Raintree Valley

by Violet Winspear

  ‘You seem far away in your thoughts,’ he said, as he turned the baking bird with a pronged stick. ‘A penny for them?’

  ‘Oh, I was just thinking that we should arrive home in time for Bonney’s party. She’ll be very disappointed if you’re not there when she blows out the candles on her cake and unwraps her presents.’

  ‘I wouldn’t want to disappoint Bonney,’ he agreed. ‘It was only a couple of years ago that she lost everything, and we try to make up for that, Aunt Charly and I.’

  Joanna caught the compassionate note in his voice, and she kept her gaze on a filmy-winged moth, which seemed to hover dangerously close to the flames of the fire. ‘The foolish thing will burn itself in a moment,’ she whispered.

  ‘Evidently a female of the species,’ he drawled. Tempting danger and ending up with singed wings.’

  Again and again the moth vibrated about their fire, bringing Joanna’s heart into her throat in case it scorched those shimmering wings. Then all at once it glided off among the dark trees as if aware that ecstasy could end only in pain.

  ‘Relieved?’ he murmured. ‘In case even that small thing should hurt itself?’

  ‘It was so lovely.’

  He was silent and she felt compelled to look at him. Her eyes in the firelight held a blue sorcery. The shadows played in the young hollows of her face. She was defenceless in her love, but hiding it with a proud tilt to her chin. She was fragile in his flying-jacket, and yet not helpless or unhurt by the realities of life. Her hair was a soft rope of gold against the brown canvas jacket.

  The firelight was in his eyes as he looked at her and she could not read their expression. ‘You’re very appealing in my jacket,’ he said, and then he gave a laugh. ‘Now don’t get all starched up because I pay you a bit of flattery. Right now I’m hungry for a turkey leg, so you’re quite safe.’

  ‘Will supper soon be ready?’ she asked, an ache in her throat because she had to resist his teasing. Even the brush of his arm sent a tingle of awareness through her, and she hated shrinking from him when she longed to sit close to his warm strength.

  ‘We might as well have our soup.’ She felt him looking at her with a slight frown as he poured the soup into the cups, hot and spiced. ‘Here you are, Joanna.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Her fingers brushed his as she took the cup. ‘It smells good.’

  ‘Ever camped out like this before?’

  ‘Only with the girl guides,’ she smiled.

  ‘H’m, that would be a trifle different from sharing meals and a camp fire with a man.’ The smile he gave her was a trifle wicked. ‘Do you write and tell your grandmother all about your new life in Queensland?’

  ‘I tell her the things that won’t worry her — and you’re forgetting that I’m only a working visitor. I haven’t planned to settle here for good.’

  ‘You mean to return to England after you’ve seen your sister?’

  ‘I - I probably shall.’

  ‘Suppose someone tried to stop you?’

  She looked at him quickly. ‘I never took Vance’s proposal seriously, if you’re referring to him. And didn’t you say that you’d do your darnedest to stop him from marrying me?’

  My very darnedest,’ he agreed, his voice a low thunder by the warm red glow of the fire. ‘I’d sooner see you go back to the old country than see you married to my cousin.’

  ‘You don’t beat about the bush, do you?’ And because she loved him, hurt anger flared that he should be so open about not wanting her to become a Corraine. A tremor shook her. She wanted to raise her hand and feel his hard jaw beneath a stinging slap. How dared he talk about wanting to kiss her when he didn’t think her good enough for Vance! Her cheeks burned and she jumped to her feet.

  ‘You’re the most arrogant devil it’s ever been my misfortune to meet,’ she said hotly. You live in a world of your own, a bossy autocrat who actually goes pale at the thought of a kitchen wench marrying into the clan Corraine! Watch out, Adam! You’re on the way to becoming as hard as your grandfather, and from all accounts his wife pined away from lack of love.’

  Adam stared at her, and then in a voice dangerously quiet he said, ‘Sit down, Joanna. Your nerves are all on edge, otherwise I’d be angry with you for saying those things.’

  ‘They’re true, aren’t they? The truth always hurts.’

  ‘Are you trying to make me angry, Joanna?’

  She didn’t answer him, but the tilt of her chin was defiant.

