Dorothy Eden (43 page)

Now that Mary was giving her the attention she usually reserved for Milton, Abby was on the verge of trying to describe the small private fog of bewilderment she walked about in, so that everything seemed distorted, even an innocent tune being whistled. But why bother poor Mary with her problems? She had enough of her own.

“I’m all right. I’m just not acclimated. And I guess I’m tired. You look tired, too. I thought you were going to bed early.”

—“I have been resting. But I can’t undress until Milton comes. He has to be helped. He can manage with his sticks a certain amount, but he can’t get into bed.”

“It’s wearing you out,” said Abby sympathetically.

Mary gave a long sigh.

“Yes. It’s been hard on us both. But soon—” She paused, as if afraid to express her hope.

“You really think there’s a chance he’ll walk again.”

“Oh, yes. A very good chance. It’s his determination as much as anything.”

For a fleeting moment there was a look of Lola in Mary’s face, a hard driving determination, that made her look quite different, a real person. Then it had gone, and Abby wondered if she had imagined it, for Mary merely looked pale and tired and subdued, accepting her troubles uncomplainingly.

“You’d better get some sleep, Abby. We’ve got that long drive to do all over again tomorrow. I’m used to it, but you’re not. And don’t listen to noises, or goodness knows what you’ll hear in a place like this. We warned you it wasn’t the Ritz.”

Shortly after Abby had gone back to bed she heard Lola’s door slam, and then Lola’s voice saying sharply, “S-s-sh!”

So Lola was not alone in her room. Who was with her? The black-haired man from Darwin? Or the person who had whistled Jock’s tune? Had it been a prearranged assignment, or just a pick-up?

Furious with herself for having heard anything at all, Abby buried her head in the pillow. But now sleep was impossible, for apart from the noise, and the hardness of the bed, she had got thoroughly chilled. If she were to sleep she would have to get a hot water bottle.

She switched on the light wearily. There was no bell to ring. That was hardly to be expected. She would have to go and find a maid, or fill the bottle herself.

Tiptoeing to the door again, she stumbled clumsily against the wooden chair at the foot of the bed. Now she had probably startled everyone. But the only sound she heard was the click of Lola’s door closing. She waited a moment then, not wanting to see who left Lola’s room.

When it seemed safe, she stepped out into the passage, just in time to see a man, who had obviously lurked a moment himself, disappearing round the turn of the passage into the bar.

The electric light hanging from the ceiling had no shade. It made a bright, revealing light. But the man had moved quickly and Abby caught only a glimpse of him as he turned the corner. She could never have sworn that his sparse hair was the color of flesh. The bright light had merely dazzled her, and she had had too many fancies.

Someone was saying behind her, “Do you want something?”

She turned to see the cadaverous woman who had brought them the wine at dinner. She looked as if she lived in a cellar herself.

“I wondered if I could have a hot water bottle.”

She was shivering violently. There was no need to explain that she was cold.

“Sure,” said the woman. “Have you got your own bottle?”

Abby shook her head. It had been hot in Sydney, she wanted to say. The lizards came out in the warm afternoon sun.

“Then I can lend you one. I’ll show you where you can fill it.”

The kitchen was a large, old-fashioned, country kitchen. A tabby cat with a very round head like an orange mewed and rubbed round her ankles. Abby waited restlessly for the kettle to boil. The bar was just across the passage from her. It had a colored glass door inset with narrow bands of clear glass. It was perfectly simple to go and peer through the glass and see if the fish-faced man was drinking with Milton and Luke. Like an old friend…

But contrary to her expectation there was no sign of him. Luke and the black-haired man from Darwin were sitting at the linoleum-covered table, and Milton had his chair drawn up close to them. Luke seemed to have been asked some question, for the other two men were waiting with what seemed deep interest for his answer.

Finally he nodded. He didn’t speak. But his nod was all that was required, for both other men relaxed and smiled. Then Milton signalled the bar keeper for more drinks.

There were only three other men and a woman at the bar. None of them had sparse, flesh-colored hair.

The kettle was spitting and boiling furiously in the kitchen. Abby rescued it, and filled her bottle, slightly scalding one finger as her trembling hand slopped the water. The stubborn cat wanted to follow her back to her room. She shut the door on it, and went back down the passage, opening Lola’s door as if absently.

“Oh, I’m sorry!” she exclaimed. “I thought this was my room.”

