by Dorothy Cork
green gaze flickered coldly over her, she shivered involuntarily, as if scenting danger.
`You've taken your time,' he said icily.
Ellis blinked. 'What do you mean? I had some shopping to do in Whitemark.' She tipped out the few items she had bought on to the table and indicated the boxes of provisions. 'What's all this?'
`What do you think it is? Food for the shearers, of course.' He looked contemptuously at her purchases. `Shopping like that hardly warranted a trip to Whitemark.'
`Maybe it didn't,' she flared, and forbore to mention that she'd been almost there when she took Leanne to the airfield. 'But I didn't know there was any law against it.'
`There's not,' he said, still coldly. 'But at least you might tell the truth as to why you went. I know damned well it wasn't to buy half a pound of butter and a tube of toothpaste.'
Ellis put her head up. 'Then you know wrong, because it was. I'm—I'm almost out of toothpaste. Besides, I wanted to take a look around. I've never been to Whitemark.'
Steve came round the table and took her roughly by the shoulders. 'You're protesting too much, I saw your car in town. You went to see Martin Webster, didn't you?'
Her face grew pale. 'What are you implying? He's my cousin ! '
`I don't care if he is your cousin.' He was holding on to her so hard that tears came into her eyes.
`Let go of me, Mr Gascoyne. You're—you're hurting me !'
`I mean to hurt you. And don't start calling me Mr Gascoyne ... I don't take kindly to having my fiancée
spend time in a hotel bedroom with another man. That's what I call cheating. You can count yourself lucky I didn't come in and carry you out forcibly.'
Her eyes widened. 'I'm not your fiancée—and I'm not cheating!'
`You're the woman I'm going to marry,' he said with a deadly intentness.
Ellis shook her head wildly. 'I'm not—I'm not ! '
`You haven't returned the ring I gave you,' he said remorselessly. 'As far as I'm concerned, that's a tacit acceptance.'
`I don't see it that way,' she said, her cheeks paling. `I don't—I don't want it. You can take it back any time you like. And now will you please let me go?'
`In just one moment,' he said, and swept her against him, his mouth finding hers.
She struggled to escape, then desisted as she was inexorably drawn against his maleness—so close she seemed welded to him. Her mouth was warm and bruised from his kisses that wouldn't let her breathe, and suddenly all the resistance went out of her. Fires were shooting probing fingers of flame all through her body to its most secret places, and when he let her go it was all she could do to stop herself from locking her fingers behind his neck and drawing him back to a moment that she longed to repeat, however ashamed it made her feel.
She said shakily, Now may I go?'
`You'd better,' he said meaningly, his glance trailing down her figure from her visibly heaving breast to her trembling thighs, and the look in his eyes made her move quickly. When she reached the door he said, `After dinner I'm going to brief you on the duties of shearers' cook.'
`I'd rather Charlie did that,' she said promptly,
shocked once again by his abrupt return to practical matters.
`Your preferences don't come into it. I'm going to brief you, then I'll know exactly what you've been told.'
Ellis didn't answer that. She ran upstairs to her room to tidy her hair and wash her hands—and to brace herself to go downstairs to the kitchen again. She saw him disappearing into the bathroom as she left her room, and gave a sigh of relief.
* * *
CHAPTER SIX
No one was talkative over dinner. The two men exchanged a few remarks about the day's work, but Ellis thought Charlie was troubled about Leanne's absence. The meal was over quickly, and Ellis, alone in the kitchen, had dealt with the washing up and was giving some rather nervous attention to the two massive boxes of provisions when Steve came in. There were loaves and loaves of bread, several chickens, a great hunk of cheese, tins of sardines, more vegetables than she could get from the small vegetable garden in a month. How many shearers were there going to be? she was wondering worriedly, suddenly doubting that she would be able to manage after all.
It appeared, however, when she asked Steve, that there would be only four—plus the woolclasser, three shed hands, and Steve and Charlie. Ten men, she calculated mentally.
