by Di Morrissey
‘Fair enough. Just give this all a bit of time, a bit of perspective. See how you feel in six months. Travel, find the right bloke and the right place.’
‘We talked about being together, making plans. And all the while . . . Why, Donny?’
‘I’m the wrong person to ask, love. It’s just how it’s been since pioneer days, I guess, when there weren’t any women out here. It’s not often a classy girl like you turns up in the middle of woop woop.’ He sighed. ‘It can be hard to find someone to love when there aren’t many to choose from.’
Sally suddenly looked at the handsome young pilot. ‘What about you, Donny? I don’t know anything about your life, you’re always so busy listening to our troubles.’
He unbuckled his seat. ‘It’s very dull. Come on, sweet, let’s unload your ton of luggage. I’ll have a word with the blokes to make sure it all gets down to Sydney in one trip and no extra cost.’
‘Donny, you’ve been such a good friend. Really. I’m going to miss you.’
‘Come on, no more tears. I’m a great believer in that old song, “We’ll meet again . . . don’t know where . . . don’t know when . . . ”’ He sang in a falsetto voice and Sally had to smile.
She did a lot of thinking on the flight to Sydney. She also tried not to think . . . about the painful farewell to the two boys, to Lorna and the baby. The fact she hadn’t said goodbye to John. It had been John Monroe who’d told her one time that the blacks didn’t have a word for goodbye. They just went away and then they’d turn up again. She had no doubt she’d turn up in John and Lorna’s life again sometime. Then there was the note she’d left for Rob, which had been so hard to write: her disappointment and hurt, that she needed time away and would be back in touch when she was ready. She’d added: ‘Please don’t write to me, just yet. This is my decision, Rob. When I am ready I will contact you and then, perhaps, we can consider our future. Love Sally.’ She couldn’t bear to mention Betsy or the baby.
Finally she slept.
By the time the taxi pulled up outside The Australia Hotel and the doorman opened the door for her, Sally decided she was going to get on with life. First thing tomorrow she’d look into ships sailing to England, after she’d got through the hoopla of her sister’s wedding.
Chapter Seventeen
South Island, New Zealand, 1964
IT WAS THE COLOURS, she decided. White fences around green paddocks; golden hills running up to the alps; icy white peaks. Faded weatherboard. Pastel flowers in a cottage garden; sheep fleece that looked dry cleaned. There was no mud. There was the sound of rounded vowels, footsteps muffled by thick carpet, echoes of wind, and, faintly, her father’s hounds.
Her home seemed so different to Sally, as did her family. They were pleased to see her, if mildly put out at her unexpected early arrival. She did not elaborate on why she had come home several weeks earlier than planned, and they did not probe. They listened politely to her descriptions of life at Barra Creek. But it was too different, too far away, not of their world or of immediate interest. Instead, the conversation turned to Yvonne’s wedding, which dominated their lives at present.
The letters hadn’t exaggerated the importance her parents were placing on the nuptials. With another fat wool cheque for the year her father was sparing no expense; this was an excuse to show off how well the family was doing. Sally was amused that her parents were not at all concerned that they had taken over the event, and Yvonne and Lachlan were being swept along in the tide of preparations. She sat at the dinner table listening as the minutiae of the big day was discussed and planned. Yvonne nodded and agreed with everything their mother said.
‘I have booked the hairdresser for ten and asked her to brush your hair over your tiara, so we must be sure to take along the satin bows for the bridesmaids at the same time. The bows are on combs but I want the girl to put them in when they do the hairsets.’
‘Yes, Mummy. Thank you.’
Sally raised an eyebrow. ‘Tiara?’
‘Very discreet, dear. Small pearls, very pretty. Of course, nothing loud,’ Emily Mitchell explained.
‘So what have you chosen for the bridesmaids, Yvonne? I hope it’s a colour I like.’
Yvonne reached for a slice of bread. ‘Mummy thought ice blue would be best, with dark blue sashes and ribbons. The boys are in morning suits.’
