Catier's strike

by Corrie, Jane

  which somewhat revived her, then, not bothering to dress again in her day clothes, she slipped on her nightdress and dressing gown, since she might as well be comfortable as she wasn't going anywhere, she thought, as she stretched out on her cot bed and considered her future.

  A future that didn't look too bright at this point in time. Charles Ashley had hit the nail on the head when he had pointed out that she could lose her job. Sarah's smooth brow creased, and her eyes narrowed. There wasn't anything she could do about it. She would lose her job. Of all the bad luck, she thought miserably, that she should have been given this assignment. There was another reporter who could have covered it, and he was a bit more familiar with the scientific terms used on such projects, but no, Eddie Lyall had elected to keep Eric Morris kicking his heels around the office waiting for any sudden story that might crop up, and sent Sarah instead.

  Eric would now be on standby, she thought, ready to take off at a moment's notice, then she shook her head, making a golden curl fall over her right eyebrow. If she knew anything about her boss, Eric Morris would be in Darwin, with their editor burning up the telegraph lines to keep him informed and ready to make his debut at the site at the first given opportunity.

  Not that Sarah could see any such opportunity occurring. If anyone meant what they said, Sean Cartier did; he wasn't the type to change his mind. She drew in a deep breath. Never in her wildest dreams had she imagined that such a situation might arise, where she would meet

  someone who not only knew Don but was actually related to him. She had moved on from the small paper she used to work for and was now at the top of her profession, based in Sydney, and although the paper was privately owned, it was one of the city's most respected journals.

  Or had been, she thought with a twist of her soft lips, until Sean Cartier had come on the scene. Sarah's thoughts roamed on. Sean Cartier had not known of her connection with Don when she had first arrived with her fellow reporters, and that meant that someone had made a point of passing on the news to him.

  Her mind ran over the present company. Martha? She shook her head. Martha couldn't have kept such a juicy story to herself, not when it concerned Sarah; besides, she wasn't clever enough to fool Sarah with her assumed surprise.

  One by one, Sarah discounted the others, and that left two still on her list. One was Jim Rokeby, about the oldest of the journalists there, who might conceivably have stored away a few facts in his analytical brain, and had once accused her of trading on her looks to get a scoop on a story they were covering.

  Finally she crossed him off the list too. There was an unwritten code among them, and personal worries, tragedies, call it what you like, were never aired in public. Whatever snippets were picked up in the course of their work were never impinged upon. As odd as it seemed, although their work entailed ferreting out news about people in the, news, their private lives remained private, and that left only one on her list, and that was Charles Ashley.

  Sarah pushed back the curl with a weary action. Why on earth should Charles wish to queer her pitch? If anything he had more reason than the others to smooth her path along, hoping for certain benefits to fall his way.

  Suddenly Sarah sat up. What a ninny she was! Of course it was Charles! He was the only one interested enough in her private life to obtain background data about her—and to think she'd almost fallen for it! she thought angrily. What a snake he was! Sean Cartier had got a bit too interested in her for Charles's liking, and he hadn't been able to take it. Charles's prowess with the opposite sex was a well-known fact. Women fell over themselves to curry his favours. If anyone used their looks to further their career, then Charles Ashley did, she thought scathingly, and he wasn't too fussy how he got the story either. By the time the ink was dry on the presses, he had lost interest in whoever he had been paying court to, to gain access to the inside story.

  Her slim hands clenched on the plain counterpane beneath her. If she got the chance she would take him up on his offer of filling her in with the news. One rotten turn deserves another, she told herself savagely, and just wait until he tried to collect—would she give him a few home truths!

  Sarah's eyes fell on her overnight case with her silk suit still stuffed away inside it. She ought to hang it up, she thought absentmindedly. With any luck it shouldn't be long before she could put it on again and get back to civilisation, whatever that held for her now.

