by Gloria Bevan
Putting problems aside, she went along the passage with Doris. On the way they passed an open doorway and glancing into the room Angela could see Jill seated on the bed beside the injured man. His eyes were open now, eyes of a pale shadowy blue. How strange that the colour gave an impression of weakness in one brother yet were so coldly masterful in the other.
With a friendly wave to the other two Doris and Angela went out into the fitful sunshine. As they strolled along a winding path with its long flower borders Angela realised that the gardens were ablaze with a variety of roses in full bloom, their perfume rising on the clear air. She stopped to sniff appreciatively the rain-beaded petals of a red-velvet “Josephine Bruce”. “Mm, makes me think I’m back in England in the summertime.”
Doris looked surprised. “You come from England?”
Immediately Angela regretted the slip of the tongue. “Yes, from London, actually.”
Doris’s eyes were alive with interest. “Did you really? My parents came from London. They settled out here when I was a small child, so I don’t remember a thing about England. Richmond was their home place, they often used to speak of it. Would you happen to know the district?”
Reassured, Angela smiled. “I should do. I lived there for a year.”
“Tell me more. You see, it was a dream of ours, Joe’s and mine, to take a trip to England when he retired and sold the farm. We used to plan all the things we’d do over there, see London first, then hire a car and tour through the picturesque little villages.” The grey eyes clouded. “But things didn’t work out that way. Before he ever got around to retiring he died. And then it was too late.”
Angela, always perceptive to another’s emotion, said quickly, “But couldn’t you—”
Doris shook her head. “No, it wouldn’t be the same. You’ll just have to tell me all about it.”
“It’s a promise.” They strolled across the wet grass towards the blue waters of a rectangular shaped pool. “That looks inviting,” Angela commented, “on a hot day like this.”
“We use it a lot.” They had reached the edge of the pool with its blue tiles. “Oh dear, I keep forgetting to remind Rusty to cut back those bushes. They just grow and grow.” Kneeling at the water’s edge, Doris began to scoop up handfuls of great fluffy pink blossoms floating on the surface and evidently fallen from the profusion of flowers dotting the hibiscus shrubs leaning over the water from the bank above.
Angela dropped down on the concrete surround to help her, tossing the flowers up on to the grass.
“The pool’s marvellous for the men when they come in after a day’s work,” Doris told her. “They shower in the house, then come out here for a late swim and a cool-off.”
“I can imagine. How many men are there working here?”
“On the staff? Well, there are three shepherds, they’re all married men living in the bungalows you passed on the way to the house. Then there’s Kevin, he’s a lad who’s just come to us lately to learn sheep farming. He meals with us and sleeps in the house. And a mechanic. Jack, who takes care of the farm machinery and the cars.”
“I see.” Angela gazed over the spreading green lawns and neatly tended flower beds. “Who does all the gardening around here?”
“That’s over to Rusty. He’s getting on in years, but we couldn’t manage without him. He’s a sort of odd-job man, a ‘do-anything man’, he calls himself.”
“Quite a community!”
Doris laughed. “In a way. See those sheep over there—” Angela followed the gesture of a tanned hand towards a paddock near the house where a group of black sheep nibbled the grass. “Those black ones are bred specially for my benefit. I like to spin the wool from the fleece and I prefer the dark fleece to work with, so Mark keeps a few special sheep just for me. Lucky aren’t I? But then that’s just the sort of thing he would do. He’s always so thoughtful.”
Odd, Angela mused, that this woman who knew the boss so well should appear to regard him as quite a different type of man from the arrogant bad-tempered male of her acquaintance. They couldn’t both be right, and she was willing to bet that her own recent experience of his “thoughtfulness” must count for something. Thinking about her employer, she found, put her in an angry mood, made her feel cross and unhappy and spoiled the peacefulness of the scene around her.
As if in tune with her thoughts Doris said mildly, “You’ll be happy working here with Mark. He’s one of the best employers one could have. All the staff say the same.”
Angela opened her lips to argue the point, then closed them again. Could they really be speaking of the same man?