Emily frowned. ‘Do you need that second slice of bread, Yvonne? We don’t want any bulges in the dress.’ She turned to Sally. ‘I had to step in when it came to the bridal attire. Yvonne had ideas of some elaborate gown with gewgaws all over it. As I said to her, we can’t have her going into God’s house looking like a Christmas tree!’
Sally glanced at Lachlan, who sat quietly through the dinner, acquiescing when spoken to by Emily, deferential when addressing or answering Garth Mitchell. She couldn’t imagine Rob being so intimidated by her father, or caring much about all this ‘girly stuff’. The thought of him gave her a pang of emotion so she turned her attention to her mother’s plans for a visit to the dressmaker for a fitting for her dress. She groaned inwardly. As soon as they waved the happy couple off on their honeymoon Sally would be making plans for England.
Within two weeks of being home Sally felt she was being stifled. The wedding, the family, the predictable routine of life at Ashford Lodge made her feel as if she was penned in a crowded cattle yard. Lachlan had left to join his own family and Yvonne had finished her job at the bank to devote herself to her glory box, table decorations, flowers and the going-away outfit. Sally decided to stay in the flat in Christchurch for a few days and catch up with friends.
Her mother gave her a stern glance. ‘What friends, dear?’
‘School friends, girls I know in town. I assume Pru is coming to the wedding?’
It suddenly hit Sally with a guilty blow that she hadn’t called Pru since arriving home. They had only exchanged a few brief letters. Pru’s pain and shame had dented their friendship. Their lives had dramatically diverged and their light-hearted friendship had wilted beneath the hot breath of real life. Her mother dismissed Pru whom she had never considered in the same class as Sally. She’d tolerated Pru because she and Sally had been friends for so long.
‘No, Prudence is not coming. I really don’t know what got into her in Australia,’ sniffed her mother.
Sally bit her tongue, thinking to herself Pru was ‘got into’ in New Zealand by one of the sons of the best-known families. She waited for a hint of the story and glanced questioningly at Yvonne.
‘There was some gossip –’
‘We do not gossip, Yvonne,’ interjected Mrs Mitchell. ‘We were all very disappointed she threw up such an opportunity to travel. You too, Sally.’
‘I travelled! I went places no one ever goes!’
‘That’s the point, dear. That’s not travelling. Anyway, Prudence had ambitions above her station. Boys like Gavin Summers marry their own kind.’
‘She had such a crush on him, so when he brushed her off she decided to go to England on the spur of the moment. She had to share a cabin with four girls,’ said Yvonne, almost shuddering.
Sally was shocked. ‘Pru went anyway? Well, well. Good for her. Maybe I’ll see her over there.’
Her mother and sister stared at her as she dropped this bombshell. ‘You’re not serious, Sally. You just came home.’ Her mother, having one daughter successfully engaged, was no doubt going to start casting around for a suitable match for the other. ‘Your father won’t be buying you another ticket, I’m afraid.’
‘I can buy my own. I’ve saved all my pay.’
Emily’s mouth tightened. ‘We will discuss this another time. I don’t want anything to spoil your sister’s wedding.’
As soon as she was settled into the flat Sally picked up the telephone and dialled Sean’s number. They had let their relationship sink into limbo. She wasn’t sure how she felt about him after meeting Rob and Hal, both of whom had aroused strong feelings in her. Sean was not a letter writer and Sally
had been swept up in her relationship with Rob. Also, distance had diluted the excitement of the dashing Sean.
His voice was warm and loving as if they had last spoken only a few days before. ‘Was it worth the trip? It sounded pretty rugged. I’m glad you’re back home. When can I see you?’
‘Whoa,’ said Sally, laughing. ‘I’m still adjusting. I feel I have one foot here and one back there. It was a pretty special time,’ she added quietly.
‘I’m glad you went. I sense a change in you, which is only natural. I missed you.’
‘Fibber. I bet you didn’t.’ Yvonne had mentioned in a letter that she’d seen Sean at a few social events with a glamorous woman his own age. Sally knew very well he wouldn’t sit around on his own. They’d had a lovely romance and if it hadn’t been for Rob, and even the brief courtship of Hal, she probably would have moped for Sean and felt jealous.
