Kookaburra Dawn

by Amanda Doyle

  There were many lovely dresses on view that evening, and many beautiful young women, glowing with health and vigour and vitality and fun in an unselfconscious way that Rennie found peculiarly Australian, and quite refreshingly attractive. Leith Mindon was as beautiful as anyone in that hall, in a way that was subtly different. With her creamy skin and rich auburn hair she stood out amongst her sun-tanned sisters like a frangipanni in a bowl of poinsettias.

  There was little noticeable difference about the men’s attire compared with what they had been wearing all day, Rennie was amused to see. Admittedly, they had showered too, had changed their shirts and polished the dust off their boots, and some of them had shaved off their five o’clock shadow and slicked their hair down neatly, but essentially the garb remained the same. A sea of sleeve-rolled shirts, some still open-necked, some with a tie now knotted at brown throat as a concession to the added formality of the evening. A mere sprinkling of darker suits.

  Rennie danced for the most part with Keith, but from time to time others came-up to claim her too. At one point she was seized by the exuberant Murtie, who whirled her off into the crowd with heavy-footed enthusiasm, stamping his feet noisily in time to the Military Two-step which the band had struck up. The go-go sort of dancing which had been the rage when Rennie left home did not appear to have caught on out here, except amongst the youthful visiting contingent, who every now and then succeeded in persuading the orchestra into a more progressive ‘beat’ rhythm that enabled them to perform their individual interpretations to their evident satisfaction.

  ‘I don’t hold with that new-fangled stuff, Renata,’ grumbled Murtie loudly, as he stepped heavily on her toe with a pressure that made her flinch. ‘What’s dancin’ for, if it ain’t ter get a sheila cuddled up in yer arms, I’d like ter know? I reckon that other’s real silly, if you arst me! More like limberin’ up fer a karate session than proper dancin’, I reckon!’

  ‘Er — quite, Murtie,’ Rennie felt bound to admit, sensing that she would be the loser in any discussion that might ensue over this particular topic.

  Some time later, the band really let itself go in a manner which no doubt would have brought a scowl of disapproval to Murtie’s lined features had Rennie been able to espy him at that moment amongst the crowd. She wasn’t actually trying to look for Murtie, though, because her eyes were drawn unwillingly, like most other people’s, to the couple at one corner of the floor who were performing this particular number in a way that merited attention and admiration, however reluctantly given.

  Leith Mindon was the girl—a slender, gyrating, athletic, graceful figure, she was moving her body with a frenzied accuracy of beat, an impassioned rhythm that was appealing, sensuous and riveting. She was an accomplished mistress of this particular art form, and she knew it, revelled in it. She hadn’t a rival in the whole room, and she knew that, too.

  So did the other dancers. One by one they left the floor, propped themselves idly against the wall, watching. Even the other girls’ faces betrayed grudging admiration. The men, almost without exception, were enthralled.

  ‘Leith’s at her thing again.’ Rennie heard a masculine murmur from somewhere behind her. ‘Just look at that, will you? There’s no one to touch her when it comes to this!’

  Or her companion either. Rennie was unsurprised that it was Chad himself, but his skill at this particular activity caused her a secret pang of envy for the girl who had found such a partner to accompany her in what now amounted to a quite devastating performance. Chad’s own part in it was restrained, understated, as though acknowledging Leith’s claim to the limelight. He was simply acting as a foil for her own impassioned exhibition, and a very successful foil he was! With his fair head thrown back, white teeth gleaming in his dark face, he was encouraging the girl by each clap of his brown hands, each movement of his sinuous, athletic body, as clearly as if he were actually saying to her ‘This is your show, my girl! Now let them see what you can do!’

  When the music stopped, a round of wild applause broke out, and there were chorused entreaties for more. Chad gave an amused, half-sheepish grin, shook his head, handed Leith over to the crowd who had surged around her, and walked across the floor to talk to the bandleader, after which Rennie saw him going off with Ash once more. It was only shortly after that that she felt a tap on her shoulder and, turning, saw that Chad was back.

  He was standing right beside her, and when she looked up at him, he smiled.