She asked shakily, 'What time will breakfast be?'
`Just listen,' said Steve. 'You needn't think up the questions, I'm going to tell you exactly what you have to do. To begin with, the men don't sleep here. They're local men and they come after they've breakfasted—and they go home for their dinner at night. Work starts at seven-thirty, and Charlie and I will be in the shed at that hour too. The men knock off at nine-thirty for half an hour for morning lunch and from three till three-thirty for afternoon lunch. You'll make sandwiches and tea for then. Midday dinner is twelve, and it won't always be mutton. You'll remember the men
have hefty appetites—shearing is exhausting work. Can you cook a big hearty dinner for eight? We'll have our dinner at night with you.'
`Yes,' said Ellis, with a certainty she was far from feeling, and wished vainly that Leanne was there, if only to give her moral support.
`You've got those hours fixed firmly in your mind) They're fixed by the union and they're to be strictly adhered to. We'll take all this stuff over to the old homestead near the shearing shed. You'll use the kitchen there, there's plenty of equipment, but no dishwasher—you'll find you don't have a lot of spare time by the time you've done the washing up. The men knock off at five-thirty, and Charlie and I will be ready for dinner here at seven. Have you got all that in your head?'
`Yes,' she said stiffly.
`You can come along with me while I take these provisions over so you can get your bearings.'
`All right,' she agreed, unwilling to go out in the night with him but knowing there was logic in it.
The yards outside the big shearing shed were full of sheep, and the holding pens inside were full too. Ellis helped Steve take the foodstuffs into the kitchen of the old homestead, and she had a look at the big dining room that opened off it. That was where she'd be serving dinner—tomorrow.
As they drove back home, the night was pitch dark, the sky cloudy. Steve garaged the car and Ellis didn't wait for him but called goodnight and hurried ahead into the house and up to her room. She closed her door and thought nervously of the next day. It was going to put her boast of efficiency really to the test! She was just about to start undressing when Steve rapped at the door, and she went to open it quickly, knowing he'd
only open it himself if she didn't.
`Yes?' she said, her voice cold.
He pushed past her and shut the door with his foot, and she felt her heart begin to beat treacherously fast.
`What do you want?' she demanded, by some miracle keeping her voice from shaking.
`I'm accepting the invitation you tossed me earlier on.'
`What—what invitation?'
`To come and get my ring.'
Stupefied, she watched him stride across to the dressing table and pick up the small red box. She saw the emerald flash as he opened it and took the ring out. `I'd like you to wear it, Ellis,' he said, and now as he looked at her across the room it was his eyes that were flashing. 'Can't I—persuade you?'
She shook her head. 'Your particular form of persuasion doesn't work on me.'
His long mouth lifted at the corners. 'I thought it was beginning to,' he suggested. 'I thought you were beginning to discover you might even enjoy being my wife.'
`I'm sorry, but I wouldn't,' she said, and knew she sounded prim—which was, if she thought about it, laughable.
He put the ring down and came closer to her. 'What's Martin Webster been saying to you about me ?' he asked intently.
`Nothing,' she stammered, and felt her cheeks crimson.
`Nothing?' he repeated, and suddenly
he had a hand on either side of her jaw and was tilting her face to his.
`Just that you're a—cynic,' she said indistinctly. She saw his pupils dilate and then her glance went as though compelled to his mouth.
`You knew that,' he said. 'I told you so myself. Did he advise you not to marry me?'
`I—I didn't tell him you'd asked me.'
His expression was mocking. 'You cheeped out your little story about being my housekeeper, I suppose,' he taunted.
`Something like that,' she agreed. With a violent movement she pulled. herself free of his hands and stood looking at him defiantly. But I'm certainly not going to stay here and cook for your shearers if you're going to pester me. I'll—I'll leave. I'll take the plane out tomorrow.'