  ‘Now sit down,’ he ordered. ‘I’m about to dish up the turkey and we don’t want a quarrel to upset our digestions. See, it’s baked to a turn.’ With the aid of the pronged stick he transferred the smoking bird from the bed of hot ashes to a platter of leaves and using his knife he scraped off the ash and carved off the legs. Then he looked at Joanna and she knew from the flash in his eyes that if she didn’t rejoin him on the log he would take hold of her and make her sit beside him. If he touched her, after the things she had said to him, she might do something foolish. She might bury her head against his shoulder and whisper that she didn’t care if he was arrogant. She loved him despite everything. His strong profile etched by the firelight His wide shoulders. The way he had of being in command of every situation.

  She sat down and meekly took the leg of turkey which he handed to her on one of those handy green leaves. ‘You’re hungry, he said. ‘You’ll feel less jumpy once you’ve had something substantial to eat’

  She blinked as she nibbled her turkey leg and told herself there was smoke in her eyes.

  ‘Good?’ he asked, after taking the edge off his hunger.

  She nodded. ‘It’s much nicer than biscuits.’

  His teeth glimmered. ‘I’m glad I make a satisfactory chef.’

  ‘You’re never at the mercy of any situation.’ The turkey meat was crisp and tasty. ‘If I were alone I’d still be struggling to light a fire, probably with green wood, and I’d be scared of all those eerie noises among the trees.’

  ‘A man has to be self-sufficient, Joanna. This is a big land.’

  ‘I don’t like to think how big,’ she murmured, and she was thinking of the many miles that would one day separate them, and when like Charlotte Corraine she would love forever the memory of a man who was unlike other men. His face would haunt her, for it was carved so boldly and strongly. And his voice would be a low thunder in her ears ... when others spoke her name she would remember how it sounded on his lips.

  The flames of their fire leapt warm, but beyond lay the blackness of the forest, filled with croakings and stealthy rustlings.

  ‘Don’t you like Australia?’ he asked suddenly.

  She thought of Raintree Valley, which she had grown to love. She pictured all the rest, the vast outback, the stretches of bush, the great cities, and she felt small and lost. This was in her eyes, reflected there for him to see. ‘I guess New Zealand will suit you best.’ There was a note of impatience in his voice. ‘It’s smaller, prettier, and full of woolly lambs.’

  ‘Don’t—’ She reached out a hand to him, and then hastily withdrew it. ‘You were born here, Adam. You’re big yourself, so its vastness can’t frighten you. You have your family, your friends—’

  ‘You want to be with your sister, is that it?’

  ‘We’re twins and it’s been such a long time since I saw Viv. She’s so gay and sparkling, and she treats life like an amusing game. I’m the serious one.’

  ‘You’ll have plenty to tell your sister.’ He leaned forward to replenish the fire with a branch of wood that burned blue as it took flame and sent a whiff of incense into the air. Fireflies were sparks in the darkness beyond the rim of leaping firelight. As he leaned back on the log Adam whistled a few bars of Waltzing Matilda.

  ‘This kind of thing wouldn’t appeal to Viv.’ Joanna smiled as she watched the dance of many tiny moths in the glow of the fire. ‘She likes the glamour of rustly dresses and restaurants ... if she were here right now she’d be on the lookout for creepy crawlies, an
d she’d expect chestnut stuffing with the turkey and table napkins. I’m afraid you’d never take my twin for a country girl.’

  He laughed quietly, that pleasant baritone sound that played its way to her heart and made loving him no easy thing to bear in silence and secrecy.

  ‘It’s funny,’ he said. ‘I can’t imagine a replica of you, Joanna. Your eyes, that spirited tilt to your chin, and the golden rain of your hair, they seem to belong only to you. I can’t picture another girl with quite your look.’

  ‘Oh, everything about me is quiet compared to the dazzle Viv creates when she walks into a room. We’re not strikingly alike ... though we’re twins. Viviana is beautiful.’

  ‘Is that supposed to be everything?’ he drawled.

  ‘Not here, I suppose, in the wilds of Queensland,’ Joanna smiled. ‘I wonder what you’d have said if Viv had turned up at Raintree for the job of home-help?’

  ‘I’d have sent her packing for certain sure,’ he grinned. ‘If she’s as decorative as you say, then those stockmen of mine would have camped on the kitchen doorstep. As it was, young lady—’

  She looked at him as he paused significantly, and there rushed over her the memory of his hostility. The way he had sat his horse in the sunlight and swept his eyes over her. He hadn’t thought then that she had spirit. It had irritated him that she should be clad in Vance’s flying-jacket. He had looked all set to bundle her back on the plane with a reject label around her neck.

