by Margaret Way
That night they dined in rural splendour in the homestead's formal dining room which these days Isabelle told Samantha as they prepared the evening meal together was rarely used. She and Ross always ate in the breakfast room off the enormous kitchen. No wonder! Samantha thought. The size of the homestead and its interior spaces obviously reflected the pioneering cattle man's idea of his castle in the wilds where wide open spaces were both expected and respected. The dining room was huge. Ideal for anyone planning a wedding banquet. As it was they sat at one end of the mahogany table which Samantha had set using beautiful buttercup yellow line and lace placemats with matching napkins. Isabelle had let her choose from a dizzying array of table linen bought over the years, loads of it never taken out of its cellophane packaging. Samantha had been in and out of many beautiful houses back home in Sydney but none so steeped in the pioneering tradition. She could settle down here she thought quite seriously.
Love of Nature and this was Nature on the grand scale was an important part of her.
On arrival she had found the white-washed homestead built of stout timbers enormously picturesque. She could see herself sketching it in her mind's eyes, little aboriginal spirit imps with big liquid black eyes peeking out of all the trees in the luminous green jungle that surrounded the house and protected it from the winds. Buttresses of monster shade trees supported staghorns and elkhorns the likes of which she had never seen. Beautiful orchids thrived out in the open or burst out of the trees. Vivid vandas and dendrobiums, cymbidiums with spikes six feet long and the showiest of orchids the cattleyas in myriad varieties. Terrestrial orchids too popped out of fallen tree trunks or the fallen bark that was piled up beneath the trees. Her eyes were dazzled by the blazing bougainvillea; the familiar purple cascading from every trellis and fence but closer to the house there were other colours, the modern hybrids, white, pink, orange, bronze, crimson and violet. The vibrancy of the colours set the timber house a-shimmer.
Mangoes, their cheeks blushed with colour, the size of small pumpkins, were scattered beneath the trees. Dozens had rolled out onto the pathways that crisscrossed the home gardens. It was, she was told, a bumper year.
Standing on the gravelled drive way staring up at the homestead she was roused to say: "This is amazing, Ross. It's like some exotic film set."
"Glad you like it." He was hurting not to lean down and kiss her. She looked radiant in the humid heat, her long copper hair pulled back from her face in a pony tail. Her lovely, touchable skin was flushed with colour. Her eyes glowed, her expression dazzled, maybe overcome. He liked that. Her reaction to his home.
For the homestead was lovely. Two storied, set in some ten acres of gardens that formed the main compound. Basically a rectangle, deep verandahs extended across the front of the house on both levels, running down the sides of the house. Mahogany shutters protected high arched doors that marched in pairs down the lengthy expanses of the verandahs. Inside the high and handsome ornately carved double doors the entrance hall was revealed to Samantha's fascinated eyes.
"Wow! This is bigger than my apartment. What would it be like to actually live here?"
"I don't know. I've never lived anywhere else. You have an apartment?" He gave her his sardonic glance.
"Did you think I lived in a back alley?"
"You could live at home with mother," he suggested mildly, nodding at Isabelle who was showing David and Matt into the house.
She took a deep breath. "Mother has never asked me to move in with her. She has remarried. I don't like her husband." In fact she loathed her mother's second husband-she never would say her stepfather. He was an enthusiastic toucher so much so that when they met up she torpedoed past him so he couldn't grab a hold.
"Hard to describe love isn't it?" Ross mused, momentarily lost in his own thoughts. "What is it?"
"What you feel for your sister and I feel for my brother," she suggested.
"I'm talking about romantic love."
"An utterly crazy longing. Mostly for the wrong person."
"At least on that we agree," he said crisply. "So when was the last time you had this utterly crazy longing?" He stood watching as she moved gracefully around the hall, placing a gentle finger to the large Cambodian tapestry that hung on one wall.
"The last time?" She considered. "That's easy. To beat you in the pool." There was a circular library table holding a large eye catching arrangement of a giant tropical leaves, palm and monstera, setting off the living fire of the exotic bird of paradise, with sprays of ginger and heleconia, Samantha guessed must have come from the garden. It was easy to comment on it, thus changing the subject. Beyond a wide arch was the staircase with a tall lead light window above the first landing. Multicoloured rays poured through it. She moved to get a better look at this work of art, her own head on fire as the sun's beams fell directly on her.
What was depicted was a lagoon of water lilies, edged by reeds. Glorious blues and greens and amethysts were used, with the contrast of rose pink and liquid silver for the glinting water. It was a jewelled canvas of glass.
"Art Nouveau?" She turned to ask him then drew in her breath sharply. He was a lot closer than she thought.
"You're more in touch with all that than I am," he shrugged, too busy admiring the effect of the sunlight on her glorious hair. He found himself thinking at least one of her children, if she had them, would inherit that copper hair. "Right period. It's the work of a Japanese artist who happened to be a pearl diver on the side."