He smiled crookedly. 'I believe you're threatening me, Ellis. It won't work, you know. You can walk out any time it pleases you—now, if you like. I'll manage. The shearers will be fed if I have to cook for them myself—I'm quite capable of doing it, make no mistake. Everything will go without a hitch, so don't try to fool yourself I can't get along without you.'
Ellis bit her lip. He really didn't care if she went. He had the most detestable knack of knowing how to decimate her belief in her usefulness. He'd never been in the least impressed by her capabilities, he'd never given her one word of praise for anything she'd done.
She stammered angrily, `I'm not fooling myself. I'm quite sure you can get along without anybody, Steve Gascoyne ! '
He raised his dark eyebrows. 'We're talking about you in particular. In your specific role as shearers' cook,' he added. But I don't want to be rid of Ellis Lincoln. I'm beginning to like having a pretty girl around the place ... So right, as from now I'll treat you as you wish. You'll go on the wages sheet as shearers' cook.' Ellis stared at him blankly, hardly able to take in what he was saying.
`That's what you want, isn't it?' he said mockingly. Then with a brusque, 'Goodnight,' he let himself out of the room.
Ellis's knees felt suddenly weak. He had gone, and he had promised to leave her alone. She had won her point.
She stared vacantly at the spot where only a moment ago he had stood, and she could still feel the intensity of his green gaze. She had won—yet, curiously, she didn't feel she had won at all. In some puzzling way, she knew that he had won, and she suspected he was well aware of it.
Steve kept his promise. For the next few days he left her alone—in the sense she had meant it, that was. But that didn't mean that everything went smoothly between them. It didn't.
Despite her belief in her own dependability, she made mistakes. She was late with afternoon lunch the very first day and he came angrily over to the old homestead where she was hastily loading the hamper of sandwiches and the huge pot of tea into the car.
`How much longer are you going to take, for God's sake? I told you the breaks the men take are rigid. They have half an hour exactly, and they don't expect to wait around for half of that time and then have to gulp their tucker.'
`I'm sorry.' Ellis's face was flushed. `The—the clearing up after dinner took me longer than I expected—'
`Don't make excuses. The clearing up can wait, the men can't. Now get a move on. I'm paying you awarded wages, so keep on the ball, do you understand. Otherwise I'll sack you for incompetence.'
His words stung and Ellis didn't dare to glance at him. He could have no idea how it hurt her pride to be
taken to task like this. Somehow she hadn't expected it of him. She almost wished she'd gone on the plane today—back to Uncle Bill. She had a strange feeling that she had grown stronger while she'd been away—that if she went back to Melbourne now it wouldn't really break her heart to see Jan and Paul together.
She got into the car, and failed to start it, and heard Steve mutter an oath.
`Get over,' he grated, and she moved across the seat feeling a mixture of anger and fear. He got the car going with a jerk and a roar and neither of them spoke as he drove the couple of hundred yards to the shearing shed. Ellis felt a mass of nerves as she carried the hamper up the steps. The men were already sitting near the table around the big wool bins, and she murmured an apology and withdrew quickly. They had all been very polite to her at dinner time. She had given them plenty to eat—she had cooked too much, actually—but she thought they'd enjoyed their meal.
Now she stood in the dust at the foot of the steps and looked absentmindedly at the sheep—the woolly ones waiting to be shorn, the strangely white ones that had emerged from the tally pens—and thought about the men in the shed. They'd have been a whole lot friendlier and relaxed if she'd really looked like the cook, she was certain, or—or if she'd been Mrs Steve Gascoyne. As it was, they were uncertain of her. The wool classer, Mike, was the only one who'd said more than Good-day to her so far, and he'd asked where she was from—and then Steve had come along and he hadn't said anything more.
Over in the sunshine, Steve had the bonnet of the car up and was tinkering about with the engine, and Ellis stood uncertainly. She had an impulse to go back into the shed and watch the shearing. One of the dogs
came bounding down the steps and brushed past her in a friendly frolicsome way. This morning, she'd seen him lying cosily in the wool in one of the sorting bins, but he'd been very quickly called to order.
