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“Oh, I like it very much, it’s lovely to have someone, only—”

“Then take those things back at once. I’ll bring the tray.” Gemma picked up the tray and marched to the kitchen, and Hannah, a little uneasily at first, then beginning to enjoy herself, began setting up two places in the kitchen.

There had been an element of strategy as well as community spirit in Gemma’s insistence. In this way,
she was thinking, I’ll hear more of the Mannerings, and more I certainly must hear when within the month I’ll be Mrs. Mannering junior.

Future Mrs. Mannering. Again she heard Tim Torrance saying it.

“I met a road train boss coming up,” she told Hannah. “A Mr. Torrance.”

“The Territorian.” Hannah smiled warmly. “He’s a wonderful man.”

“He told me he didn’t truck for the Mannerings.”

“No. I think ... only think, mind you ... that Mrs. Mannering didn’t approve of the very fast way he came up. I suppose when you’ve been years and years in a place establishing it, over a century, counting your ancestors, making it what it is, it would be galling to see someone new suddenly get so rich.”

“I don’t think so, I think I’d be glad for them. I know at least I’d admire their spirit.”

“Is this too much, dear?” Hannah broke in rather hurriedly, displaying a piled plate. “Shall I take something off?”

“Nothing. I think I’ll even come for seconds.” Hannah beamed, and the meal began.

Gemma did not mention the Territorian again, but she did get back to the Mannerings, and because they probably were the only people now in her life, Hannah was eager to talk.

“Mr. Bruce was the most beautiful baby. I told you we both practically arrived here at the same time. I remember thinking when I saw him that if ever I had a child I would like one just like that. Only” . . . a hunch of her shoulders ... “I never married.”

“You had the care of Bruce?”

“Always. He went off to college at eight and was there till eighteen, but in between when he was home he was always my responsibility. And he never changed. He was good-looking as a child and he’s good-looking now. Don’t you agree ? But then” . ., archly . . . “of course you would.”

"I would regardless,” Gemma assured her. “Bruce is a handsome man.” She paused. “Tell me about his sisters.”

“Janet is barely a year older than her brother. When she was born Mrs. Mannering was naturally very disappointed.”

“Naturally disappointed?”

“A man child was wanted, of course. There had to be a Mannering.”

“I see. Go on.”

“So she wasted no t me starting Bruce. It was just as well, I often told myself, he was a boy, otherwise . . .” Hannah gave an apologetic cough and gave her attention to eating for a while.

“Vida came years after. No problem over her since there already was a son. Only a problem now of marriage.”

“Is that a problem?” asked Gemma.

“Well, it is in this case. You see, dear, the Mannerings arc not just any family, they’re—they’re—”

“A dynasty?”

“I don’t rightly know what you mean by that, but it sounds like what I’m trying to say.”

“Is Mr. Mannering alive?” .

“He died years ago.”

“Yet still Mrs. Mannering holds on to all the trappings.”

“I don’t rightly know what you mean by that, either, but yes, she does like things done as they always were.”

“But how would she know? She married into the Mannerings, she wasn’t one herself. Why, she might have been a Smith, a Brown, a Jones.”

“No, she was a Mannering. The only Mannering. A terrible disappointment to her parents, which probably accounted for her anxiety to have Bruce, a
man
child, herself.”

“But I don’t understand . . . she was a Miss Mannering, and now she’s Mrs. Mannering.”

“A deed poll or something of the sort,” said Hannah vaguely, “for her husband and herself to keep the name alive.”

“An odd husband,” Gemma said, but Hannah would not comment on that.

She did, however, say before they closed the subject by mutual consent:

“The Mannerings were here first of all. They pioneered it. The interior wasn’t' opened up when they came. There were tribes roaming it, there were wild animals, but nothing else at all. It does make you wonder, doesn’t it?”

“Yes,” said Gemma, but she doubted if she was • wondering the same thing as was Hannah, and, if she was, if she was reaching the same conclusion.

She went to bed soon after the evening meal. It had been a long and very amazing day and she found she was tired.

