by Lucy Walker
He told her wonderful things of the great empty spaces.
‘Not so empty,’ he added as an afterthought. ‘The country mightn’t be full of people, but it is full of sheep. Cattle too ‒ in the north.’
The following morning, which was their second last in the Indian Ocean, they met by the swimming pool on the after-deck. When they had had their dip he brought her a cool drink while they sat sunbaking in the cane chairs.
‘You know, Ann,’ he said, ‘you have the cutest face. It’s sweet and puckish, and your eyes are the bluest I’ve ever seen. They light up like a child in a seventh heaven.’
Ann blushed at the compliment. No one, much less a man, had ever said anything that sounded quite as nice.
‘I am in a seventh heaven,’ she said. ‘But it is not quite the same as being with the stars in heaven, is it? Why do you suppose we are always reaching for the stars? It’s something that always bothers me because it is something I feel so often that I want to do. Yet I don’t know what I am reaching for.’ She laughed. ‘Anyway, my arms aren’t long enough.’
‘For true love?’ he asked lightly.
Ann was quite serious. ‘I wonder if that is what it is. Do you suppose it is all right to want true love very badly? Or do you suppose it is just something that comes to you if you are lucky, and it is rather indelicate to mention it otherwise?’
He threw back his head and laughed. ‘You are so open and unaffected, Ann,’ he said. Then he too was more serious. ‘I can see you really have been brought up by a very elderly aunt. I’m sure she was kindness itself, but still ‒ just a little Victorian? Why should it be indelicate to talk of love? Let alone wish for it?’
‘She is a darling,’ Ann said protectively.
‘I’m sure of it. So are you, Ann. Come!’ He held out his hand and drew her to her feet. ‘One more dip and then a quick shower before lunch.’
As he held her hand and looked into her blue eyes he had a sudden feeling of compunction. For all her nineteen years she was only a child. A very inexperienced one too. The elderly aunt had been very much out of touch with the modern world. Ross Dawson felt something momentarily tangle in the strings of his heart.
He was a seasoned traveller, an international wool-buyer, and quite impervious to guile from the fair sex. Yet this girl, so natural, inexperienced, yet charming, touched him in a spot that he didn’t know was vulnerable. He also thought he had outgrown chivalry but unexpectedly he was aware of some still within him. He would not try to tamper with this girl’s heart ‒ even though he was sure at the moment that she herself was heart-free. Her candour had been too complete for her to be anything else.
‘Scat, puss!’ he said to her, quickly. ‘Take a swim or I might kiss you. I swear I would regret it afterwards.’
That night, after the dance, as they leaned over the rails and watched the moon come up over the sea in the east Ann asked Ross did he know a place called Kalamunda in Western Australia.
‘Do I?’ he said with enthusiasm. ‘It’s inland from the coast, right on the crown of the Darling Ranges. They’re hills, not mountains, by the way. It’s real bush-land up there and there are many fine homes. I have several business contacts who live in the old colonial-type homesteads. They’re very beautiful, those old family places nestling up there in the orchards and jarrah belts.’
‘What are jarrah belts?’
‘Timber. Jarrah is a very big tree ‒ one of the eucalypts ‒ and has the most beautiful dark red wood. Twenty years ago, when they didn’t say that the streets of London were paved with gold, they said they were paved with jarrah. Some truth in it too, for in the areas where they used wooden blocks for pavements those wooden blocks were Australian jarrah. A very hard wood.’
‘These trees grow there? At Kalamunda?’
‘There’s a belt of jarrah runs through the hills. It’s one of the things that make the back valleys so lovely. Most of the jarrah, however, comes in the forest farther south.’
‘It sounds beautiful. I’m going to stay with some people called Franklin who live in Kalamunda.’
This was the first time Ann had mentioned her exact destination. Ross Dawson had respected and rather liked the girl’s reserve in not talking too much about her connections. She had never expected anything but a personal reserve from him.
Now he turned from the silver moon-path across the sea and stared at Ann. He quite literally blinked with surprise.
‘Franklin?’ he said. ‘You do surprise me! To think we’ve travelled eleven thousand miles and only just discovered a mutual friend.’
