The Coral Tree (13 page)

Later, she ripped across the envelope and took out the single sheet. There were only three words, then his initials, but she knew they referred to her “splash” in the city press. He had taunted her about this, she remembered, made it one of her reasons for taking on Clairhill, but how could a man concern himself so much as to go out of his way to write, stamp and despatch such a thing?

“Congratulations, Miss Porter,” it said. Then there were the letters, “R.S.”

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CARY CRIED over some of the pages from the parents. Her loving heart went out to the anxious writers. She would, if she could, have gathered all their children to her at Clairhill.

“Here is Lesson One,” said Sorrel sternly; “don
’
t make all children one child, and that one child your child. You can never
help by being sentimental.”

“Neither can you help by being hard.”

“Darling, be reasonable. Doctor Stormer is selecting your guests. It
’
s no use you mooning over these letters. Your patients will be medically sifted, some rejected, some accepted. Then, and then only, can you step in.”

“It
’
s my project,” said Cary stubbornly. Then she added bitterly: “At least, it
was
.”

Sorrel ignored that last, and said: “It
’
s only your project for so long as there
’
s money to run it, and that depends on a practical routine.”

“It appears to me it depends more on Richard Stormer.” Cary
’
s voice was resentful.

“If Mr. Farrell has decided to accept the doctor
’
s word and the doctor has taken it upon himself to choose your children there
’
s nothing you can do about it,” returned the nurse. “Frankly, I think it
’
s good of Richard to concern himself so much. You can depend on it, Cary, every one of our twelve will only be admitted after a lot of serious thought.”

“That
’
s what I don
’
t want. I just want to gather them to me in love.”

“I know, and be overrun within a week.” Sorrel glanced down at the letters. “I
’
m just as sad about these as you, darling—don
’
t think otherwise—but where would you be if you opened your arms to every one of these small unfortunates?”

“Is there anything so wrong in that?”

“Yes, very wrong. You
’
ve received forty-five letters, and so far we have accommodation for only twelve kiddies.”

“We could fit in more.”

“We won
’
t.” Sorrel
’
s voice was now the disciplined voice of an experienced nurse. “We
’
re doing this thing correctly, Cary, medically correctly, and there
’
ll be no
‘
fitting in
’
.”

“There is one, though, I
must
have, Solly,” conceded Cary reluctantly. She leafed eagerly through the letters. “Jimmy Leslie,” she read.

“Let me see,” said Sorrel briskly, and she took the letter that had come from a Mr. Ansley and scanned it quickly.

“
...
Hmm
...
Hemiplegia
...
” she murmured thoughtfully. Then— “No, I don
’
t think so, darling.”

“Why?”

“Doctor Stormer could explain it better than I. Sufficient for me to tell you that any treatment we could ever afford little Jimmy would be definitely non-progressive.”

“I suppose you
’
re right. But”—with an obstinate thrust of her chin—“I want Jim Leslie.”

“
...
Jimmy is seven,” had written Mr. Ansley, “and was affected in his fourth year following an attack of encephalitis. One arm is paralysed, the opposite leg, and, partially, his face. But his eyes are merry, and very blue. He has freckles, a dimple in his chin and his hair is soft mouse.

“He is not ours, really. He was left behind by a couple we had working on the farm. They have never returned, so have forfeited any right to him, and he now belongs to the State. We don
’
t intend to be here long, as we are returning to England. We won
’
t be taking Jim because we have our own two Sons
...
” The letter went hopefully on.

“His eyes are merry.”

Cary read that over and over. It did not matter that one arm was paralysed, the opposite leg, and, partially, his face,
his eyes were merry.
Cary
’
s own eyes, she knew, were wet.

“I want Jim,” her heart said over and over again.

Shortly after this she received a long-distance call from Sydney. It was Richard Stormer. He requested her to be ready to fly east the next morning.

“I doubt if I can make an air reservation at so short a notice.
”

“You will not need a booking, you will be coming with me.”

“With you?”

“Why that note in your voice? Are you afraid?”

“Of course not.”

“I shall not challenge that spirited reply, Miss Porter. I remember now how you were always the
brave, courageous
type; how the English ladies loved to broadcast it.”

Cary let that pass. Politely, she asked: “Why do you require me in Sydney, Mr. Stormer?”

“To check over your first intake. I presume”—his voice was clipped—“that you do intend making a start?”

“Certainly I intend it, I simply questioned the necessity of my travelling down. Couldn
’
t the list be fixed up here?”

Irritably he answered: “It could not. I have interviewed a tentative number of children. You are to make a selection from them.”

“That,” said Cary a little too evenly, “was very good of you.”

“Not at all; it was merely necessary. Without supervision you would have overloaded the place with the wrong type.”

“
Can
afflicted children be a wrong type?” she asked very coldly.

“You know I did not mean that. You know I meant a type not suited to progress under the particular remedial equipment you will happen to possess.”

“But I thought you did not want progress.”

“Again you misquote me, Miss Poster. When I spoke before on progress I contrasted it with miracles, which you seemed to hanker after. Miracles don
’
t happen—not with a project like yours. You can benefit, but never
cure
.”

There was a silence.

Cary said stiffly: “There
’
s no need for you to fly up to fetch me.”

Sarcastically, he returned: “What gives you such a flattering idea? I shall be flying up anyway to give an eye to Currabong.”

“Not to Clairhill, as previously warned?”

“I can give that,” he answered smoothly, “at the same time. I will arrive at five in the morning. We shall leave at six. I shall return you in the afternoon.”

“It seems a very full program for the pilot. Perhaps I could return by train.”