For a while, however, sleep eluded her. Gemma always had had a distinct feeling about houses. She had visited a lot of houses in her school days. When you are a boarder, day girls frequently take pity on you and invite you home. Many homes she had liked at once, felt at case in at once, but others somehow repelled her.

She could not go as far as to say that Bruce’s house repelled her and she certainly liked Hannah very much, but—

But I haven’t come
home
, Gemma thought.

She sighed, turned over, and when she opened her eyes again, it was dawn.

Gemma showered, dressed quickly, then went along to the kitchen. Early as she was, Hannah was there before her. But then she had expected that of Hannah. Hannah obviously had not expected Gemma, though, and she looked at her in disbelief, and then she smiled. ‘‘I v\as just thinking of taking in an early cup.” ‘’Early breakfast will be even better. Breakfast with you.” Gemma put enough emphasis on that to discourage Hannah from making any protests.

Hannah began breaking eggs into a pan.

“Didn’t the Mannering girls get up early?” Gemma asked later, buttering toast.

“As soon as Mr. Bruce left college, he set up house here. I came to look after him. So you could say, having left the main homestead, I didn’t see much of the girls. But as young teenagers, they were not so keen on early rising, I recall, but Mrs. Mannering was strict about that. She wouldn't permit any layabouts, as she called it.” Hannah added loyally : “And rightly so, too.”

“But at times—” Gemma heard herself excusing. Surely the girls hadn’t been entirely paragons, she was
thinking privately; even the most righteous child occasionally kicks over the parental traces.

Almost as if she spoke aloud, Hannah said:

“Miss Janet was a little inclined to rebel, I recall. There were a few protests. Just as later when she had her eye on— Well, all the girls did, and I don’t blame them. But of course, it couldn’t be considered.”

What couldn’t? And whom had Janet had her eye on?

But Gemma would not have dreamed of asking Hannah. Hannah was far too nice to probe. Also, Gemma suspected, already Hannah was feeling a little guilty. She would not want to make her feel worse.

“I’m going out in my car this morning. I’ll take a run round Mannering Park.” To cheer Hannah, Gemma added, and hated herself for it, for she had no intention of carrying it out: “I might call on Janet.”

Hannah, encouraged, said : “There’s petrol in the bowser, dear. Lunch will be whenever you get back.” Gemma went down to the bam and released, then led Harriet to the car.

“I’m going to skip you somewhere, Harriet, how do you like that? I can’t promise you buttercups to tread on like a nice little cow should tread, but we should find something better than all this cement.”

Mannering Park, she decided an hour later, was like a vast showground, or even a small village. There were roads and buildings and settlements everywhere, j One road led towards the master house ... no, in | this instance it would be a mistress house. In spite of Bruce, there was no doubt that Mannering Park was
a matriarchy.

Gemma drove near, but not too near. It was the same as Bruce’s house, only larger, which it would need to be for a family. Later on when she and Bryce had their family, they would need more rooms than in the satellite cottage, so would they move into the mistress house instead? Make it a master house? After all, Bruce as the only male representative .. .

Gemma looked long at the house. She had not fallen in love with Bruce’s house, she remembered, but this place ...

She stopped a little shiver of distaste, thanked her lucky stars, as she had thanked them many times before this, that Mrs., Mannering was not yet present, that she at least could grow used to the idea of becoming one of the Establishment, then drove on again.

To the west she saw another villa, probably Janet’s. There was a fourth to the north, as yet incomplete. Waiting for Vida?

No wonder,
no wonder
they were the Establishment. An establishment, Chris Mitchell had said, means a fixed state, and this was a very fixed state, she decided.

She found an empty paddock with a satisfactory supply of grass in it. Harriet was plainly delighted. She was just learning to graze.

Gemma sat on the rail and baby-sat. The sun beat pleasantly down on her shoulder blades and the sky was a flawless blue. The horizon was limitless. As far as Gemma could look, east, west, south, north, there was space.

It was quite beautiful, too. The Salvation Jane had intruded in some places . . . now why had she said intruded? Yet it must be an intrusion, because the Jane was a weed, and the Mannerings would frown on weeds. Anyway, its unbelievable blue almost shouted at her. Just as well, Gemma thought, there is a shout, or a colour burst, or—or something; the place is too perfect, too ordered, too detached.

