Woman at Willagong Creek

by Hart, Jessica

  ‘Oh.’ Olivia was caught unawares by the sharp, unexpected twist of disappointment. What on earth was the matter with her? This was what she wanted, wasn’t it? ‘Well, I - er - perhaps it would be best. Let’s just forget about last night.’ Some chance!

  ‘If that’s what you want.’ Guy’s eyes were cool, uncomfortably observant. ‘I’d rather keep things as they were, but if you feel you’d prefer a separate room …?’

  Here was her chance. All she had to do was say, Yes, I would. Instead she tucked her hair behind her ears in a nervous gesture. ‘No, it’s all right. We agreed.’ She tried to make a joke of it. ‘If I want you to kiss me again, I’ll put in a written request in triplicate, at least a week in advance, so there’s no misunderstanding!’

  ‘A simple “please” would do.’

  The silence in the creek seemed to intensify as Olivia lifted her eyes almost reluctantly to meet Guy’s gaze. It was impossible to tell whether he was amused or serious. All she knew was that it was equally impossible to look away. She could only stand and stare and wish she couldn’t remember his every touch quite so clearly.

  As the silence lengthened, tightened, the air between them began to jangle with inexplicable tension. Olivia could feel it growing, almost as if it were urging her to take a step forward and say that “please”, and she fought down the sensation in panic.

  She was so on edge that when Guy’s horse snorted violently and danced towards her, tossing its head up and down, she gave a gasp of fright and stepped hurriedly backwards, only to stumble over a fallen branch and land unceremoniously on her bottom.

  But at least it had broken the tension.

  ‘Can’t you keep it under control?’ she demanded, torn between fright and humiliation.

  Guy lifted an eyebrow as he put out a casual hand to catch the bridle. ‘He’s only got a fly up his nose,’ he said, a trace of amusement in his voice. ‘You’d dance around too.’

  The horse gave a final snort and stood docile once more, ears flickering as the insects continued to buzz around its head. Olivia viewed it with a hostile eye. ‘It practically charged me!’ she said sulkily, feeling foolish.

  ‘Don’t be silly, Olivia.’ Guy reached down and pulled her to her feet.

  His touch was impersonal, his fingers strong and cool, but she felt her senses jolt as if at an electric shock. She pulled her arm quickly away to make a great show of dusting herself down, uncomfortably aware of her own erratic pulse and the taut, controlled power of the man beside her.

  ‘I thought you told us you weren’t frightened of horses?’

  ‘I’m not,’ she lied coldly. ‘It just startled me, that’s all.’

  ‘Well, go on, stroke his nose then. He won’t bite.’

  Olivia hesitated, then remembered her determination to prove to Guy that she was just as good as anyone else in the outback. The horse rolled its eye and shook the flies off its mane. She put out a hand gingerly, barely brushed the animal’s nose and whipped her hand back to stand with defiantly folded arms.

  Guy shook his head in disbelief. ‘Was that supposed to be a stroke?’ He rubbed his hand affectionately between the horse’s eyes. ‘Or is that how sophisticated people like you and Tim touch each other?’

  The reference to her gibe last night was unfair. Olivia flushed angrily, but her reply was smothered by a gasp of surprise as Guy pulled her suddenly round to stand wedged between his body and the horse. Holding her easily with one arm, with his free hand he took hers and forced her to stroke the horse with slow, gentle movements. He made her feel its soft, velvet mouth, the warm breath on her palm. ‘This is a stroke,’ he said, near her ear.

  Olivia’s pulse was beating in time to the insistent thud of her heart. Everything seemed to be happening in slow motion. His hand covering hers stood out in vivid relief - the broad wrist with its dark hairs, the creases over each knuckle, the faint scar running diagonally down from one finger. She watched, almost hypnotised, as it moved up and down the horse’s nose. She was excruciatingly aware of Guy breathing close to her, of the feel of his hand on hers, of the smell of the horse and the bright blocks of light and shadow.

  ‘It’s not so difficult, is it?’ he asked.

  ‘N-no.’ Olivia hated herself for stammering like a shy schoolgirl, resented the way her every sense was vibrating. With an effort she pulled her hand away. ‘I’d better get back. It must be almost time for tea.’