  ‘You couldn’t stand me,’ she laughed, and there was a catch in her throat. ‘I wanted to tell you to keep your job.’

  ‘Joanna—’ He sat forward, the glimmer of the firelight on his white shirt, his brown face, his eyes etched by sun-lines and those caused by the many cares of being the Boss.

  ‘It’s all right. I understand now,’ she said, her hands dug deep into the pockets of his jacket; hands that longed to smooth the lines in his face.

  ‘What do you understand?’ he asked swiftly.

  ‘That you had the best interests of Raintree at heart, and you thought I’d be a liability.’ She tilted her chin and gave him a steady look. ‘I proved you wrong. I bet not many people have done that to Adam Corraine.’

  ‘No.’ His eyes held hers. ‘The boss of a station can’t afford to be a duffer, but let’s set the record straight about something—’

  Whatever it was he was going to say was interrupted by a sudden fluttering in the shadows. The thing swooped, with a wide spread of wings, and Joanna jumped up, alarmed, as it dived towards them.

  ‘It’s all right!’ Adam gripped her within the circle of his arm and swung her to him, her face pressed to his shoulder. The night creature winged around them and then dived off as Adam flung a piece of firewood.

  ‘What was it?’ she gasped, pulling away from him.

  ‘A flying-fox. They make a peculiar noise, don’t they? It was probably attracted by the smell of our food ... Joanna, you’re shaking!’

  It was reaction from his closeness, the joy of it, and the denial of that joy. ‘I’m as bad as Viv and her creepy-crawlies.’ She forced herself to laugh. ‘We’d better away the supper things. I don’t fancy seeing that vampire again,’

  ‘Yes, let’s get the dishes washed,’ he said briskly.

  They went down to the stream to wash the billy-can and the cups and she was glad when he said he’d postpone his dip until the morning. It was so late now, and the rain forest was so mysterious, unlit by the stars that shone in the patch of velvety sky above the stream. The water rippled, the trees rustled as a wind stirred their long hanging leaves, and she felt the spell of the night, which the presence of Adam made safe for her ... and at the same time dangerous.

  He stripped off his shirt and splashed the cool water over his face, throat and shoulders. He slicked his hair back, dark with water, and there in the starlight his wet torso was silvery. She tossed him the towel they had dried by the fire and he used it vigorously, a big, warm, healthy male creature who was at one with the elemental things.

  ‘That was good.’ He buttoned his shirt, and they made their way back to the camp fire. Something was nosing around the satchel, but it scampered off as they appeared. ‘A forest cat,’ he said. ‘They prowl about but don’t stay to argue - I’ll make up the fire and that should keep off the intruders.’

  He shot her a look as the flames leapt around the firewood. ‘Afraid of the bush at night?’

  She considered his question, a slender figure in the firelight, hands buried in the pockets of his jacket, the collar turned up about her slim neck. ‘You’re here,’ she said, looking jaunty even as she felt the sweet danger of being so alone with him. ‘I’d be a bundle of nerves if you weren’t.’

  He smiled slowly, his teeth a glimmer of white against his firelit face. ‘You’ve got your share of grit - and now we’ll make up a couch for the night.’

  A couch? There was a dramatic silence. Joanna didn’t dare to look at Adam, and she tautened as he came towards her.

  ‘Come,’ his fingers touched her shoulder lightly, ‘I’ll show you the kind of tree-ferns we collect for a mattress.’

  ‘Tree-ferns?’ she echoed.

  ‘Yes.’ His fingers tightened on her shoulder, as if he knew very well the trend of her thoughts. ‘You don’t want to sleep on the hard ground, do you? It grows cold in the night and we’ll need the rug for a covering.’

  ‘A covering?’

  ‘Little Miss Echo,’ he bent his head and his breath stirred teasingly against her cheek, ‘keeping warm in the night comes before keeping formal, and I promise not to seduce you ... if you don’t want me to.’

  ‘Oh, really!’ She jumped a yard away from him. ‘I suppose that’s your idea of a joke?’

  ‘You can take it as a joke, if you like.’

  She shot him a look, and then he broke into a laugh as he strolled towards the trees. ‘Come along, mate. We’ll need several armfuls.’

