Age of Consent

by Victoria Gordon

  As anger formed an icy block inside her, Helen found herself more and more tempted to personally throttle her unwelcome visitor, but of course she couldn’t do that. So instead she determined to see just how much more information she could get from Marina.

  ‘May I ask just how long this little expedition is planned to be?’ she said. ‘The idea obviously is that I’m to care for the farm while you’re away, so it would be nice if I had some idea of how long that will be,’

  Marina shrugged. ‘Oh, perhaps six months. Maybe longer, as I really can’t imagine Dane actually coming back here to live, you understand.’

  What Helen understood was that Marina wouldn’t come to live at the farm; Dane’s feelings on the subject were clearly not paramount.

  ‘I suppose that this plan to have me stay on as farm manager or whatever has something to do with the problems I’ve had recently in finding a new job?’ Helen asked, unwilling to come right out with her evidence of Dane’s deceit, but determined now to see if she could tie Marina into the conspiracy.

  ‘Well, he did say something about it, but I’m not personally au fait with the exact situation,’ Marina smirked. ‘And really it doesn’t matter, does it? I mean, you’re quite happy here with your animals, and of course I’m sure the salary will more than compensate for any losses.’

  Not in the long term, Helen thought. She’d already been out of regular work too long, from a purely positive career viewpoint. And Dane would have known that, too, yet he obviously didn’t care. And he should care, damn him! He should!

  She was beginning to think the entire situation of her being in Tasmania was part of the plot, and yet ... Marina hadn’t known she was coming. That much, from memory, was certain.

  ‘Yes,’ Helen finally replied. ‘Yes, I’m sure it will. And of course I get my keep thrown in as well, which is worth looking at. What I can’t quite figure out is your involvement in this. I mean, Dane surely could have arranged to tell me himself; he gets back early on Tuesday.’

  Marina was evasive, both in gesture and the drawn- out ‘We-e-e-ll’ she shrugged at Helen.

  ‘But then I suppose you really wanted to be sure 1 understood that my tenure would have to ... end abruptly? On your return, that is.’

  ‘Something like that. Although of course it will depend on whether we return to the farm or move into something more appropriate in the city. But really, I’d think it best all round if you were to consider yourself redundant at about that time.’

  Helen grinned. Not outside, where Marina could see it, but inside ... just to herself. ‘Myself, I think it would be just about as logical to just leave now. After all, there isn’t much logic to my staying in what I already know is a dead-end situation.’ Then she paused momentarily before adding. ‘Or would it be just too much to expect ... you looking after the place for the next day or two?’

  ‘Quite impossible. Animals, I’m afraid, are not my line.’ Marina paused, then, apparently considering the problem deeply. ‘But of course I can see your position,’ she finally added, ‘and really I think I’d almost have to agree. Purely from a woman’s point of view, of course. One really must look ahead to get ahead, and perhaps it’s just a bit unfair of Dane to expect you to stay on ... under the circumstances. I’m sure that’s why he wanted me to try and break the news to you gently.’

  About as gentle as a sledge-hammer, Helen thought. But said, ‘Yes, well I appreciate it, Miss Cole. I really do.’

  Five minutes later, Helen was alone, sitting over a hastily-brewed cup of coffee and turning the whole conversation over and over in her mind.

  It didn’t make sense. Even trying to put herself in Marina’s shoes, it didn’t add up. Marina should have leaped at the bait, should have gone out of her way to ensure that Helen would leave as soon as possible. Sooner!

  ‘Unless she’s even more vindictive than I think,’ Helen muttered to herself. ‘Maybe she just wants to be able to rub salt in the wounds.’

  If nothing else, she now had a rationale to explain Dane’s deliberate interference in her job-hunting, but that was small consolation. If any. She drank half the coffee, then stared the rest into frigid bitterness as she pondered his betrayal.

  The bastard! The utter bastard. How could he possibly betray a friendship like that? Never mind her own romantic feelings ... she could live with the fact that they hadn’t been returned. But to have so blatantly interfered with her career, with her future? That was unbelievable and totally unforgivable.