  ‘May I have this dance, Renata, please?’ he asked, and without waiting to see what she would say, he took her by the elbow and guided her firmly on to the floor.

  Chad did not try to show Rennie off to the crowd in the way in which he had done with Leith. Instead, he took her into an impersonally conventional hold and began to waltz her around slowly, amongst the other couples. He did not attempt to speak, and Rennie, glancing up with sudden unaccountable shyness, saw that he was in fact looking over the top of her head without expression. It was all too obvious that this was merely a duty dance, and that he had invited her to do it out of pure politeness.

  Chad was a superb dancer, she had seen that already during that exhibition with Leith. Rennie felt as though she were floating on air. Their steps matched perfectly as they whirled slowly around to this dreamy, nostalgic tune. It was an old, familiar melody, one that Rennie had known for years—unashamedly sentimental, sad and lilting. A forever sort of tune. The lights had gone down now, to a pinkish glow, and Rennie felt Chad’s arms tightening imperceptibly about her, drawing her closer. She felt his hand upon her back, moving up, bringing her right against his clean white shirt, and surprisingly, she had no wish, no will, to resist. There was a tiny catch in her throat, a feeling of pain about her heart that made her suddenly yearn for this moment to go on for ever, for time to stand still. It was scarcely less than an exquisite, unbearable agony, as she melted against him. His fingers tightened over hers, his breath was warm on her cheek. They were swaying slowly together, in time to that soft, sad music—two people fused into one, bound in some sort of indefinable magic that brought Chad’s head right down beside hers so that his lips were near her own. They were not set in that punishing, calculating line, those lips, not now, not this time. They were parted just a little bit, curving tenderly, just as his eyes seemed strangely tender, gentle, as she found her gaze irresistibly drawn to his in that soft, dim light. Tender. Questioning.

  ‘My girl, I think, Sandasen.’ Keith’s voice broke in. ‘I’ve been looking everywhere for you, Rennie. Couldn’t find you in this blasted gloom! I thought this was supposed to be our dance.’ He sounded injured, annoyed.

  ‘Yes, of course. I—I’m sorry, Keith, I did look—’

  Dazed by the emotion that had taken possession of her, bewildered, confused, Rennie felt herself transferred from one man’s arms to the other’s. And then, with a curt nod, the briefest of bows, Chad had gone, and she was being whisked away by Keith instead.

  The remainder of that evening passed for Rennie in a state of suspended animation. She could not afterwards have said what she had done, to whom she had spoken, with whom she had danced. She only knew that Chad did not come back. Nor did he speak to her again that night, and when she met his eyes, just once, across the room, they were unrevealing, his features remote and stern. She knew then that she had imagined that tenderness, that magical feeling of togetherness, of completeness, as his arm had tightened about her, drawing her close to him. The music, the soft lights, the nostalgic, lilting refrain, had had some sort of temporary, crazy effect upon her sanity that Rennie had been quite powerless to control. It had nothing to do with Chad himself, of course it hadn’t! And yet it must have had something to do with him, because—back in Keith’s arms—the feeling had vanished.

  All through the next day she found her gaze irresistibly drawn in the direction of Chad’s rugged, sunbrowned face, searching for some clue as to why he had made her feel that way last night. He seemed busier than ever today, and he didn’t stop
to speak for long when she finally found herself talking to him, although his manner was courtesy itself, even if it was that cool sort of politeness which he seemed to have decided to reserve especially for her. All the others to whom he spoke appeared to be receiving the full impact of his particular charm, the lopsided smile, the laughter that crinkled the green eyes into teasing slits.

  Only Rennie did not.

  Never mind, perhaps he would ask her to dance again this evening, and she would then discover that magical mood once more. She might even be able to identify the question those lazy green eyes had been asking.

  To her disappointment Chad did not invite her to dance at all. Even when Keith took the floor with Leith, as he did on several occasions, Chad never even looked her way.

  When Keith returned to her side, he was smiling.

  ‘Sorry to desert you, sweetie, but that little sugar-plum is hard to resist. Do you think that auburn hair is the real thing, or out of a bottle?’