‘I’m a woman of the world now,’ she said.
Sean gave a low, sexy chuckle. ‘You were born that, Sal. So, what are your plans?’
The teasing tone left Sally’s voice. ‘Honestly, Sean, I have no idea. Except that I don’t want to stick around here. It all seems such a small pond now – plush, comfortable, protected, and boring. I’ll probably go back to my old job for a bit and save some more money. Then I’ll make the trek to England as planned. Without a detour.’
‘And see Pru? I hear she’s over there. Let’s get together and you can tell me all the sordid details.’
‘What sordid details?’ She wondered what he’d heard. She would never break Pru’s confidence. ‘You’re free? No glamorous women underfoot?’
‘I’m always here for you, Sal. You’re my number-one girl.’
He came to the flat with roses and wine, and they embraced warmly. They were going out to dinner but from the look in Sean’s eye and the ardour of his kisses, she knew he had other ideas in mind first.
As he poured the wine she watched him critically. He was devilishly good looking, but there was something in him she hadn’t seen before. There was a tiredness about him. The beautiful clothes, his charm, humour and manners were worn with aplomb, but where was the man? The substance of him? She tried to imagine Sean galloping with wild brumbies, picking his way along a crocodile-infested river, dealing with the black stockmen, the rough conditions of life on a station property, and she almost laughed aloud. He rode to the hounds with skill and style but this was not a man to rescue you in the rough and tumble of the big world. And it hit her that Barra Creek had been a big world. One station in the middle of nowhere had become a country of its own in her mind. Sprawling, brawling, fighting, singing, big spaces, strong men and women tackling great odds. Oh no, Sean would not fit in, just as she knew she could no longer fit in back here.
Her pain at Rob’s deceit, the knowledge he’d fathered a child with a young black woman, the extent of her feelings for him, had all left a deep wound. As well as time to heal, she wanted the unguent of soothing, caring and spoiling. Sean’s undemanding attentions might help her. She knew she was using Sean and suspected he knew it too, but neither of them cared. What they had suited them both. This was no great passion or grand affair. Sean would distract her until she moved on to whatever happened next. She tried not to think of Rob.
It was unseasonably hot for the big day. Sally had been amused but then irritated at her father’s display. In addition to the white marquee set up on the side lawn for the reception after the formal church wedding, Garth had his finest thoroughbreds and prize-winning rams on show in the white-fenced front paddocks along the driveway. His elegant cream Daimler was the bridal car. The numerous trophies, Hunt paraphernalia, show ribbons and family portraits on display would no doubt be noticed by guests venturing into the main rooms of the house.
The heat and the close proximity of the animals attracted a host of blow flies. So here was Sally, on the morning of the wedding, dressed in her chief bridesmaid’s dress, hair set and lacquered so that she felt like she was wearing a helmet secured by a giant blue satin bow at the back, scurrying through the house with the vacuum cleaner sucking the dead flies off the window sills.
Her mother paused on her way upstairs. ‘Do you know, Sally, I’ve never seen you do anything domestic before. I hope Mrs Monroe didn’t have you doing domestic duties.’
‘Mother, you would really like Lorna. She was very particular and she never treated me like staff. I was part of the family. But I certainly learned a lot. The black house girls had to be shown what to do all the time.’
‘Well, I can’t imagine what that must be like. Thank goodness we have Mrs Sanderson.’ She swept up the carpeted stairs carrying the bridal veil.
Dear old Mrs Sanderson, her mother’s housekeeper for the past ten years, would never cope with Lorna’s stringent standards under extreme conditions, thought Sally.
Yvonne and Lachlan’s lunchtime wedding was duly photographed for the social pages in the newspapers and magazines. The ceremony was held in the nearby Anglican church. The small stone building was a sought-after venue because of its beautiful stained-glass windows and exquisite proportions.
The couple was blessed, showered with confetti and rose petals, and left the church to the strains of a lone piper. They led the entourage of cars to the reception for one hundred and thirty guests at Ashford Lodge, which had never looked better. A team of gardeners had worked for weeks to have everything blooming and clipped to perfection. While the wedding party was photographed in the garden, guests sipped champagne and spirits before sitting down to Bluff oysters and crayfish, rare beef and ham.