  ‘Well, if nothing else, Marina will get her wish,’ Helen said aloud, feeling the raggedness of anger in her voice. ‘I don’t give a damn who looks after this place while they’re gone, but it won’t be me. That, is for certain!’

  She was less certain later in the day when she was out working with the animals, comfortable in the warmth of the sunshine and enjoying Joshua’s antics despite the cloud of gloom that seemed to saturate her every pore. She had loved it here, she thought, and just for an instant considered staying on, despite the impossibility of it.

  Then logic took over, combining with her bitterness and anguish. By midnight she was almost totally packed, and first thing next morning she was on the ‘phone to Adelaide, accepting the job.

  ‘I’ll be flying in first thing tomorrow, with luck,’ she told her new editor. ‘So I can start Wednesday, if you like ... or leave it until first thing next week. Whichever suits.’

  ‘Have you organised your flight yet?’

  ‘No, but I’d like to get away as early as possible,’ Helen replied. ‘And certainly no later than noon. In fact, first thing in the morning or just before noon would be best.’

  That way she could be sure of not meeting Dane in the airport at either end of the journey. Her own sense of responsibility to the animals in her care made it impossible for her to leave before the next morning; she wouldn’t let the stock suffer by her own temper no matter how severe the motive. But she would definitely be gone before Dane arrived at the Hobart airport. She could easily enough leave a message for him with his airline, along with the keys to the vehicle she’d leave in the airport parking lot.

  It took a few minutes more to arrange the flight itself, having the editor’s permission to charge the costs directly to his newspaper, and the timing was perfect, from Helen’s viewpoint.

  She would actually be in the air, passing Dane’s aircraft, en route to Melbourne, then be on her way to Adelaide about the time he’d be getting her message at the airline’s Hobart office.

  It would be, she decided, a very, very short message.

  But the letter she must leave at home for him was longer, more complicated. And much, much more difficult to compose. Helen spent most of the day writing it, over and over and over. Each time different, each time less satisfactory than the one before.

  It was impossible, she found, to put in writing her true feelings, either as they had been before his betrayal or even now, now that she could tell herself she was better off without any further involvement with a man who’d do such a thing. Even more impossible to mention Marina’s visit, or even that she now knew what Dane had done with her job applications.

  He’d find out anyway; she must relate the circumstances under which she’d invaded the privacy of his office and desk. Whatever else, she wouldn’t have him thinking she was a sneak.

  And in the end, her letter became the essence of simplicity. She told him of the ‘phone call from the address seeker, and that she’d found a job at last, one that she had to grab immediately. ‘So I left this morning, unfortunately before your arrival,’ she wrote. Not telling him which job, or where. The animals have all been fed and watered and Molly, too. I’m sorry to be going in such a rush, but there was no other way. Thank you for your hospitality, and your help. I’ll write as soon as I’m settled.’

  She wouldn’t write, Helen knew. Or at least not for a very long time. There just wasn’t anything to say ... not any more.

  Dane would know, of course, that she knew how
he’d deliberately sabotaged her job-hunting. He’d know if for no other reason than because she was taking the un-mailed letters with her. What he wouldn’t know — and must never know, never be allowed to know — was how much she’d allowed herself to be hurt, how vulnerable she’d become.

  There was nothing in the letter to suggest it, and nothing she’d said to Marina would tell him. She’d found a job and she’d taken it. End of story. He might not appreciate being left to find a new farm manager, but he could hardly blame Helen for that, not after the underhanded methods he’d used to keep her there.

  And at least this way she could escape without a personal confrontation, however much she thought — and immediately discarded those thoughts — that she’d love to throw the whole thing up in his face, just to watch him squirm. She’d love to do it, and indeed would love to be able to do it. But she never could, and never would, so she put those thoughts aside as swiftly as they arose.

