Authors: Jane Corrie
It was the old, old story. The man, she was given to understand, was married, and couldn't get a divorce, and couldn't really afford to keep two homes going, and she had to survive on the pittance he sent her or brought her whenever he could get away.
Sarah recalled feeling physically sick as she stumbled down the dingy staircase and out into the blessed sweetness of the morning air. She was not naive, she knew that men did this sort of thing, but she found it hard to understand how any woman could be so taken in, although she had to concede that Don was a charmer, and too good-looking for his own good. Women adored him. The only thing Sarah could not forgive was his meanness. He was earning a high salary, and could well afford to keep his mistress and their child in better circumstances, but had preferred to adopt a deplorable ploy to cover his meanness.
Totally honest herself, Sarah had no time for such dishonesty, particularly when it affected the welfare of children, and she had it out with Don that very evening. He did not deny the charge. It would not have been any good if he had, but he did try to excuse himself on the grounds of being very young when he had met the girl; he had got
caught up in a situation he abhorred but could do nothing about, which might have worked had Sarah not actually seen the woman and the conditions she was living in, or more to the point, known that Don was still in the habit of visiting her.
The meeting had ended with Sarah throwing his ring back at him and telling him in no uncertain terms that she wanted nothing more to do with him.
A day later, Don's car was found on the rocks below a point where they had once used to sit in the evenings discussing their future. He had been killed outright, and although the verdict was accidental death, most of Sarah's acquaintances had been sure that he had committed suicide.
At first, the devastated Sarah had thought the same, but as time went on she accepted the original verdict. Don had been drinking heavily and had taken a bend too fast. There was also the salient fact that he had enjoyed life too much to let a broken engagement alter his outlook, for he had cockily predicted that she would be back within a week, begging his forgiveness, which he might or might not give.
It was as well for Sarah that she did have some good friends around her at this time. Friends who had sounded a warning note on her engagement to Don. 'Once a womaniser, always a womaniser,' one blunt friend had commented, and although deep down Sarah had known this, she had preferred to stick her head in the sand until the thunderbolt had struck and made her face up to reality.
Sarah's thoughts roamed on, and turned to other matters, such as what her editor was cooking up at his end, in fact, anything to take her mind off the past. That was over and done with, or had been, until she had come up against Sean Cartier. She forced this thought away. She simply couldn't see Eddie Lyall accepting Cartier's dictates, he would be already detailing someone else to get out there fast. If they lost out on this one, and it certainly looked as if this was a distinct possibility, Eddie would never forgive her, and she wouldn't blame him.
A SHARP knock on the door brought Sarah out of her musings, and before she could get up to answer the summons the door was flung open and Sean Cartier stood looking down at her half reclining on her bed. 'Surprising what a little hard work can do for you, isn't it?' he said sarcastically. 'Still, by the time the week's up, you'll be hardened. I'm having you moved to the domestic quarters. Mrs Pullman will show you your room when you're through this evening,' he announced, and walked to the door. 'Oh, by the way,' he added conversationally, 'I've had the Press Council on the line. Your editor doesn't let the grass grow under his feet, does he? Unfortunately, owing to the nature of the work, he got nowhere. Just thought you'd like to know,' and he was gone before Sarah could make any kind of response.
`What's up now?' asked Martha, as she entered the room. 'He might have got it in for you, but I don't see why we should all be tarred. He totally ignored me as I passed him,' she complained.
Sarah got up off the bed. `I'm being shifted to the domestic quarters,' she said, as she started to gather her belongings and stuff them into her overnight case.
`Wow, has he got it in for you!' Martha commented gleefully. 'Well, cheer up. From what
was said at the conference, we won't be kept hanging around much longer,' she added, trying to make amends for her earlier remark.
Sarah shrugged lightly, and got on with her packing. She was not going to beg Martha to pass on what news she had been given, and she knew she was just teasing her with titbits. At least she wouldn't have to take any more in that line once she was out of the vicinity.
`The boys' tongues were hanging out after that announcement this morning,' said Martha. 'Of course, I didn't tell them everything. Just said that you'd crossed swords with you know who, and were on the black list,' she added meaningly.
Sarah's brows lifted. Martha wouldn't have been able to resist passing on what Sarah had told her. Only to one or two of them, that was, who would pass on the news to the others. They must have had quite a session in the bar discussing this unusual turn of events, she thought wryly. There was no doubt that some of them would breathe easier now, since they were of the same opinion as Martha was, that she knew more than they did.
`I suppose I'd better write up my notes elsewhere,' Martha said breezily. 'Can't have you peeking, can we?' she added in malicious playfulness.
`Don't bother, I'm just off,' Sarah replied angrily. 'I haven't sunk low enough to pinch anyone's copy yet,' thinking that Martha's copy wouldn't be worth the trouble anyway. Her father would do the work for her when she got back to the newsroom, sorting through the reams of notes she was known to make, relevant or irrelevant.
There was just time for Sarah to take a swift shower before she left for the canteen and her new quarters, and an empty feeling in her stomach reminded her that she hadn't had any lunch at lunchtime. She had been too busy, although Mrs Pullman had put something aside for her when she and Sandy had snatched a quick break, but Sarah had declined the food; she had had a good breakfast before her unannounced interview with Sean Cartier, and the ensuing events had somewhat taken the edge off her appetite—that, and the smell of cooking that pervaded the kitchens.
This time she was more suitably dressed for the work in hand, in trews and light cotton top. Experience had taught her to travel light when packing, but she always had her emergency kit with her where clothes were concerned, and trews had been a must, because she never knew when she would be likely to find herself scrambling over rough terrain in pursuit of a story.