“You’ll find out for yourself tomorrow,” Doris was saying. Tomorrow ... Angela was tempted to ask the older woman for advice. After all she was in need of every bit of assistance she could get in tackling this unfamiliar job. The next moment, however, she decided against it. If it entailed going into the “Martha affair” all over again—no, she’d get through tomorrow somehow. She would have to!
That evening at the dinner table she was relieved that no one appeared to take any special interest in the new member of the shearing gang. Mark was coldly polite to her and Doris friendly and chatty. But of course the housekeeper was a type of countrywoman who would extend kindness and hospitality to anyone under her roof. Kevin, the young cadet, looked too young to have left school. He said little, but concentrated all his attention on attacking what appeared to Angela to be a colossal helping of cold meats and salads. Did shearers too eat huge quantities of food? Angela couldn’t get through even half of the food on her own plate.
The meal was almost at an end when Jill appeared and took a seat at the table. “Sorry I’m late, folks, but the most fantastic thing happened! What do you think? He knew me!” Happiness and relief flooded the young freckled face as she ran on excitedly. “Guess what?” She helped herself to potato salad. “I’m able to stay on for the rest of the week. I rang through to the farm and they said they can do without me for a while seeing they’ve got a boy staying for the holidays. You don’t mind, do you?” she appealed to Doris. “I could give you a hand, help you to look after Brian. You know? Cook some light meals for him, see that he has everything he wants.”
“Mind! I’d be delighted,” Doris assured her. “My feet are getting rather tired of padding along that passage. That’s great news that he’s so much better.”
“It’ll be good practice for you.” Mark sent her his lopsided grin. “Your first patient!”
“And I’m going to see that he gets better—and fast,” Jill said with confidence. “Tomorrow he can go out to the sun-porch. I’ve got some books with me I know he’d like, and I’ve sent to town for a copy of a new book of verses by a New Zealand poet, one he said he wanted.”
Looking at the homely, radiant little face, Angela mused that here was someone else who was glad of Martha’s non-appearance at the homestead. She was in love with Brian ... Angela was certain of it. Suddenly she was glad that this nice girl had a chance to fight for her happiness now that her shadowy rival had gone for ever.
It was a late dinner and when they rose from the table a faint lemon afterglow of sunset stained the western horizon. The towering Moreton Bay fig trees near the house were black against the luminous clarity of the sky.
Angela had offered to help clear away the dishes when unexpectedly Mark intervened. “You can’t do young Kevin out of a job.” He grinned towards the youth. “You come with me, Miss Twentyman. We’ll take a stroll over to the woolshed and I’ll put you in the picture, show you where to find everything you’ll be needing in the morning.”
The boss had spoken! There was nothing for it but to murmur a hurried “Sorry, Kevin” to the lad and go with her employer.
They strolled together towards the Land Rover and once again she climbed up into the high seat. Now, however, she was ready for the long curving driveway, the gates that must be opened on the way. What she wasn’t prepared for as she climbed back after opening a gate and they neare
d the shearing shed was his laconic query, “Ever cooked for a crowd before, Twenty?”
Twenty! Angela strove to subdue the rising tide of anger, then in spite of herself her lips twitched. The tiny flat in London, the occasional omelette or grilled chops and onions whipped up when friends arrived unexpectedly. She shook her head “Not like this.”
“I get it.” Thank heaven he didn’t, not really.
He guided the Land Rover around to the back of the big shed and they went inside. “This is the kitchen where you’ll work ... plenty of room, latest equipment. I reckon the shearers work a long hard day and deserve all the help they can get.”
Was this what Mrs. Blackman had meant when she had referred to the boss’s thoughtfulness?
She gazed around the big room with its huge refrigerator and long table in the centre of the room. Her glance moved to the gleaming white electric range and the colossal pots and pans. How could she ever handle them, let alone fill them with meat and veg? She was silent, trying to hide her dismay.
“The power’s switched on all ready for you.” He was striding across the room in the direction of a meter board on the wall. “I’d better warn you, the power’s likely to go off without notice. If it cuts out get in touch with the house right away. A power shortage is really the only thing you have to worry about.”