"Art Nouveau borrowed Japanese stylish features," she commented. "It's very beautiful. How do you protect it during cyclones and torrential storms?"
"It's boarded up. The shutters, obviously, are on the outside. Want me to show you to your room? It's already been prepared for you by Mrs. Lowell. That's our overseer's wife. She keeps an eye on the house when we're away. We used to have a permanent housekeeper but she left after my father was killed. It was all too much of a shock for her."
"I imagine it would have been," she said gently, the weight of his own grief coming at her.
Samantha preceded him up the stairs hearing her brother's deep cultured voice from somewhere at the rear of the ground floor. She gave into a simple impulse and waltzed into her allotted bedroom, not quite sure if she wasn't in the middle of a dream.
"Oh this is lovely. Thank you." She looked around her with evident delight.
"It's not mandatory to like everything, Samantha." He stood in characteristic pose, handsome head thrown up, one hand speared into the pocket of his jeans. She had a way to her all of her own. As if a ring of light surrounded her.
"I can't help it," she exclaimed, going to try out the springs of the bed, like a child, checking its bounce. The bed was hung with billowing pale yellow mosquito netting that matched in colour the drapes at the arched doors. A big ceiling fan shaped like a flower whirred overhead, cooling the air and ruffling the filmy curtains. An antique cabinet faced her, an elaborately carved chest at the end of the bed, carved chairs with aqua cushions. She spread her hands on the duvet, a cooll shade of lime-green covered with tropical blossom. The bed skirt was aqua. A life-size ceramic brolga stood in one corner, an Asia folding screen in another.
"This is absolutely beautiful!" she said. "The pity of it is I'm only here for one night."
Which ought to have pleased him, but it didn't. But then she had many spells at her disposal to cast. "Well make the most of it," he said crisply, discovering the sight of her poised so gracefully on the bed, slender arms to either side of her was unsettling him. "You could be spending quite a few in pouring rain."
She stood up as though she divined his odd mood. "You're not a bit of fun are you?"
"Whereas you're hell bent on being an adventures. No, I'm the serious type," he mocked her, supporting his long lithe body with one arm propped against the solid antique cabinet.
"Then I'm sorry I'm annoying you with my girlish chatter." She looked about her. "Is it all right if I explore? This is all so glamoro
us!"
"Sure!" He gave a shrug, then surprised himself by saying, "I have to make a last minute check around the station in about a half an hour. You can come if you like."
Her expressive face lit up. "Hallelujah! So there is a nice part of you?"
"The bumpy part will come later." He crossed to the door, turning to flick a searing glance over her. "Don't wear the shorts."
She gave voice to mild exasperation. "What is it with you and my clothes?"
"I apply common sense. What else? There isn't a plethora of gorgeous looking leggy females around here. I don't want my men getting all steamed up."
"Bless you!" She looked back with bright challenge. "It's not like I could do the same for you?"
He narrowed his eyes. "My dear Miss Langdon,
I run from trouble. I'm dedicated to North Star." "Until you sort yourself out?"
"I beg your pardon?" He drilled her with a long stare.
"Sometimes I speak without thinking."
"So I've noticed." He proceeded on his way, throwing over his shoulder. "I'll have your things sent up. Meet me in the hall in around twenty minutes: '
"Right, boss," she answered smartly.
"Don't push it."
"I wouldn't do that. Not to you." You arrogant so and so.
"It seems to me you like living life on the edge."
He turned to face her. "Another thing-"
"I'm all ears." She pantomimed the act. "Leave Matt alone."
She took that as censure. "Come again?" "You heard the first time."
"You mean I'm not to speak to Matt at all? He's my friend. You've got to be joking."
"I don't know whether you've noticed, but I'm not one for jokes. I just don't want to bump into you locked in his arms."
She could feel the colour flood her cheeks.
"Funny I can think of worse things like-" "Don't say it." He shook his head warningly.
"You can talk all you like. Just remember to put off all thoughts of romance until the end of the trip."
Her face, always an animated mirror of her emotions betrayed temper. "You must be one of the biggest wowsers on the planet."
"Well of course I am!" He laughed, his bluegreen eyes asparkle.
The whole effect couldn't have been more sexy, but Samantha determinedly ignored it.
"The fact you're not all that interested in Matt doesn't mean he isn't anxious to make it with you. Forewarned is forearmed as my dad used to say."
"I've got another one for you," she answered tartly. "All work and no play makes Ross a dull boy. But thank you anyway. I promise I'll take to heart everything you've said."
But she wasn't counting on what life on safari might offer
They were well underway by midmorning of the following day. Samantha had never been so close to Nature. This magnificent wilderness had to be one of the most beautiful places on earth. It was a wild paradise simply teeming with life. She rode in the lead 4WD with the Boss Man as she had taken to calling Ross Sunderland to herself. He certainly looked the part in khaki bush shirt and hard wearing khaki trousers, a tan leather belt slung around his waist, a cream Akubra with a crocodile skin band on his dark head.
