark. It did look a rundown property.
When she followed Clay's tall figure through an iron gate and skirted the growing area through a rough beaten-down track, there was worse to come as her depressed gaze took in what had once been a wooden shack on the edge of the property, but now was nothing but a heap of old timber that had obviously come under a demolition order.
Clay's quick, 'My, my ! ' did nothing to alleviate the fury Sheena felt building up inside her. Someone had knocked that shack down, that much was plain, and whoever it was they would have to make good the damage, she thought furiously. Her temper turned to utter frustration when she realised that there was absolutely no chance of her living there, or indeed anywhere on the smallholding as the ruin she was staring at was, or had been, the only building in sight.
`It appears that they got to work a little earlier than I anticipated,' said Clay, casting an apologetic look at her.
Sheena turned and stared at him. 'You mean you ordered the shack to be knocked down?' she asked him incredulously.
He gave her another apologetic look. Not exactly,' he said mildly. 'I did give orders for some repairs to be carried out before our arrival.'
Sheena was just about to take a deep breath and ask him what he meant by interfering with what was now her property, when a car was heard to draw up
and they turned their attention back to the road. An oldish looking car had parked beside Clay's gleaming one and an elderly man got out, and giving Clay a quick salute from the distance came to join them. `Dayee, boss,' the man addressed Clay, and stared at the demolished shack. 'Jim said weren't much he could do—place was falling down as it was. Reckoned it was safer to finish the job.' He looked at Sheena, his pale blue eyes showing curiosity.
`This is James Greig's daughter, Sam,' introduced Clay. `Sheena, this is Sam Whitelaw. He used to work with your father, and he's now taken over as manager.'
As Sheena's small hand was lost in the big horny hand of Sam Whitelaw, she knew a sense of desolation. In spite of the man's kindly welcome and obvious wish to make her feel welcome, she was among strangers. Her look was bleak as she tried to echo his sincere wish that she 'took to the North, and made her home there.' She then looked beyond him at the ruined shack. 'I was hoping to move in today,' she said in a small voice, that told more of her disappointment to the watching men than she realised.
`I guess it wouldn't take more than a month for the boys to fix you up with a replacement,' Clay said carefully. 'Get on with it, will you, Sam?' he ordered quietly.
`Sure, boss,' replied Sam, directing a puzzled glance at Sheena and back again at Clay.
`Sheena's a mind to try and make a go of the busi-
ness,' Clay told him in answer to his unspoken query, yet there was something in the careful way that he had offered the information that made Sheena give him a hard look.
He didn't believe that she was capable of running such a business, she thought, but she would show him, and his manager, Sam, who appeared to be of the same opinion, if his doubtful look was anything to go by.
She stared around her. She could see no sign of the pigs, and for that she was grateful. Clay must have had them removed elsewhere to be looked after, after her father's death.
A thought then struck her that made her bite on her lower lip hard. Not once had she shown any interest in how her father had died. She had just accepted the fact and taken it from there, yet he had only been in his early fifties. 'Did ' she swallowed, and started again, forcing herself to ask the question. Did my father have a long illness ?' she asked, for some reason directing her question at Sam.
Sam swept off his broad-brimmed hat that he had donned again after his introduction to Sheena, and wiped his dark sunburned forehead. 'Guess he must have,' he replied cogitatingly. 'One minute he was carrying on much as usual, the next ' he did not finish the sentence but glanced towards Clay for help.
He had to give up full-time work a year ago,' said Clay. 'That's why he took up this smallholding. He didn't say much about what was wrong with him when he asked to be relieved of his job, but I guessed
that whatever was wrong, it had to be serious enough for him to start to take life quietly. I know who his doctor was, and I'm sure that he'll fill in the details for you later.'
Sheena turned her glance away from them with an abrupt movement. He had been ill—must have been for months, yet he had never told her, or sent for her. Her teeth gritted on the thought. He had thought her happily married to Doyle, and it had been too late when he had discovered the truth.
`I'm afraid you'll have to accept my offer after all,' said Clay with a quiet firmness, and caught her arm gently below her elbow and turned her round towards the road again. There was a kind of possessiveness about that touch that puzzled Sheena, but she was in no mood to contest it. She just wanted to get away from this forlorn area where her father had lived out the last days of his life, too proud to ask for help, from her or anyone.
It wasn't until she was sitting in the car waiting for Clay to finish whatever he was telling Sam and join her prior to taking her to his home that the suspicion entered her mind and began to take a firm hold on her.
From Sam Whitelaw's reaction it was plain that he had never expected her to take on where her father had left off. Clay's reaction had been the same, only he had been a little more reserved in keeping his opinions to himself. However, it seemed that he had got it all planned. Even if they had not knocked the shack down, the work that would have had to be
done on it would have necessitated her finding temporary lodging until the work was completed. Yet he had said nothing of this when she had stated her preference for a home of her own.
Her lips folded tightly. His wife needed a companion, and Miss Sheena Greig admirably filled the post—in his eyes anyway, she thought bitterly. She smoothed back a wandering stray of hair. Well, she was very sorry, but when that shack was completed she intended moving into it come what may, and no amount of persuasion would deter her from her course.
