Authors: Jane Corrie
depended on how busy we were. Only use one sheet at a time for copying, then put it at the back of the file, and so on, with the rest. Got it?' he asked abruptly, and took the first sheet out of the file.
Sarah was forced to lean over him to look at the sheet, and a wave of masculine after-shave pervaded her senses, and she moved back slightly, but the move was duly noted by Sean, who looked at her with one eyebrow slightly raised in mockery. 'Can you see from there?' he asked silkily.
`Yes, thank you,' Sarah replied politely. 'One copy or two?' she asked, determined to show him that his tactics were not working, not visibly anyway.
`One,' Sean answered curtly. 'As long as you follow the order of the lines, the rest will be done at headquarters.'
In other words, this was just an exercise to give her something to do, she thought angrily, but wisely kept her thoughts to herself.
`I'll look in on you now and again,' Sean said breezily, before he left her to it.
A fat chance she would have of breaking out, should she still have it in mind, she told herself crossly, as she began to copy from the first sheet. All she had to look forward to now was his visit to Darwin, when, like it or not, she would take her meals in the canteen with Mrs Pullman, even if it was just to give her a change of scene.
As she worked, she tried not to think of the future, but it was hanging over her like a cloud in the background of her thoughts.
The summer monsoonal rains could last until April, and it was now early September. She didn't know a great deal about the Top End of the country, but she did know that. She knew, because she had once contemplated going on a tour of one of the National Parks in the area, where wild life abounded, and where it was only safe to travel with guides. Exploring on one's own was definitely discouraged, not only because of the vastness of the areas, but the inherent dangers within.
Her glance left the typewriter and she gazed out of the window on her left. Her look met the solid-looking block where the canteen was, and beyond that, more site buildings. She let out a deep sigh. It was hard to imagine that they could be anywhere near anything resembling a National Park, but she had seen that van, and Mrs Pullman had confirmed the fact that that was where the fruit had come from.
Distances, of course, meant nothing in this part of the country. The Park could be anything up to and over a hundred miles away, and probably was, she thought, as she recalled the arid, almost desert land the site had been built on.
There would be no deliveries during the wet, that much was certain, for Sarah recalled reading in one of the brochures about travel in the Top End during the wet, and how the Aboriginal people built their shelters on higher ground, and sleeping platforms were placed over slow wood fires to ward off insects.
That, and the fact that the site was built on land that ran parallel to Arnhem Land, the
Aboriginal reserve, would be bound to cut the site off during this period.
Sarah got back to work. She didn't have to go on cheering herself up with this kind of thinking, did she? There had to be a way out for her somewhere, although she had to admit that Sean Cartier couldn't have picked a better spot for her incarceration.
Slowly the day passed, and she got through a dozen of the sheets, interrupted intermittently by the arrival of Sean, who obviously took great pleasure at her absorption in her work.
One thing she was certain about was that she was not going over to have dinner with him that evening. She had stood enough from him to last her for quite some time, and come what may, she was staying in her quarters.
He must, however, have come to the conclusion that harassment did not improve the appetite, because shortly before she finished work that evening, he made a stiff-sounding apology to Sarah, that must have hurt his pride more than hers had been hurt the previous evening, leaving her no choice but to accept the olive branch, even though she knew it was a poor imitation of the real thing, like a plastic Christmas tree brought out year after year to suit the occasion.
From then on, she sensed a change in his tactics, and had been subjected to a barrage of charm that, to Sean's intense annoyance, hadn't worked either, for Sarah had remained unaffected, countering his various ploys with a coolness that matched his earlier comment of her hardheartedness.
During these evenings he would try to draw her out, using such subjects as her work, and appeared seemingly interested in her day-to-day routines, if a journalist could be said to have a routine, and in return for her answers, he supplied her with a few details of his own profession.
These were safe subjects to discuss, although Sarah was always ready for a blowback when her work was touched on. He had shown only too clearly what he thought of her, and the manner in which she procured her scoops, and she didn't believe for one minute that he had suddenly altered his opinion.
The plain fact of the matter was that he was lulling her into a false sense of security. Sarah knew it, but she was made of sterner stuff, and there were times when she could sense that he was keeping his feelings on a tight rein.
It was like living on the edge of a rumbling volcano, but she had to admire his strategy, and she always felt a great relief when she departed back to her quarters after they had had coffee.
It was a case of taking one day at a time, she thought, as she took a welcome cold shower, after being subjected to three evenings of undiluted charm from Sean.
The oppressive heat of the evening charged the whole atmosphere of the site. Like the lull before the storm, and waiting for the rains to come, so it was with her and Sean Cartier. It was too uneasy a truce to last.
By the time a week had passed, the thick file began to take on a slim look, although more sheets were constantly being added, as the
work was still going on.
There was now only about a week to go before the wet and the work force was packing. Even Sarah could sense the feverish last-minute preparations going on before the site was closed down, and in spite of the torrid heat there was a sense of relief in the air from the men about to go on leave. She would catch snatches of songs sung lustily by the workforce as their thoughts turned towards the spell of leisure in store.
This reminded her of Sean's proposed visit to Darwin. He had said nothing more about it, and she could only hope that he hadn't changed his mind. She didn't 'know how long he had been on the site, but judging from the reams of notes on strata levels, she thought at least six months.
It was small wonder that he got uptight, she told herself, as she got ready to go over to dinner with him. Six months' sojourn in this desert-like outpost in the middle of nowhere would be enough to strain anyone's good humour, although, she mused, as she left her quarters, he ought by now to be used to long stretches in these conditions. His work would always be carried out in remote regions, and for months at a time. It could also, she thought, not quite so cheerfully, make him a little odd.