Ann’s heart quickened. ‘You know Mrs. Franklin?’
‘I’ve dined there several times. Not so much as Mrs. Franklin’s guest as Lang Franklin’s. He’s her nephew. He’s my most important business contact in the West. In fact, he’s almost gold-plated as far as my company is concerned. A nice chap ‒ in spite of that.’
He turned his back to the sea, propping his tall body against the railings, and folded his arms. He was looking into her face with amusement.
‘You know what?’ he said. ‘In choosing you to be my girl-friend on this ship-trip I’ve been currying up to influence. Well, well! You never can tell, can you? Gold is where you find it.’
Ann was intrigued but puzzled. ‘I don’t quite know what you mean. I only know the Franklins by correspondence. Mrs. Franklin is a friend of my great-aunt.’
Ann felt twinges of unease. The Franklins sounded important ‒ certainly to Ross Dawson who seemed a very well-to-do man from the way he dressed and spent money in the ports. Yet he was impressed by mention of the Franklin name. She herself wouldn’t even recognise them when she saw them.
Suddenly now that the end of the journey was only a day away, she began to be afraid again. She didn’t know she had been about to stay with important people, impressive people. Had she the right clothes? How did impressive people live in this strange far-away place, Kalamunda? How easily could or would she become accustomed to it?
She wished she hadn’t mentioned the Franklins to Ross. She wished it very much because slowly but surely something had been lifting her spirits up into a new world, ever since Gibraltar. Never before had she had a man’s company day after day, and a sense of anticipation of what each new evening, then again each new day, might hold for her.
The end of the voyage was something she could not let herself think about. After the last day at sea there was only a blank wall in her thinking, something she could not get past.
These thoughts flashed through her mind so fast she was hardly aware she had them. She only felt a sudden drop in her spirits.
Ross was still looking into her face quizzically. He had not answered her last remark about Mrs. Franklin being a friend of her great-aunt. In fact, he was intrigued by the shadows of some sad thought fleeting across Ann’s sensitive face.
‘Have I said something that bothers you?’ he asked lightly. ‘Don’t let anything bother you about this new country, Ann. The country’s friendly and the Franklins are more than that. They’re marvellous people in their own way … though you do have to know them and understand their different way of thinking.’
He suddenly laughed, put out his hand and turned her so that she was in the crook of his arm.
‘Let’s go and have a drink, then dance some more,’ he said lightly. ‘We’ve twenty-four hours to Fremantle and that’s twenty-four hours in which to enjoy ourselves. Let tomorrow look after itself.’
Ann flashed back to his mood quickly. ‘Yes, let’s do just that,’ she said. ‘Don’t spoil one minute of this wonderful night anyway.’
Chapter Two
Nothing could stop the clock. Inevitably a day and a night passed and then it was five o’clock on an early-summer morning. The liner was hove-to off Gage Roads while the mail, Customs and immigration officials came on board.
Almost the entire complement of passengers was up and dressed. English people were longing to get their first glimpse of this vast continent
lying south of the equator in another hemisphere. Australians wanted to catch the first sight of the low sandy coastline that was the western extremity of their homeland.
All was bustle and excitement, and the passing through the ranks of officialdom ‒ set up in the first-class drawing-room ‒ was very expeditious.
Breakfast was a hasty snack, then Ann had to attend to the business of seeing that the cabin steward took her luggage on deck. Meanwhile the liner eased its way between the long fingers of miles into Fremantle harbour.
It seemed only minutes to the tying up of the liner alongside the port terminal, a very modern and magnificent affair.
Ross Dawson was by her side now, and he endeavoured to point out Mrs. Franklin who was standing on the open deck of the terminal. There were so many people to meet the ship, and they seemed to Ann’s inexperienced eyes to be so very much dressed alike that she found it difficult to pinpoint the person he was indicating.
‘Look,’ he said. ‘Left of the entrance into the restaurant. The tall woman in a wide-brimmed hat and a light-coloured dress. A nice-looking woman with a good well-bred nose. A descendant of William the Conqueror without a doubt.’ He wasn’t joking.
