Lauren's Dilemma (18 page)

As the
horse plodded along the spots of rain became a relentless downpour. By the time
they arrived back at the stables she was drenched, not that she cared. Water
dripping from her sodden hat ran in cold rivulets under her collar.

Wally
handed her a waterproof cape. “The boss told me to wait here for you and attend
the horse, Miss Laurie.”

“Thank
you.” She dismounted and handed him the reins, not even bothering to put the
waterproof on. It would be impossible to get any wetter.

“I feel
terrible about you and Angus being forced to eat in the kitchen. Blair should
have insisted your arrangements stayed the same.”

“He
apologized and said he wanted things to remain as they were before, but that’s
not for me, nor Angus, either. We prefer eating in the kitchen now. The boss
was worried about you missing lunch.”

“I took
some sandwiches with me.” Laurie grimaced at his shocked expression.

“Not
exactly picnic weather, but I understand you wanting solitude.” There was a
definite twinkle in his eyes before he became serious again.

“Mrs.
Ferguson told us what happened. Angus and me don't think ill of you. We thought
it a brave thing for a little slip of a girl to do. The boss copped it bad on
Gallipoli. His commanding officer is related to George McKinlay, and he wrote
saying he got blown up and all the men around him were dead. They reckon he lay
wounded for hours before the stretcher bearers could bring him in.”

“What can I
do? He hates me now.”

“I wouldn't
be too sure. He got mighty upset when you didn't show up for lunch. Give him
time. He'll soon see through your selfish, vain cousin.”

“Did they
go out again, I mean, in the afternoon?”

Wally
grinned. “No fear. Miss Cunningham isn't cut out for station life. Couldn't get
back to the homestead quick enough.”

As they
spoke in the shelter of the stable, he unsaddled the horse and rubbed her down.
Laurie gave Bolinda Vale a final pat, and the filly nuzzled at her pocket.

“You’re a
greedy thing.” She fished out a sugar lump.

“You spoil
that horse rotten.” Wally laughed. He was such a nice man, how could Helen be
so rude to him?

She plodded
towards the homestead with the cape draped over one arm.
 
Her boots sinking into the squelching mud
made it difficult to walk.
 
Hardly had
her feet touched the verandah when Blair pounced.

“Where the
hell have you been? I’ve been worried.”

“Worried
about me?” She tossed her head. “My clothes are wet, would you mind letting me
past so I can change?”

“You had no
right going out on your own in such foul weather.”

“Am I a
prisoner here? I felt like a ride, so I went. Didn't notice you waiting around
this morning to see if I wanted a guided tour.”
 
She could almost hear him grinding his teeth.

A hot bath
warmed her body up but did nothing to melt the ice encasing her heart.
  
Had Blair been worried about her? Did he
still care for her? She grasped hold of this thought and clung to it
tenaciously. As for Danny's ghostly voice? It had to be the figment of her
overwrought imagination?
 

In the
sitting room Laurie started reading the latest newspaper, then wished she
hadn’t. It was full of the latest fighting on the Somme in France. At the battle of Fromelles
in July 1916, the casualties were horrific. In less than two days the
Australian army had lost over five thousand men.

“What is
it, Laurie?” Blair asked. “You've gone as white as death.”

“Did you
read this, so many casualties?”

“Don’t
upset yourself.”
 
He almost sounded like
he cared.

He strode
over and peered at the article. “God, it sounds worse than Gallipoli. Imagine
what it will be like in winter, with illness and disease. Has the world gone
stark raving mad?”

“What are
you two whispering about?” Helen flipped through the pages of a fashion
journal. “I suppose you're getting all maudlin reading about the war.
Personally, I don't even bother with the papers any more.”

“Look at
the casualties. It's unbelievable, all those poor men.” Laurie's voice shook
with distress.

“Poor men?
Honestly, Lauren, you’re the limit. They didn't have to enlist, working class
most of them. Do you know the latest American fashions?”

“Helen!”
Blair's voice had a sharp edge to it. “Men are dying, some of them mere boys,
and all you're interested in is clothes.”

“Sorry,
darling.” She smiled. “I can't bear reading about unpleasant things. You know,
I’ve been thinking about those McKinlay people. We should ask them over for
dinner one evening.”

He glanced
up from the paper. “All right. Saturday week would be convenient.” He kept on
reading. Laurie dreaded the thought of meeting these people under the
circumstances.

Beautiful,
no other word could adequately describe Helen. Laurie hated to admit it, but it
was true. Shallow, vain, completely and utterly selfish, but what man could
deny her anything. Blair, so deeply in love, could overlook her rudeness to his
men, forget the way she had deserted him when he was away fighting. It tortured
Laurie to see the way his eyes worshipped her, following her every movement.

* * *

Helen,
already acting as mistress of the house, planned everything. Within two days,
dinner for the McKinlays snowballed into a dance and buffet supper for half the
district. It was being held in the reception room. Her menu proved long and
exotic, her complaints numerous, her contribution almost negligible.

On her
hands and knees, Laurie polished the floor of the reception room to Helen's
exacting standard, until it was suitable for dancing. No labor of love this,
far from it. Her arms and hands felt sore, her back aching, as she knelt on the
far side of the room. Another twenty minutes or so thank goodness, and it would
be finished.

“What on
earth are you doing?” Blair strode across the room with barely a limp.

“I'm
polishing the floor.”

“I can see
that,” he grated. “Get rid of it.” He snatched up the polishing rag and threw
it on the floor, then jerked her upright. “Answer me, what the hell are you
doing polishing the floor on your hands and knees. I won't have you doing the
work of a skivvy.”

“Helen said
it needed polishing for the dance.”

“What
dance?”

