by Jane Corrie
Another week went by, and another Wednesday, without any startling disclosures from Uncle Patrick, and as the news was something he simply would not have been capable of keeping back from her—he would have been too delighted at the prospect of a Rafferty uprooting an Elton, which was precisely the way he would have seen it, Teresa mused shrewdly—it really looked as if her hope( had been realised. It did, of course, also mean that Isobel had got through to him, and Teresa didn't know whether to feel glad or sorry about that. She only knew she wanted him to be happy, but try as she would, she couldn't see a vast amount of happiness in store for him as Isobel's husband. But then, she reminded herself sadly, she had only seen the vicious side of her—perhaps in the same circumstances; she too would produce claws and fight tooth and nail for what she considered was hers, particularly when she knew that if she lost it meant unhappiness for the one she loved.
Precisely two days later Teresa received the confirmation she was looking for in the forth of an article in the local paper, accompanied by a photo-
graph of Carl shaking hands with a prosperous-looking man. The article was headed 'Sunset Ridge scoops deal in foreign trade.'
`Them that has gets!' commented her uncle bitterly, peering over her shoulder as he passed her chair and seeing the article. 'Heard he'd pulled off a big deal with a U.K. firm. As if he hadn't enough share of the market as it is,' he growled. He shook his head sadly. 'Sure the devil looks after his own, that's for certain,' he lamented.
It was not until Teresa was washing up the supper dishes later that evening that the full significance of the newspaper item reached through to her, and her hands stilled on the plate she was putting on the drying rack. Carl was staying! He must be—for she couldn't see him calmly handing over the fulfilling of a contract of that magnitude to a foreman. Her eyes glistened as she said a silent 'thank you' for the opportunity that had come at such an appropriate time.
As she wiped the dishes and stacked them away, her thoughts roamed on. Woman-like, she couldn't help feeling a little rebuffed at his apparent change of mind; although she hadn't wanted him to go up north, the gesture, had he carried it out, would have shown how much he loved her. It had only taken a fortnight, it seemed, for him to get her out of his system. He could hardly be termed a constant lover she thought with a stab of sorrow.
Impatiently she shook these thoughts away; Carl was being sensible, she argued silently with herself. He had picked up the threads of his life again, as indeed she had wished him to do. There would be
no lasting ill-effects of their association—on his part anyway, she thought sadly. The only one who had got hurt was herself. She sighed; she wouldn't have had it any other way, she told herself stoutly, and made an effort to put the whole episode out of her mind.
The following day was cloudy and oppressive, and Michael remarked cheerfully to Teresa when she arrived for work that he hoped she had brought her gumboots with her, as it looked as if she might need them later.
Teresa replied in the same vein, and said she didn't mind getting her feet wet—in fact, she would look forward to it. She had found she actually missed the variable weather of her homeland.
`Ah, but just wait until it comes,' answered Michael, grinning. 'It doesn't stop at rain; the heavens open and the place is awash before you can turn round.'
Teresa thought Michael was teasing her, and asked politely if he could row a boat, for to hear him tell it, there would be no other way she could report for work the next day; at which he chuckled and said, 'You'll see ! '
However, the threatened downpour held off for that day, and by the time Teresa got home that evening her head ached, and she fervently wished the rain would come, if only to relieve the oppressive stillness of the evening. Her depression deepened as her eyes fell on two large cases standing just inside the hall as she let herself in to the chalet.
On the top of the cases lay an envelope addressed to her in Carl's writing. With fingers that shook
slightly she opened the letter and read the contents. It was a short and very impersonal missive which told her that he apologised for not returning them to her before, and he hoped she hadn't been too inconvenienced without them.
Teresa swallowed and placed the letter back into the envelope, then gazed back at the cases and frowned. He must have forgotten her large trunk, and really, she thought sadly, had she been given the choice of which luggage she would have preferred delivered first, the trunk would have taken precedence, for inside it were photographs of her family and small unvaluable ornaments that she had kept from her old home. Unvaluable, that was, from the monetary point of view, but irreplaceable from the sentimental angle. Her eyes closed as she thought of the trunk's contents—of Rob's blazer with the International badge which she and her mother had gently squabbled over, on who should be given the honour of sewing it on—and compromised in the end by doing half each!
She passed a hand over her forehead and pushed back a tendril of her bright hair, as if by this slight action she could also push her memories away, but of course she couldn't. She had had some idea of giving the blazer to Carl. He and Rob had been much of the same build, and she knew it was a custom to exchange items of clothing with visiting teams, and also knew that Carl would have felt honoured to wear Rob's county colours.
Her uncle's van pulling up outside shook her out of her unhappy musings, and she dashed into the kitchen to start getting the meal ready. He would
be very hungry, as he had not had time that morning to sit down and eat what Teresa considered a good breakfast; and she doubted whether he had stopped to get himself something during the day. She did not consider a snatched sandwich, eaten while still driving, a substitute for a meal, and had only the other day scolded him about this practice. Not that she had had much success, for he had replied, 'It's only till the wet comes, girl. I'll be off the road then for a couple of days or so,' and looking down at his thin wiry frame, he had added ruefully, 'It's no use trying to fatten me up, you'll not alter this shape—'sides, I can't tuck it away like I used to.'
