by Dorothy Cork
we're back to the purpose of this encounter. We've met, I've made my decision, and the job's yours if you want it. Do you want it?'
Ellis bit her lip. She felt totally confused, and she didn't even know what he was offering her. She wanted a job, but she certainly didn't want to marry this man, and she hated him for thinking she was the sort of girl who'd even contemplate it. She couldn't understand why he should be so willing to put her in Jan's place, either. What did he feel about Jan? He said his heart wasn't broken, but it would be pride that made him say that, and in fact, he might merely be intent on showing Jan how little he cared that she had left him.
She said helplessly, 'I need a job. I—I don't want to go back to live with my uncle and Jan. And—and I couldn't possibly live with Jake
`The old family friend,' he put in dryly. 'I told you last night he's too old for you, so I applaud that decision, if this is a sample of the kind of life he leads—you'd grow fat and lazy and uninteresting in no time at all if you settled down as his mistress.'
Ellis said on a breath, 'You're so insufferably insulting, Mr Gascoyne, I really don't know why I don't just walk out on you. I'm not any man's mistress and I don't want to be, and this is the—the craziest interview I've ever been involved in. I wish now I'd let Jake come with me to your suite—then you wouldn't have dared say half the things you have.'
He looked at her thoughtfully, his green eyes narrowed. 'Jake answered your phone, didn't he?'
She coloured hotly. 'Yes, but that doesn't mean—'
`Don't bother explaining what it doesn't mean,' he interrupted crisply. 'I don't claim the right to ask questions. As for the things I've said to you, this interview has been a surprise to me too, you know. I didn't think
I'd be in for anything one half so involved, when all I need, quite simply, is a woman.'
He broke off and she felt the silence, and she felt his eyes scorching her.
`I—don't need a—man,' she said indistinctly.
`Every woman does,' he said, and without warning he reached for her. In a second, her body was clamped against his with a closeness that shocked her. Holding her captive with an arm that was iron-hard, he used his free hand to pull the scarf from her head, and she saw it snake to the floor even as she felt the power of his long fingers raking through the uncovered silk of her hair.
`You're too much like a nun in that black thing,' he muttered. 'I can't touch you when you look like that.'
And then he was kissing her as Paul had never kissed her. Some part of her consciousness detached itself briefly to become involved with Paul and his pleasurable, temperate kisses, but such intense and sensual responses were clamouring for possession of her body that she was soon lost, and all control over her own mind vanished. Their bodies were so closely locked together she was inevitably conscious of the fact that his passion was aroused—in what she knew must be a purely animal way because certainly there was no tenderness between them. The intimacy of the contact was becoming unbearable to her, and she struggled futilely against his strength as his hand found its way inside her blouse to her breast. Despite herself, she quickened to his experienced touch, and sensations that were entirely new to her pulsed through her nerves excitingly.
For a long moment everything in the world seemed to fade into nothingness except her own sexuality, and then with a supreme effort she wrenched herself violently away from him.
She stood quivering, her eyes closed, swallowing on some emotion that rose in her throat. She felt bruised, violated, and she couldn't look at him. Dimly she wished she could run from the room, forget this man, obliterate him from her life. Go back to an innocence that, insanely, now seemed far away and unattainable.
They were incoherent, fragmentary thoughts, and she didn't move, but stayed helplessly where she was, her head bowed.
She still didn't move when a muscular arm came round her shoulders to steady her, and a male voice, warm against her loosened hair, said softly, 'So you're a virgin, are you? I wouldn't have believed it—not after watching you in action last night.'
Ellis didn't answer. She hadn't got control of herself yet, and she stood passively, not even pushing away that arm that lay lightly across her shoulders.
`I'd better let you go,' he said after a moment. 'Go down to your room and give your face a good splashing with cold water. You'll soon feel able to face up to your dinner date.'
