by Lucy Walker
‘And one dash of powder I suggest. There’s a shine on your nose.’
Kim could hardly believe her ears. She didn’t care about the shine on her nose. And powder as such was ‘out’ anyway. It was the way he said it. Not unkindly. Not a bit unkindly.
‘I’ll sit on the cement wall and finish my cigarette. Four minutes? Right?’
‘Right,’ said Kim. And suddenly she smiled. It was a smile that could have pierced the heart of prison walls, but Dr Andrews had turned away.
‘Not four minutes. Three,’ Kim added, as she fled in behind the door, now left ajar to give him light. She had to juggle with her cosmetics tidied away in the drawer ‒ because of Myree ‒ and wait for the beastly neon light over the mirror to stop flickering and start lighting up properly.
Someone had come for her! And that someone was Dr Andrews!
She hadn’t been left out, after all!
Chapter Four
It was a wonderful party. Kim had never been to one like it before. Beer cans, ginger beer cans, and bitter-lemon bottles stood everywhere in Barney Sage’s room. There were packets of cheese biscuits, cartons of salted peanuts, and even some defrosted crayfish-tails nested on lettuce in between wedges of cucumber and tomato pieces. These were set out on an upturned carton. On the top of another carton, also in cradles of lettuce, there were chicken pieces that really tasted like chicken, and not brush turkey. There was one enormous beautifully iced fruit cake sitting in pride of place on Barney Sage’s pillow.
Every expedition had a professional cook, of course. Kim recognised this fact, and it gave her quite a wollop of joy to see him, the cook, also taking pride of place and monopolising the best chair.
When she arrived with Dr Andrews there had been a hail from all.
‘Here she is!’
‘Come on in, Kim! Where’ve you been since sundown?’
‘Come and sit over here, chick. The best cushion on the best part of the floor has been waiting for you!’
So they had missed her! They had been waiting for her, and wanted her. She hadn’t been forgotten at all.
Now she very nearly did cry ‒ which would have been quite unique for Kim.
Someone pressed a frothing glass in her hand and another ushered her to the cushion on the floor.
Then, quite pointedly, the young man with the red-brown eyes and too easy but charming smile, weaved his way between others sitting about. He sank down beside her.
‘You’re mine for the evening,’ he said. ‘I saw George Crossman monopolising you at dinner ‒’
‘Oh, but he was very nice,’ Kim insisted. ‘Besides I hadn’t met any of the others. Except Myree, of course. And ‒’
She could hardly tell him how she had come to meet Dr Andrews at the Mount.
The young man was smiling right into her eyes.
‘Where have you been all my life?’ he asked. ‘Now don’t reply till I give you the classic answer to that question. You should take one swig of your shandy and say ‒ “Waiting for you”.’
Kim took her swig of shandy and looked over the rim of her glass at Stephen Cole.
Funny, she thought. It isn’t just the colour of his eyes! It’s something that’s in them ‒ something …
The young man really had a delightful manner: so companionable. Was it possible that some people could be too nice? Or that she had been mistaken earlier?
Kim was almost sure that she had met him before, or seen him. Or known something about him. She racked her brains as she listened to him talk.
Well, if not him, then someone like him! Well, not to worry for now. This party was too much like fun to be thinking of anything else.
John Andrews had followed Kim into the room. When the others welcomed her he excused himself, quite perfunctorily, and went across the floor to join two earnest, very brainy-looking young men ‒ down from the far north to join the Expedition at Manutarra. They had just appealed to Myree Bolton for a verdict on some scientific point. George Crossman was missing.
‘Gone to straighten up the roadhouse staff about being on the ball at five-thirty in the morning,’ Stephen Cole explained to Kim. ‘Breakfast at six. Since every member of the party has arrived ‒ including those chaps from the north ‒ John Andrews says we can make a seven o’clock start instead of eight o’clock as per former schedule. He’s a devil for slogging, is our Dr Andrews. I hope you have your working breeches with you, Kim?’
‘I have. Brand new ones to stand up to the extra wear and tear. Three short and two long. The last just for the look of it: or if it turns cold. It can drop forty degrees at night out on the desert fringes, can’t it?’
