Dorothy Eden (40 page)

“But Abby is going to stay with Deirdre and me,” Mrs. Moffatt protested.

Lola sprang up to fight a cigarette. She had her slim back to the room.

“She hates the thought of shooting kangaroos. She’d loathe it.” She turned, and her eyes, curiously golden, held Abby’s. “Wouldn’t you, honey?”

Abby lifted her chin. “I was telling Luke I’d like to come. Wasn’t I, darling? I expect I will loathe it, but if I’m to live in this country I ought to do these things, oughtn’t I?”

Luke spoke at last. “Nonsense! It’s not a thing women do at all. And you would hate it, Abby. I’ve told you.”

“I think she’d like to see the outback,” said Milton persuasively. “She’d find it exciting, even if not the height of comfort. You’re not being very gallant, are you, Luke? Leaving your wife out of an interesting expedition?”

Something flashed in Luke’s face. He stubbed out his cigarette with exaggerated firmness.

“I think you’re underestimating my wife. If she intends to do a thing she does it.”

He was referring to her broken promise. She didn’t miss the undertone of bitterness in his voice. It was all right for him to deceive her, but not her him. Her unhappiness settled more heavily on her.

“I don’t like being left out of things,” she said frankly. “You all seemed to have made arrangements for me, just like a package to be stored. I didn’t like it.”

Milton had wheeled his chair over to her. For a moment his long, pale hand, unexpectedly strong, pressed hers. She tried not to draw back.

“You’re perfectly right, Abby. Don’t let Luke keep you on ice.” He laughed, a deep masculine roar, taking the sting out of the joke. “Eh, Luke?”

Luke’s mouth tightened. Abby expected him to lose his temper in the sharp devastating way he could. She held her breath, hoping he would, praying that the hold these people had on him wasn’t that strong.

But apparently it was. For after a moment he shrugged and said lightly, “Okay. You win, Abby. But don’t blame us if you hate every minute of it.”

“Well, what a party this is!” Deirdre put in peevishly. “You all just talk, talk, talk. Why don’t we play games or something?”

“Or have some drinks,” said Lola. “That’s a far better idea. That’s what we need. And Deirdre, honey, I’m bringing your cake in for you to cut, and after that you go to bed.”

“Bed! At my party!”

“Sweetie, you’ll have had your party. Look at the time! It’s ten o’clock. And school tomorrow. And no sick turns in the morning, remember. So be a poppet and behave.”

“I couldn’t go to sleep,” Deirdre muttered. “You’ll all be walking about. I told you I never go to sleep when people walk in the night.”

“We’ve got a ghost now, you see,” said Lola. “You and Deirdre, Abby, make a good pair.”

She laughed good-naturedly, and began pouring drinks.

Getting off her chair, Deirdre began to stump up and down.

“Like that,” she said.

Milton’s brows tightened. His face looked white and bad-tempered.

“Lola, this child is beyond a joke. I’ve told you, she’ll have to go to boarding school. It’s not only her habit of telling lies, it’s this impudence. She’ll have to be taught manners.”

Old Mrs. Moffatt made a move, her thin hands twining frantically among her beads.

“This is still my house, Milton. I won’t have Deirdre sent away if—” Her long, brown eyes held her son-in-law’s for a moment, then slid away. Her lips trembled. She gave a quick look of appeal at Mary who smiled faintly, saying nothing. Mary was a rabbit, completely dominated by her husband.

“Don’t get fussed, mother,” said Lola briskly. “You know Milton’s perfectly right about Deirdre. She’s got out of hand. So long as I have to work I can’t give enough time to her, and she twists you round her little finger. Don’t you, hon?” She turned to Deirdre. “Go and bring your cake in. It’s all ready. And then off to bed with you, or goodness knows what Abby will think of such a quarrelsome family.”

She hadn’t said “and Luke”. For apparently Luke knew well enough what the Moffatt family was like, and didn’t mind.

“And here’s your drink, Mother. Abby? A dry martini? I warn you, I mix them the American way. Oh God, let’s be gay!”

She was so attractive with her sun-burned face and thick, careless, fair hair and lithe body. But her mysterious husband hadn’t come to Deirdre’s party. Because he had been told to stay away?

Abby sipped her drink, then swallowed it quickly, resolving, like Lola, that the only thing to do was to be gay. For worrying achieved nothing whatever.