Lola was sitting on the side of the bed half undressed. She looked up from peeling off a stocking.

“Thought you’d have been asleep hours ago.”

“I was. But I woke frozen. I’ve just got a hot bottle. I don’t know when on earth Luke is coming to bed.”

“Oh, men,” said Lola. “This is their week-end off. You mustn’t interfere. Wives are easily forgotten, I’m telling you. They can’t compete with shooting, golf or a man’s drinking. Something you’ll have to learn, honey.”

There was nothing to show that she hadn’t been alone in her room. Her face had its usual expression of careless friendliness. Though she seemed to have the same strung-up, bright-eyed look that Luke had had.

Abby couldn’t say, “Did you just have the fish-faced man in your room?” They were sick of her fancies—or what they called her fancies.

“When Luke comes to bed, you might let me have that hot bottle,” Lola was saying. “I haven’t got a man to keep me warm.”

From sheer tiredness, Abby had fallen asleep before Luke came to bed. She only half woke, and was unable to think where she was.

But when Luke bumped heavily into bed she roused herself.

“Have a nice evening, darling?”

His breath smelled strongly of brandy. He was a little drunk.

“Dammit, not the big fish!” He didn’t seem to realise he was speaking aloud.

Abby’s heart stopped. So he must have seen the fish-faced man, too.

“Then who is he?” she whispered.

But Luke was asleep.

I
N THE GRAY LIGHT
of early morning Abby thought critically that she was too self-disciplined. Last night she should have screamed and shouted and demanded that this wretched hovel of a hotel be searched to make sure that the fish-faced man, that surreptitious lurker, had not been in Lola’s room.

But even if found, of what could she accuse him? He wouldn’t admit to that empty room in Kings Cross, to his threats, to even having seen her before. She would be met with blank stares of bewilderment, and the watch on her would be increased.

Was it better to say nothing, to be apparently unaware of his presence, and of his intrigue with Lola, at least? To be forewarned was to be forearmed…

But what
was
it all about? Her reason was ruling her too much. Making a fuss, she might have found out more.

She nudged Luke awake.

“M-mm,” he muttered. “What’s the matter?”

“Luke, who’s the big fish you were talking about last night?”

“Big fish? Haven’t a clue.” He was fast asleep again.

“Wake up, Luke! I’ve got to know. It’s time you told me something. Unless you’re my enemy, too.”

She was whispering urgently, remembering the thin walls.

Luke came awake reluctantly and bad-temperedly.

“What the devil are you talking about?”

“You said you hadn’t got the big fish last night. Remember?”

His eyes, tired and old, looked at the ceiling.

“I must have been drunk.”

It was funny, thought Abby, there they were lying in bed together, two happily married people. Presently they would be brought tea by the blonde housemaid, or the cadaverous woman, would get up and wash and dress and go through all the motions of living in a polite and civilized fashion together. But their minds, guarded and secret, might have been a million miles apart.

She was just as alone in that moment as she had been in the bleak landscape last night.

Then Luke woke more completely and seemed to realize he had been rude. Or indiscreet.

“Sorry, sweetie. What was I saying? Or what were you saying? God, what a dump this is! Why doesn’t someone bring us some tea?”

“Is anyone staying here besides us?” Abby asked.

“Only that chap from Darwin, and a couple of commercial travellers, I believe. They’re all on their way to Brisbane today.”

Small as the town was, this wasn’t the only hotel. Ramshackle hotels and bars were a feature of the outback. It wasn’t much use asking questions because if the fish-faced man were shrewd (and there would be no doubt of that), he wouldn’t stay under her very nose.

“By the way, that chap Johnson put me on to a good job in Darwin,” Luke said casually.

“Darwin! Will you go?”

“I don’t know. I’ll see what happens.”

I hate Australia, thought Abby. This mucky room with fluff under the dressing-table, this horrible bed. And Luke had said the week-end was to do them good!

Luke was leaning over her, watching her.

“Cheer up, honey. I mightn’t need to do that job. I hope I won’t have to.”

In contrast to her own queer unexplainable feeling of dread about the day ahead of them, and Luke’s private worry, carefully hidden now that he was fully awake, the others were intolerably cheerful.

Milton, looking wonderfully fit and refreshed, was anxious to make an early start. Abby wondered how someone crippled as he was could have got adequate rest in the sort of beds this hotel provided. But Mary said that that was one thing Milton could still do, sleep anywhere.