‘Depends how far we’re going.’ Suddenly, to Kim’s acute ear there was a subtle change in his voice. He did not look at her but flicked a tiny speck from the froth on the top of his drink with the nail of his little finger. ‘Do you know the exact route, by any chance?’
Kim did not know, and said so. She had a queer feeling that even if she had known she would not have admitted it. Which was silly.
George Crossman came in at last.
‘Oh, there you are, infant!’ He greeted Kim with a smile. ‘Someone told me you were lost.’
‘Not any more.’ She didn’t mind for the first time in her life being called ‘infant’. ‘Dr Andrews came and found me,’ she explained.
Her eyes flew round the room to where he sat.
He was still talking in a very absorbed way to Myree. His head was turned up because he was sitting on the floor, his knees encircled by one arm; and Myree was leaning over the back of the chair ‒ too far over, because her dress was low cut.
Well, thought Kim. Now I’ve really seen something. A female talking down to an anti-female. Yet he’s not really that. I wish I hadn’t been such a donkey that day I went to the Mount.
George Crossman set about ousting the tawny-haired young man from monopolising Kim. Soon she found herself once more being charmed by George’s easy friendly manner. He broke the ice between her and all the others in the party. She had never felt so gay in all her life before. The release from her family, and from general frustration, was so wonderful she could have cried with happiness. Here was a group to which she belonged. In her own right.
Two hours later Dr Andrews signalled that the party was over.
‘Early start to-morrow,’ he said hefting himself suddenly from his seat on the floor. He seemed to Kim longer and leaner, more tenacious-looking, now. Everyone in the room sensed this subtle change.
A silence fell. Now the adventure would begin ‒ as from this minute.
‘You heard me?’ Dr Andrews said with a smile. There was authority in his manner. ‘Early start. Breakfast is arranged and we leave at seven. Now for the rules. Lift a hand those who have been on similar expeditions before.’
He glanced round the room as several hands were raised. He smiled at Myree’s raised hand. ‘I mean long expeditions lasting over a period of more than four weeks.’
Myree withdrew her hand but without embarrassment. She flashed a smile at the boss instead.
‘I have travelled far in books,’ she said. ‘Your books.’ Her beautiful eyebrows arched as she spoke.
Kim’s eyes widened. So he wrote scientific books about plants too? And she had called him the plant man, or the gardener! Who, she wondered, had done his drawings? Would they have been better than hers?
‘For information to the newcomers,’ Dr Andrews was saying. His eyes rested on Kim, not expecting her to know anything about expeditions at all, ‘we travel in pairs, either when in transports or when on foot. No partner in a pair will let the other partner out of sight. Right?’
‘Right!’ The assent and the understanding came from all round the room.
‘It’s easy to get lost,’ Dr Andrews said more easily. ‘I’ll merely add the fact we are travelling in some regions virtually unmapped. Tracks, but not roads.’ He paused to let that sink in. Then went on ‒ ‘I’ll give few rules, but all must be obeyed imp
licitly. When leaving the transports each partner must carry a water-bag and must wear a hat. I won’t insult your collective intelligence by telling you why. We’ll be moving into semi-desert regions. We are looking, in particular, for uncatalogued specimens.’
‘What about prospectors, and aborigines, John?’ Barney Sage asked.
‘Coming to that now. Both types can be of great help to us. Apart from knowing the terrain and the water-holes, long-time prospectors and their kind know the herbal qualities of the plants in their hunting grounds. They learn them from the aborigines. Don’t forget that some of the most valuable drugs to society came from botanical expeditions amongst African tribes, Mexican herb dealers etc. The fever-bark tree gave the world Cinchona calisaya and so quinine. The blue gum trees of Australia eucalyptus. That’s your field, George ‒’
John Andrews looked across the room at George Crossman. ‘You’re the organic chemist. So I’m pairing you off with Charles Barke here, for the obvious reason that he too is an organic chemist. You’ll take Number One caravan as it is fully equipped for a testing laboratory.’ He went on, detailing the place in vehicles, of others in the party.
He let his glance slide round the room.
‘Miss Wentworth and Stephen Cole will pair off for the first short stint. I may switch that later. Kim will act as recorder, tagging and drawing specimens as required by any member of the party. Your van will stand up to it, Kim?’
