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Authors: Robyn Donald
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seemed that Bronwyn too suffered from the compulsion to try to help lame
ducks. It made Linnet feel that she had things in common with her sister after all.
As she lay in her bed that night, in the floating five minutes .before sleep claimed her, she realised that she had
not thought of David Perry for at least two days. And when she tried to recapture, the pain that her images of his
happiness with her mother brought her, it seemed to have faded.
It was there next morning, but in a muted way. Perhaps, she thought wistfully, she was fickle. Certainly her
previous boy-friends had never lasted very long, but she had put that down to her increasing maturity. Her love
for David had seemed so solid, the pain of his rejection so intense that it was almost tangible; now it-was nearly
gone, leaving only a memory of his kindness and her own emotional turmoil.
Whatever had happened, whether it had been love or merely the desire for a father figure, as he had termed it,
its disappearance made the letter she wrote to her mother much easier. David had indeed smoothed the shock of
her departure, for Jennifer's letter had said little about the abruptness of her going, merely ^chiding her gently
for thinking that she could ever be in their way, and hoping that when she had proved her independence she
would come back to Sydney to live with them.
Sydney, with its superb beaches and beautiful harbour, its. Opera House and bridge, the gay crowds of people
made cosmopolitan by immigration—it all seemed so far away, and yet she had left it such a short time ago,
measured by sunsets. Something had happened in that time, something she refused to face. Perhaps it was the
knowledge that she could be independent.
Two days later, an edgy two days later! she. opened a letter which told her that she was to report to the Branch
Librarian of the Kent Street Branch for an interview.
'Do you dunk it means I've got a chance for the job?’ she asked Bronwyn breathlessly.
‘I’d say so.'
Linnet passed the letter over. 'You read it and tell me what you think.'
After perusing the letter her sister handed it back.
'It means they've made a short list and you're on it. Let's hope the Branch Librarian likes slim redheads with
literary aspirations.'
'What will I wear?'
Bronwyn only laughed. 'Nothing too informal. She's probably ninety and unmarried with a nice taste in flatheeled shoes and horn-rimmed spectacles.'
But the Librarian was in her late twenties, with a wide gold wedding ring and an extremely modern taste on
clothes. Her name was Mrs Hayward.
The interview which followed was exhausting, exhaustive and left Linnet feeling as though she had been put
through a wringer. Books had been discussed, and there she thought she had held her own, especially when it
came to children's books. Some instinct sealed her lips as to. her own aspirations mere; revelation of that could
come later, perhaps. And Mrs Hayward had been very affable at tile finish, so it was with a small cautious glow
of optimism that Linnet walked the half mile back to the flat.
Sarah was waiting for her, a mutinous expression marring her features. 'Where have you been?' she demanded.
'I've been for an interview.'
'What's that?'
Linnet looked down at her, saw that she was genuinely upset and ran a. tender hand over her pale head.
'I've been to see a lady, the Librarian at Kent Street, to see if I'm suitable to work in her library.'
'Work in’ the library?'
'Yes.' After pouring out glasses of tangelo juice Linnet led the way to the little table in the kitchen. 'If I go to
work there yon can join the Library Club, I'll be in charge of that. It meets twice a month and does all sorts of
interesting things.'
'Like what?'
'Oh, book reviews, and handcrafts—all sorts. Would you like that?'
Sarah set her barely touched drink down. 'Yes,' she said mutedly, 'but if you go to work you'll be away all day
and I Won't see you.'
'Oh, you'll see me. Not as much,
ducks. It made Linnet feel that she had things in common with her sister after all.
As she lay in her bed that night, in the floating five minutes .before sleep claimed her, she realised that she had
not thought of David Perry for at least two days. And when she tried to recapture, the pain that her images of his
happiness with her mother brought her, it seemed to have faded.
It was there next morning, but in a muted way. Perhaps, she thought wistfully, she was fickle. Certainly her
previous boy-friends had never lasted very long, but she had put that down to her increasing maturity. Her love
for David had seemed so solid, the pain of his rejection so intense that it was almost tangible; now it-was nearly
gone, leaving only a memory of his kindness and her own emotional turmoil.
Whatever had happened, whether it had been love or merely the desire for a father figure, as he had termed it,
its disappearance made the letter she wrote to her mother much easier. David had indeed smoothed the shock of
her departure, for Jennifer's letter had said little about the abruptness of her going, merely ^chiding her gently
for thinking that she could ever be in their way, and hoping that when she had proved her independence she
would come back to Sydney to live with them.
Sydney, with its superb beaches and beautiful harbour, its. Opera House and bridge, the gay crowds of people
made cosmopolitan by immigration—it all seemed so far away, and yet she had left it such a short time ago,
measured by sunsets. Something had happened in that time, something she refused to face. Perhaps it was the
knowledge that she could be independent.
Two days later, an edgy two days later! she. opened a letter which told her that she was to report to the Branch
Librarian of the Kent Street Branch for an interview.
'Do you dunk it means I've got a chance for the job?’ she asked Bronwyn breathlessly.
‘I’d say so.'
Linnet passed the letter over. 'You read it and tell me what you think.'
After perusing the letter her sister handed it back.
'It means they've made a short list and you're on it. Let's hope the Branch Librarian likes slim redheads with
literary aspirations.'
'What will I wear?'
Bronwyn only laughed. 'Nothing too informal. She's probably ninety and unmarried with a nice taste in flatheeled shoes and horn-rimmed spectacles.'
But the Librarian was in her late twenties, with a wide gold wedding ring and an extremely modern taste on
clothes. Her name was Mrs Hayward.
The interview which followed was exhausting, exhaustive and left Linnet feeling as though she had been put
through a wringer. Books had been discussed, and there she thought she had held her own, especially when it
came to children's books. Some instinct sealed her lips as to. her own aspirations mere; revelation of that could
come later, perhaps. And Mrs Hayward had been very affable at tile finish, so it was with a small cautious glow
of optimism that Linnet walked the half mile back to the flat.
Sarah was waiting for her, a mutinous expression marring her features. 'Where have you been?' she demanded.
'I've been for an interview.'
'What's that?'
Linnet looked down at her, saw that she was genuinely upset and ran a. tender hand over her pale head.
'I've been to see a lady, the Librarian at Kent Street, to see if I'm suitable to work in her library.'
'Work in’ the library?'
'Yes.' After pouring out glasses of tangelo juice Linnet led the way to the little table in the kitchen. 'If I go to
work there yon can join the Library Club, I'll be in charge of that. It meets twice a month and does all sorts of
interesting things.'
'Like what?'
'Oh, book reviews, and handcrafts—all sorts. Would you like that?'
Sarah set her barely touched drink down. 'Yes,' she said mutedly, 'but if you go to work you'll be away all day
and I Won't see you.'
'Oh, you'll see me. Not as much,
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