The Coral Tree (21 page)

Cary murmured: “Especially a sick child.”

Jan nodded. “That is why,” he recounted eagerly, “I saw how advantageous it could be at once.”

“Advantageous?”

“The low foothills. Had you visited in spring or summer, Cary, you would have seen your guide teaching little ones, not adults, to descend a grassy slope, not a snowy incline. Grass skiing is a marvellous exercise, and one, if properly supervised, that can do a lot of good to small sick limbs.”

Cary was instantly enthusiastic. “Jan, it
’
s a marvellous scheme. And you think this hill could be utilized?”

“I am sure of it. I have examined it carefully. I have measured and tested. There will be nervousness at first, of course. There was, Sorrel tells me, even a little apprehension with the ponies. But I shall go slowly, Cary, and the children will love it in the end—and benefit as well.”

“It
’
s wonderful.
You
are wonderful, Jan.”

“Children are wonderful,” he corrected. “For them we must think of wonderful things. I have already spoken to several people of my idea. The journalist was impressed, Sorrel was very keen, the good doctor—”

“We must tell Richard as soon as he flies up,” said Cary eagerly.

“This time he drove,” nodded Jan to the valley. “He went by in that car, Cary.”

“Richard
d
id—!” Cary stared at Jan.

“Yes, I know his car. I drove with him in Sydney in it. He told me he was coming up quite soon by road.”

Cary nodded this time, staring down at the little saucer of land, feeling excited and happy. Richard was here, and she had told Jan what she had promised she would. She could meet Richard as she had not been able to meet him before.

The car was out of sight now. Only the stragglers among Maysie
’
s children were to be seen. Maysie herself was a long way ahead of her charges. Usually a slow walker, suddenly she had quickened her pace.

Not caring how the little ones got back to the house, she slipped under the wire of the fence that separated Clairhill from Currabong, and raced up to the neighboring homestead.

Richard had garaged the car, and was standing on the wide veranda talking to his housekeeper. He wheeled round as Maysie approached. “Is there anything wrong?” he asked.

Maysie lowered her lids.

“I
’
d like to talk to you if I could, Doctor Stormer.”

The doctor gave her a quick look. Professionally alerted, he led the way into the house.

“Sit down, Miss Heard.”

Maysie squirmed with pleasure. It was gratifying to be treated as an adult like this. And just as well he was treating her so, too, she thought, for the things she had to tell him were by no means juvenile. She had seen that embrace on the hill. She was not going to let
that
pass. The thing was to go about it quietly. Not burst it out spitefully but talk about other things first. Drop a hint here, a suggestion there. You could do a lot like that. Look at the gossip she had started that night at Ten Mile at the dance.

And it would serve Miss Porter right, the sneak. Mum had said she had found out about her french leave because of the mud on her shoes. But she, Maysie, was not as silly as all that. Cary Porter had put Mum wise.

Richard only half listened to the girl. His heart was unaccountably heavy. All the week he had expected a letter from Cary telling him that she had made everything right with Jan.

Things like that were difficult, he realized. They could not be burst out in a moment. They had to be introduced gently, for fear they inflict a hurt. But it seemed now they had never been uttered at all. How, otherwise, would she have been sitting with Luknit on the hill
...
sitting close
...
sitting like that?
...

He remembered what had happened between himself and Cary in Sydney. He remembered that tentative thing that had seemed too new and fragile for examination. He remembered the delirious gladness it had brought.

She had promised she would speak to Jan. Obviously she had not. There was only one conclusion to be drawn, and Richard drew it. For a quick moment he felt sick with disappointment, then just as rapidly came the old familiar disgust and anger.

In the middle of it crept Maysie
’
s sly voice, dropping ugly innuendos, dripping subtle poison.

Richard rose quickly.

“Go home at once,” he said tightly. “You are a nasty, underhand little girl.”

Maysie rose with alacrity. She would be glad to be out of the place. She had always been a little scared of Doctor Stormer.

Besides, there was no need to talk any more now. The thing was done. She was no fool. She could tell for all his inattention that the doctor had heard her
...
and she could tell that her seeds of spite and hate had not fallen on entirely barren ground.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

FOR THE REST of the day Cary kept watching for Richard
’
s familiar figure striding across the paddock that separated Currabong from Clairhill.

When he did not come by dusk she went to the telephone and took up the receiver. There she hesitated. It was a party line, like all country connections, and whatever she said would be public property; still, it was not that fact that kept her silent. Perhaps even as early as this she knew an odd premonition that everything all at once had gone wrong.

The rest of the household seemed very cheerful. The children were undergoing an angel period, Sorrel seemed particularly happy, Jan was full of his new project, Mrs. Heard was her usual busy self and even Maysie went around with a smile on her lips.

That it was a mean little smirk did not matter. It was an upward turn to her mouth instead of a downward, and for such small mercies, thought Cary, one should be grateful.

She went from room to room feeling curiously unsettled. Perhaps Jan had been wrong, and it had not been Richard
’
s car. Cars were so alike. None the less, she sat expectantly on the edge of her chair after dinner and was reluctant, when Jan and Sorrel got up yawning at eleven, to go at the same time to bed.