‘Yes, I brought my service card from the garage and the R.A.C. report with me.’
There was a tiny croak in her voice as she spoke. She was unexpectedly nervous at speaking out in such a group. For the first time she was a little awed by all these brain-boxes around her. Funny, she’d never felt like this at Crawley. She was a little disappointed that she wasn’t to be paired with George Crossman. With him she felt she would have been safe from ridicule because she was the only one, bar the cook and the motor mechanic, who wasn’t a scientist.
John Andrews continued his instructions. Out of her disappointment at not being with George Crossman, Kim surfaced to hear his last remarks.
‘I’ll lead off naturally. Miss Bolton will come with me as we’re both working in the same field ‒’
‘Who’s the lucky one in your outfit, Boss? You?’ The young man speaking was too facetious. The moment the words were out of his mouth he knew he’d dropped a clanger. He looked alarmed.
Myree arched her pretty eyebrows ‒ liking the implication ‒ but John Andrews barely smiled. He ignored the interjection.
Stephen Cole had edged his way back to a seat by Kim and he prodded her gently with his elbow.
‘Myree’s promoted already,’ he whispered with a grin. ‘I bet she worked it. She monopolised the boss all evening.’
Kim did not answer. For one thing she wasn’t going to make the same crude mistake as the facetious young man who now looked utterly dejected. For another, she was busy thinking ‒
From now on Myree would probably have nearly everything her own way. She had a built-in knack for getting the best of all ‒ even the bed by the window. Kim sighed regretfully.
‘I think that’s all for to-night,’ John Andrews was saying. ‘There’ll be final check-overs in the morning. Oh, there is one thing more.’ His face relaxed and something like a grin appeared. ‘As from now, it will be Christian names only. This goes for everyone.’ The smile deepened as he added, ‘I hope there aren’t too many Johns, Bills and Jacks in the party. Could lead to confusion.’
Very clever, Kim thought, not wanting to be pleased with John Andrews any more, ever. A smart way of letting everyone know he’s to be called by his Christian name too. No handles like Dr etcetera, etcetera.
Oh dear! Why wasn’t she born smart too?
She watched him slide down to his former seat on the floor next to Myree. Myree, for her part very vivacious, began speaking to him at once. In an undertone too. All very private. She must have said something amusing because John Andrew’s face flashed with another quick, open, shining smile. It changed his whole personality for that short second.
He must have liked very much whatever it was Myree had said to him.
Kim sighed for the second time.
Ten minutes later John Andrews was on his feet again. He put his hand under Myree’s arm to help her up.
‘We finish up for the night, John?’ George Crossman asked. He was second in command and therefore expected to do the closing up.
‘Yes. Party’s over. Don’t forget all! Up and ready to depart shortly after sunrise.’
John and Myree went through the door leaving a pool of silence behind them.
‘He brings Kim, but takes Myree,’ Stephen Cole remarked thoughtfully, unafraid of speaking out now the great man had gone.
‘Taking is better than bringing,’ Charles Barke also was unafraid in John’s absence. He laughed at his own remark. Only George Crossman appeared to be deaf. He was making his way to the door alone.
‘Well, that clears the field for me,’ Stephen said jumping up. ‘Just shows luck comes my way sometimes. Come on Kim. I’m taking you home. Round the courtyard by moonlight three times. Then maybe a halt under those two nice shadow-giving gums.’ He bent down and put his hand under her arm. ‘Up with you, Petso. It’s you and me for the door, and what spots of wicked dark we can find for ourselves outside.’ He said this last loud enough for all to hear.
He let his gaze wander with calculated idleness around the group. ‘Let everyone think what he wills!’ he added meaningly.
Maybe he was only trying to be funny!
Kim sat in the drive seat of her van, resting her elbows on the steering wheel.
The courtyard of the roadhouse was a sight to behold. The sun was not so long risen and the frail morning light with its hint of heat, and the pungent scent of the wild-flowers, filled Kim with a sense of exhilaration. Of excitement too! She was really on her way!
‘Well, when do we start?’ Stephen Cole asked. He was sitting beside her in the van. ‘What’s the boss waiting for?’
