The Bark Cutters (36 page)

‘I sold my twenty per cent share in the Bourke Carrying Company to Abdul. This is why I now depart for Karachi to my new life.' He swallowed, turning his body in his chair to face her. ‘I am to marry my cousin.'

‘I see.'

‘I have a fine house and a number of servants, yet it is a jail to me, Rose.'

‘There are many jails, Abdullah,' Rose answered wearily. Surely he realised that she was uninterested in his fiancée or his future. There were only a few significant moments left for them; a brief caress, the aching promise of a kiss. Rose wept inwardly. Why were the fates against them when in another lifetime their fledging relationship would be fluttering with anticipation?

‘Our cameleers rest between consignments in small corrugated huts. Ghan towns, the whites call them. Here my people arrive for a short term only to stay forever, their blood intermingling with the low whites through need, with the mixed blood of the town blacks through desire. And the whites think them dirty heathens! My people will never truly be welcome here, Rose. I will never truly be welcome.'

‘But why do you tell me this?' Rose asked quietly. Tomorrow he would leave and the desolation, a devastating hollowness, already wound its hand tight about her waist. Once he left she would be alone again: a woman without love, a woman without his company, his soft words, his look of pleasure when she entered a room. How could she tell him of the enjoyment she experienced in his presence, let him know of her lifted spirits, her sense of value, of being needed. How could she stand the empty years ahead?

Abdullah moved to kneel by her chair. In Karachi, as a senior partner in the company, he would be wealthy, happy and safe among his own people, with a wife thought quite beautiful, though he was yet to meet her. Placing Rose's slim hands between his, he squeezed them gently before twirling the bangle slowly about her wrist. He studied her rose silk gown, the insert of lace purchased by his own hand in Sydney, the way the fine weave of the material pulled across her breasts. ‘I tell you these things because I love you.'

Rose gasped. Immediately his warm fingers were on her lips, soothing her and then, gently, slowly, he leaned forward, his hand resting on the nape of her neck, his lips touching hers for a second, a fleeting brush of two lives. The aroma of sweet cigarette smoke and the taste of rich wine hovered in the air and then he withdrew.

Abdullah wondered at the existence of such a fragile creature out here in a land he himself disdained. Her delicate neck, endowed with the graceful sweep of a swan, the fanning out of those finer bones to meld with the faintly blue veins beneath the skin of her chest, the generous swell of her breasts. He stemmed his thoughts for already the signs of his yearning were beginning to stir. Yet her breath, sweet and untouched, reminded him of his youth; the gentle, insistent pressure he felt as he withdrew from those soft, yielding lips proved her affection. Abdullah looked out over the darkening forms in the garden, aware the woman's husband sat only a wall's thickness away from him, conscious of the four young boys asleep inside. The leaving of Wangallon without her troubled him deeply, yet there was more to his heartache for his departure was laced with guilt. Nothing would expel the blame Abdullah carried within his heart. It was true Rose was unknown to him at the time of Hamish's request, yet the bitter truth of his betrayal could not be undone.

Rose waited, wanting him to kiss her again, needing to feel his
warmth about her body, aware of the pounding of blood deep in her chest. At one point his hand, warm and sticky with perspiration, caressed her neck, cupping her head and carefully pinned hair with such tenderness she believed she would swoon as she had earlier in the garden. It seemed such a little thing. He was leaving in the morning and she would never see him again. One kiss. One more, she pleaded silently, imagining his dark face next to hers, picturing the long length of his lashes flickering against her cheek. Yet he remained immoveable, her thoughts undetected. She prayed for him to sense her longing. ‘Abdullah, why do you tell me of your love?' His figure remained rooted to the edge of the verandah, to the edge of her world. The desperate longing within her turned to fading hope.

‘I tell you these things, Mrs Rose Gordon, so that you will understand my affection. So you will know my heart. I leave you with sorrow.'

‘Why, why must you leave?' Even as she spoke the desperate pleading in her low, plaintive voice reminded her of how dependent on this man she had become.

‘Because you are white and I am Afghan.'

He stepped out into the blackness of the bush night. Oblivious to propriety Rose walked swiftly along the wooden boards of the verandah. She would run away with him. She would sail to this place Karachi and she and Abdullah would lead a new life. By noon tomorrow Wangallon would be a distant memory. With only the slightest hesitation Rose reached the verandah steps and lifted the pale silk skirt of her gown. Abdullah's footsteps crunched dirt and fragile grasses. Behind her familiar footsteps sounded on the verandah.

‘Come inside, Rose.'

Hamish extended his hand to her. Rose listened to Abdullah's passage, his movements growing faint.

‘Rose.'

If she didn't follow Abdullah, it would be over.

‘Have you forgotten your children?'

She took the first step tentatively. Perspiration stained the silk of her gown where she clutched it.