“For
Saturday night, we're having a dance, remember?”

“We’re
having the McKinlays over for dinner.”

“No. Helen
invited forty guests from all over the district for a supper dance.”

“First I’ve
heard of it. Still, it's no reason for you to be on your hands and knees.”

“Fergie
certainly wasn't up to it. She’s got enough to do as it is.”

He muffled
a curse. “The floor is all right. There's a war on. No one expects things to be
as pristine as before.”

“Helen
wants to entertain in a proper manner, because you have an important position
to maintain in the district.”

“Laurie,
Laurie, what am I going to do with you?” He tilted her head back with a hand
under her chin. “You've lost weight. For goodness sake, what have you been
doing to yourself?” He sounded almost concerned.

“There you
are, Blair. Mrs. Ferguson told me you were back.” Helen swept into the room.

“What's all
this business about a supper dance?”

“Darling, I
asked Mrs. Ferguson to serve us coffee in the sitting room. I'll tell you
everything then, every tiny detail.” She smiled at him. Helen was all sweetness
when things went the way she wanted them to. It was only when thwarted that her
claws came out.

“You
coming?” Blair invited Laurie, once again offhand.

“No, thank
you. I prefer having tea in the kitchen with the hired help.”

An angry
flush stained his cheeks. Without another word he swung on his heel and
followed Helen out of the room, leaving Laurie gnawing at her bottom lip. For a
moment they had almost regained some of their old closeness, until Helen
flounced in and spoilt it. Beautiful selfish, Helen. He hung on her every word
during his waking hours and probably dreamed of her when he slept.

Laurie’s
heart felt like a lead weight in her chest.

Chapter Nine

The night
of the dance arrived. It had been freezing cold all day, although no rain fell.
An enormous fire burned in the reception room fireplace. Fed with large red gum
blocks, it sent out plenty of heat.

The table
was set up in one corner with a snowy white cloth and gleaming, highly polished
silverware. Laurie helped Fergie with all the preparations, while Helen
condescended to do the floral arrangements.

The only
evening gown she possessed was a white satin affair trimmed with lace about the
cuffs and throat. The skirt fell in soft folds about her ankles.
 
She fingered the gold cameo locket that had
been her mother’s favorite item of jewelry. Several vigorous strokes of the
brush untangled her hair. She left it free to float over her shoulders. Pure
folly to try and emulate Helen’s sophisticated hair style.

Blair wore
evening dress, the white of his collar a stark contrast to the tan of his
throat and face. But Helen drew every eye, magnificent in clouds of blue
chiffon. Pearls were entwined through her golden hair. With enormous baby blue
eyes, alabaster skin and regal bearing, she reigned supreme. No wonder every
man in the room had eyes only for her.

Helen and
Blair welcomed the guests, some of whom had traveled over twenty miles. Without
Blair at her side, Laurie hung back, feeling nervous and out of place among so
many wealthy strangers.

She did not
know how or when Helen accomplished the feat, but there were two male
musicians. One played a fiddle, the other the concertina.

Blair
introduced her to numerous people, including a young couple, Guy and Sophie
Webster. She tried not to stare at the empty, neatly folded sleeve of Guy’s
evening jacket.
 
He greeted her with
boyish enthusiasm while Sophie smiled prettily. Easy to see they were a devoted
couple. They had eyes only for each other.

The men
were dressed in formal attire, the women in pretty gowns, and several young men
wore uniform.

The dancing
started and Blair led Helen out on to the floor. They made a striking couple.
Laurie shared the first few dances between two young soldiers. The young men
seemed pleasant enough, yet it was Blair she watched. He doesn't even want to
dance with me, she thought sadly as he mingled with other guests between dances
with Helen.

Halfway
through the evening he strode up to her. “May I have this dance?”

Pride
should have made her reject him, but to be in his arms, albeit briefly, was a
pleasure Laurie could not deny herself. They did not speak. She wanted to say
something to heal the rift between them, but the words stuck in her throat.

Over her
shoulder she caught Helen flirting with a young officer. Blair had introduced
him as James McDonald, and while he hung on Helen’s every word, his wife Anne
stood nearby looking embarrassed and unhappy. I know how awful you feel, you
poor thing. Who would know better than me?

“There's
someone I‘d like you to meet,” Blair announced as the bracket ended and he
escorted her from the dance floor. “Remember me mentioning Dick McKinlay? The
poor lad has had a terrible time of it. He's only nineteen and his parents are
worried to distraction. I thought you might talk to him, seeing as you have a
way with wounded soldiers.” Was he trying to be sarcastic?

“There you
are, Lauren.” Helen glided up, obviously tired of flirting with James, whose
face turned red with anger at having been discarded.

“Has Blair
told you about Dick McKinlay?” Helen tucked her hand through Blair's arm.

“Maybe it
isn't such a good idea,” he mused. “I don’t want Laurie saddled with him all
night. He's got a severe case of shell shock. Silly boy put his age up and was
barely eighteen when he went through hell on Gallipoli.”

“I'd like
to meet him. Where is he?”

“Well…”
Blair, all of a sudden, seemed dubious, but Laurie's sympathy had been aroused.
“George managed to get him to come, but he headed for the sitting room and
won't budge.”

She was
beginning to look forward to meeting Dick. Apart from anything else, it would
save her making an exhibition of herself by saying something extremely rude, or
worse still, slapping Helen’s beautiful face.

In the
sitting room, the lamp had been turned down but the fire gave out a warm,
comforting glow. “Hello, Dick, old chap.” Blair crossed the room and Laurie
followed a couple of steps behind. “I'd like you to meet, Laurie Cunningham.
Laurie, this is Dick McKinlay.”