* * *
CHAPTER FIVE
ON the way to Rimini Clay, well aware of Sheena's keen disappointment, wisely made no comment on the state of the land or the demolition of what she had hoped would be her home.
From Sheena's point of view this was just as well, for had he attempted to make any soothing comments she might have said something that she would later regret, since in all honesty this silent man at her side had tried to do his best for her, even though he had had an ulterior motive.
Within a remarkably short space of time the car was slowing to a stop at the rear of the homestead beside some outbuildings. One was a large double garage, and on the opposite side of the wide yard were the stables.
There was an air of old-fashioned stability about the whole area. The buildings were well cared for as were the grounds surrounding the homestead, and as Sheena followed Clay to the back entrance of the homestead her eye caught several more buildings away to her right. These were enclosed in a white fenced-off section and were plainly the dairy quarters of the farm, for the paddocks with the grazing animals that Sheena had seen from a distance lay alongside.
* * *
The homestead was far away enough from the dairy to ensure its privacy from the bustle of the milking scene. Sheena felt a small spurt of envy towards the Dayman family, even though she acknowledged the fact that much hard work and effort had gone into making the property as fine as it was.
As they approached the wide veranda that ran the length of the back premises a little girl erupted out of a cane chair, scattering a pile of magazines in several directions, and hurled herself at Clay.
`You didn't say ! ' she accused him, as she pushed her dark curly head into his chest and clung to him, with what seemed to Sheena a fierce intensity.
Clay extricated himself gently from the fervent embrace and took the child's hand in his. 'Vicky, this is Sheena. She's staying with us for a spell.' He looked at Sheena
. 'This is Vicky, Sheena. She will no doubt enliven your stay with us.' He looked back at the child now studying Sheena with a wary expression in her large dark eyes. 'Vicky, take Sheena to the room next to yours,' he ordered.
Sheena took particular note of the way that Vicky's eyes now took on a speculative look as against the previous wary one, and she had an uncomfortable feeling that she knew what she was thinking and wondered if her father, for Clay must be her father since there was a family likeness between them, was in the habit of bringing home lady visitors at a moment's notice.
It seemed that Vicky had finished her summing-up of Sheena, and liked what she saw, for she held out a
small hand towards her. 'How do you do,' she said in a stilted well-practised voice that made Clay smile, showing those strong white teeth of his.
`Bring Sheena down to the kitchen when she's ready,' he told Vicky. 'Like me, I expect she's starving. I'll go and see what Pietro can rustle up for us.'
With Vicky's hand in hers, Sheena allowed herself to be taken into the homestead. As the child chattered on about nothing in particular, mainly Sheena suspected, to give herself time to accustom herself to this sudden invasion of a stranger, Sheena wondered how old she was, and thought she was probably around the ten to twelve mark. She also wondered where her mother was, whether she was in hospital at that particular time, or in her room resting.
Clay had said nothing about the child, she thought puzzledly, only mentioning an invalid who must be his wife. It was not uncommon to name the daughter after the mother. On recalling what he had said about Vicky needing a companion, she presumed that the child was sent to a boarding school, in which case she ought to be still at school. Sheena gave up all speculation on this thought. She would just have to wait for the answers.
The inside of the homestead was in keeping with the rest of the property, and again Sheena sensed an age-old permanency about the well-furnished rooms. This was a family home and had a warmth about it that not even the fine furnishings could dispel, for first and foremost it was a home, and would always be.
'This is your room. How long are you staying?' asked Vicky, as she flung open a door on the first floor landing and stood politely aside for Sheena to enter first.
'About a month, maybe less,' replied Sheena, gaz-ing about her and taking due note of the well-furnished room with its single divan and beautifully embroidered quilt. 'It all depends how long it takes to build another ' Here she paused, wondering what the child would think if she knew just what sort of a home Sheena was waiting to go into. A wider comparison between Rimini and the home of Sheena's father would be hard to find—Home,' she added slowly, not wanting to say 'shack' and arouse the child's curiosity. She had enough to cope with Clay's well-meant advice without raising more questions on the subject.
'Have you lost your home?' asked the child, gazing at Sheena with earnest sympathy.
Sheena gave an inward sigh. How did she answer that? 'Well,' she replied carefully, 'it just needs re-building. When it's ready, I shall move in.' She looked pointedly at her watch. 'I'd love a shower, could you show me where the bathroom is?' she asked Vicky, thus forestalling any further discussion on this point.
Vicky was instantly contrite. 'Clay would wallop me if he knew I'd kept you talking,' she said, with a small smile that belied her words. 'It's two doors down, across the passage, I'll show you,' and she led the way for a slightly shocked Sheena to follow her.
Sheena had never called her father by his christian name, and although some parents preferred this form of address, it didn't sound right to her.
After a quick shower she felt a little more able to cope with what looked like a very frustrating few weeks until she could go back to the smallholding.
When she got back to her room she found Vicky sitting on her bed and her cases stacked beside the large wardrobe. 'Do you want to change before we go down ?' Vicky asked as she watched Sheena towelling her hair dry. `Clay brought your cases up,' she added.