Deirdre, endeavouring to hide her pleasure under her casual, deadpan manner, blew out the candles on her cake, and cut it with grave attention. Then, at her mother’s repeated injunctions, she at last went upstairs to bed.

But when a few minutes later, the telephone rang and Lola went to answer it, Deirdre had obviously got there first, for Lola could be heard exclaiming, “Give it to me at once! I’ve told you you’re not to do that. You’re to call somebody to come. Now off upstairs!”

Abby put her glass down—the strong drink had made her feel not so much gay as completely indifferent to what anyone thought—and said that she was going upstairs to say good night to Deirdre.

“After all, it is her birthday,” she said. “And she’s only had us being scratchy with each other.”

“She adored your present, dear,” said Mrs. Moffatt. “But I agree with Milton, she is a problem.”

“She’s lonely,” said Abby. “I know. I used to feel like that myself.”

Deirdre was sitting up in bed playing with the little figure on the swing. As she swung it backwards and forwards, she was chanting to herself, “Rose Bay’s a place, not a lady. A place, not a lady. Oh, hullo, Abby. I’m too old to be kissed good night.”

“Why are you saying that about Rose Bay?” Abby asked.

“Someone on the telephone said, ‘Is that Rose Bay?’” Deirdre began to giggle. “Do I look like Rose Bay? Houses, shops, sand, sea, swings. Look, even swings…”

She swung the figure madly. She was very overexcited, and talking nonsense.

“You’d better go to sleep,” said Abby. “It was a lovely party. You cut the cake beautifully.”

“But my father didn’t come.”

“You made that up about your father, didn’t you?”

For once, the sharp, unswerving eyes were bewildered.

“I don’t know,” said Deirdre. “I don’t know.”

Impulsively Abby stooped and kissed the suddenly forlorn face.

“Go to sleep, darling. You’re tired.”

Deirdre lay back obediently and Abby switched off the light.

“Abby, are you up there with Deirdre?” called Lola sharply. “Come down and get another drink. For goodness sake, the party’s scarcely started.”

“In a moment,” answered Abby. “What was that, Deirdre?”

“Do you think it was Miss Rose Bay he wanted? Miss Rose Bay. What a name!”

But something to turn over in one’s mind, Abby thought, as she went into Mrs. Moffatt’s room to tidy herself. The possibility that Rose Bay was a woman…

She sat peering into the age-dimmed mirror, thinking that compared with Lola she did look too fragile and pink and white. If there was anyone in this house called Rose, it was a name more suited to herself. Lola was a golden tiger-lily, Mrs. Moffatt like the brown, Australian boronia with the heavy scent. Mary was nothing…

Still lost in thought she went slowly down the stairs, not realizing how quiet she was until she heard the voices in the hall, Lola’s and Luke’s.

Luke was saying, “It’s just as important for me as for you. I’ve got to make money, too. I’ve got a wife now.”

“And you will buy her expensive flowers,” Lola said, laughing without kindness.

Their voices drifted away. Abby stood quite still, the pain sharp in her heart.

So she was too expensive. The flowers yesterday had been necessary to keep her happy, to keep her quiet…

A
BBY STOOD ON THE
patio a moment looking over the moonlit river. Jock’s boat lay in darkness, and a welcome silence. The cool breeze rustled the pungas with a gentle melancholy sound. Abby breathed deeply, trying to clear her head and ease her overwhelming tiredness.

She was aware of Luke coming to stand beside her. She spoke without turning. “I’m not sorry I broke my promise about going up to the Cross, but it didn’t do any good. I only got more mixed up.”

He spoke gently, “It doesn’t matter, Abby.”

But now it was too late for gentleness. She turned on him.

“And I don’t know what it is you and Lola are up to, but if it’s just something you’re doing for money, I’ll never forgive you. Never! And now I don’t want to talk any more.”

She left him standing there in the cool moonlight. From weariness and the lingering effect of the martinis, she was more than half asleep when he came to bed.

Abby woke in the morning to find Luke fully dressed sitting on the side of the bed. The sun was streaming in. She could hear the wind blowing and the pigeons cooing in the gum trees. It was obviously very late.

“Hullo, darling,” said Luke. “I let you sleep.”

Abby started up.

“But what happened to the alarm? What time is it?”

“Ten o’clock.”

“Ten! Why aren’t you at the office?”

He laughed. With one finger he delicately sketched a half circle beneath her eyes.