  After she had put her suit away, she sat on her

  bed and studied the amount of information she had managed to get so far on the project. It didn't amount to much, and after a while the silence got through to her. She knew that Mrs Pullman, and Sandy, her niece, shared the small chalet with her, and presumed that they had elected to spend the evening in the social club, a small shack across the way that served as an entertainment area for the drillers and maintenance crew. Mrs Pullman had mentioned it to Sarah during the day, and Sandy, still a little in awe of Sarah, had shyly urged her to 'come along' and said that they were a well disciplined crew. Not that Sarah had thought they could be anything else, not with a man like Sean Cartier in charge of the project!

  As this thought occurred to her, so did another one, and her eyes narrowed. If she was the bright reporter that everyone apparently thought she was, she ought to join them. There was a lot that she could pick up from scraps of conversation from the men who wouldn't be on their guard, although she wouldn't put it past Cartier not to make a point of warning them to watch out for her.

  She sighed. It wouldn't be necessary. Even if she got anything, she couldn't pass it on. There was no hope of smuggling anything out, not unless Charles Ashley followed through on his offer, and somehow, after that conversation he had had with Cartier, during which he would have been warned off, Sarah was certain, she couldn't see him risking it. He wouldn't put his own job in jeopardy, because that was what it would amount to if he was slung off the site.

  At this point of her calculations there was a perfunctory knock at her door, and as before, Sean Cartier was in the room before she could answer the summons.

  The fact that she was in her dressing gown, a caftan affair of glossy silk, too fancy really for such an assignment but ideal because of its featherlight weight, did not cause him a moment's embarrassment, Sarah noted, as her indignant eyes met his bland ones.

  `I might have been undressing!' she exclaimed angrily. 'Next time, please wait until I ask you to come in,' she added crisply.

  His eyes swept briefly over her slight figure, and his voice was insolent as he replied. 'You're in my territory now. I keep politeness for ladies of my acquaintance—and I don't count the press, and certainly not you, among them.'

  Sarah's wide eyes and angry flush acknowledged this pointed remark. He hadn't actually said 'the gutter press', but he had implied it all the same. 'Get out!' she snapped furiously. 'I don't have to put up with this. You've got me off the story. I'm paying for my keep, and that's as far as it goes! I've no option but to accept your ruling, but I'm not standing for any more insults from you. Just go away!' she added angrily, as she swept to the door and opened it wide, showing him that she meant what she said.

  Some people, Sarah discovered, were hard to convince, and Sean Cartier was one of them, for she found herself unceremoniously flung away from the door, and correcting her balance, saw him close it with a slam that must have echoed

  down the corridor of the chalet, and probably across half the yard.

  If he was in a temper then he had himself well in hand, for when he spoke again it was in a smooth, almost caressing voice that Sarah didn't care for at all. 'Acting the lady will get you nowhere,' he said blandly. 'It might fool the others, in fact it did fool me before I found out a few facts about you. How many other poor devils have you driven off the edge?' he asked harshly. `No wonder you've got to the top of your profession! I can guess how you got your stories. Men are so gullible when they're off their guard, aren't they? The next thing the poor devils know is that they're headline new
s—pillow talk reported in double space on the front page!'

  Sarah wanted to shake her head to clear the fog that had descended around her. She didn't believe any of this. The only thing that did make sense was the fact that it had been Charles Ashley who had put her in this mess. It was just the sort of wording he would have used, it was the way that he collected his data, and was all the confirmation that Sarah had needed. Her hands gripped the silk folds of her dressing gown at her side. There was nothing she could say in her defence. He had obviously believed everything that Charles had told him, and there was nothing that she could do about it, then or later.

  `Stumped for once?' he drawled, then as Sarah turned away from him to show him that there was no point in going on with the conversation, he went on, 'Your editor was on the line again this afternoon. He sounded desperate,' he said

  conversationally. 'I suppose, like everyone else, they have their job to think about too, someone waiting on the sidelines to take over, I suppose.'