  Guy’s eyes were cool, amused as he watched her. If he thought she was so damned funny, why didn’t he smile? she wondered in frustration, certain that he could see her knees shaking. That crease at the side of his mouth had definitely deepened. She wouldn’t mind so much if only he would smile, properly, just once, at her …

  ‘Why don’t you ride back?’ he suggested.

  ‘No!’ Olivia said quickly, and then, with an assumption of nonchalance, ‘I mean, I’d rather walk.’

  ‘A real Willagong woman would never be out of the saddle,’ Guy said, gathering the reins into one hand and swinging himself effortlessly back on to the horse.

  She took off the hat and shook back her hair, challenge in her blue-green eyes. ‘But I’m not a real Willagong woman, am I?’

  He looked down at her for a moment. ‘We’ll have to see if we can turn you into one, then,’ he said quietly. ‘And don’t let me catch you out without a hat again.’ Pulling the horse’s head round, he rode along the creek and up the far bank without once looking back.

  Olivia stared after him. Part of her wanted to shout that she didn’t want to be a Willagong woman, she didn’t care what he thought, she couldn’t care less that he never smiled. Another part wanted to stand quite still in the bright light and remember how it had felt to be held against him.

  Sighing, she kicked up a spray of leaves. Was it too much to expect a man to smile? He smiled at David, he smiled at Joe and Darren, he even smiled at his horse. Why wouldn’t he smile at her?

  ‘I’m his wife,’ she said out loud to the hat in her hand. ‘I’ve got a right to be smiled at!’

  Chapter Six

  Olivia blew the dust off The Aerophos Cookbook and sat back on her heels to flick through the yellowed pages. Apple Brown Betty, Anzac Biscuits, Fruit Cobbler - this was just what she needed! Turning the book over, she glanced at the date. 1958. That would be about right for the culinary tastes around Willagong Creek!

  She got to her feet and brushed herself down. Who would have thought she would ever have been pleased to have found such an old-fashioned collection of baking recipes? Or that she would have become such a dedicated housekeeper?

  She glanced around the living area with satisfaction. She had worked hard on this room; the wooden floor was scrubbed, the rugs beaten of all the accumulated dust, the furniture polished. Only these shelves, with their tattered, dated books, remained to be thoroughly cleaned and sorted.

  Allowing herself a few moments’ rest, Olivia sat in one of the armchairs and let the peace of the house settle about her. It could do with a fresh coat of paint, of course, but this really was rather a nice room. She was succumbing gradually to the charm of the house, she realised. Her first appalled reaction had turned to determination to see it clean, and now to reluctant affection. She had started noticing little details that had escaped her at first: the elegant lace ironwork decorating the veranda, the solid doors lining the corridors, the impression of quiet coolness even when the heat was at its most intense.

  ‘I must be getting used to it,’ she said, with a faint smile. Her fingers fluttered the pages of the cookbook absently. She hated the dirt and the flies, the vast sky and eerie silence still made her uncomfortable, but she was slowly establishing a relationship with David and, now that she had given up her attempts to cook interesting meals, the ringers were even appreciating her cooking. Guy had never told her what he had said, but every night now they turned up with their hair slicked damply back from a shower, looking well scrubbed in their clean shirts. Yes, she was definitely getting used to t
hings.

  She wasn’t getting used to Guy.

  She couldn’t get used to the way her heart jolted every time he came into the room. She couldn’t get used to the rush of memory every time she found herself watching his mouth or his hands. She couldn’t get used to lying next to him at night and listening to his breathing.

  He had never touched her again. Every night they lay together like strangers, and every night Olivia remembered his touch and thought about what he had said.

  Not until you ask, Olivia.

  It won’t happen again.

  A simple ‘please’ would do.

  But in the face of his apparent indifference, Olivia retreated behind a façade of brittle politeness, and swept and scrubbed and cleaned and polished in the hope that she would be too tired to remember what it had felt like to be kissed by him. She longed to forget it, longed for her indifference to match his own, but every time he turned his head, or picked up his hat, something would clench inside her.

  No, she wasn’t getting used to Guy.

