could hear the slowing tempo of the nest-going birds; once, some distance away and apparently in some soggy spot, a curlew cried out. The bramble and sloe on the verge already stirred with night things ... frogs, field-mice, crickets. She put her foot down again.
She did not know how far she had gone or how near she was to home when, rounding a bend, she saw a car coming out of a property. The homestead could not be seen, but that was to be expected, as most of the homesteads here stood miles back from their gates. She would have driven on with no more than the usual country wave had the man behind the wheel, eviden tl y not seeing her, blocked her route. She stopped abruptly, a little annoyed. Even though it was an empty road and he was accustomed to coming and going without checking, he still should have checked.
Her annoyance disappeared, however, at the man’s genuine distress. He got out of the car at once and hurried over to Frances. He was tall, slim and thirtyish, fair, blue-eyed. He had a sincere smile.
‘All right, say it,’ he invited ruefully, ‘say some people want all the road to themselves.’
‘I was going to,’ she admitted with a laugh back at him, ‘but now you’ve said it for me I won’t.’
‘And you’ll forgive me?’
‘Only if you promise not to do it again.’
‘I promise. I’m afraid it’s a failing in this very exclusive stretch of road. There’s so few of us on it we come to think we possess it, think of it as our own. But I say’ ... eagerly ... ‘you would be the charming young nurse from West of the River?’
Frances demurred at that ‘charming’, but admitted she was the person he meant.
‘And where is our young fellow?’ The man peered into the car.
‘He’s not here now. I left him at home. You would be?’
The man nodded backwards to the homestead gate. Frances saw that the property was called Uplands and concluded that he owned it.
‘I can’t say how pleased I am to meet you,’ the man smiled, ‘and I’m certainly anxious to see young Jason. Perhaps we can meet up, all three, one day. Say we make it by the river, it’s always a delightful spot.’
‘I’m sorry, but I can’t do that,’ Frances declined.
‘Not now, naturally, the boy isn’t well enough yet, but eventually...’
‘I couldn’t do it, anyway,’ Frances declined again. ‘Mr. West has given me strict instructions that Jason—’
‘I understand perfectly.’ The courteous voice that cut in did understand. Frances felt sure of it. She felt churlish, especially so when he did not argue with her. She said that she was very sorry.
‘Not to worry,’ he assured her, ‘I told you I understood. But I’m keeping you, aren’t I, and you can’t be familiar with the road as yet. Look, I’ll go ahead as far as the homestead gate, you just follow my tail-light.’
‘Thank you,’ she appreciated, and watched him go to his car. What a considerate person he was!
He was as good as his word, and led her all the way to the gate, even opened the gate for her to pass through, then he waved her away, indicating that he would shut the gate again. In her rear vision mirror she saw him turn back to Uplands. A very nice man, she decided.
She negotiated the curves between the young pines to the homestead, saw a blaze of lights, and was about to garage her car when Burn West emerged from the other garage, his face, even in the less than half-light, stormy.
‘What in tarnation have you been doing to this hour?’ he greeted her. ‘I was just starting out to see if you’d had a puncture or been held up or something.’
‘Nothing,’ she answered politely, then thought to herself that it must sound like Jason. She reminded him a little testily that it was her afternoon off.
‘It’s night now,’ he came back. ‘You must have known when you left town that it would be dark before you got here !’
He was still taking it for granted that she had been to Mirramunna, nowhere else, and
She did not know how far she had gone or how near she was to home when, rounding a bend, she saw a car coming out of a property. The homestead could not be seen, but that was to be expected, as most of the homesteads here stood miles back from their gates. She would have driven on with no more than the usual country wave had the man behind the wheel, eviden tl y not seeing her, blocked her route. She stopped abruptly, a little annoyed. Even though it was an empty road and he was accustomed to coming and going without checking, he still should have checked.
Her annoyance disappeared, however, at the man’s genuine distress. He got out of the car at once and hurried over to Frances. He was tall, slim and thirtyish, fair, blue-eyed. He had a sincere smile.
‘All right, say it,’ he invited ruefully, ‘say some people want all the road to themselves.’
‘I was going to,’ she admitted with a laugh back at him, ‘but now you’ve said it for me I won’t.’
‘And you’ll forgive me?’
‘Only if you promise not to do it again.’
‘I promise. I’m afraid it’s a failing in this very exclusive stretch of road. There’s so few of us on it we come to think we possess it, think of it as our own. But I say’ ... eagerly ... ‘you would be the charming young nurse from West of the River?’
Frances demurred at that ‘charming’, but admitted she was the person he meant.
‘And where is our young fellow?’ The man peered into the car.
‘He’s not here now. I left him at home. You would be?’
The man nodded backwards to the homestead gate. Frances saw that the property was called Uplands and concluded that he owned it.
‘I can’t say how pleased I am to meet you,’ the man smiled, ‘and I’m certainly anxious to see young Jason. Perhaps we can meet up, all three, one day. Say we make it by the river, it’s always a delightful spot.’
‘I’m sorry, but I can’t do that,’ Frances declined.
‘Not now, naturally, the boy isn’t well enough yet, but eventually...’
‘I couldn’t do it, anyway,’ Frances declined again. ‘Mr. West has given me strict instructions that Jason—’
‘I understand perfectly.’ The courteous voice that cut in did understand. Frances felt sure of it. She felt churlish, especially so when he did not argue with her. She said that she was very sorry.
‘Not to worry,’ he assured her, ‘I told you I understood. But I’m keeping you, aren’t I, and you can’t be familiar with the road as yet. Look, I’ll go ahead as far as the homestead gate, you just follow my tail-light.’
‘Thank you,’ she appreciated, and watched him go to his car. What a considerate person he was!
He was as good as his word, and led her all the way to the gate, even opened the gate for her to pass through, then he waved her away, indicating that he would shut the gate again. In her rear vision mirror she saw him turn back to Uplands. A very nice man, she decided.
She negotiated the curves between the young pines to the homestead, saw a blaze of lights, and was about to garage her car when Burn West emerged from the other garage, his face, even in the less than half-light, stormy.
‘What in tarnation have you been doing to this hour?’ he greeted her. ‘I was just starting out to see if you’d had a puncture or been held up or something.’
‘Nothing,’ she answered politely, then thought to herself that it must sound like Jason. She reminded him a little testily that it was her afternoon off.
‘It’s night now,’ he came back. ‘You must have known when you left town that it would be dark before you got here !’
He was still taking it for granted that she had been to Mirramunna, nowhere else, and
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