“You have shadows there. You’re tired. I hadn’t noticed. So today I make amends and look after you.”

“What about your clients and your appointments? What’s Miss Atkinson saying?”

“I don’t know what she’s saying, but she’s coping. She’d better be. I rang her an hour ago while you were still asleep. She sent you her love.”

For one moment Abby let the bliss, like warm sunlight, soak through her. Then her brain began to function and she said warily,

“What is all this V.I.P. treatment for? I’m not ill.”

“No, but you’re overstrained. I didn’t realize how much until last night. I was very worried about you.”

“You mean about my fancies,” said Abby tiredly. She had known the warm dream would dissolve.

“About you, my sweet. I’m quite attached to you. Remember?”

Abby sat up, pushing back the blankets.

“It can’t be this late. I must get dressed. Yes, I know you’re attached to me. It’s a thing that happens when the marriage service is read over you. We took each other, plus friends and relations, plus worries and secrets and hallucinations and bad tempers, the lot.”

Luke remained calm, a little amused.

“Abby, that’s not like you. Being cynical.”

Abby stood on the floor in her nightdress. She rubbed her eyes and pushed back her hair. She was still tired, irrecoverably tired. She didn’t want to begin thinking.

But the day had started long ago, and if one went on living one had to begin new days.

“Then what are you going to do? Look after me all day?”

“I was planning to take you shopping. You’ll need suitable clothes for the week-end.”

Abby looked surprised.

“Surely it isn’t a social occasion.”

Luke moved impatiently, losing his unnatural forbearance at last.

“Of course it isn’t a social occasion. Wait until you see the pub where we’ll spend the night. But have you got walking shoes? A thick skirt and jumper? Some sort of heavy jacket? No, of course you haven’t. You came out here prepared for tropical weather. It can be pretty cold in the outback at nights at this time of year. Anyway, you’ll want those sort of clothes sometime. We might as well get them all. Then I’ll take you somewhere interesting for lunch.”

“How sweet of you, Luke,” Abby said mechanically, knowing with certainty that he only wanted to keep her under his eye. He didn’t intend that today she should do any more awkward investigating.

“Well, look a little more enthusiastic,” Luke said. “Can you be ready in half an hour or so? I’ll make some coffee while you have your bath.”

“Have you fed the kookies?”

“Yes. Greedy brutes.”

“What about Lola? How did she get to work?”

“By ferry, I imagine. I told her you weren’t well and I was staying with you.”

Abby exclaimed indignantly. “What a thing to say. I’m perfectly well.”

Luke took her and faced her to the mirror.

“Look at that face! Like something the cat brought home.”

“Luke!”

“Isn’t that true?”

Abby rubbed her pale cheeks. She knew, unhappily, that for once Lola would have caught the ferry without grumbling. She would agree that Abby should be kept under supervision.

“All right, be my jailer,” she said.

Luke spun her round, shaking her severely.

“Abby, stop that idiotic talk! Your jailer! My God!”

Abby began to laugh uncertainly, nearer to tears.

“All right, Luke. I promise not to ask questions. But whatever you and Lola are up to, you can’t hide it from me forever, can you? I can only be kept quiet with flowers and expensive lunches for a certain time.”

His face had darkened furiously. She saw his hands clench. Then he turned abruptly and went out of the room without saying anything at all. Without even making a denial…

She bathed and dressed and carefully made up her face so that it looked more alive, and healthy. Indeed, the face looking back at her from the mirror could almost pass for that of an attractive and happy young bride. She went into the living-room and drank the coffee Luke had prepared, and watched him go through to the kitchen to wash the cups. His tall, lean figure at the sink, solemnly doing the unaccustomed work, quickened a pain in her that she could scarcely bear. It was a happy domestic scene that had got irreparably out of focus. She sprang up and went outdoors into the fresh morning sunshine.

Then she saw the geraniums she had planted yesterday were drooping. But when she went to get the watering can Luke said impatiently, “What are you doing? You haven’t time for that. Jock can water the garden. I’ll call him up. He can also keep an eye on the place while we’re away.”

“That old scoundrel!” Abby said.

“There you are, you see,” said Luke. “You have this habit of thinking everybody’s a scoundrel or crooked. What’s old Jock done to deserve it? Or Lola? Or those perfectly innocent people you’ve got mixed up with in Kings Cross? Or even I? What’s happened to you, Abby? You didn’t used to be like this. Suspicious, fanciful, nervous.”