In spite of his air of gloomy preoccupation, Teresa had known that her interest, be it scolding, or just fussing over him, pleased him, and she sighed as she put the potatoes on to boil; she couldn't, she thought sadly, have come across two men with more conflicting convictions. Her uncle Patrick was stubborn, not to say pigheaded! And Carl ... she sighed again as she recalled her uncle's words when he introduced himself at their engagement party. "Tis a miracle, so it is '
As she busied herself with the rest of the preparations for the meal, a tiny voice inside her kept repeating these words until in sheer desperation she was forced to answer the taunt. 'Yes, and it'll take another miracle to put things right again,' she whispered fiercely.
CHAPTER TEN
THERE was still no sign of the promised deluge the following morning, and although the clouds were very much in evidence, Teresa did wonder if the 'wet', as everyone seemed to call it, had passed them by, and mentioned as much to Michael as she met him at the office door.
Glancing up at the sky, he shook his head firmly. 'I'd say any time now,' he said, adding consideringly, 'It might hold off until the evening, and I hope it does. Dad and I are off to Bathurst after lunch, remember.' He gave Teresa a hand up the step to the office, holding on to her arm a little longer than necessary, and she was quite prepared for his next words. 'Should be all over by Saturday, Teresa. How about our unfinished date?'
Teresa hadn't the heart to refuse him. It would do no harm anyway; and it wasn't as if it mattered to Carl any more. She nodded quickly. 'Very well,' she replied lightly, and was rewarded by the quick squeeze of his hand on her arm and the delighted grin he gave her.
It was nice, she thought a little sardonically, that someone was still interested in her, and wondered if the day would ever come when she could seriously consider marrying Michael; for it was plain to see that he would grasp the earliest opportunity to propose to her, even though they had had as yet only
one date. It was the little things he did that spoke volumes when they were in the office together, and the way he would watch her when he thought she was unaware of his attention. And it was the little things that counted so much, she thought. There was no doubt that Michael would do his level best to make her happy. Perhaps one day ...
After lunch Michael and his father left for Bathurst, both leaving instructions that should the rain come, Teresa was to make tracks home right away if they weren't back by five, and Mr Oates gave her a key so that she could lock up when she left and not worry about the office being unattended.
Michael was still issuing instructions about how she should close all the windows in the chalet when she got home when his father yanked him out of the office, leaving Teresa smiling and thinking how very lucky she was to have such considerate employers. To be honest, she wasn't sorry to be on her own for a little while. The office was cosy, and she felt at home there. She now knew enough about the job to be able to get on with her work without having to ask questions about it. Not that she had much to do that afternoon. The following day was auction day, and things got a bit hectic from then on until the middle of the week, then quietened down again until the next auction.
When she had finished the work in hand she started tidying the filing index, which was apt to get a bit chaotic after Mr Oates had 'borrowed' it, and as he had had it that morning, Teresa was certain it was in dire need of a little reorganising. It was not a job that called for much concentration and her
mind followed its own leanings while her fingers were busy, and she went back to thinking of something that had rather puzzled her the night before when she had unpacked her cases. Her wedding gown had not been in either case, and she concluded that it was still hanging in the wardrobe of the guest room at Sunset Ridge. Whoever had packed the cases could not have realised that, yet she had the strangest conviction that it had been Carl himself, and if so he had deliberately omitted to pack it.
Teresa had so far not been able to come up with a plausible explanation as to why he should have made the omission, for one would have thought the sooner such an item was out of his house, the better. He had of course paid for the dress, and thinking about it now, it did occur to her that perhaps he was of the opinion that she might put it to a use other than the one he had originally intended. In other words, for her marriage to Michael!
This explanation, however, failed to satisfy her. She couldn't honestly believe that he would credit her with such mercurial, if not downright bad, taste. In the end she gave up the puzzle; it was something she might never know the answer to, and perhaps it was better that way.
The telephone rang shortly before five o'clock and the caller told her he had a message for her from her uncle, who had got bogged down on a place called Hatty's Hill, and would she collect the van and pick him up.
Teresa stared at the receiver in her hand. For one thing, she didn't know where Hatty's Hill was, and
for another, surely her uncle had meant the caller to get in touch with the firm from whom he'd hired the lorry? She sighed.
`I'll contact the hire firm,' she told the unknown caller, 'they'll know what to do.'
The answer she received to this was that her uncle had particularly said it was his niece he wanted to be contacted, and no one else. It appeared he had taken a short cut he shouldn't have taken, and would land himself in trouble if the hire firm got to know about it.
It all sounded distinctly odd to Teresa, and she was about to ask the caller why he hadn't given her uncle a hand, when he rang off. Well, she thought wryly, she hadn't much choice in the matter, and she wondered what he'd have done if she hadn't been able to drive, and was glad she had had a few experimental excursions in her uncle's van soon after she had joined him.