‘They all have wide-brimmed hats and light-coloured dresses,’ Ann said, bewildered. ‘Is it hot out there, do you think?’
‘Hotter than you’d find it in England, even in summer. But not too hot for you to enjoy it. You’ve about three months ahead of you before you get the real heat waves. By that time you’ll be acclimatised.’
‘I was half afraid I was bringing too many cotton dresses. They were pressed on me by a store in Oxford Street that specialises in clothes for Australia.’
‘You won’t have too many by far. You’ll need at least one clean dress a day in this country, and your washing will be quite a problem … except that everything is sun-dried, and dried in half an hour, too.’
They chatted on interminably while the two huge gangways, like bridges, were swung out horizontally to span the short distance between the terminal and the ship.
‘Come now,’ Ross said. ‘Let’s be amongst the first ashore. Then your worst ordeal ‒ meeting your host for the first time ‒ will be over quickly.’
He turned her to him for a brief moment.
‘I may have to get away after I’ve introduced you to Mrs. Franklin, Ann. But I’ll keep in touch. In fact …’ His pleasant friendly smile creased the corners of his mouth. ‘I won’t be able to avoid it. I have quite a lot of business to do with Lang Franklin I hope. I’m bound to come up to the Kalamunda house. They’ve never failed to ask me to dinner when I’m on a wool-buying trip.’
He dropped his hands and they moved towards the gangway. Ross was now holding Ann’s small overnight bag and helping to steer her through the press of people.
‘The Franklins have lots to do with wool then?’ Ann asked again.
He really laughed. ‘Lots and lots,’ he said.
They were on the gangway now, then a moment later were on the decking of the terminal.
Mrs. Franklin, not seeing the tall fair-haired girl she was expecting, had turned away into the huge blue and white lounge-restaurant. Sometimes, she knew, it took an hour for the laggardly passengers to disembark. She would sit down and order tea while she waited. She was sure she would recognise the girl. If not, she would have the name of Miss Boyd called over the loudspeaker while the passengers were being interviewed by the Customs officers. In fact, from where she sat she could see the huge letters, signifying the surnames, erected above various stands in the Customs section. She would keep her eye on the B-stand, and be sure to pick out the girl when she came to it.
Mrs. Franklin was irritated with Lang. He had thought it very eccentric of her to bring this strange girl out from England. His opinion was that a girl was something of a problem in a household of one middle-aged woman and one confirmed bachelor. He only hoped this girl was pleasant and didn’t get under his feet too much. He was a very busy man!
Quite, was what Mrs. Franklin had thought when he voiced this last remark. ‘But a girl in the house might make him a shade less busy.’ Especially a girl who was different. There weren’t so many Australian girls around unattached: except the two Condon girls, of course. There were special personal reasons why she wouldn’t consider either of them suitable for Lang. In fact, bringing Mrs. Boyd’s niece out from England had been ‒ in part ‒ to make sure Lang didn’t marry Luie Condon.
Something different would catch Lang’s eye. It would make him pause a minute now and again in his race around between the sheep station, the outback, the orchard in the hills, and the wool-store on the coast. Specially a girl under his feet, as he called it, in the house. Moreover, one of good family, some substance and with a very striking appearance.
Mrs. Franklin had a slightly exaggerated idea of Mrs. Boyd’s elevated family and this was chiefly because of the other woman’s grand manner, her striking clothes, and the careless giving of fur stoles to a niece as if it was an everyday occurrence.
Mrs. Franklin allowed these thoughts to range pleasantly through her mind as she sipped her tea, watching the incredible variety of passengers disembarking, but particularly she kept one eye on the banner-like B hanging over a certain luggage stand in the Customs-end of the hall.
There were two men, two middle-aged women and one dark-haired girl there at the moment. The dark-haired girl was talking to someone Mrs. Franklin had a vague recollection of meeting. His face was quite familiar. She noticed he kept moving back to the stand under the D where clearly his own luggage was waiting to be passed.