Ellis started, thinking of Jake. With a feeling of inner panic she let Steve Gascoyne take her to the elevator—see her into it. It was empty, and the door slid shut, locking him out. Somehow or other she got back to her room, and there she shut the door and stood in the silence and emptiness with only her own reflection to witness the emotions that passed across her face.
Her job on Flinders Island had vanished. It was something she'd never think of again, once she'd told Jake.
`So that's that.' She said the matter-of-fact words aloud as she stared vacantly across at the mirror, at the white blur of her face, the dark gold cloud of her hair. Then with an effort, she moved. Jake would think she
was never coming if she didn't hurry..
With fingers that were unaccustomedly clumsy, she unbuttoned her blouse—though some of the buttons were already undone—then stepped out of her skirt and, going into the bathroom that opened off her room, splashed and splashed her face with cold water.
He had said that if she did that she'd soon feel able to face up to her dinner date, and it was funny, but it did help. Her cheeks were pink now, and the blue eyes that looked back at her from the mirror over the washbasin were bright, and a rather pale and wavering smile curved her lips. So she was alive after all, and nothing dreadful had happened to her, had it? She hadn't been raped, she had merely been brought to some sort of discovery about her sexual self—a discovery that somehow shocked her, and that she refused to think about just now.
Back in the bedroom, she pulled a long-skirted dress from the wardrobe and slipped into it. It was a floating thing of blue and violet silk with a soft round neckline, and long full sleeves caught in at the wrist. She knew it suited her colouring and she loved the feel of it and she began to feel fully recovered. She used mascara and eye-shadow and brushed out her hair, then on her way to the door she stood stock still. What was she going to do? Look in the Mercury again tomorrow? But Jake wouldn't leave her here. Oh, why couldn't that hateful man have turned out to be the pleasant farmer she had imagined? Then there'd have been no crazy interview—no humiliating climax to it. What kind of a man was he, for goodness' sake? And what sort of an affair had he had with Jan? She'd thought Jan was the cruel one, but he'd said his heart was hard as iron. Hadn't he even been in love with Jan? Had he simply needed a wife and decided that she would do? And
then Jan had broken it off. She didn't want a double-sided marriage any more than Ellis wanted a double-sided job. He was so hard, so cynical, she was almost convinced he had been as cold-blooded in his attitude towards her cousin as he was towards her.
Almost, but not quite. Because Jan was so lovely, so vivacious, she must have stirred something in him. Ellis didn't know how many men had fallen in love with Jan. They fell for her with no effort at all.
Her thoughts screeched to a halt. Paul had fallen in love with Jan with no effort at all.
She felt the old blackness engulf her mind as the pain of losing Paul came back. Once again she was reaching out helplessly in the dark, turning every way to find some means of escape, of forgetfulness. The pain of ended love was like that. You thought it had eased, you thought you'd found some way not to remember it, and then—a stray thought—and it was all back, as shatteringly destructive as ever, and the pitiful little bit of confidence you'd regained disappeared like a star behind the secretly gathered clouds of night.
Ellis looked down at her lovely gown, at the evening purse that glittered in her hand and felt herself absolutely nothing. She felt herself shrivel away to complete and utter insignificance—because Paul didn't love her.
But it wasn't Jake, it was Steve Gascoyne, immaculate
in dark dinner suit and white shirt, her scarf in his hands. She felt a shiver run through the length of her body as their eyes met, and she almost snatched the scarf from him.
`You needn't have bothered about that,' she said ungraciously.
`I realise that. It was merely an excuse—if an excuse should be needed.' He looked over her shoulder into the room. 'You're alone?'
`Yes, of course,' she said sharply.
`May I come in for a moment?'
Her lashes flicked up in alarm, but before she could answer he was in the room and the door was shut and his back was against it.
`Jake's waiting for me,' she said edgily. She was unnerved by the way he looked at her. Somehow, instead of being conscious that she was no longer in her lamb's clothing, as he had put it, she could think only of the stroking touch of his fingers burning on her naked breast, rousing her She felt her breathing quicken, and barely managed to ask him, 'What do you want? To—to apologise?'