All she had to worry about! Boss, you’ve got to be joking! “We kill a sheep a day for meals for the shearers—” The quantity registered at last in her dazed mind. What had she taken on? She wrenched her mind back to his even tones. “You’ll find meat cut up ready for you in the fridge. This lot’s for lunch.” Swinging open the door of the refrigerator, he revealed an enormous quantity of mutton. “And this” he indicated a great pile of chops, “will do for breakfast, with porridge of course.”
“Porridge?” she echoed weakly.
“Swags of toast—here’s the pop-up toaster, with jam, honey, marmalade. You’ll find it all here. And most important of the lot, tea!” He opened a cupboard door, revealing two aluminium teapots of such a vast capacity that for a moment Angela wondered if her eyes were playing tricks. Could there really be teapots of such staggering size?
“Well, that disposes of breakfast. It’s got to be on the table bang on time at five-thirty. The gang gets paid by the bale and they don’t believe in messing about. You can fill in time after that by running up some scones in the oven and making sandwiches, that’s the usual, ready for ten o’clock smoko. Morning tea food goes into a box,” he hauled a wooden crate down from a shelf, “you can take it into the shed with the teapots. The shearers plug in the electric jug and make the tea there. If you want any help get the presser to give you a hand.”
Fortunately, she thought, he had turned away and wasn’t aware of her bewildered expression. “After that there’s lunch—cold meat’s okay for that—you can shove in a roast in the morning if there’s not one ready—salads, you’ll find all the vegetables in the fridge. Bread and butter, lots of it—”
“And tea,” she put in faintly.
“That’s it! Smoko at three sharp in the afternoon. Scones and sandwiches are okay again for that.” The way he tossed off scones and sandwiches anyone would think they were just nothing, she thought wildly. But that’s all they were to him, mere words!
“Then for dinner,” didn’t a shearing gang ever stop eating? she wondered, “a big pot of stew is the usual, or a hot roast with roasted vegetables. A plum duff always goes down well afterwards. They’re hearty eaters, these boys!”
“Hearty!” Angela’s sensation of utter inadequacy was growing deeper with every passing minute.
How easy to say “I can’t.” Easy and no doubt exactly what he had been working towards all along, what he was hoping she would say. Angela squared her shoulders, took a deep breath and decided she would go down fighting.
“After that,” he was saying, “they’ll be off your hands. They’re in bed by seven for that early start in the morning. If you have any spare time you could give the place a sweep out.” Privately Angela thought that the chances of the floor being kept clean were fairly remote.
“Well, that about covers it,” he shot her a swift penetrating glance. “Think you can cope?”
Not in a thousand years! Aloud she was aware of her own voice amazingly calm saying, “Of course.”
Mark’s gaze went to her flimsy floral blouse and trailing skirt. “Got any cooler gear with you? It gets hot in the kitchen when the sun’s shining and the shed’s like an inferno when all the machines are going at top.”
“Yes, I have.”
“Okay then, I guess that about wraps it up for tonight. Better get yourself a good night’s sleep ready for that early start tomorrow.” As he closed the door behind them she became aware that twilight had faded and the soft darkness was all about them. A few faint stars pricked the luminous night sky. It was very still, the only sound a cicada piping his summer song. The next moment as she made to follow him down the short flight of steps she stumbled in her high-platform clogs and would have fallen headlong had not his arms shot out to catch her.
“Take it easy.” For a timeless moment she felt herself pressed close to him. At the same time a sensation spun through her, an explosive excitement that sent the stars rocketing wildly around her.
Gently he released her. “You’re not used to shearing sheds.” Nor to a man like you, she wanted to say. A man who for some reason she couldn’t understand moved her to annoyance, to anger—to love? the jeering voice deep inside her whispered. Never! In silence she got back into the Land Rover.
They were drawing up at the steps of the house when lights played in an arc over the driveway and the next moment a long late-model green car came to a stop beside the Land Rover.