  ‘It’s real, I’m sure, Keith,’ she replied, somehow—inexplicably—irritated all of a sudden. ‘Does it matter?’

  ‘Not a bit,’ he replied cheerfully. ‘It’s quite gorgeous, whichever it is.’ He glanced down at her. ‘Tut, tut! We’re not jealous, are we?’

  Rennie allowed herself to be led on to the floor halfheartedly. She couldn’t think what was the matter with her! She felt no joy at Keith’s nearness, no pleasure in his company tonight. She found herself almost wishing that he had gone back to Leith again, that he had left her alone with this miserable, unhappy listlessness which seemed to have taken possession of her this evening.

  Over his shoulder she could see Chad’s tall form, wide shouldered in the crisp white shirt and narrow trousers. He was dancing with a plump, elderly woman who had a plain, almost ugly face, and a tight frizz of blue-rinsed hair. Her dress was over-exposed, unbecomingly youthful, although it might have looked nice upon someone half her age. Chad’s fair head was bent down, a little to one side, as he listened gravely to what the woman was saying, his eyes intent. All night long he had been carrying out his duties as host with impeccable impartiality, although Leith Mindon herself could probably claim with some legitimacy to have had more dances with him than anyone else. He had asked almost all the girls in turn, and now he was dancing with that plump, over-made-up dowager, and he was turning on the full measure of his charm in exactly the same way as he had done with those attractive younger girls. With everyone, in fact, except Rennie herself.

  ‘I wish the band would zip things up a bit,’ complained Keith forcibly as he twirled her around several times on a double beat. ‘I don’t think our little redhead likes it much either. She’s not doing her stuff over there at all!’

  ‘Isn’t she?’

  Now Chad was speaking, replying to what the woman had been saying. Rennie could see his expression softening, the corner of his mouth curving into a slow smile as he murmured something into the woman’s ear. And then they were both laughing, spontaneously, gaily, and the woman was blushing almost coyly. And it was then that Rennie noticed that she wasn’t plain at all, that woman—not really. A little homely, yes, maybe, but not ugly, not plain, because as she laughed so pleasedly at whatever Chad had said, her eyes were soft and glowing, and her cheeks were flushed and girlish, and there was a warmth in her expression, a pleasure, a sincerity, that lifted her out of the realms of mere ordinariness, that made her, suddenly, quite beautiful with happiness.

  The same warmth and pleasure and sincerity were reflected in Chad’s own features just then, in the affectionate laughter still lingering in his eyes, in the tender curve still lifting his mouth into a smile, in the very way he suddenly twirled his elderly partner around in a youthful pirouette and started listening to what she was saying all over again with his former grave, patient attention.

  And it was in that moment that Rennie realized that she loved him.

  She loved Chad Sandasen, with every fibre of her being. Loved him, quite passionately, for the very qualities she had just been witnessing, all the qualities that Keith did not—could never—possess. She loved him for his charm that was there for everyone, not just turned on and off for special people, a charm of which he wasn’t even aware. Loved him for his patience, his forbearance, his quiet courtesy, his unfailing considerateness, his sincerity, his kindness to a plump and plain old woman who had turned into a happily beautiful one just because he had bent his tanned, sun-fair head and murmured something into her ear—something nice, it must have been, something that gave her genuine pleasure. Rennie loved him for those other things too—the things that had so irked her, the things she had fought so hard against. His sense of purpose, the authority which he had dared her to question, his self-assurance, his perceptiveness, his ability to govern, to organize, to rule.

  She knew, quite suddenly, quite positively, that she wouldn’t mind being ruled, being governed, by Chad. Not now. Not when she loved him like this!

  She pulled herself up with a start, came back to reality with a bump—right back into Keith’s arms. The wrong arms.

  Rennie looked about her in acute, almost uncontrollable panic. There were people everywhere, milling about and around her. Young and old. Fair and dark. Happy people. Gay people. Friendly people. Shy people. Polished people. Uncouth people. People who laughed and chatted as they danced, drank, talked, ate. And there was Rennie—alone—on a small private island of misery because of the shattering discovery which she had just made about herself.