  It had been a relief when he had flown off to Townsville three days ago, but as soon as he’d gone, Olivia had found that she missed him. The veranda felt empty without him, the bed, normally so tense and awkward because he was lying so close, was more uncomfortable than ever.

  Half ashamed, she encouraged the ringers to talk about Guy. Corky told her he had worked on the Richardson family property for years. ‘Guy, he always knew what he was doing, even as a nipper. Course, the Richardsons are a well-known family in these parts and the Pingunaguna property is one of the best. Guy could have stayed there or taken over as manager of one of their properties the other side of Cloncurry, but he’s never been one to choose the easy way. Not many people would have been prepared to take on a run-down property like Willagong.’ Corky blew out cigarette smoke and contemplated the problem facing Guy with grim satisfaction. ‘It’s a good feeling to see land like this put back on its feet.’

  Olivia looked doubtfully at the ramshackle buildings. ‘He doesn’t seem to be getting very far.’

  ‘It all takes time, Mrs R. Guy’s no fool. He bought the land cheap, and the market’s good this year - no thanks to that European Community or whatever it calls itself.’ Corky spat over the rail of the cookhouse veranda. ‘There’s a lot more cattle here than we thought. We’re still mustering to count them all. I dunno how Guy knew - I reckon he’s just got a nose for it.’

  ‘There’s a lot of wild horses out there too,’ Joe added. ‘We had to muster them in with the cattle.’

  ‘What happens to them?’ Olivia asked.

  ‘You can’t do nothing with the brumbies,’ said Corky, ‘but we pick out the best of them and break them in as work horses. You should see Guy break in some of those broncos, Mrs R. They’re madder than fire, those horses, and as mean as can be. They’ll do anything to get you off their backs, but Guy just sits there, and they’re nuzzling him by the time he gets off! It’s something to see the way he brings them under control, I can tell you.’

  Olivia could imagine the scene vividly - the frantic, bucking horse and the cool, unyielding will of the man. ‘How does he do it?’

  ‘You can’t explain it, Mrs R. It’s in the hands.’ Corky shook his head slowly. ‘But them horses, they just know it’s no use fighting him.’

  Corky’s words lingered in Olivia’s memory, and she thought about Guy as she turned back to the books. Them horses, they just know it’s no use fighting him.

  Suddenly she stiffened. Overhead was the unmistakeable buzz of the plane. He was back! Stifling the urge to run out and wave, she crouched resolutely down by the shelves again. It wouldn’t do for Guy to think she had been missing him.

  When the ute drew up outside the homestead, she was still wiping mechanically at the books, every nerve alert to his arrival. She could hear the door of the vehicle slam, David’s excited voice, the sound of footsteps on the wooden veranda. And then he was there, in the doorway.

  Olivia stood up slowly, still clutching the cloth. She felt as if every emotion drained out of her and then came swooshing back with a surge of feeling that left her exhilarated, almost frightened by the way her body had twanged into awareness. It was almost as if she had never seen him properly before. The definite features, the long, cool mouth, the exciting lines of cheek and jaw, the lean, quiet strength, all hit her with devastating effect.

  ‘Hello,’ she said huskily.

  Guy had stopped at the sight of her, dusty and begrimed by a pile of books. She was wearing his shirt still, with a pair of black leggings, and she looked tired. The golden hair was pushed carelessly behind her ears and there were smudges of dirt on her cheek, but the long, beautiful eyes were shining.

  He looked back at her in silence for a long moment before taking off his hat and moving into the room, but all he said was, ‘Still cleaning?’ He glanced around him at the transformation from dreary abandonment to gracious tranquillity. ‘You’ve done a good job.’

  Olivia bent her head and fiddled with the duster in her hands, unwilling for Guy to see how pleased she was by his laconic praise. Fortunately David interrupted before she had to think of a suitable reply.

  ‘Look what Guy brought me from Townsville!’

  She looked up guiltily. She hadn’t even noticed David coming into the room with Guy. He was holding out a plastic aeroplane, a miniature version of Guy’s. ‘The propeller goes round and the doors open,’ David went on, anxious for her to appreciate every refinement of his new toy.

  He swooped the plane up and down, so obviously delighted with it that Olivia couldn’t help smiling. She glanced instinctively at Guy and their eyes met over David’s head, such warmth of expression in his that her heart almost stopped.