`I'm not a great believer in apologies. But we hadn't finished our discussion. Now you've composed yourself, I've a different proposition to put to you. You can have that job if you want it—'
`You told me that before,' she said swiftly. 'But no, thank you—I'm not interested in—in double-sided jobs.'
`Oh, forget about that,' he said. 'I mean you can have it your way. You can housekeep for me—cook for the shearers. Come to Warrianda, anyhow, and we'll see how you can handle it. For all I know, you might be quite useless.'
`I'm not,' she retorted. 'I'm a good housekeeper.'
`Trustworthy too?' he said mockingly.
`Don't worry, I won't cheat you over your accounts.'
`You'll come, then? You're seriously interested?'
She licked her top lip nervously. Hadn't she told herself she didn't want to see this green-eyed monster again? Didn't she want to forget everything about him? And wouldn't it be crazy, knowing what she did about him, voluntarily to work under his roof? Yet if it was as she wanted it, if she was to be no more than his housekeeper—then why not? At least it was a way out of her dilemma. Almost as she reasoned with herself, she was telling him, 'Yes, of course I'm seriously interested. In the work,' she added.
`Of course,' he said without the trace of a smile. `Then be ready to leave tomorrow after lunch, will you? I have one or two things to deal with in the morning, so it will be safest to make it then.'
Ellis nodded, and without saying any more he went. She drew a deep breath. She didn't know what she'd done or why she'd done it, and she knew she'd never acted with such reckless lack of logic in all her life.
She switched off the light and went down to the Birdcage Bar.
It was funny, she reflected later, how easy it was to tell Jake she'd got a job on Flinders Island. She told it as though it was all so normal and ordinary, yet if Jake had known what had really gone on in Steve Gascoyne's suite, he'd have been ropeable.
`What kind of a fellow is he?' Jake asked.
She'd told him, lying as though it were second nature to her, that Mr Gascoyne had declined to join them for a drink and sent his apologies. 'He's not feeling terribly sociable. His aunt—the one who used to housekeep for him—has just died.'
Thank heaven they didn't see Steve. In the Birdcage
Bar, Ellis had a brandy and lime with the feeling she really needed it. Then they left the Bar with its long glittering silver and glass rods and its exotic murals of naked females to take the elevator up to the top of the tower and the plush splendour of the revolving restaurant. There, with the night-time panorama of Hobart Town spinning slowly around them—the shadow of Mount Wellington, the lights of the city, the glimmering water of Sandy Bay and the delicate curve of light that was the new Tasman Bridge—Ellis told Jake falsely that yes, she liked Mr Gascoyne, he was a very pleasant man, and he was very grateful to have someone to take over the household tasks and the feeding of the shearers.
`I'll be able to see Martin too,' she added with a light heartedness that even in her own ears rang true, and she sipped white wine and ate her lobster Thermidor and was glad of the soft lights. She was amazed at how calm and reassuring she sounded and a little ashamed at the trusting way Jake believed every word she said as she whitewashed the character of the man she knew in her heart she should not be trusting—and in fact didn't.
`Well, I guess I can leave you with an easy mind, Ellis love,' said Jake. 'You've got what you wanted, but I'll admit I'm disappointed to be losing you. I know you and Pat would hit it off, and I've been enjoying the experience of having a beautiful young daughter. It could go on forever as far as I'm concerned,' he added, smiling at her across the table. 'But at least I've helped you over the worst of your heartache, haven't I? You're quite chirpy tonight—and you're looking wonderful. I hope I'm to meet this sheep farmer before I leave, by the way.'
`Oh, I think so,' she lied. 'In the morning before you
go. He—he'd like to meet you too.' She had a strong idea that Jake wouldn't want to trust her to a man like Steve Gascoyne. He would be a lot happier if he retained the image of the kind-hearted, slightly harassed countryman she had tried to get across, and she trembled inwardly at the thought of what she was about to do. There was just no way she could convince herself she was being sensible. She wasn't. She just had to have a job, that was all. She was more or less being pushed into it by circumstances.