A commanding presence.
And don't you forget it!
She could scarcely walk by him without wanting to drop a mock curtsy, except he might take it as his due. Joe Goolatta, one of the most engaging characters she had ever met, rode in the back, the two men keeping up non-stop commentaries solely for her benefit. Between the two of them it was all marvellously entertaining and educational as it was meant to be. It both surprised and pleased her enormously to see how fond of the old aboriginal the hardhearted Boss Man was. He made no bones about it. It was equally clear Joe Goolatta worshipped Ross Sunderland without being in any way subservient. The two men fenced lightly, Goolatta teasing from time to time, which incredibly Boss Man took. Joe had known Sunderland since he was a child and it showed in his relaxed affectionate attitude. She began to think about what Sunderland would have looked like as a little boy. Not a shy nervous kid that's for sure. A haughty little prince.
She found herself laughing a lot listening with aesthetic pleasure to the cadences of the men's voices. The Boss Man's clipped, dark timbred, educated, the older man's bass so deep and wonderfully melodious.
As they drove deeper into the great national park Samantha looked all around her with a sense of buoyancy and privilege. Some kilometres back they had passed a Top End safari taking a break.
"Only for the young and fit," Ross commented. "No more than nine a trip. Back packers love it. Young people looking for adventure. Those safaris are no sight seeing tours. It's a learning experience and as I said they have to be young, fit and strong. They have excellent guides."
"So what do they do? What do they see?" Samantha asked.
"Much of what we're going to do," he shrugged, "only we'lll explore further a field. Go where no man has ever gone before, in Star Trek speak. That lot back there are on their way out of the park. I'd say it was one of the five day tours. Camping out under the stars, bar-b-ques around the camp fire, long bush treks, cooling off at any number of the park's falls. No crocs. There are some seventeen permanent water falls even in the Dry. Jim Jim plunges two hundred metres in a single drop. They'd have seen the estuarine crocs from a boat as we will. We have a boat on standby. That's all been arranged. For certain they would have taken in the beautiful ancient aboriginal rock art at Nourlangie and Uburr. Much of it is well in excess of twenty thousand years old, priceless to man for its spiritual and cultural significance. Joe can tell you all about the Dreamtime and Mythology of the sites. Joe is a tribal elder. The origin of Kakadu in case you don't know is a breakdown of Gagudju the name of the aboriginal tribe who lived in the area for more than fifty thousand years."
"It beggars the imagination." Samantha turned her head to smile at the aboriginal elder. "I'm so looking forward to seeing these magical sites with my own eyes, and with such authoritative guides. This is a marvellous experience for me. I'm picking up so much inspiration from everywhere!" She waved a hand. "I write children's books, Joe."
"So Ross told me," Joe answered in his deep tones.
"Do you want to see what I can do?"
"Sure." He laughed warmly, having taken to this beautiful, friendly creature who appeared to have no pretensions at all. A far far cry from Miss Isabelle's cruel mother-in-law.
With no more ado, Samantha reached into the hold all at her feet, extracted a sketch pad and a charcoal pencil and went to work.
"No looking," she warned Sunderland.
"Right!" He gave an amused grunt. He made a brief check in his rear vision to see their back up vehicle driven by David. It was holding to their speed, a short distance behind. So far the trail was broad and easy to follow but it wouldn't be long before the countryside became rugged with grasses growing ten feet tall. The black soil plains were relatively park like with large stands of pandanus, vast grassy expanses and sculptured stone outliers that had been separated by time and erosion from the mighty Arnhem Land escarpment.
A few minutes later, Samantha tore off a page and passed it back to Joe who took it in his weathered hand.
His grin faded. "My, my, Miss Sam. You've done what no other person has even done. You've drawn me.
"Like it?"
He broke into a sardonic chuckle. "I don't look as good as this."
"Show me." Sunderland put up his left hand to take the drawing.
"I could have done better," Samantha said quickly. "The track is a bit bumpy."
Sunderland held the wheel and cast his eyes down. "You don't need excuses."
"What do I need?" She fixed her eyes on his strong handsome profile.
"Why ask? Congratulations, of course." He threw her his rare devastating smile. "This is Joe to a T."
Samantha blushed at the sincerity of his tone. "Why thank you," she said jauntily. "Do you want one of you?"
He turned his dark head. "Don'
t you want to wait until you know me better?"
There was that glitter in his eyes that thoroughly unsettled her, but she managed to keep her voice even. "Okay, I'll wait. You can give that back to Joe now."
"I reckon you should have that framed, Joe," Sunderland laughed, passing the sketch back over his shoulder.
"I will," Joe replied, quite seriously. "You're an artist, Miss Sam," he offered homage.
"I'm getting there," Samantha answered modestly. "Would it be suitable do you think, Joe, for me to try to interpret aboriginals legends in my stories. I would never want to offend your people."