He did not have an assistant, but she was sure that this was from choice, and not from parsimony from the Bureau. A man in his position would only have to ask to receive, she thought, as she crossed the square to the main buildings, then she made a wry grimace. He had got an assistant, hadn't he? Slave labour!
A loud wolf whistle rudely shattered her thoughts, and, startled, Sarah looked to her left, to find herself meeting the frankly admiring stares of a group of workmen clustered around two coaches standing in the compound.
This produced a chorus of whistles, and Sarah began to walk a little faster, embarrassment making her keep her eyes down as she neared her destination. They must have thought they were seeing a mirage, she thought dryly. She had been so successfully isolated from the workforce that apart from Mrs Pullman and Sandy, and of course the owner of that disembodied voice on the telephone, no one else knew of her existence.
As Sarah reached Sean's quarters, the wolf whistles stopped abruptly, as if a switch had been pulled, and glancing up, she saw the large figure of Sean standing by the open door with his arms across his powerful chest, and his hard gaze directed at the men, who went about their business with astonishing rapidity.
`Do you have to make an exhibition of yourself?' Sean growled, as he followed her into his quarters. 'I suppose you're missing all that adulation you used to get,' he added sneeringly.
Sarah took a deep breath. It was going to be one of those nights, and she doubted whether she would complete the first course of the dinner.
In a way she was relieved. He had been too polite for too long, and having to continually watch his words in the company of someone he detested was surely too much to ask of any man, and particularly this one, who had little time for niceties.
`I wasn't to know they were there, was I?' she replied, deliberately ignoring his taunts. 'They're going early, aren't they?' she asked, in an attempt to introduce a safer topic for conversation.
`We'd got as far as we could,' Sean answered grudgingly. 'There was no point in them hanging around.'
`Are they out of work now until the project starts again?' asked Sarah, determined to keep things on a level for as long as she could.
Sean gave her a contemptuous look. 'Of course not,' he said curtly. 'I thought you were bright,' he sneered. 'They'll have a couple of weeks off, then go to another site. They're mining engineers who know their job. They'll be back here when the dry sets in.'
Sarah gave up. He was determined to pick a fight with her, but she wasn't having any of it, and debated whether to go now, or wait until she received a few more insults. She longed to ask him when he was going to Darwin, but a sense of self-preservation warned her that this was not the time to chance her luck.
It was probably the thought of those men going off to enjoy themselves after a long stint on the job that had caused his bad temper. If it wasn't for her, he would be off, too, and it just went to show how stupid the whole thing was, she thought angrily, and found it hard to give Sandy a welcoming smile when she brought their tray over.
The meal was eaten in silence. Sean appeared to be lost in a reverie of his own, leaving Sarah to try and enjoy her meal.
It was lamb casserole, and Sarah, recalling Sean's comments about the restaurants in Darwin that gave you a choice of fare, could now sympathise with his feelings. It seemed only a day or so ago since they had last had lamb casserole.
If it wasn't casserole, it was stew, she thought, and the sweet would be jam sponge. Sarah could recite the week's menu by memory. The only changes were the days on which the meals were served, so that one never knew exactly what they were having, only that it would be one of the good old standbys.
Her thoughts roamed on as she took the lid off the expected jam sponge plate, and felt a mad urge to wave the lid in the air with a 'Hey presto! What do you think we've got for sweet?' comment, but glancing at the still absorbed Sean, she sighed inwardly as she took a small portion for herself, and thought longingly of the kind of meal she would order once this nightmare was over. She would love a salad, she thought wistfully, and something exotic to follow, like Peach Melba.
`We'll have some music after dinner,' Sean announced abruptly, breaking into Sarah's culinary excursions. 'You can dance, I suppose?' he demanded.
She stared at him, wondering if she had misheard him. 'I'm not very good,' she got out slowly, not liking this turn of events at all. What on earth had got into him?
`Didn't have much time for ordinary pursuits, I suppose,' he jeered. Not unless there was a story in it.'
Sarah could not argue this point, since it was true. She had been too busy in her chosen career to socialise, especially after Don's death. She had learnt a lesson that had held her in good stead for many years. Never again would she get involved with a man. If she was going to get worked up over anything, then it would be her job. You could keep romance; it only made a fool of you.
Sarah began to wish that she had lingered longer over her meal, or at least attempted to finish her portion of the casserole before pushing the plate aside half eaten, and going on to the sweet. It might have given her a bit more time to get used to the idea of dancing with Sean Cartier.
The bare fact that she had told the truth when she had said to him that she was not very good was not much consolation. He would get mad at her, she thought miserably, and goodness knew where that would lead.
When Sandy brought the coffee tray over, Sarah felt that time was running out on her, and Sandy's shy, 'I'm off now, Mr Cartier,' made her feel even more abandoned, as she listened to Sean's sincere-sounding reply that he hoped she enjoyed her leave, and he thanked her for looking after them, which produced a rosy blush from the highly gratified Sandy before she left them.
Sarah lingered over her coffee as long as she could, but she could sense Sean's impatience to get the ritual over with, and when she had finished she glumly followed him into the next room, that served as a lounge, although the furniture was spartan, necessities only, no fancy touches.
There was a tape recorder on a table next to the one and only easy chair, and Sean made for this as soon as they entered the room, and searching through a small pile of tapes beside the recorder, he selected three, one of which he put in the machine.