A sudden loneliness overtook her. Far to the north she could faintly see a boundary fence. On the other side of the fence would be Chris Mitchell’s Boothagullagulla. All at once she wanted quite desperately to drive out to that fence, climb over it, escape.

Instead she collected Harriet and hugged her so hard the little mite mooed and gave Gemma a reproachful look.

She drove back to the homestead in time for another of Hannah’s colossal meals. Hannah did not ask her if she had called on Miss Janet, so Gemma did not bring up the subject.

She kept safely to food, and recipes, and how Hannah would have to teach her to cook, then grossly over-indulged by a glowing Hannah, she tottered out to the verandah to sleep the meal off.

Around an hour later she opened her eyes, vaguely conscious of movement somewhere, of something breaking the station quiet.

She sat up and looked out. Across the fields rode a posse of men. Even in the distance her first glance clearly established Bruce. He rode in front, very straight, very efficient, very disciplined. Even after a, long drive, for Hannah had said the men had been away for days, he looked impeccable and freshly turned out.

How very handsome he was! Gemma sat gazing at him, admiring the perfect co-ordination of his gear, even though it was only working gear. Browns, fawns, a subtle touch of tan at the throat. How different, how very different, from oil-stained pants and a black sweatshirt. Now why had she thought that?

He was coming nearer, so Gemma got up and waved. He looked over, then raised his whip to her.

But it was some time before he joined her on the verandah. That was only to be expected, of course
J
he would have to give orders to the men.

But what was not expected was Bruce’s casual kiss on Gemma’s brow. Gemma could not have said exactly what she had waited for, but she did know that it wasn't that. Nor Bruce’s :

“I didn’t bank on you coming for some time yet, dear. You must tell me about it. But. after my bath first, of course.”

“Of course, Bruce.” It was on the tip of Gemma’s tongue to add: “Though you certainly don't look as though you need a bath. You look as you always look, and that is—”

How
did
Bruce always look? But Gemma asked this only of the verandah post, for Bruce now had gone inside.

How
—how
had Bruce always looked to her?

WHEN Bruce came out again he was all in cream, the only colour a blue and white polka dot cravat at his throat. He looked cool, relaxed and very much the gentleman of the land. Gemma told him so proudly, her moment of doubt gone, and Bruce frowned slightly and said:

“Yes, but the gentleman is a little concerned. I suppose you know beef is not king any more? Our exports are down. Nothing drastic, of course, but we like to keep a watchful eye on things like that.”

“By gentleman I meant
gentleman
, Bruce, not man of means, I meant
you.
You look wonderful.”

“Thank you, Gemma. I was really unhappy about not being here to greet you, but as I said, you were not expected yet. Particularly following your sad news.”

“I’m glad I didn’t know that you’d heard of my news, Bruce, otherwise I would have expected you.” If there was a note of reproach in Gemma’s voice, it was very faint.

“But, Gemma, up here we learn of everything. I was, as I just said, regretful when I learned of Mr. Drews’ death, knowing that you were fond of him.”

... Regretful when Bruce learned! Bruce had known Gemma was fond of him!

Regretful. . . fond. What pale words were these! Gemma sat very still a moment.

“Also,” went on Bruce, blandly unaware of any tension, “there's another reason, Gemma. There’s never been any love lost between the scientists and the pastoralists, my dear.

“Some pastoralists.” Gemma was thinking of Chris Mitchell.

Bruce raised his brows, but made no comment. “At times,” he went on, “there have even been raised voices. In their search for whatever they’ve been searching for” ... a slightly acid note . . . “they’ve been less than considerate.”

“I know,” nodded Gemma, “holes in the ground to break a beast’s leg, yet also holes in the ground for water.”

“As you see, we don’t need water.”

“No, not now, but— However, Gemma decided not to pursue that.

She did speak on behalf of Godfather, though, she did point out that as a permian rock man only looking for occurrences he had trodden on no toes.

“There are other ways of treading on toes, Gemma,” Bruce argued. “Haven’t you ever considered who financed Mr. Drews?”

Gemma stared at him in bewilderment What a very odd thing to ask!