“But you look as if you didn’t sleep much, Abby.”

“Not much,” Abby admitted. “It was too cold and too noisy. I could hear everything through those thin walls.”

She looked directly at Lola, and Lola’s bright mocking eyes stared back.

“I slept,” said Lola. “Cold and noise and all.”

“Come along, you girls,” called Milton briskly. “We want to get off. We’re taking a picnic lunch, Abby. We’ll show you how we boil the billy out here. It’s going to be a good day.”

It was, too. The sky, a pure shining blue, lifted its tremendous arch over the little town, flat and ramshackle and infinitesimal in this vast land. The air was crisp and chilly, but promised warmth. A bustle went on as Luke and their black-haired friend from the previous evening carried out luggage and stowed it in the cars. Milton watched with interest.

“No more in my boot,” he said. “It’s full. Well, let’s get started. Come along, Mary.”

“Yes, darling. Coming.”

Presently they were off. The cadaverous woman, and a thin sheepdog watched them go. There was no sign of the fish-faced man. But there were several cars parked along the street. Which one was his, and when would he begin to follow?

The endless road stretched ahead. There was no car but Mary’s and Milton’s in front, and none behind.

Abby began to think her fears preposterous.

In spite of the lack of sport—during the morning only a few kangaroos a long way off were sighted—everyone remained cheerful. At mid-day they stopped for lunch. Milton wheeled his chair out and sat in the brilliant sunshine while the girls gathered sticks and Luke lit a fire, balancing the smoke-blackened billy over it.

It was relaxing and peaceful. The landscape was no longer sinister, but immensely calm and forgotten, as if even nature had discarded it, except for the stunted gums and thorny bushes. The crows rose and fell against the blue sky, crying harshly. The dead gum leaves crackled beneath Abby’s feet. She was warm and well-fed, and inclined to agree with Milton that this escape from the city was to be cherished.

Milton leaned back in his chair, his strange eyes gleaming through narrowed lids.

“Well, Abby. Does this impress you?”

“Immensely.”

She thought she liked Milton a little better today. His anger was less apparent. He hadn’t made a single scathing remark to his wife. He was living in a small bubble of contentment, obviously putting thoughts of the coming week out of his mind.

“Are you glad we brought you?”

Abby smiled serenely.

“I was coming, anyway. Wasn’t I, Luke?”

“I guess you were, if you’d made up your mind. I have a stubborn woman for a wife.”

Even Luke was speaking with lazy tolerance.

“Stubbornness can be dangerous,” said Milton. He yawned and Mary began fussing.

“Are you tired? Why don’t you take a nap? There’s no hurry to move, is there?”

“Don’t fuss, Mary. I’ll get enough of that in the hospital next week.”

“How long is this session to be?” Luke asked.

“I don’t know. Two or three weeks, probably. But this time I’ll come out on my own two legs. I promise you.” There was a look of suppressed excitement and determination in his face. He waved his arm round the landscape. “The next time I’m out here if I see old man roo across that piece of scrubland I’ll go after him on my feet.”

“Of course you will,” said Mary.

“Don’t humor me!” Milton’s familiar irritation flashed out. “You don’t believe a word of it, but I’ll show you. My God, I’ll show you!”

“Not now, Milt,” murmured Lola. “It’s too exhausting. I’m going to take a nap, if you’re not.”

“I’m going for a walk,” said Abby, standing up. “Nobody needs to come with me.” She didn’t look at Luke. “I just want to explore. Am I likely to find any animals?”

“Probably only lizards,” said Milton. “Give us a shout if you see any roos. Luke, Mary was having a little trouble with starting the car further back. I wish you’d have a look at it.”

“Okay,” said Luke. “Don’t go too far, Abby.”

Abby walked quickly over the dry earth, waiting for her anger with Milton to leave her. He had deliberately stopped Luke from coming with her. But if Luke had wanted to come, he could have said he’d look at the car later. What was this hold the Moffatts had over him? She was completely losing patience with them and their private dramas. Except for Deirdre, poor little wretch. The time was coming jolly soon when she would tell Luke he must choose between the Moffatts and her. Lola with her secret intrigue, Mary with as much spirit as a mouse, Milton a sick tyrant. What
did
Luke see in them?