  Sarah looked at him. He knew something, she thought, and wondered how much. Eddie didn't get on with the paper's proprietor, a prissy, mean man, who constantly preached to his staff on upholding the paper's tradition for honest reporting, but was not above running a private vendetta against someone who had stepped on his toes in the commercial world. It was definitely a case of 'do what I say, but not what I do', with Marchmont Willis.

  Only the paper's popularity had kept Eddie at his post—that, and his strict observance of the rules as laid down by his irascible boss. Rules that had at times to be quoted to the self-same boss, and that had infuriated him beyond measure. All this Sarah knew; she also knew that this was not general knowledge, and wondered who his informant had been, for this was nothing to do with Charles Ashley. Charles had only been concerned with railroading her into a compromising position, he wouldn't have bothered to relate the inner machinations of the paper's staff, even if he had known about it.

  Sean Cartier had also been right about the `someone waiting on the sidelines'. 'Oily Oliver', as the staff named him behind his back, was the sub-editor, and a crony of Marchmont Willis. A yes-man if there ever was one, and there would be several heads that would roll should he ever take over from Eddie. It was well known that he had a hit list, and Sarah wasn't sure if she too

  wasn't on that list. She had certainly not gone out of her way to gain his favour, and there had been a time when she had first joined the staff—she sighed inwardly; what was the point of worrying about that now? She'd lost her job anyway.

  `Wondering how much I know?' Sean asked silkily, making Sarah want to hit him. He had a nasty habit of correctly picking up her thoughts. `Well, that's my secret. I happen to know a lot about the Daily. Trouble is, I admire Eddie Lyall. He used to cover a lot of these assignments in the early days, and he's straight. It's not his fault that his star reporter is a tramp, is it?' His firm lips twisted as he shot Sarah a look of dislike. 'So we shall have to compromise, won't we?'

  Sarah's eyes were wary as she met his hard gaze. Not for nothing, of course, she thought angrily, and she had a good idea of what he had in mind. He was attracted to her, she knew this without a doubt, otherwise he would have thrown her off the site instead of electing to play this cat andmouse game with her. Her soft lips clamped together as she waited for the pay-off line, and thinking how much she was going to enjoy telling him to get lost. Whatever attraction she had felt for him—and she had been strongly attracted at the start of their acquaintance, she couldn't deny—had now gone. She would prefer a wrestling match with Charles, rather than have to put up with this hateful character, she told herself.

  Sean's blue eyes studied her and seemed to sear right through her, and for once she didn't mind if

  he could read her thoughts. At least he would know the answer to the proposition she was sure that he had in mind. 'No, not that,' he said curtly. 'I'll admit I was interested, in fact, more than interested—but then you'd know that, wouldn't you?' His eyes narrowed. 'There's nothing like the truth to cure that sort of madness, so if you're hoping to cash in on the romantic stakes, I'm afraid you've got a shock coming. The plain fact is that I've had second thoughts. I don't see why Eddie Lyall should be penalised. I've nothing against the paper, only its star reporter. So, in return for my cooperation, you stay on at the camp. Mrs Pullman tells me that you've proved a good worker. We've more men moving in soon, and we'll need the extra help. I want to keep the staff down to a minimum because of the security risks, as I'm sure you'll appreciate,' he added casually.

  `And what explanation will you give my editor?' Sarah demanded sarcastically, just to keep the conversation going. She had no intention of complying with this stipulation. When the others left, she was going, too, and woe betide anyone who tried to stop her!

  `You can use your imagination on that, surely?' he replied smoothly. 'You won't be the only girl who suddenly decides she's had enough of the city life and wants to settle down to being a plain old housewife, having found the right man, of course,' he added blandly.

  Sarah gasped at his audacity. 'If you think Eddie will swallow that, I advise you to think again,' she replied waspishly. 'It's ridiculous,

  even if' she swallowed, hating the deep flush

  she could feel rising in her cheeks. 'Even if it were true,' she went on determinedly, 'I would have to go back to Sydney. I share a flat with two girls, and they need my contribution to the rent.' She smiled sweetly at him. 'Sorry, but it's not on. It was a good try, though. As for losing out on the story—well, we'll see about that. There are other sources, you know, and I'd rather take pot luck on losing my job than stay here a day longer than necessary. When the rest go, I go, and that's final!' she flung at him.