She slept badly
...
part of her still listened for the ring of the telephone, for a remembered footfall. She was wide awake when Maysie brought in the tea.

The smirk was still on the girl
’
s face—how had she ever thought of it as a smile?

“Jim
’
s poorly again,” she commented, pulling up the blind.

Cary sat up.

“What
’
s wrong with Jimmy?”

“How should I know? I
’
m not the nurse—or the doctor.” Was there a slight emphasis on that last word?

Cary decided to be diplomatic. “No, of course you wouldn
’
t know. How foolish of me! It was good of you to report it, though, Maysie. I must get medical advice at once.”

Again the smile, more triumphant than mean this time. Maysie took the tray and went out.

After the door had closed Cary sat back, forgetting the tea, and stared at the ceiling. She was not over-alarmed about the girl
’
s report on Jim
’
s health. Maysie was prone to exaggeration, and she knew if there had been anything grave to tell her, Sorrel would have been in long before this. All the same the curious communication between her own and little Jim
’
s well-being struck forcibly inwards. There was something intuitive between them. They loved each other, and love is never meaningless, Cary thought.

She showered and dressed and ran along to the dormitories to help Sorrel.

“I
’
m keeping Jim-Jam in bed,” said the nurse. “Nothing much wrong, but his temp is more than it should be.”

Breakfast was as edgy a business for Cary as dinner and supper last night. If Richard had arrived, as Jan had asserted, he might have been too snowed down with Currabong affairs to slip across until this morning. Cary felt her heart quicken with anticipation at every step.

Richard did not come.

During the morning she felt she could bear it no longer. She remarked as casually as she was able to Jan: “You were wrong, after all, about the doctor
’
s car.”

He raised surprised brows. “No, Cary, it was Mr. Stormer. He left again last night.”

“Left—!” She hoped her voice did not sound as hollow as she felt.

Whether Jan suspected the emptiness in her or not, his reply was reassuring—too reassuring.

“He is very busy in his city practice, of course.”

“Did he tell you?”

“No, but he would be; isn
’
t that so?”

“Yes,” agreed Cary as anxious to be reassured as Jan seemed anxious to be reassuring, “he is busy.”

All the same, her acceptance of Jan
’
s explanation was only surface deep. As she moved about her day
’
s tasks she knew the blankness and the emptiness again. Why had Richard come—and
gone—like that? Why had she lost that a little flame had been extinguished?

At noon Sorrel reported that Jim was no better.

“I
’
ll call the Sunset doctor,” said Cary.

Sorrel thought this would be a wise action, so they telephoned at once.

Doctor Phillips came during the afternoon. He examined Jim, but could find
nothing actually wrong with him. “A little rest might do the trick; he
’
s probably tired out. A sensitive youngster, I should say; touchy to atmospheres.”

“Our atmosphere has been very smooth lately,” informed Sorrel; “we
’
re undergoing an angel period.”

“Some kiddies go even deeper than that,” said Doctor Phillips. “Did you say tea?”

“I didn
’
t,” smiled Sorrel, “but I couldn
’
t let you come all this way and not get it.”

“Lead me to it—and as regards future offerings, and it appears now you will be making them. I ta
k
e sugar but no milk.”

“You
’
re mistaken,” came back Sorrel as they made their way to the porch where the bamboo table was already laden, “there probably will be no future offerings. Of course we
’
ll deal with you in emergencies, Doctor Phillips, but Doctor Stormer is our man.”

“
Was
your man.” The mid-elderly surgeon leaned over and took a bun.

“You
’
re mistaken.” It was Cary repeating the words that Sorrel had just said. “Our progress reports t
h
at assure us our money have to be made by Doctor Stormer. Without his approval we could not function any more.”

“Those reports will be in my hands now,” said P
h
illips cheerily. “Don
’
t look so alarmed, Miss Porter. I won
’
t say a single derogatory word. Not that I could even were you my enemies. This place is a credit to you girls.”

He kept on talking
...
and talking
...
Cary did not hear him. What had happened? Why had Richard done this to her? Why had he handed Clairhill over to another man? Then she was aware that Phillips was speaking of his medical brother.

“It was a rush decision, although it appears now that this post had been waiting for him a long time
.
They wanted him badly, you see. It
’
s another step up for Stormer, of course, but personally I like home best. Say what you like, India is a long way off.”

“India!” It was like cold water in Cary
’
s face. She looked at Phillips in disbelief.

“When—” she began, hoping no one noticed the beginnings of a treacherous break in her voice, “when does he go?”

“
He intended leaving almost at once, he told me. As I said, it was a rush decision.”

“Will—will it be for long?”

“That
’
s up to him. A year at least, maybe two—could be a lifetime if he got to feel that way about the place.”

Sorrel poured more tea. Jan came and took a cup and grimaced because he preferred coffee. The conversation left Richard and took up the advantages and disadvantages of tea and coffee. Cary sat on, outwardly composed, inwardly dismayed. The dismay was withheld until Phillips
’
departure, then she went to her office and took up the telephone. She made a trunk call through to Mr. Farrell, making some detail of Clairhill her legitimate excuse. He answered her with his usual bright interest, concluding with the regret that Clairhill had lost the services of Doctor Stormer.