followed it smartly with a pen. She was relieved that she caught both but not relieved to see that he was waiting for her to write. All her other notes were typed, intentionally typed so that her handwriting would not give her away. She scribbled something unintelligible, hoping to get out of it that way.
Now the water was running down her legs into her shoes, and Georgina knew that if she got up she would drip, and that if she bent she would squelch. She should have dried herself first with a handkerchief, or her neckerchief, or at least mopped up the surplus before she dressed. She gave a quick glance down to the floor; there was quite a pool there. So that he wouldn’t see it she put her feet over it, then wondered if that was a good move, for her feet were small rather than large, and the sides of the lake on the floor still showed.
Fortunately he was not looking. He was turning over her stepfather’s manuscript, or rather her manuscript on her stepfather’s notes. ‘An interesting thesis,’ he nodded. ‘May I ask the source?’
‘Of the author of the subject?’ she hedged.
‘Yes.’
‘His name was Iain Sutherland. He—he has passed on now.’
‘Odd, I’ve never heard of him,’ he said thoughtfully.
‘You wouldn’t unless you were a student.’
‘Of geology?’
‘Yes,’ she nodded.
‘Would a graduate do?’ he drawled idly.
Georgina was startled. ‘Are you, sir?’
‘Naturally.’
‘I’m sorry, I just thought with all your cattle that this’— she glanced at the reports she had made for him—‘might be a sideline, a hobby.’
‘The cattle is my sideline. I inherited it and I intend to preserve it, but geology is my interest. No, I don’t know your man. I’ll say this, though, you’re certainly presenting a very interesting angle of him. Why, even the layman would want to read this.’ He flicked the pages.
‘Thank you.’ Georgina hastened to correct herself. ‘Thanks, I mean, to Iain Sutherland’s inspiration. I think I’m the first one to choose him as a subject.’ She did not think, she knew. Stepfather had been so long away from university walls that no one would have remembered him.
‘Yet praise to you, too, in your interpretation of him,’ Roper awarded. ‘Do you know, Brown, your writing would even attract a woman, and women notoriously shy away from things like that. Yes, you have a definite understanding of females.’
‘Yes, sir,’ Georgina said. She was only half-listening because she had just heard a drip. It came from her crossed knees where the soaked denim formed droplets that plinked when they fell. She uncrossed her knees.
‘Met the men yet?’ Larry Roper asked next.
‘We’ve yarned over the sliprail,’ she said.
‘That won’t do, you’ll have to go over for a beer. You’ll have to have a poker game with the boys.’
‘Well, I don’t know whether I could, sir. I mean, I’m kept busy. I want to go out after more evidence for you, and then my thesis is due.’ She eyed him nervously.
‘Very admirable, I’m sure, but all work and no play makes—George’—a short laugh—‘a dull boy. We don t want you dull, do we, George Brown?’
‘No, sir.’
‘Then think about it. A healthy mind in a healthy body, and all that.’ Larry Roper’s voice stopped short, and wretchedly Georgina looked up, imagining all kinds of things, to become more wretched still. She should never have done it, but it was too late now; she had, and it was done. She had gathered a handful of Salvation Jane and put the handful into an empty jam-jar. Shrinkingly she turned her eyes from the unbelievable blue of the desert flowers to look at him. His eyes were the same blue, she saw. But not just that, they were at this moment sympathetic. The mighty Roper sympathetic? Sympathetic, anyway, when it came to flowers!
‘Keen on botany, too, Brown?’ he asked.
‘Well ’
‘Nothing to be ashamed of, it’s a poor man who can t find time in his life for a
Now the water was running down her legs into her shoes, and Georgina knew that if she got up she would drip, and that if she bent she would squelch. She should have dried herself first with a handkerchief, or her neckerchief, or at least mopped up the surplus before she dressed. She gave a quick glance down to the floor; there was quite a pool there. So that he wouldn’t see it she put her feet over it, then wondered if that was a good move, for her feet were small rather than large, and the sides of the lake on the floor still showed.
Fortunately he was not looking. He was turning over her stepfather’s manuscript, or rather her manuscript on her stepfather’s notes. ‘An interesting thesis,’ he nodded. ‘May I ask the source?’
‘Of the author of the subject?’ she hedged.
‘Yes.’
‘His name was Iain Sutherland. He—he has passed on now.’
‘Odd, I’ve never heard of him,’ he said thoughtfully.
‘You wouldn’t unless you were a student.’
‘Of geology?’
‘Yes,’ she nodded.
‘Would a graduate do?’ he drawled idly.
Georgina was startled. ‘Are you, sir?’
‘Naturally.’
‘I’m sorry, I just thought with all your cattle that this’— she glanced at the reports she had made for him—‘might be a sideline, a hobby.’
‘The cattle is my sideline. I inherited it and I intend to preserve it, but geology is my interest. No, I don’t know your man. I’ll say this, though, you’re certainly presenting a very interesting angle of him. Why, even the layman would want to read this.’ He flicked the pages.
‘Thank you.’ Georgina hastened to correct herself. ‘Thanks, I mean, to Iain Sutherland’s inspiration. I think I’m the first one to choose him as a subject.’ She did not think, she knew. Stepfather had been so long away from university walls that no one would have remembered him.
‘Yet praise to you, too, in your interpretation of him,’ Roper awarded. ‘Do you know, Brown, your writing would even attract a woman, and women notoriously shy away from things like that. Yes, you have a definite understanding of females.’
‘Yes, sir,’ Georgina said. She was only half-listening because she had just heard a drip. It came from her crossed knees where the soaked denim formed droplets that plinked when they fell. She uncrossed her knees.
‘Met the men yet?’ Larry Roper asked next.
‘We’ve yarned over the sliprail,’ she said.
‘That won’t do, you’ll have to go over for a beer. You’ll have to have a poker game with the boys.’
‘Well, I don’t know whether I could, sir. I mean, I’m kept busy. I want to go out after more evidence for you, and then my thesis is due.’ She eyed him nervously.
‘Very admirable, I’m sure, but all work and no play makes—George’—a short laugh—‘a dull boy. We don t want you dull, do we, George Brown?’
‘No, sir.’
‘Then think about it. A healthy mind in a healthy body, and all that.’ Larry Roper’s voice stopped short, and wretchedly Georgina looked up, imagining all kinds of things, to become more wretched still. She should never have done it, but it was too late now; she had, and it was done. She had gathered a handful of Salvation Jane and put the handful into an empty jam-jar. Shrinkingly she turned her eyes from the unbelievable blue of the desert flowers to look at him. His eyes were the same blue, she saw. But not just that, they were at this moment sympathetic. The mighty Roper sympathetic? Sympathetic, anyway, when it came to flowers!
‘Keen on botany, too, Brown?’ he asked.
‘Well ’
‘Nothing to be ashamed of, it’s a poor man who can t find time in his life for a
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