“I have to return, Miss Porter, whether you wish it or not, so in view of the fare money which I am sure Mr. Farrell, as treasurer for Clairhill, would prefer you to save—” His voice trailed significantly off. He waited.

“Very well,” said Cary unwillingly.

“Six?” he persisted.

“Six,” she said.

It was barely daylight when Cary opened her eyes. Since Mrs. Heard had taken over she had enjoyed t
h
e luxury of an early cup of tea, but this morning she did not wait for the friendly clatter of cup and saucer, but jumped straight out of bed. One thing she was determined on, she would not give Richard Stormer another opening, by being late, for his particular brand of sarcasm.

She dressed carefully and neatly in a pink linen suit, but, as was her custom, left her fair head bare. As she ran a comb through the short curls she heard his plane putting down on the Currabong strip. She glanced at her bedroom clock. He was on time, of course.

She went softly out and brewed a quick cup of coffee, drinking it and eating one of Mrs. Heard
’
s cookies as she still kept her eye on a clock.

At five to six she left the house and walked past the stables down to the boundary fence. He was waiting there to hold up the wire so that she could pass through with more ease. “We must have a stile built,” he suggested, “or a gate.”

“Is it necessary,” she asked, “when one receives such service as this?”

“One might not always receive it. I just happened to be coming across to hurry you up.”

“I
’
m on time.”

He consulted his watch. “Just.”

The engine of the craft was still warm from the up-trip.

He helped her in, then joined her. In a few minutes they were taxiing down the paddock
in
preparation to taking off. There was a quiver of
expectancy, and then that breathless suspended moment that, for Cary, always came as a craft took wings.

She looked through the windows at Currabong becoming small as a doll
’
s house. At a gesture from Richard she turned her attention to the sunrise into which they were travelling, great billows of color topped with burnished turrets of shining gold.

The fields beneath her now looked the same as the fields of Clairhill, the same yellow grass and green thistle, the same wide space.

Soon they were crossing the Blue Mountains, deep azure from this height, and then the city of Sydney was lying beneath them like a child
’
s model town. It seemed no time before they were preparing to land.

“It
’
s said,” remarked Stormer, helping her out, “that it takes as long to travel into the metropolis as it takes to travel down to it. However, I hope we can make an improvement on that.”

“Where are we going?”

“Several places. A convalescent home, a private house, a hospital, an outpatients
’
department. There you will meet your future guests.”

“If you were expecting me to select them,” said Cary desperately, “I must tell you now I shan
’
t do it. I could not turn my back on any child.”

“You really mean,” he said harshly, “you would leave that distasteful but necessary part of the business to someone else.”

“I didn
’
t mean that.”

“Come, Miss Porter, what other interpretation, then? The children must be limited and someone must limit them if not you.” When she did not answer he resumed dryly: “Have no fears, however. I rather anticipated squeamishness like this. There are only twelve children to be interviewed, as it happens. I have spared you the pains of elimination.”

If he expected thanks for this service she did not offer them. All she did was echo, “Twelve—”

“That is the extent of your accommodation, I believe.”

“Yes, but—”

He waited, one eyebrow raised.

Nervously she rushed in with her appeal. She babbled without rhyme or reason. She did not pause to consider whether it made sense.

“His name is Jimmy. His father—at least his guardian—wrote to me. Lots of fathers wrote after they saw my—my photograph in the paper.” She flushed.

“That must have been rather a waste of time for you,” he interrupted sarcastically. “Male parents—or guardians—are bad stock in hand when one has one
’
s weather eye on the matrimonial market. Couldn
’
t you lure any fan mail from any unattached male? An already married state usually comprises a formidable obstacle to romance, whether one
’
s views are modern or not.”

She continued as evenly as she could: “Mr. Ansley wrote, as other parents wrote, concerning his child. I mean, of course,
this
child. Jim is seven and he is suffering from hemiplegia following encephalitis. He lives in a remote part of the outback and has no
companions. He has paralysis of an arm, a leg, and some of his face, and he has freckles, merry eyes and—and I want him.”

Richard Stormer did not comment in any way. “Wait here,” he said briefly, and went into one of the hangars dotted like gargantuan mushrooms round the drome.

Presently he called her. He was standing on the avenue that rimmed the airbase. Beside him was a large grey car.

At a nod she got in. He got in beside her and the car moved off. “Pray proceed,” he said dryly, turning out of the aerodrome gate and beginning to weave his way through the teeming traffic. “We were, discussing the case of young Mr. Ansley.”

“Leslie.”

“I am corrected. Leslie. But please go on.”

“I
’
ve said all there is to say,” she answered, staring rather bleakly at the passing cars. “I just want him, Mr. Stormer.”

“At the expense of another child.”

“I didn
’
t look at it that way.”

He shot her a quick sidelong glance, an enigmatical glance. “How did you loo
k
at it, Miss Porter? Tell me, how does a beautiful modern young woman look at these things?”

Angrily, she turned on him. “I looked at it with love,” she flung. “Don
’
t you think I possess that commodity?”

His eyes were narrowed now. Perhaps it was the strain of driving. They were almost in the city and the traffic was dense.

“I wouldn
’
t know,” he said laconically. He added, swerving to avoid an oncoming lorry: “I have no desire to find out.”

After that they mutually dropped the subject of Jim. He drove her first to a h
o
me in a superior suburb, well-appointed, showing every evidence of comfortable living. The child he introduced, a girl of nine, displayed undeniably all the advantages of wealth and the consequent extra care it affords. “This is Janet,” he said.

Janet had braces on both legs and walked with difficulty.

When they left he told Cary: “Janet would benefit at Clairhill.”