  By nine that evening, she was packed, organised and ready to leave as soon as the animals had been cared for next morning. And she was exhausted, as much by the strain of writing her departure letter as by the overall mental anguish of the whole, sordid mess.

  She fairly fell into bed, consoling herself with the thought that in twelve hours she’d be on the way out of this predicament, heart-broken perhaps, but at least with the remnants of her pride intact.

  There was time on her way to the airport to sort out final details of banking and the like, and she’d already prepared an envelope to be left for Dane with his airline. Her clothes for the morrow were laid out and ready; she need only do her chores, get showered and changed, and be gone.

  Now all that remained was to sleep, and that she found most difficult of all. Her stomach was roiling, her head ached and she felt as if someone had been beating on her with a large, heavy stick. Nerves? Helen hoped it was only nerves. The last thing she needed now was a dose of the influenza that seemed to be going round.

  She tossed and turned, got up and made a cup of warm milk, returned to bed no more able to sleep than before, and was sitting up, reading without taking in a single word, when the telephone rang.

  She didn’t answer at first, though she knew she must, eventually. And she knew, also, who’d be on the other end of the line. It was the final, crowning touch to an already horrid day, but she had no real choice — except in making the instant decision of what she’d say and what she wouldn’t.

  So she answered the ‘phone on the sixth ring, and wasn’t even remotely surprised when Dane’s voice said, ‘I woke you up, didn’t I?’

  CHAPTER NINE

  ‘Yes,’ Helen said. It was easier than any explanation of why, otherwise, she’d have let the ‘phone ring so long.

  ‘Sorry,’ he said, although he didn’t sound it. ‘But I thought I’d better confirm my arrival time tomorrow. It’s just as we’d planned.’

  ‘All right,’ Helen said, keeping her voice carefully neutral. She couldn’t, however, still the thundering of her heart. She might be angry with this man, might even hate him just a little, but damn it, she still loved him, too.

  ‘You don’t sound right,’ he said. And she damned him for his perceptiveness before replying.

  ‘I’m just ... well ... tired. You did wake me, after all.’

  ‘You sound more than just tired to me. Is everything all right?’

  ‘Of course it is,’ she lied, forcing just enough defensiveness into her voice to give the impression of mild indignity.

  ‘You’re not upset because I’ve hardly ‘phoned, or anything like that?’ And his voice showed he didn’t really believe her. He was, she decided, far, far too perceptive. She’d have to try and cut this conversation short, if he’d let her. Only knowing Dane, he’d pick just this time for a long talk, and to hell with the cost,

  ‘1 can’t imagine why that should upset me,’ she replied in a calm voice. ‘You’ve only been away a few days, after all, and I’m quite capable of looking after myself. I’ve been doing it for years,’

  ‘Yes, you’re a big girl now, aren’t you?’ he chuckled, ‘I keep forgetting that,’

  Helen said nothing. What was there to say? But she should have said something, and even as she intuitively realised that, she also realised it was too late.

  ‘There is something wrong.’ And now he was certain.

  Damn him! Helen could just imagine him sitting there, every sense totally alert. He’d always been able to read her like a book, and now she must do something to invalidate his ability. And fast!

  ‘You’re imagining things,’ she laughed, forcing it, but yet making the laughter sound genuine, effortless. Then a quick verbal shuffle, ‘I think you must have been over-working. Was your trip the success you hoped ... or have you just been carousing for a week?’

  ‘Stop trying to change the subject.’ His voice now grim, almost implacable. ‘Now seriously ... what’s wrong? You haven’t had prowlers or anything like that? Or ...’

  ‘I haven’t had anything,’ Helen replied stoically. ‘I’m just tired and I’d really like to get back to sleep. Can’t the inquisition wait until tomorrow?’

  ‘It can not. Not if there’s something wrong that I ought to know about now.’

  ‘But there isn’t. I’ve already told you that fifteen times,’ she cried. ‘Don’t you listen? Can’t you hear?’

  ‘And I’ve told you a million times not to exaggerate,’ he snorted. ‘Why do you always insist on lying to me; you know it doesn’t work? Now let’s try it again — what’s wrong?’