Suddenly she felt really tired. She still had a lot to do—and then there'd be dinner to prepare for herself and the two Gascoynes. How much easier it would have been with Leanne here to help !
Presently Steve slammed down the bonnet of the car and came towards her. 'It should be all right now,' he said briefly, and went into the shearing shed. Ellis waited another ten minutes before she went inside to deal with the debris from afternoon lunch.
`You're doing a good job, Ellis,' Charlie told her next day. 'Why don't you come in and watch the shearing? You're quite welcome, you know.'
`Some time,' Ellis said with a smile. `I'm in a bit of a rush right now—I have to get the dinner going.'
`It's a shame you have it all on your own,' he said apologetically. 'Leanne shouldn't have deserted. It's impossible to get a cook on this island—the women always turn to and do it, but it's hardly fair on you since you're a guest.'
She coloured and said with embarrassment, `I'm on the payroll, you know. I'm not working for nothing.'
At exactly that point Steve came up the steps. 'You'd better get back in the shed,' he told his brother curtly, and Charlie melted away instantly. 'My brother's on the payroll too,' he told Ellis equally curtly. 'We've got four shearers and they shear mighty fast. No one has time to stand about listening to women chatter.'
Ellis clenched her teeth and kept silent, though she longed to make some stinging retort. Stupid, she told herself. Now he was treating her as the boss would
treat the cook, why couldn't she be satisfied? What did she want from him? She stole a look at him and discovered he was rolling a cigarette and paying absolutely no attention to her. She might not have existed. He didn't think to ask her if she'd like to watch the shearing, she thought resentfully.
That day she made a delectable sauce to go with the roast chicken. The men polished it all off and she felt very pleased with herself. Steve had told her 'plain food,' but it just went to show they appreciated subtle seasonings. Gratified by her success, Ellis added date and walnut sandwiches to the cheese and sardine for afternoon lunch—and was chagrined later to discover they'd given her fancy stuff to their dogs. Worse still, Steve was there and fully aware of it. He told her, grabbing her by the arm harder than he had any right to do, `No fancy stuff, Ellis. You're not catering for a tea-party.'
She swallowed. 'I'm sorry.'
`Being sorry's no use. Just follow orders.'
Ellis didn't look at him. She'd thought of staying in the shed awhile to watch, but changed her mind. She'd had one reprimand and she didn't want another. He'd accuse her of wasting time—distracting the shearers. Anything.
The rest of the week passed reasonably smoothly—except that Ellis was b
eginning to feel she could sleep for a week, and she was sick of the very sight of food —and of the washing up bowl! On Friday she managed to spend a little time in the shed. Steve had taken the jeep out and when the men resumed work at three-thirty she stood near the big wool bins where she hoped she wouldn't be in the way, interested to see what went on. It was fascinating to watch one of the shearers open the little gate into the catching pen, seize a sheep be-
hind its front legs, then sit it on its hindquarters and drag it over to the shearing stand where the electric clippers hung. A few expert strokes, and the belly was trimmed, then with long sweeps the fleece was removed from each side of the body. After that it seemed no time at all till the sheep was being pushed through the trapdoor that led into the tally pen below. There was not a moment wasted, and wouldn't want to be—because a good shearer could shear a hundred and fifty sheep a day ! The dogs were enjoying themselves enormously, and when more sheep had to be let through to the catching pens, they would race over the sheep's backs and urge them to go where they were wanted.
Most intriguing of all, however, was to watch one of the hands pick up the newly shorn fleece and throw it on to the big classing table, where it came down all in one piece and looking absolutely enormous. There the dirty wool was removed, the fleece was classed, then rolled deftly into a bundle and tossed into one of the sorting bins.
Ellis watched for quite a while before she reluctantly moved away to take up her own tasks again.