‘We call him “John” now. Remember?’ Kim was only half listening. She was in a wonderland of happiness. She was no longer a lone one.
‘That’s what Life is really about, you know,’ she continued her thought aloud.
‘Really is about what? A hot kiss in the moonlight, like last night for instance?’
As Stephen had stolen the kiss, Kim ignored this remark.
‘One adventure after another, of course. Some passable, some beastly: and some like now.’
Stephen gave her a side glance from his too-bright brown eyes.
‘You are a one, aren’t you?’ he said. ‘Always saying something odd. What’s only passable? You mean kissing? Everyone does it nowadays.’
Kim nodded her head thoughtfully as she looked at the line of transports. ‘My family always treated me as the odd one. Way-out, or whatever ‒’
‘I’ll tell you what you’re not going to be ‒ for long anyway.’ His tone was half bantering, half serious.
‘Yes. You tell me,’ Kim said, not so absently.
‘We might do a spot of moon-lighting when the others tuck in ‒ but you’re sure not going to be the driver for long. That’s what I’m telling you, pretty one. I’m the one that has to have the power in his hands. I’m the man of the party. You getting the message okay?’
‘It’s my van,’ Kim said briefly.
‘So it is. All the same, I never heard of a man being passenger while a girl drives. Makes me look like a ‒ well, like a ‒’
Kim really attended now. She tilted her head a little sideways as she looked at him, and asked ‒
‘Well, you raised the subject. What do you look like? And why shouldn’t you look like what you are? I look as I am, I suppose.’
‘You, dear girl, look like a lost chicken in a brood-nest of brains. Inexperienced! However, you’ll learn. As for me?’
Yes, as for you? Kim wondered, but did not say this aloud. Why did he give her
an odd feeling of familiarity? Besides, she hadn’t really liked being kissed last night. Of course it was necessary to have experience, she reflected. That had been her mood about kisses anyway.
‘I’m a botanist collecting for one of the richest men in Australia. He owns the choicest of herbariums,’ Stephen went on firmly. ‘He happens to be a very powerful man in industry. My Mr Mathews is just that, and if ‒’
‘In what industry?’ Kim asked, not really curious. Her eyes had gone to the figure of John Andrews walking down the line, speaking a few words to the drivers as he gave each a paper. She was so absorbed she didn’t notice the change in Stephen Cole’s expression, nor the fact he did not finish what he was saying. On the contrary, he seemed deliberately to take a sudden pull on himself.
He noticed her concentration on the approaching John Andrews and gave himself up to a new line of thought. Kim’s charms for instance. Specially those eyes. There was something special about them. The way she looked at one ‒ as if a little faraway about it. Then so ingenuous about being kissed!
John Andrews had reached the Rover immediately in front of Kim’s van. He said his few words as he handed over the piece of paper to the driver ‒ pointing out something special to note on it. Then he came down the gravel stretch to Kim.
‘We’ve already said “Good morning”, haven’t we?’ he asked. This was very civil but not factual, Kim thought. He had twice passed her between the suites and the breakfast room without noticing her. He’d had his thinking-cap on, she supposed. She had an uneasy feeling he had special occult powers, and did not approve ‒ merely as a matter of principle ‒ her longish walk with Stephen last night.
John Andrews’ eyes moved from Kim to Stephen Cole sitting beside her. ‘You both know the rendezvous? No temptations to stop and pick up some doubtfully unique specimen you might happen to see on the way. We’re not out picking bouquets of wild-flowers.’ He allowed himself a half-smile as his eyes came back to Kim, but he passed the piece of paper ‒ a map section ‒ across her to Stephen in the passenger seat.
‘You’d better be navigator, Stephen,’ he added. ‘Your driver will need all her attention for the road. Excuse me, Kim ‒’ He leaned across her as he pointed with a pencil to a spot on the map. ‘You follow this track here for roughly fifty miles. We have morning tea break there. The turn-off is bull dust and sand track. You can’t miss it. There’s the proverbial black stump twenty yards this side of it. Follow on a hundred and four miles by the speedometer and watch out for a group of three ant hills standing side by side. They call them the Three Aces. Turn left from there and pick up a gravel track that will bring you to Paper-Bark Waterhole. That’s the rendezvous for lunch. Right?’