  Sean's blue eyes studied her, taking in her lovely sapphire blue eyes, now brilliant with temper, and he gave an exaggerated sigh. 'What a pity,' he drawled, and shook his head. 'I really could have gone for you. As the feline species goes, you're magnificent, and believe me, I'm a good judge, but it's underneath that counts, isn't it, and all I can see now is a cheap little go-getter who happens to be good at her job. A job, incidentally, that she doesn't have now.' His eyes glinted like blue icicles. 'Thanks for putting me in the picture about the flat. I'll mention it to Eddie while I'm on the line and get him to pass on the news to your pals to look for another flatmate. I'll settle for the rest of the month, of course,' he declared magnanimously, giving Sarah a wolfish grin.

  Sarah heard, but she didn't believe it. He couldn't force her to stay, and he was living in a fool's paradise if he thought he could bully her into accepting his dictates. 'I said I was going when the others go,' she replied, forcing herself

  to stay calm, since she was now certain that she was dealing with someone who appeared to have lost all sense of reason.

  Sean's grin widened as he glanced at his watch. `I'm afraid you're two hours too late,' he told her. `They won't get in until the evening, so your editor will be the first to get the news, plus a few more details that were not given out for general release, but enough to keep him interested for further developments. He knows enough about this type of work to keep him happy on that score. I feel very kindly disposed towards Eddie Lyall for giving me the opportunity of catching up with you. Don wasn't a good correspondent, and I hadn't much to go on. When I heard the news of his death, I was out on a site the other side of the country, and out of circulation for months. By the time I arrived on the scene, you'd taken off, and it was no wonder.' His voice hardened. 'Unfortunately, the law doesn't cover your sort of crime, and you got away with it scot free, but not this time.'

  Sarah had stopped listening when he had said that the others had gone. Her mind was on other things, such as how she was going to get off the site. To her way of thinking, this was of paramount importance. There was an airstrip somewhere at the back of the camp for the plane that brought in supplies, and somehow she would have to work out a plan to smuggle herself aboard on one of those trips.

  She looked
across at the man facing her, standing with arms across his powerful chest and surveying her as if she were an interesting

  specimen he had just added to his collection, which prompted her to remark caustically, 'I'm afraid you've picked on the wrong person. I'm not a bit intimidated by your scheme for revenge—I suppose that's what it amounts to, doesn't it?—and you're wasting your time if you think you can coerce me into accepting your proposition. I like my editor, too, but there are limits, and this is one of them. When he hears about this ridiculous vendetta you've embarked upon, I wouldn't be surprised if I keep my job after all,' she added, feeling confidence creeping back into her voice.

  A confidence, however, that proved to be slightly misplaced by Sean's tight-lipped reply. `How much do you know about Eddie's private life?' he asked, and at Sarah's surprised blink at this, he went on, 'I suppose being a reporter hardens you to other people's troubles, doesn't it? When some poor devil hits the headlines, it's all grist to the mill, isn't it? Just good copy to add to the list of the star reporter's ego!'

  Sarah did not bother to challenge this. She would be wasting her breath. If he knew so much about her paper, he would also know that it was a reputable paper that reported the facts without embellishment; the other publications could be relied upon to dot the is and cross the t's. Intelligent people could read between the lines, and didn't need a blueprint.

  `Just in case, you didn't know,' Sean went on smoothly, 'Eddie needs his job—more than most, as it happens. I'll give you the benefit of the doubt that you don't know his circumstances.

  Like your affair with Don, it's not something that he would want noised abroad. His son's in a classy nursing home. He's a drug addict, or was. The treatment he's getting is the best that can be had. When they're cured, they stay cured, but it's expensive, and I don't think it leaves Eddie a lot over to play with, if you see what I mean,' he added meaningly.