If she could think of his name, now, she would ask him had he met Miss Boyd on board ship. He might be able to find her. This would be a much better arrangement than having a name called over the loudspeaker for all and sundry to hear. Mrs. Franklin thought that was not in very good taste.
Meantime she would finish her tea and wait till Lang came back.
Really, Lang could be most annoying! He simply hadn’t wanted to come and meet this girl and had had to be dragooned into it.
From irritation her thoughts of her nephew turned to softer ones.
He is really quite a dear, she reassured herself. Even if I hadn’t insisted I’m sure he would have come himself, and without a thought. His annoyance was only because I thrust this girl at him. Why don’t I learn?
She sighed regretfully.
From the far distance of the Customs section Ross Dawson could now and again catch sight of Mrs. Franklin’s hat. He was too far away to signal to her and didn’t want to risk leaving his own luggage until it had been labelled. Otherwise he could have been left to last ‒ and that could mean an hour or two’s delay.
‘Mrs. Franklin is sitting over there calmly drinking tea,’ he said to Ann with a wry grin. ‘She hasn’t the faintest idea where you are or what you look like. If only this jolly Customs chap would hurry up I’d get you across to the rails. You could at least be introduced there.’
‘I can see her quite well now,’ Ann said. ‘Thank you for pointing her out. Please don’t worry, Ross, but look after yourself through the Customs. As soon as I’m through I’ll go and introduce myself.’
A tall man was standing beside them. He was not looking at Ann but at Ross who at that moment had his profile turned. Clearly, from the expression on this man’s face he knew Ross and was waiting for the latter to turn and recognise him.
He was very good-looking in an outdoor way. His eyes were more grey than blue, and under that hat ‒ built to shield eyes from the sun ‒ his hair was very black. The faintly ironic way he looked at the unconscious Ross promised he might have a really nice smile, if ever he let himself go.
Just now he was amusing himself waiting for the other to turn. Ross, however, was engrossed in watching the Customs officer finish with the A-stand and begin on the middle-aged women’s luggage on the B-stand.
‘Any minute now,’ he said hopefully to Ann. ‘Catch the officer’s eye if you can. Smile wi
de, and flash those blue eyes, Ann, then he’ll go through your luggage next.’
Ann felt the tall man glance at her. He had fascinated her in a way, and for that very reason she had looked elsewhere. Otherwise she might have stayed looking at him all day.
At that moment Ross turned and saw him.
‘Man!’ he almost shouted as he recognised the other. ‘Lang, old man, old man! How are you, feller?’ They shook hands as if they were wringing clothes.
They must have hands of iron, Ann thought dazedly. And did Ross say Lang? Wasn’t that the name …? Something in her rose. Those stars weren’t so very far away, after all!
‘Hallo, Ross.’ He was more restrained: a quieter, tougher man than Ross. He was amused in a sardonic way at the moment. ‘I guessed you might be sailing out the long way,’ he said. ‘Making a holiday of it coming by sea? You’ll just make the wool-sales by two days, Ross. None too soon either.’
‘Why hurry? I can’t stand planes, anyway. No dancing at night …’ Ross suddenly stopped. ‘I was so darn glad to see you I almost forgot. You’re looking for Miss Boyd?’
‘I wasn’t looking for her. My aunt dispatched me to hunt the ship for her. That’s quite a different matter. You know my aunt, old man. She makes up her mind ‒ and I’m expected to fall in, even to hunting for strange girls.’
Ross’s face was creasing up and he was sending violent wave-lengths of warning across a yard of space to Lang Franklin.
Ann felt the colour creep up above the neckline of her dress. She turned her head away. She had to swallow and do something with her face muscles quickly. She was bitterly hurt. One minute he had been larger than life for her. Now ‒
‘Lang, Miss Boyd is right here. Under the B-sign, just where she ought to be.’ Ross’s voice was keeping on pitch with an effort. Wait till he had Lang by himself on the quiet. It would take ten drinks in the Pastoralists’ Club to drown this one. Maybe Lang ought to go out and drown himself in the river anyway.
Ann bit her lip.
He had looked so wonderful. The most attractive man in his tall lean easy-going way that Ann had ever seen. Now she could never forgive him for that welcome.