  This is ridiculous, Helen thought. It doesn’t matter what I say, he isn’t going to believe it. But then ... what should it matter? Now.

  ‘If you must know … I’m pregnant,’ she snapped. ‘There — does that satisfy you?’

  For an instant, the merest flickering of an instant, Helen thought she heard him gasp. But when he spoke, she knew she must have been mistaken. ‘Is that all?’ he said. ‘Anybody 1 know?’ Showing he didn’t believe her and wasn’t going to let go that easily either. Unless ...

  ‘Yes!’ she cried. And hung up the ‘phone, only to sit there, trembling, until it rang again a few moments later. For a few seconds, she thought of just letting it ring, but common sense took hold. Let’s get it over with,’’ she thought.

  ‘Were you serious?’ And now his voice held something more than caustic sarcasm. Now he actually sounded worried. Not that he would be.

  ‘No, I wasn’t serious. It’s just that if you insist on stupid questions, you’ll get stupid answers,’ she sighed. ‘Now please, can we postpone this stupid discussion until later. I’d really like to get some sleep and you’re spending a lot of money on this for no return at all.’

  ‘You let me worry about money,’ he growled. ‘But ... all right. And if I find out when I get there tomorrow that you’ve been lying to me ... well heaven help you, young Helen.’

  ‘I’m sure it will. Good night,’ she said, and hung up almost in the middle of his response.

  Five minutes later she was asleep, her final thoughts that at least the discussion appeared to have resolved her problem of insomnia; her other problems would sort themselves out in time.

  The next day dawned with a cloudless sky and the promise of excellent weather ... at least in Hobart. But it was, Helen thought, a good omen. And for once she was right. The day went like clockwork, exactly as she’d planned, and there was even the unexpected pleasure of being met at the Adelaide airport by her new boss.

  He was a large, solid, greying man in his late forties, a man to whom Helen took an instant liking. There was every indication he’d be a considerate employer, and he proved it immediately after greeting her when she stepped into the terminal.

  ‘One of my girls is getting married on Saturday,’ he said, ‘and since you’ll be taking over her work until she’s back from her honeymoon, we thought you might be interested in taking over her flat, as well. Save you a lot of fuss and bother looking round for one.’


  ‘Well I’ll certainly have a look at it,’ Helen replied. ‘And probably take it, presuming the price is right, because there are few things I hate worse than flat hunting.’

  Two hours later, it was settled. Judy, the girl being married, was to go home for the final few days of her single life, leaving Helen in possession of the flat and thus more than ready to begin work the very next day.

  And the work, much to her delight, was rather different than she’d expected. On the basis of the advertisement, Helen had been indeed slightly over- qualified, but having seen her credentials, the editor had rearranged his staffing situation to put her into a variety of tasks she’d relatively little experience at, and Helen found the challenge both stimulating and engrossing.

  Not so much that she could totally keep her mind from straying back to Tasmania, especially in the relative, city-noisy quiet of early morning. But enough to at least help her get through the days one at a time, gradually reconciling her loneliness and coming to terms with it.

  But it was difficult. There were too many things, too many newsroom habits and journalistic comments and clichés that reminded her of Dane as she’d first known him, when he was honourable and decent and so very good to her. And too many nights when she’d lie sleepless, wondering if he knew where she’d gone, if he even cared.

  A fortnight passed, and the worst of the pain with it. Until one lunch-time when she entered her favourite pub to hear her name called in a voice that seemed familiar.

  ‘Geoff Jones! But ... what are you doing in Adelaide?’ Helen wasn’t sure at first if she ought to be pleasantly or unpleasantly surprised by the unexpected coincidence of meeting Geoff, but quickly decided. He was friendly, charming — and harmless. Good company without complications.

  ‘Oh, I’ve been here a couple of weeks now. Came over on a special marketing thing; I’ll be here another month or more. But what about you? Last I heard you were Dane’s favourite jillaroo.’