Sheena looked down at her blouse and jeans, which were still fresh-looking, then looked back at Vicky who was also wearing a similar outfit. 'I always wear jeans,' Vicky answered with a grin, replying to Sheena's unspoken question. 'Mummy's always on about it, but she doesn't mind really. It's just that she's a fashion model. I have to dress up whenever we have a party, of course,' she added thoughtfully.
Sheena's hand that was vigorously rubbing her hair with the towel suddenly stilled and she blinked. `A fashion model?' she queried carefully, hoping that the surprise she felt at this news did not show through to the child.
Vicky nodded vigorously and there was pride in her voice as she said, 'One of the top ones too. There's some magazines downstairs with her picture in, I'll show you them later.'
Sheena continued rubbing her hair dry, but her thoughts were on the child. It was obvious that
Vicky did not know that her mother was ill, and this was most odd, for surely she would have said something about her mother having to give up work. She sighed inwardly. It rather sounded as if Mrs Dayman's illness was serious enough to be kept from the child, and Sheena would have to be very careful in what she said. 'I suppose her life is very much like a film star's,' she said casually, 'and now she's taking a nice rest from publicity.'
Vicky's friendly attitude suddenly changed to an antagonistic one and she glared at Sheena. 'No, she's not ! ' she replied vehemently. 'She's with Dad in Paraguay. He's a photographer and takes most of Mummy's pictures. He's good too,' she added on a wistful note. 'They usually take me with them when they go abroad, but I had a rotten exam to sit for and couldn't go with them.'
Her attitude changed back to a friendly one. `You'll like them,' she said confidingly. 'Everyone does, and although I like being with Clay, I shall be glad when they get back.'
A little light pierced through the darkness surrounding Sheena. 'Clay's your uncle, then?' she asked, taking a stab in the dark as she remembered him telling her of his family.
`Course ! ' replied Vicky a trifle indignantly, as if to say that everyone knew that.
`Lunch is on the table ! ' Clay called up to them from somewhere down below, and Sheena hastily put a comb through her hair and after a quick look to see if it was tidy, joined Vicky at the door and went downstairs.
Considering that the meal was supposed to be an impromptu one she was surprised at the assortment of food placed on the table. There were cooked meats, breast of cold chicken sliced in generous portions and side salad.
Clay had changed into a light blue shirt and denims, and Sheena was a little sorry that she had not changed too, but Vicky's presence eased any worry she might have had in that direction.
Despite the fact that Vicky must have had lunch not much above an hour before Clay and Sheena had theirs, she sat down and tucked in with them, much to Clay's amusement, and in between mouthfuls of chicken, wanted to know where Clay had been for the last two days.
Clay told her about the cattle sales he had attended before going south. He looked at Sheena. `Sheena is Mr Greig's daughter, Vicky, and she's going to live up here.'
Vicky nodded complacently at this. 'She's having a house built, she told me.'
Sheena looked hastily down at her plate, not wanting to meet Clay's eyes. She hadn't actually said it was a house, but then she hadn't said it was a shack either.
`Well,' replied Clay carefully, 'it's not exactly the kind of place I'd want her to settle in,' and at Sheena's quick look at him with blue fire in her eyes, he went on casually, 'I mean, I think she'll find it lonely on her own. I've tried to persuade her to stay on with us. You'll have to see what you can do about it.'
I've already explained to your uncle how I feel about that,' replied the fuming Sheena. There was nothing like having things put on the line. Any minute now he would probably give the child the whole miserable history behind her move to the North, and that she couldn't bear.
'There's plenty of time yet,' replied Clay with a certain inflection of purpose in his voice th
at worried Sheena.
Vicky looked from Sheena to Clay and back at Sheena again. 'I'm not staying either,' she said, darting what Sheena could only interpret as a defiant look at Clay. 'When my mother and father ...'
'Vicky ! ' thundered Clay, and there was no mistaking the warning note in his voice.
'They will too ! ' Vicky flung back at him with what seemed to Sheena to be unnecessary fury, and leapt out of her chair and ran out of the kitchen.
Sheena stared at the slammed door, then back at Clay who was looking in the same direction with narrowed eyes. At this point another door opened at the back of them and a small dark wiry-haired man entered, carrying a pot of coffee and a jug of cream which he placed on the table. 'Tantrums?' he said, more as a statement than a question.
Clay nodded abruptly. 'You'd better take her a drink and a couple of tablets, Pietro.' He then looked at Sheena. 'This is Pietro, Sheena—cook, and man of all trades. If you want to know anything and I'm -not around, ask Pietro.' His hard expression relaxed for a second as he added, `He's been with the family
for more years than either of us care to remember, eh, Pietro?' His face resumed its hard expression as he said, 'This is James Greig's daughter, Pietro. She's staying for a spell.'
There was nothing said here about hoping that Sheena would make the stay permanent, and Sheena wondered if he had at last relinquished the idea, but she didn't know him well enough to be certain of this. As for the little scene that had taken place a few moments before Pietro's entrance, she was mystified.