  She collected herself with an effort. They mustn’t guess! Not any of them! Least of all him! He was too good at guessing what people were thinking and feeling, but this was one occasion upon which he was going to have no opportunity of doing so, she must see to that!

  Rennie did see to it forthwith.

  She was gay, brittle, amusing, talkative. She kept up that facade of laughter and fun and high spirits so successfully that Keith, gratified, did not even bother to slide his eyes towards Leith’s bobbing red head any more, as he had surreptitiously been doing all evening, but kept them upon Rennie’s own animated face in the old absorbed and fascinated way.

  She kept it up successfully, that facade, for the whole of the rest of the night— an interminable night. She even succeeded in keeping it up next morning as she stood with Chad and Ash, who were waiting to drive her back to the homestead, and waved goodbye to Keith as he stepped aboard the charter plane once more.

  ‘See you soon, Rennie!’ He blew her a kiss from the step.

  ‘Yes, soon! Soon!’ she answered, and there were tears in her eyes because of the enormous effort she had had to make, tears because of the futility beneath her pretence, tears because of the emptiness inside her.

  Chad saw those tears shimmering on her lashes, she knew, because he was watching her quite intently at the time, but he made no comment, simply resettled his broad-brimmed hat a little lower over his eyes, and held open the door of the Blitz for her to climb in.

  Overhead, the plane droned off into the blue. Below, the last of the cars were leaving the Yogill Bore, straggling away over the plain again in the varying directions from whence they had come. His passengers safely installed, the last of the gear stowed, the fitter and debris cleared away, Chad started the engine, let in the clutch, and drove back to Barrindilloo in silence.

  Rennie was quiet, too, and Ash had gone to sleep. When the Blitz clanked noisily over the cattle-grid near the homestead, he stirred, opened his eyes, sat forward once more and yawned.

  ‘Well, Chad, that’s it over for another year, eh? A success, I reckon, by any standards.’

  ‘I expect so, Ash.’ Chad sounded curiously abrupt. As if he wanted to forget all about the race meeting, put it behind him for keeps.

  At the house he leapt out, went around to the rear of the vehicle and began unloading things with a sort of maniacal energy.

  Magda came racing down the steps, yelling excitedly.

  ‘Chad! Rennie! You’re back! Oh, Ash, you’ve all been
gone ages!’

  ‘Two whole days,’ Ash grinned into her accusing face, tweaked her fair hair away from her forehead casually. ‘How’ve you been?’

  Elspeth had followed hot on the heels of her small charge. A glance from Chad’s set, absorbed face as he carried things inside, to Rennie’s unusual pallor, made her exclaim,

  ‘Lands’ sakes, you look dead beat, the lot of you! I’ll rustle up some tea straight away!’

  Tea was evidently Elspeth’s panacea for all ailments. It was good, too, that tea, Rennie gulped hers down gratefully.

  After lunch she retired to her room to hang up her dresses and put away the few things she had taken with her. She was trying hard not to think. She concentrated woodenly upon what she was doing right now with quite unnecessary attention to detail, smoothed out the jewelled collar of the white sharkskin frock, rearranging it again on the hanger, tidying each drawer as she put things away with mechanical precision.

  It was no good, though, was it, pretending like this? Pretending that there wasn’t anything to think about? That things were still the same as before? They weren’t the same, and they never could be again, and that was something that had to be faced, had to be recognized, had to be thought about! Yes, clearly Rennie must somehow find the courage to look at her problem with honesty. If she could bring herself to do that, she might find a solution, shape some fresh plans for her future.

  Not here, though. She couldn’t think about it here.

  A sudden desperate need for complete solitude sent her back to the dressing-chest to find her jeans. She dragged them on, tucked in a shirt, slipped her feet into canvas plimsolls, put on her beach-hat and went down to the yards.

  The selection of station horses wasn’t up to much today. Nothing as exciting or challenging as that handsome black rogue. She saddled up a passable-looking bay gelding, led him out, and swinging up on to his back, cantered away.