“Hi, Mark, it’s me!” A girl with a cloud of blonde hair blowing around her shoulders leaned from the driver’s seat. “I thought I’d come over—” as she caught sight of Angela the gay tones altered abruptly. “I didn’t know—”
Mark climbed out of the vehicle and motioned for Angela to follow. “Susan, Angela. Miss Twentyman,” he explained with cool courtesy, “is cooking for the shearers tomorrow.”
“Oh, I see.” After a long appraising glance contemptuously Susan dismissed her. Angela formed an impression that so far as the other girl was concerned she was no more than a part of the scenery. “I thought it must be something like that.” The lovely tanned face turned to Mark. “I wanted to have a word with you about the barbecue arrangements. It’s still on?”
He nodded. “Come along inside anyway.” Susan linked her arm in his and they moved away. Like old-time lovers, Angela thought, following the other two towards the lighted house. All at once she felt very much alone.
When they reached the lounge room Doris came hurrying towards Angela, thrusting towards her a small gilt bedroom alarm clock. “I expect you’ll want this for the morning. Goodnight dear, and see you tomorrow.”
It was ridiculous, Angela thought hotly, everyone expecting her to retire to bed at this hour. In her room she seated herself on the bed and mutinously kicked off her shoes, those wretched clogs that had forced her to fall into Mark’s arms in the soft betraying darkness of the summer night. Because there seemed nothing else to do she got ready for sleep. It seemed hours later when, tossing restlessly beneath the single sheet that was the only covering needed on this hot night, she became aware of the splash of water, a girl’s laughter, a man’s deep tones.
Pulling the sheet over her ears in an attempt to stifle the sounds, she thought crossly that for the Susans of this world life meant laughter beside a cool blue pool beneath the stars. For herself there was only the cold unwinking brassy eye of the alarm clock. It wasn’t fair!
CHAPTER FOUR
In the pre-dawn hush of early morning the alarm bell shrilled in her ear and for a moment Angela couldn’t remember where she was. Then it all came back in a rush. In a panic she sprang out of bed and began pulling on a blue denim shirt and jeans. Hurryin
g to the bathroom, she splashed cold water over her face and ran a comb through her hair. Better tie it back behind her ears, seeing this was a work-day. She slipped her feet into the rubber thongs that seemed to be standard summer wear in this part of the world and ran down the passage.
Outside she was greeted by a chorus of birdsong echoing from the tall shelterbelt of trees behind the house. The next moment she heard the toot of a motor horn and a truck moved towards her on the driveway. Kevin’s fresh young face appeared in the window opening. “Ready, Miss Twentyman? Mark says I have to take you down to the shearing shed.” As she reached him he murmured shyly, “You know something? You don’t look like a cook!”
Something about the boyish face touched her. Was it the soft childish lips? Or merely that since coming to Waikare she had found friendly faces, especially those of the masculine variety, to be a rare commodity?
She climbed up and seated herself beside him. “I’ll tell you a secret. I’ve never done anything like this before in my life!”
He whistled under his breath. “Wowee! Are you ever going to be busy! You’ll be lucky if you get the breakfast dishes done before it’s time to put on the lunch. I don’t want to put you off, but—”
“Don’t worry,” it must surely be the fresh and sparkling air that was giving her courage. “I’ll get through,” and she rather spoiled the effect by adding uncertainly, “somehow.” After a moment she asked, “How many men are there in the shearing gang?”
“Well, there’s the presser and two fleecers. Five shearers and four rouseabouts.”
“Heavens!” Angela was making a mental calculation. “That means a dozen all told.”
As they came in sight of the shed streaks of flame and apricot stained the eastern sky. Kevin dropped her at the back door and she hurried inside. The kitchen was empty but the clock, her enemy for the next six days, stood ticking on a bench. Angela studied the line of switches on the electric range. Which ones would control the top elements? She wished she had asked Mark about this last night T’ ere was one sure way to find out, so she turned them all on at once, then pulled a big pan from a cupboard beneath the bench and put on some dripping.