As she left the press quarters and headed towards the canteen, she was still smarting from Martha's uncalled-for innuendo that she would try to sneak a look at her notes, and she only hoped that her comment that a breakthrough was imminent turned out right, even if it did mean having to face her editor with an empty notebook in her hand. There was always the first time, she told herself stoutly, and maybe he would take her past work for the paper into consideration before sacking her!
`Hi! Where's the fire?' called a voice that made Sarah wince in annoyance and look back to see
Charles Ashley striding towards her and gallantly attempting to relieve her of her overnight case, which she resisted firmly. 'Martha says you've stepped on Cartier's corns,' he said breezily. `Where are you off to now? Been banished to the outer regions, have you?' he asked.
Sarah's lovely eyes showed her annoyance at his flippancy. That wasn't all he knew, she thought. 'I'm off to join the domestics,' she said, managing to keep her voice on an even keel.
`Rotten luck,' he said sympathetically, then paused as if a thought had suddenly struck him. `Look, why don't we work together on this one? As soon as the whistle's blown, I'll slip you the gen,' he offered innocently. 'No one's to know, are they? I'm of the opinion that Cartier's too big for his boots, and I don't mind putting one over him. What do you say?'
For one second Sarah was tempted, but when she saw the predatory gleam in the Clarion reporter's eyes, she gave an abrupt shake of her head. 'Thank you, Charles, but I think not. This is going to be one that got away,' she added, managing to summon up a rueful smile, as she began to walk on.
He caught her arm. 'Look, don't be such a damn fool. This could cost you your job. Lyall's probably chewing nails by now.'
Whatever Sarah would have said, that wouldn't have altered her first refusal, was not uttered, for Sean Cartier had come up behind her. 'You're going to be late for duty, Miss Helm,' he said harshly, giving her a chance to get away.
Before she walked through the canteen entrance, Sarah looked back and saw that Sean was still talking to Charles, and judging from the tight expression on the Clarion reporter's face, he was not amused, neither was Sean Cartier.
Sarah's new quarters were not so very different from the room that she had been allotted to share with Martha, but this time she was on her own, and Sarah was not complaining about that. The only other difference was that there was no means of communication. No telecom system to keep the room-mates in touch with the big boss whenever he wished to summon them to a press conference. In other words, Sarah was completely cut off from as much as a whisper of the progress of the project.
By the time she had finished work that evening, she was too tired to care one way or the other. She just wanted peace from the clatter of cooking pan lids, steam, and the general hubbub of a frantically busy kitchen.
On the one low table in her room sat a tray with a covered dish, to keep the supper Mrs Pullman had insisted she took to her room, for she had noticed that Sarah had only grabbed a sandwich to keep her going during her working hours, and she didn't want what was turning out to be an extremely reliable worker collapsing at the sink through lack of sustenance.
Sarah didn't want that either, but somehow the thought of food was repellent to her, and she would have preferred a plate of sandwiches, in fact, anything that wasn't cooked.
After one or two jabs at the now congealing lamb stew, Sarah gave it best, and took a shower,
which somewhat revived her, then, not bothering to dress again in her day clothes, she slipped on her nightdress and dressing gown, since she might as well be comfortable as she wasn't going anywhere, she thought, as she stretched out on her cot bed and considered her future.
A future that didn't look too bright at this point in time. Charles Ashley had hit the nail on the head when he had pointed out that she could lose her job. Sarah's smooth brow creased, and her eyes narrowed. There wasn't anything she could do about it. She would lose her job. Of all the bad luck, she thought miserably, that she should have been given this assignment. There was another reporter who could have covered it, and he was a bit more familiar with the scientific terms used on such projects, but no, Eddie Lyall had elected to keep Eric Morris kicking his heels around the office waiting for any sudden story that might crop up, and sent Sarah instead.
Eric would now be on standby, she thought, ready to take off at a moment's notice, then she shook her head, making a golden curl fall over her right eyebrow. If she knew anything about her boss, Eric Morris would be in Darwin, with their editor burning up the telegraph lines to keep him informed and ready to make his debut at the site at the first given opportunity.
Not that Sarah could see any such opportunity occurring. If anyone meant what they said, Sean Cartier did; he wasn't the type to change his mind. She drew in a deep breath. Never in her wildest dreams had she imagined that such a situation might arise, where she would meet
someone who not only knew Don but was actually related to him. She had moved on from the small paper she used to work for and was now at the top of her profession, based in Sydney, and although the paper was privately owned, it was one of the city's most respected journals.
Or had been, she thought with a twist of her soft lips, until Sean Cartier had come on the scene. Sarah's thoughts roamed on. Sean Cartier had not known of her connection with Don when she had first arrived with her fellow reporters, and that meant that someone had made a point of passing on the news to him.
Her mind ran over the present company. Martha? She shook her head. Martha couldn't have kept such a juicy story to herself, not when it concerned Sarah; besides, she wasn't clever enough to fool Sarah with her assumed surprise.
One by one, Sarah discounted the others, and that left two still on her list. One was Jim Rokeby, about the oldest of the journalists there, who might conceivably have stored away a few facts in his analytical brain, and had once accused her of trading on her looks to get a scoop on a story they were covering.
Finally she crossed him off the list too. There was an unwritten code among them, and personal worries, tragedies, call it what you like, were never aired in public. Whatever snippets were picked up in the course of their work were never impinged upon. As odd as it seemed, although their work entailed ferreting out news about people in the, news, their private lives remained private, and that left only one on her list, and that was Charles Ashley.
Sarah pushed back the curl with a weary action. Why on earth should Charles wish to queer her pitch? If anything he had more reason than the others to smooth her path along, hoping for certain benefits to fall his way.