In the morning, for once, she and Jake breakfasted together in the Coffee Shoppe, and she told him without batting an eyelid that Mr Gascoyne had had to go out early to complete some business. Later, as she saw to his packing while he settled their account downstairs, she reflected somewhat uncomfortably on her behaviour. Steve Gascoyne, she knew, would not be in the least surprised by it. He'd see it merely as a form of the cheating and double-dealing he expected from the female sex.
Ellis went out to the taxi to see Jake off, and before they parted he insisted on giving her a very handsome sum of money, and remarked he was disappointed not to meet her farmer after all.
`Yes, it's a shame—you'd like him,' said Ellis, and blushed inwardly to hear herself. What on earth was happening to her? She supposed it was simply that she knew she was doing something foolish, yet she had had no alternative, and she could regard it more or less as a stopgap until she found something more suitable. But away at the back of her mind she knew that something had happened to her when Steve Gascoyne had kissed her the way he had. She had felt so humiliated and ashamed, and yet—
She stared out at the glittering waters of the Bay and
the boats rocking there. No, she told herself severely, she couldn't possibly want to experience that again. And anyway, it wouldn't happen. Steve Gascoyne had given in. He had seen it her way. She was to be his housekeeper and nothing more. He was going to have to find another woman to take into his bed and he knew it. She had left him in no doubt whatsoever about that.
* * *
CHAPTER THREE
NOT so many hours later she discovered how wrong she was, as she sat beside Steve Gascoyne in his own small plane, looking down on the last of Tasmania before they flew over Banks Strait.
It had been a surprise to her when, having arranged to meet her in the foyer at a certain hour after lunch, he had broken the news to her that they would be flying to Flinders straight from Hobart, and that he would be the pilot. He was dressed casually in a dark red silk shirt and pale beige trousers, and she was bound to admit to herself that he looked impressive. She hadn't seen him in daylight before, and he had a decided
ly rugged look with the thick black and silver of his hair slightly ruffled and his green eyes crinkled against the sun. His tan, away from the artificial lights of the hotel, no longer looked theatrically unreal, but was a clear indication that he spent a great deal of his time in the open. In fact, it began to seem possible to Ellis that he was, after all, a farmer instead of a sophisticated man about town.
She had chosen to wear the simplest of dresses in soft ivory-coloured cotton, with a violet scarf at the neck. Her legs were bare and she wore sandals that were casual rather than dressy. She hoped she had struck a happy medium and that he wouldn't make any sneering remarks about lamb's clothing.
During the first part of the flight she tried to imagine what it would be like at Warrianda, and she felt a nervous trembling inside her. Who, she wondered for the
first time—and was amazed at her stupidity in not thinking of this before—would be there, in the house, apart from herself and Steve Gascoyne? Jan's letters home had been all about herself and Steve with the odd bit of news about Martin, and Ellis racked her brains in vain trying to recall people she had mentioned. Whitemark, she knew, was the main town, and Martin spent some of his time at the Interstate Hotel there, but really she was abysmally—and a little disturbingly —ignorant about the set-up at Warrianda.
Well, it was too late for regrets now. The patchwork paddocks and the wooded mountains of Tasmania were receding, there was the long froth of a white beach and then the lovely pale green waters of Banks Strait were down below. The plane seemed to hover, smooth and steady, and the engine hummed. Ellis had never been in such a small plane before and the day was so smooth and sunny it was incredible. She glanced at the man beside her, but he seemed totally withdrawn and unaware of her, and on his face was a brooding look that made her feel strangely cut off from him. He was an absolute stranger, and, disturbed, she looked away from him and down below where there were now tiny islands scattered on the blue-green water, bare and wild-looking with rocky shores, some of them no more than great jagged rocks, all but washed over by the sea.