anyhow I’m going to have a jolly good try.
On which note Georgina opened the sherry again, and smiled as she made a toast.
‘To mighty Roper—the bigger they are the harder they fall!’ If only, she giggled, the mighty Roper had known how nearly she had fallen as she stared back one bare inch into the eye of a frog!
When Larry Roper came down the next morning in a jeep, Georgina was ready in her jeans, loose shirt and crash helmet.
‘You won’t need that,’ Roper indicated the helmet, ‘you’re travelling with me in the wagon. But bring a hat.’
‘I won’t need that either, I’m used to the sun.’
‘So it appeared by your sweat yesterday. Hat, Brown.’ His voice was stern.
Georgina said wisely: ‘Very well, sir.’
She also brought her tools, including the magnet all geologists carried, some coloured ribbons for marking, and a notebook and pencil.
‘Best throw in a towel,’ advised Roper lazily, ‘you might like to dip in the Lucy.’
‘In that case I’ll ’ But Georgina remembered in time that she could not include a bikini, so said instead: ‘No, I don’t think I will.’ She added lamely: ‘I have a cold.’
‘I thought you were sweating too much yesterday. I’ll take you up to the house when we come back and give you a double rum. You seem to be better now, though,’ he was estimating her, ‘your hair’s dried off. It was soaked when you came in. Do you always wear it so short? Rather a change from the fellows these days.’
She swallowed. ‘I ... yes, I do.’
‘I’m not complaining,’ he said. ‘Hop in.’
They struck out into the desert, and if there was a track, Georgina could not see it.
‘What was Windmill Junction like?’ he asked idly as they bumped along.
‘One windmill and no junction,’ she responded, ‘I thought it was frontier country until I saw this.’
‘Go north-west again and you’ll call this Piccadilly,’ he grinned. He steered the jeep through a thicket of bush comprising ironwood, gidgee, some tamarisks and actually a few tropical palms. Georgina called out in surprised delight at the palms, for she had not expected them, but when they emerged to the desert again she was silent with disbelief, for the palmy retreat, welcome as it had been, was nothing to the sudden flood of blossom that awaited them, sand gorse in shining gold, Indian daisies in purest white, and, of course, the ever-present Salvation Jane. That bluest of all blues, the Jane.
‘A garden, isn’t it?’ said Roper. He pointed to a small lagoon on their right, its stretch of sparkling water busy with insects weaving gauzy patterns above it. There was a river smell, somehow, making Georgina feel that the Lucy could not be far away.
She asked Roper, and he nodded. ‘But only an anabranch,’ he said.
‘What’s that?’
‘An anabranch is a stream that leaves the river and later re-enters it. I’m afraid that’s all the Lucy you’ll see this time, Brown, unless you travel many more kilometres, which I don’t propose to do. During the Wet this anabranch is part of the Lucy’s inland ocean, for it is almost that, with waves four feet deep.’
But the water when they reached it was waveless, very still, very limpid and very inviting.
‘Going to sample it?’ the man called.
‘No, I’ve got a cold. I told you so.’
‘I never knew a cold yet that didn’t benefit from water. Well, I’m going in.’ Stepping out of the jeep, Roper began pulling off his shirt.
Georgina was out of the wagon in a flash, but even then he was up to the stage of unbuckling his belt.
‘A blackbutt,’ she called desperately and deceitfully, for there was not a blackbutt in sight, ‘now that could be a sign of nickel.’ Before he could comment she was hurrying into the scrub.
She heard the water splash as he dived in, and pretended deep intrigue in something in the ground.
‘It’s fine,’ he called out. ‘Change your mind, Brown.’
‘Next time,’ she answered, finding a
On which note Georgina opened the sherry again, and smiled as she made a toast.
‘To mighty Roper—the bigger they are the harder they fall!’ If only, she giggled, the mighty Roper had known how nearly she had fallen as she stared back one bare inch into the eye of a frog!
When Larry Roper came down the next morning in a jeep, Georgina was ready in her jeans, loose shirt and crash helmet.
‘You won’t need that,’ Roper indicated the helmet, ‘you’re travelling with me in the wagon. But bring a hat.’
‘I won’t need that either, I’m used to the sun.’
‘So it appeared by your sweat yesterday. Hat, Brown.’ His voice was stern.
Georgina said wisely: ‘Very well, sir.’
She also brought her tools, including the magnet all geologists carried, some coloured ribbons for marking, and a notebook and pencil.
‘Best throw in a towel,’ advised Roper lazily, ‘you might like to dip in the Lucy.’
‘In that case I’ll ’ But Georgina remembered in time that she could not include a bikini, so said instead: ‘No, I don’t think I will.’ She added lamely: ‘I have a cold.’
‘I thought you were sweating too much yesterday. I’ll take you up to the house when we come back and give you a double rum. You seem to be better now, though,’ he was estimating her, ‘your hair’s dried off. It was soaked when you came in. Do you always wear it so short? Rather a change from the fellows these days.’
She swallowed. ‘I ... yes, I do.’
‘I’m not complaining,’ he said. ‘Hop in.’
They struck out into the desert, and if there was a track, Georgina could not see it.
‘What was Windmill Junction like?’ he asked idly as they bumped along.
‘One windmill and no junction,’ she responded, ‘I thought it was frontier country until I saw this.’
‘Go north-west again and you’ll call this Piccadilly,’ he grinned. He steered the jeep through a thicket of bush comprising ironwood, gidgee, some tamarisks and actually a few tropical palms. Georgina called out in surprised delight at the palms, for she had not expected them, but when they emerged to the desert again she was silent with disbelief, for the palmy retreat, welcome as it had been, was nothing to the sudden flood of blossom that awaited them, sand gorse in shining gold, Indian daisies in purest white, and, of course, the ever-present Salvation Jane. That bluest of all blues, the Jane.
‘A garden, isn’t it?’ said Roper. He pointed to a small lagoon on their right, its stretch of sparkling water busy with insects weaving gauzy patterns above it. There was a river smell, somehow, making Georgina feel that the Lucy could not be far away.
She asked Roper, and he nodded. ‘But only an anabranch,’ he said.
‘What’s that?’
‘An anabranch is a stream that leaves the river and later re-enters it. I’m afraid that’s all the Lucy you’ll see this time, Brown, unless you travel many more kilometres, which I don’t propose to do. During the Wet this anabranch is part of the Lucy’s inland ocean, for it is almost that, with waves four feet deep.’
But the water when they reached it was waveless, very still, very limpid and very inviting.
‘Going to sample it?’ the man called.
‘No, I’ve got a cold. I told you so.’
‘I never knew a cold yet that didn’t benefit from water. Well, I’m going in.’ Stepping out of the jeep, Roper began pulling off his shirt.
Georgina was out of the wagon in a flash, but even then he was up to the stage of unbuckling his belt.
‘A blackbutt,’ she called desperately and deceitfully, for there was not a blackbutt in sight, ‘now that could be a sign of nickel.’ Before he could comment she was hurrying into the scrub.
She heard the water splash as he dived in, and pretended deep intrigue in something in the ground.
‘It’s fine,’ he called out. ‘Change your mind, Brown.’
‘Next time,’ she answered, finding a
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