‘He didn't ask you to go with him, did he?'

Rose took another step. Her legs were beginning to shake slightly.

‘You are making a fool of yourself, my dear. And worse, you would desert your own children and become what you detest in me, an adulterer.'

Rose faltered. ‘An adulterer?'

‘And a hypocrite,' Hamish emphasised.

He had taken her arm and, childlike, Rose allowed herself to be led indoors. ‘How did you know?' she asked faintly.

‘You have become a schoolgirl again these past days. Initially I found it amusing until Mrs Cudlow informed me of your impropriety. The good woman seemed torn in her revelations. It appears you have a friend in the woman, but eventually her concern for our children outweighed any obligation she felt towards you.'

‘What about –' She hated to say Abdullah's name aloud. She was suddenly scared of the consequences.

‘Abdullah?' His hand tightened on her arm. Rose flinched. ‘You will not see that heathen again.'

Abdullah left early the next morning. He awoke to a trace of fear circulating in his blood and he hurried to make space between himself and the husband of the woman he coveted. Hamish Gordon was a powerful man and it was best he decided not to rest or linger through the heat of the day. He would keep moving until nightfall. At Wangallon's boundary fence he drew the dray to a stop to take a sip from his water bag. Dawn was
approaching, the first rays of another day stretching its fingers over country cooled by the fleeting hours of night. Behind him the dirt track was empty. It wound back desolately through a sand ridge awash with lizards and small birds, disturbed by his passage. Bird calls and warning screeches had shattered the pre-dawn silence causing Abdullah to spend long anxious minutes looking over his shoulder. Now there was only silence, punctuated occasionally by morning birdsong. He was safe. No-one followed.

Abdullah's knowledge of the girl in Sydney gnawed at him. Even as he'd kissed the sweetness of Rose's lips last night he fought his desire to warn her of the young girl being educated and cared for. After all, he cautioned himself, he didn't know what Hamish's intentions were. Perhaps Miss Whittaker was a project of sorts. Perhaps Hamish knew of the girl's family and, knowing their pride prevented them from accepting any kindness, chose instead to remain an anonymous benefactor. Besides, what was the point in telling Rose of the girl's existence? He certainly couldn't have taken Rose with him to Karachi. Apart from her being completely ill-suited to that world, the effect of his actions on the family business would be catastrophic.

Even so, telling Rose about Claire Whittaker was the right thing to do. Whatever the repercussions, he owed Rose the truth and in some minute way he believed the sharing of such knowledge would help eradicate some of the shame he felt.

Re-positioning himself on a cushion, the only padding between him and the splintery seatboards of the dray, Abdullah flicked the reins. The horses jolted to a slow start. Immediately he felt the unpleasant sensation of his bones jarring in a discordant rhythm over the rough ground. In three hours he would reach the staging post for the Cobb & Co coach and in four he would have managed some food and perhaps a nip or two of rum and water. He swatted at the flies crawling over his hands and face, glanced once over his shoulder at the empty
road and settled back patiently for the first leg of his long journey.

Abdullah decided that, when he finally reached Sydney, he would make one last call on Mrs Cole. Write one more report on the girl's progress as a gentle reminder to her benefactor of his continued presence. What Hamish Gordon needed to remember was that it was he, Abdullah Abishari, who held the cards at the moment. He only needed to alert the newspapers to the whiff of a scandal and Miss Whittaker and her secret benefactor would no longer be anonymous. And he need only send a telegraph to Rose and she would have her own evidence of her husband's betrayal. Abdullah smiled to himself, pleased with the sudden improvement in his circumstances. Knowledge was a wonderful commodity and Karachi was a long way from Wangallon Station and Hamish Gordon.

Ronald smiled. It was a soft warm smile of love. ‘Jeremy called while you were out walking on the beach this morning, Sarah. He's on his way up from Sydney. He's booked an apartment for the weekend at Main Beach. Here –' he passed a leaf from a small notepad – ‘the address is there.'

‘But how did he know where I was?' Sarah queried.

‘You called him and left a message about staying at The Overlander. Supposedly the receptionist told him that she'd booked a seat on the coach for you.'

‘Oh.'

‘Why don't the both of you come by tonight for dinner?'

Late that afternoon after a perfectly wonderful day of walking on the beach and wandering the busy streets, they drove to a small park leading to the water's edge. Jeremy spread a blanket over
freshly mown grass protected by a hedge of bougainvillea. A gentle sea breeze washed over them. Seated, another blanket spread over their legs, he pulled smoked salmon, pâté and champagne from a bag and then lit a candle protected by a glass funnel.

‘When did you manage this?' Sarah asked.

‘The receptionist in the lobby helped me out. Before you say anything,' he began, ‘I just want to apologise for everything that's happened recently. We've been through a lot. You've been through a lot, Sarah.'