  He piled her arms with the feathery, fragrant ferns, and they spread them on the ground near the fire, making several trips until he was satisfied with the softness of this rustic couch beneath the canopy of the raintrees.

  Under the greenwood tree, who loves to lie with me ...?

  Again those words stole through Joanna’s mind, provocative as this situation in which she found herself with Adam Corraine. He was making sure the fire was safe within its circle of stones, and Joanna was tensed for the moment when he looked at her, when he said: ‘It’s time to settle down, Joanna. Take your shoes off. Your feet will feel warmer tucked in the rug.’

  With a fast beating heart she removed her sandals and settled down on the mattress of ferns. He had banked it up so there was a head rest, and it was springy, green-scented, and the shock of Adam’s touch ran all the way through her as he tucked the ends of the wallaby rug closely around her, the furry side a soft warm tickle.

  ‘D’you feel cosy?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes.’ Her lashes fluttered like the wings of moths as she gazed up at him and wondered what his thoughts were. For him it wasn’t usual to have a girl on his hands, here in the bush, with its mystery and its murmurings.

  ‘You’ll sleep fine and be all set for the rest of our trek tomorrow. Feet okay?’

  ‘Warm as toast.’ He was so close as he leaned over her to secure the rug beneath the ferns, his shoulders spread wide and strong above her. Her left hand curled against her heart, as if to still its warm, hard beating.

  ‘I’ll cat-nap beside the fire,’ he said. ‘I’m used to it. When we ride out for the big muster, we take turns to keep the billy on the boil so the rangers can have a mug of tea when they feel like it.’

  ‘But you said—’ And then she caught the glimmer in his eyes and she realized that he had been teasing her about sharing this ferny bed with her. As if he would - even in the most impersonal way - when at Raintree he had a girl picked out for his future wife; a pretty and demanding young thing, who would want to know how he had spent every minute of this enforced tim
e with Joanna Dowling.

  ‘You said it grew very cold in the night,’ she ended.

  ‘I shall sit close to the fire - now don’t look worried! I’m an old hand at nodding off without falling into the flames. I’m a stockrider, Joanna. Tough as a well-worn riding-boot.’

  ‘Oh no,’ she laughed huskily. ‘You’re really much kinder than I ever thought—’

  ‘Child,’ he quirked a mocking eyebrow, ‘don’t say nice things to a man at night. Save them for the daylight - it’s much safer.’

  ‘I’m sure you wouldn’t lose your head over being called - nice,’ she laughed. ‘A man likes to be dangerous - like a tiger.’

  ‘Am I dangerous, Joanna?’

  ‘Terribly - but you haven’t a fur coat to keep you warm. Won’t you take the rug?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Then you must have your jacket.’ She sat up before he could protest and zipped it off. ‘Please, Adam - please take it.’

  ‘Does a girl like to be called nice?’ he asked.

  ‘Upon occasion.’ She snuggled down again into the softness of the rug. Through her lashes she watched him put on the jacket and it gave her a sense of closeness to him that her warmth clung to the material. He zipped it to his throat, and then he stood up and she felt stricken. Never again would she feel so close to him. Never again would it be possible. In the morning they would start early for Raintree ... they had to be home in time for Bonney’s party.

  ‘Sleep tight, Joanna,’ he said. ‘I’ll be close by, keeping watch through the night.’

  ‘Good night, Boss.’

  He half-turned in the firelight and she saw a smile flicker on his lips. Then he moved out of range, and she lay warm and drowsy in the wallaby rug. She could smell the ferns, the woodsmoke and the forest, and somewhere near the fire there was a low soft whistling ... Adam lulling her to sleep with Waltzing Matilda.

  The night passed without incident, and Joanna awoke as sunshine shafted through the trees and struck bright across her eyes. She stirred lazily and heard the songbirds in the trees and the lash-like call of a whipbird. A crimson parakeet let out a squawk, as if to rouse her completely from her dreaming. She let the rug slip away from her and she stretched her arms, to which clung tiny pieces of fern. It was in her hair as well, and then she shot to her feet, fully awake, as a large ant crawled across the rug, spidery-legged. She shook the rug vigorously, and then took a look around for Adam. He had set the billy to boil, hung the food satchel on a branch, and left her a note secured by a stone. Miss D. Have gone foraging for our breakfast. Don’t fancy cold turkey - how about you? Mr. C.