  But he wasn’t smiling, and the warmth was for David, not for her.

  Olivia’s smile faltered at the realisation. She turned her head quickly away.

  ‘I hope you thanked Guy nicely, David?’

  ‘Of course!’ said David loftily. ‘I brought you a present too, Olivia,’ Guy said. ‘You’ll have to thank me nicely as well. In fact, I brought you two presents.’

  ‘That means you’ll have to thank him very nicely,’ David pointed out self-righteously.

  ‘Presents? For me?’ Olivia stared incredulously at the box Guy held out. Putting down the cloth, she wiped her hands on the shirt and took it hesitantly. ‘What is it?’

  ‘Open it and see.’

  Inside, wedged into polystyrene, lay a cassette player, with six classical cassettes slotted into the empty spaces. Olivia could only look, disbelieving. She had missed having music more than anything else, and now Guy had brought her this! With some of her favourite composers too. How had he known?

  She looked up at Guy. ‘I … don’t know what to say.’

  ‘I remembered you saying that you always listened to music. I wasn’t sure what you liked, but I thought with your orchestral background I’d be pretty safe with the classics.’

  ‘Oh, yes!’ Olivia took a rather shuddery breath. He had been thinking of her while he was away! It was such a wonderful, unexpected, thoughtful present that she felt stupidly like crying. ‘I can’t tell you how much it will mean to me to have some music.’ He was watching her with his dark eyes and she realised that her thanks sounded woefully inadequate. On an impulse she leant forward and kissed his cheek.

  When his arms went round her to pull her tight, Olivia didn’t panic. She only laid her cheek against his and thought how safe and secure she felt. ‘Thank you,’ she whispered.

  His hands tightened momentarily against her back, then he put her from him abruptly, as if as disconcerted as she by the sudden intimacy. Olivia flushed slightly and stepped back.

  ‘I brought you something else as well,’ Guy said. David, plane in one hand, was absorbed in pushing the button on the cassette player with the other.

  The package was soft, wrapped in tissue paper. Olivia opened it with unsteady hands, catching her breath as she pulled ou
t an ivory silk nightdress that slithered luxuriously between her hands. It was very simple, almost demure, she noticed, instinctively holding the delicate material against her cheek to feel its cool softness. Her eyes met Guy’s wordlessly.

  ‘Sick of you tossing and turning at night because you’re too hot in that cotton thing,’ he said gruffly.

  A slow flush started deep inside her and spread inexorably until she felt that every inch of her skin burned red. She had a vivid image of Guy picking out the nightdress for her, of him imagining her wearing it, of his strong brown hands lingering on the silk. ‘Guy, I …’ She felt confused, uncertain. Both the cassette player and the nightdress showed that he had thought about her, had noticed far more than she had realised, but his dark eyes gave nothing away, and he was as remote and self-contained as ever. In the end she said only, again, ‘Thank you,’ but this time she made no move to kiss him.

  ‘I picked up the mail while I was in town.’ Guy broke a silence that was suddenly uneasy. ‘There are a couple of letters for you.’

  Olivia put down the nightdress and took the letters he handed to her. She had written to friends in London to let them know where she was, but this was the first post she had had. She ought to have been thrilled to get some news from home, but her mind was taken up with Guy and the gifts he had brought her.

  Forcing herself to show an interest, she turned the letters over. ‘Oh, this is from Annie,’ she said to fill the silence. ‘And this one’s from -’ She stopped at the sight of familiar writing.

  ‘From who?’ Guy was watching her closely.

  ‘It’s from Tim,’ Olivia said slowly. He was the last person she had expected to write to her.

  Guy’s face closed. ‘You’ll want to be on your own when you read that one,’ he said. Turning abruptly on his heel, he went out.

  Annie’s letter was full of gossip, but it all seemed impossibly remote to Olivia, puzzling over Guy’s sudden change of mood. Tim had written to congratulate her on her marriage. It was a nice gesture, she thought, folding the letter and putting it back in the envelope. She wondered a little at her own lack of reaction. Had she ever seriously wanted to marry him? It seemed hard to believe now.