‘Don't apologise. You're right about what you said in Sydney. You did care for me and help me through a really tough period in my life when I had no-one else.'

Jeremy draped his arm over her shoulders. ‘Sometimes I think if it was just you and me we wouldn't have any of these problems.'

‘I know.'

‘I didn't sleep with Julie, you know. We were working.'

Sarah knew she was the last person who should be passing judgement on other people. ‘Guess I jumped to conclusions.'

‘Well, I can't blame you for being annoyed with me. It was a bit inappropriate from your point of view.' He poured her a glass of wine. ‘We're going to have to trust each other.'

Sarah thought of the kisses she and Anthony shared, two in two days, and drained her glass.

‘You okay?' Jeremy asked.

Lulled by the reflection of the streetlights illuminating the expanse of white beach and the noisy unfurling of foamy waves, Sarah nibbled on some pâté. ‘Sure, just thinking.'

‘Good things I hope.'

‘I feel like I've been manipulated by everyone. Anthony, Grandfather, even my dad. Everyone feels the need to tell me what to do.'

Jeremy pulled her closer. ‘They all care about you, Sarah. I have no doubt in my mind about that.'

‘I suppose.'

‘You know things started to get tangled between us when you started returning to Wangallon on a more regular basis.'

‘I know, but I feel torn between my Sydney life and the pressures of being the only Gordon who can inherit.'

Jeremy's hug tightened.

‘Now I realise how much you care for me to have put up with all the crap in my life. And I'm pleased you're here. Everything just seems to be a lot simpler when it's just us.' Sarah hugged him back.

‘That's how relationships should be, Sarah.' His grip loosened. ‘Especially if you love each other. You do love me, don't you?' He ran his finger down her cheek. ‘It's okay. I know after everything you've been through it's hard for you to voice your feelings. Just know that I love you.'

‘I know.'

Sarah sniffed the salty embrace of the ocean, her neck resting securely in the crook of Jeremy's arm, his warm breath hovering like a soft summer breeze against her forehead.

‘This is how our relationship should be,' Jeremy said quietly. ‘Not filled with arguments.'

If she imagined at some point in her life that she would ultimately be able to repair the damage coursing through her fractured family, Sarah knew now that she was almost too exhausted by it all to try.

‘Your dad told me about your quandary with Wangallon.'

‘Quandary? That's an interesting choice of words.'

‘Your father is a businessman, Sarah. Family attachment aside, you should listen to his advice. I'm not really in a position to tell you what to do. But I personally believe, and I don't think I'm alone in my thoughts, that the days of the old bush are numbered. You have to look at ways of ensuring not only your future happiness, but security as well, and you are still in
a prime position to ensure the work of your forefathers is kept alive.'

‘How?'

‘Your dad says the property is worth millions of dollars. You could sell it and the money could be invested in real estate and shares. Perhaps a small portion could go to form an endowment scheme established to entice young people to work in rural and regional Australia. That would be a fine use of the Wangallon legacy, don't you think?'

‘Or,' she countered, ‘I could sell a part of it and retain the rest. Anthony could stay on as manager.'

Jeremy wasn't convinced. ‘If you keep it, Sarah, you'll never truly be free. You'll always be going back to visit. Don't you think you need,
we
need, a clean break? From everyone?'

The insinuation was clear. ‘Hey, weren't you the one just talking about trust?'

‘Okay, you've got me there. Just think about it though.'

‘I will,' she agreed.

‘I love you, Sarah.' Jeremy's arm tightened around her as he twisted towards her, his warm lips resting briefly on hers.

She nosed him gently in the cheek like a small puppy, guilt flooding through her. ‘Let's drink to new beginnings,' she said, extricating herself from his grasp, sitting upright. The cooling air hit her beach-flushed skin like a splash of water.

‘Absolutely.'

She watched him fondly as he opened a bottle of champagne and filled their glasses.

‘To new beginnings,' he repeated, as he dropped something into her long stemmed glass.

Sarah followed the soft plopping sound to its final clink as it reached the bottom of the glass. Lifting the vessel to eye level, the many facets of the stone glittered brilliantly. Astounded, she took a large gulp of champagne before tilting the glass to prise the
diamond ring from within. The stone glittered in the palm of her hand as a small pool of champagne fizzed against her warm skin.

‘Will you marry me?'

Sarah stared at the stone.

‘When I discovered you'd left Wangallon so abruptly I figured that maybe you had finally let go.'

‘I –' The wind rose, the sand scattering itself in her hair and the soft whorls of her ears. ‘I'm sorry, Jeremy, I wasn't prepared for this.'

‘It's a wedding proposal. You're not meant to be prepared. You're meant to say yes.'

‘I can't. At least –'

Jeremy took the ring from the palm of her hand and placed it in his trouser pocket then began packing up the remnants of their picnic. ‘I think we better leave.'