Locking up the office, she made her way to the back of the premises where she knew her uncle parked the van. If the van was locked then that would be that, but she was not at all surprised to find that it was not only unlocked, but the keys had been left in the ignition switch. That sort of negligence would have raised brows back home, she thought with a grin, but here it appeared to be normal procedure. Of course the premises were private, and there was little chance of the van being picked up by youths on a joyriding stunt, which was about the only serious crime the town was likely to come up against. The van was too dilapidated to evoke any such leanings, and Teresa herself had had grave
doubts of getting it back in one piece when she had first driven it. However, she had discovered that it looked worse than it was, and was in good running order.
On the way back to the chalet she pondered on the message she had received from her uncle, and wished Michael had been there at the time. For one thing, he would have been able to tell her just where this Hatty's Hill was, and for a second, would probably have gone with her. Thirdly, and more important, she could trust Michael not to mention the trip later, for it could have serious consequences for her uncle. The hire firm's rules were very precise, and she had often heard her uncle grumble about some of them; such as passing through stretches of land owned by certain landowners—in other words short cuts; which was precisely what he had taken. It wouldn't be the first time he had flouted the rules either, she knew, and his views on the subject were well known to her. 'Sure, if I played it by the book I'd be on the road all day. And I'm not the only one,' he had said.
Teresa sighed at these thoughts. No, he probably wasn't the only one, but he was the only one who had a running fight with the hire firm's manager, who wouldn't hesitate to read the riot act to him and very probably refuse to supply him with another truck. That, in effect, would mean the end of his working days, for he couldn't afford to buy the transport he needed for the job.
When she reached the chalet she got out all her uncle's maps of the district and searched for Hatty's Hill, eventually locating it on the outskirts of the
town. Not too far away, she mused, and it ought not to be too difficult to find. The next, thing she did was to search out a length of rope strong enough for the tow that would be needed, and placing it in the back of the van, she settled behind the wheel and was soon on her way.
By the time she had passed the 'township, she noticed with slight apprehension that it was getting darker by the minute and she knew instinctively that the long-awaited wet was about to descend. Remembering Michael's remarks on the volume expected, she automatically put her foot down on the pedal. If she got a move on, chances were she would reach her uncle before it broke.
Twenty minutes later a streak of lightning lit up the road in front of her, and was soon followed by an ominous clap of thunder. It seemed to Teresa that she was driving straight into the storm, for the further she travelled, the darker it got.
She passed the sign that stated Hatty's Hill lay some two miles further on, and gave a sigh of partial relief; it ought not to be too far now. Her relief, however, was short-lived, for the two miles passed and there was still no sign of a truck, and Teresa felt she ought by now to have found it.
The light was now non-existent, and the first drops of rain began to fall as she peered anxiously out of the screen window. In the distance she saw what might have been the shape of a lorry a little way ahead, and let out another sigh of relief. She had made it! and only just in time too, for the rain had begun in earnest now and beat with staccato rhythm on the roof of the van.
Borrowing her uncle's old oilskin cape, she threw it over her shoulders, and picking up the rope, she got out of the van and with head averted from the lashing rain made her way towards the dark shape in front of her, only to find on reaching it that it was not a truck, but an odd-shaped hill, rising as it were straight out of the ground. It was no consolation to Teresa that she was looking at Hatty's Hill, and she was too disappointed to wonder at the phenomenon in front of her, and certainly in no mood for a history lesson.
The rain increased its tempo, and she pulled the cape over her head and was forced to hold a hand over her eyes as
she peered into the murky darkness all around her for some sign of her uncle's truck. It was then that she saw the light that sprang up at some point to her left, and held her attention in that direction. She could make out a but of some kind, and if it hadn't been for the light she wouldn't have seen it, for it lay among a thickly wooded area.
For a moment or so she hesitated, not sure what to do, whether to get back into the van and resume the search for the truck, or whether to make for the hut. From where she stood it was impossible to see if the truck was there, but it could well be, for the trees would camouflage it. In the end she decided to go on with the search; if she couldn't find Uncle Patrick, she would go back to the hut.
A short while later, after another fruitless search, Teresa had to abandon all, thought of locating her uncle, on Hatty's Hill anyway, and that left only one more place to try—the hut.
The light kept her steadily on course as she
guided the van down a gentle incline on to a rough track that was becoming steadily more difficult to negotiate as the rain pounded down, and it wasn't long before she came to the end of the track. By now the wheels of the van were barely holding the ground, and as Teresa slid to a halt, she knew it was the end of the line as far as transport went; she hadn't a hope of going on even if the track had not petered out at that point, and she only hoped that the occupant of the but wouldn't mind her seeking shelter there.
Her feet were now wet through, for she wore only light sandals, and the cape, though it protected her head and shoulders, only came to her waist, and within minutes she was soaked from the waist down.
Allowing herself a slight grin about her previous comment to Michael about not minding getting her feet wet, Teresa now had to concede that he had known what he was talking about, and could understand both his and his father's insistence that she should make tracks for home directly the rain came. Michael, she thought as she slithered her way down yet another slight incline towards the light, would be horrified if he could see her now. There was only one thing she could be grateful for at this time, and that was that the storm had passed, and the rain had well and truly taken over, for Teresa preferred rain any day to flashes of lightning, particularly as she was now surrounded by trees.