At five o’clock the newlyweds reappeared in their going-away outfits – Yvonne in a tailored suit and small neat hat, Lachlan in a lightweight Harris tweed suit. They were spending the night at the Clarendon Hotel in Christchurch and would return to Ashford Lodge for a luncheon party the next day.
Once the newlyweds were waved away in the decorated Daimler, Emily and Garth invited the older guests into the house for a drink for the road. The young set continued milling in the marquee, waiting for the band to arrive.
Sally danced with everyone, long past caring about the state of her hair or her blue satin shoes. She was bored rigid by it all and felt removed from the silly jokes and hearty laughter of the people around her. Most of the young men were very tight after drinking far too much. Sally felt totally sober – the rum drinking with John Monroe had toughened her constitution. Supper was served at 10 pm and the last dance was at midnight. The girls were whisked off to sleep in makeshift beds in the house. The boys slept in sleeping bags in the woolshed, fortified with the grog Garth thought had been locked away in the garage.
In Sally’s room there were three fold-away beds and a mattress on the floor for the bridesmaids. They were all asleep and finally the house was silent. She lay in her bed and fingered the pearl drop pendant that the groom had given each of the bridesmaids, and wondered about her own wedding day. It would be difficult to escape a repeat performance of Yvonne’s day. She had heard her mother commenting on improvements and changes she would make for the next wedding.
Sally sank into her shell, becoming, for the first time in her life, something of a recluse, unsure of what she wanted to do, where she wanted to be. She kept putting off making a booking to sail to England. She had been welcomed back to her old job but she was finding being in an office, even for a few hours a day, excruciating. It felt claustrophobic. When her father talked of the next sheep muster at their other family property, Mersham Park, she begged to go down and help.
‘Sally, this is work, not a hunt or social ride, you know. Five thousand sheep have to be brought off the tops. The ewes have to be crutched and put into their lambing paddocks.’
‘Dad, you forget I’ve been mustering on a cattle station. I can handle myself.’
His eyebrows shot up. ‘Really? I thought you were a governess. That sort of mustering is dangerous. I don’t know that I approve of that sort of thing.’
She grinned a
t her father, who looked very much the country squire in his checked cotton shirt, cravat and tweed jacket. ‘Bit late now, Dad. Please, ask Uncle Richard if I can go and help.’
Sally proved to be so adept on horseback and working with the sheep – though she decided she’d prefer to work with cattle any day – that her uncle and the Head Musterer, Flynn Boyle were glad to have her on the team. It was arranged that she would work at Mersham Park three days a week and work two days a week at the office in town. Sally spent her spare time with Yvonne and Lachlan and found she enjoyed being with them in their house in the grounds of Mersham Park, sharing farm talk with Lachlan.
‘Sally, you’ve changed,’ said Yvonne. ‘You seem a lot more sensible.’
‘Oh dear, how awful,’ said Sally.
‘Well, mature then. Not such a rebel.’
‘I suppose dead bodies, crocodile attacks, lubras splitting each other’s heads open, chasing wild brumbies, stopping drunken brawls does mature one,’ she said, archly.
Yvonne stared at her in shock, then decided she was joking and gave a small laugh.
Back in Christchurch Sally couldn’t decide whether to sleep with Sean or not. Thankfully he didn’t push it – she suspected he was seeing other women – but he was, nonetheless, considerate, caring and generally available. He was especially useful when she needed rescuing from her mother’s clutches. If Emily suspected she was seeing the banned Sean she gave no indication of it, and Sally assumed her mother was feeling triumphant in squashing the ‘unsuitable’ relationship. No doubt Yvonne had told her the rumours that Sean was seeing women his own age.
Her mother lined up a procession of suitable gentlemen for Sally to meet at family functions, social events and through her old school friends. At first it had been amusing, but Sally quickly grew tired of Emily’s attempts to matchmake. Her father took her aside one day to extol the virtue of one of his cadets but Sally quickly held up her hand.