‘Hang on, please, Jeremy.' Sarah stood up.

‘I'm listening,' he said but he continued to pack up, standing to shake the sand out of the blanket they'd been sitting on.

‘Look, I'm willing to sit down and discuss our future, as long as you're willing to listen to my thoughts on Wangallon. Any decisions regarding Wangallon have to be mine alone.'

Jeremy looked at her. ‘How can that be, Sarah? You're suggesting we do have a future together while telling me that I have no say in something that continues to affect our relationship. You have to be a bit fair. Shit!' He rubbed his face roughly. ‘I asked your father for permission to marry you. Don't I look like a right git!'

Sarah looked at the man who loved her unconditionally, who cared for her and was trying to build a secure future for them as a couple. Had she really been so silly trying to keep their relationship in a holding pattern? Her dad was right. People like Jeremy didn't come along every day. ‘We could use the money if I eventually sold part of Wangallon. Buy ourselves a house, even put some funds into your business.'

He looked at her. Sarah held out her left hand and extended her ring finger.

‘I would love to marry you, Jeremy.'

He slipped the ring onto her finger, kissed her quickly and then, taking her by the shoulders, looked her in the eyes. ‘You're sure?'

‘I'm sure. As long as you understand that I don't think I could ever sell all of Wangallon.'

‘And Anthony?'

Anthony, Sarah thought, is a damn good manager and if he is happy to stay on in that capacity then that would suit everybody. ‘As my mother says,' she said firmly, ‘he's staff.' Sarah kissed Jeremy, hugged him and glanced repeatedly at the ring on her finger. ‘Let's go tell Dad.'

‘Excellent news. Well done. Congratulations.' Ronald pumped Jeremy's hand enthusiastically and passed brimming glasses of champagne to Sue and his daughter. For once his wife appeared attuned to the occasion and capable of conducting a reasonable conversation. ‘Congratulations, my darling girl.'

Ronald had an irresistible urge to call his own father and tell him of the impending marriage. He felt so damn pleased to be saving Sarah from a life at Wangallon and even more bloody pleased that the old bastard wasn't going to be able to put his foot on his daughter's neck.

‘The ring. Show me the ring.'

Sarah proudly displayed the glittering stone to her mother.

‘A spring bride,' Sue said happily. ‘A morning wedding, glorious hats, lobster and champagne. How wonderful!'

Jeremy wrapped his arm around Sarah's shoulders. ‘I have another surprise for Sarah.'

‘You do?' Sarah beamed.

‘What now?' Ronald asked. ‘Don't go spoiling her too much.'

‘A holiday,' Jeremy announced, taking a sip of champagne. ‘Just thought of it actually; only a couple of weeks.' He squeezed Sarah's shoulders. ‘We could both do with a break.'

‘Excellent idea,' Ronald enthused, sitting heavily on a stool at the kitchen bench and reaching for the bottle of champagne.

Sarah was immediately concerned. ‘What about your practice?'

‘I have those two new clients; big ones actually. They aren't coming on board till next month.'

Ronald topped up everyone's glasses and raised his own in salute. ‘Well done. So where are you going?'

‘Scotland,' Jeremy answered.

‘Fantastic!' Sarah yelled.

The bottle landed with a crash on the pale green terracotta tiles and smashed. ‘Shit!'

‘Here, Dad, I'll do it,' Sarah offered, bending to pick up the large shards.

‘No, you sit down. Jeremy and I will clean up.'

The men busied themselves with paper towels, dish cloths, quickly sweeping up the mess.

‘How about we head out for dinner now?' Jeremy suggested, noticing Ronald looked a little rattled.

‘I'll go get my coat,' said Sue as she walked slowly through the kitchen towards her bedroom.

‘Why on earth would you want to go to Scotland?' Ronald asked his daughter.

Sarah looked directly at Jeremy.

‘Plenty of other places to visit – Italy, France, Egypt,' Ronald continued.

‘It just seemed like a good choice, considering the Gordons are from there. And Sarah's got all those old photos of Tongue hanging in her apartment.'

Sarah kissed Jeremy on the cheek. ‘Sounds like a great idea to me.'

Ronald scratched his head. If he told her not to go, she would question his reasoning and go anyway. The last thing he needed was the opening of another unsavoury episode in the history of Clan Gordon. ‘No. I just thought that having made your decision about Wangallon it would be good to break all ties.'

‘I guess the decision has been made,' Sarah thought aloud. Suddenly everything was rushing forward at a tremendous speed. ‘Scotland it is.' She smiled at Jeremy.

‘Bed and breakfasts and a hire car sounds like the go.' Jeremy felt now that he finally had Sarah.

‘I'll call the studio and ask for some leave. Actually I've been thinking of going freelance.'