The Tartan Touch (12 page)

“Is that all?” Bridget said with enthusiasm. “You’ll need several pairs, my dear. I know just the kind to get. Let’s go and buy them and, by that time, perhaps the men will be prepared to give us some lunch!”

The shop was the kind of store that sold everything. There were mining tools, tins of kerosene, a clutter of samples of various kinds of ore, great bolts of material, and goodness knows what else. I blinked in the entrance, for it seemed quite dark inside after the strong sunlight in the street
.

“Mrs. Fraser, come in!” a warm Australian voice bade her. “And you, Mrs. O’Dell! What can we do for you?”

“
You can find some jeans for Mrs. Fraser,” Bridget told him. “Good, strong ones, mind, because she’ll want to ride in them.”

“Right,” the proprietor grunted.

He kept all sizes of jeans in piles at the back of the shop. There was some doubt as to whether he had a pair to fit me, but he eventually produced a pair of drill trousers that someone had ordered long before and had never called back for.

“Reckon they’ll fit you, Mrs. Fraser. Want to try them?”

We repaired to the room at the back, behind the store, where the man lived
.
It had a bed in one
corner
, a table and chair, and a shelf-full of tinned foods which he cooked for himself whenever he was hungry.

“I hadn’t realised you were so small,” Bridget said.

“As thin as a stick!” I agreed cheerfully.

I pulled the trousers up over my hips and stared at myself in the cracked looking-glass that hung on the wall opposite me. They could have been made for me
.
They fitted closely, the starched drill immaculately stitched and creased.

“
What do you think?” Bridget asked me
.

“I think they’re fine!”

Bridget half-closed her eyes and looked at me. “Did I hear something of your riding for Mirrabooka at the spring races?”

“On Birrahlee,” I nodded. “Mary says they’re not as big as the autumn races, but I can’t help being a wee bit nervous.”

“Big or not, a lot of money changes hands,” Bridget warned me.

“It’s daft!” I retorted.

“Nonsense! It’s a bit of fun, that’s all. Can I come out to Mirrabooka some time and see you run?”

“If you like,” I said indifferently. I refused to take my practice rides on Birrahlee at all seriously. Andrew and Mary would make a great do about marking out an appropriate course and they would sit about with stop-watches in their hands, conferring together about every step of the way. To me, I didn’t care how fast we went
.
It was the feel of the wind against my face and that great, straining body beneath me, that I loved! Speed was a thrill in itself. I had no interest in the financial transactions that grew steadily more complicated as everyone else on the station exchanged massive bets on my progress.

“You see,” Bridget confided, “I always lose at the races and Dick wasn’t at all pleased last year.
I’d
love to put some money on you and just show him that I’m as good a judge of horseflesh as he pretends to be!”

I took the trousers off again, folding them neatly on the bed. “Wouldn’t he mind you winning money on a triviality like that?” I asked her.

She stared
at me.
“What
do you mean?”

I was embarrassed. “I mean,” I went on even more hesitantly, “if you win, doesn’t he disapprove? And if you lose, doesn’t he have to cover your losses?”

“I’ll say he does! Well, not exactly,” she amended,
“because I suppose I own as much of the business as he does, so in a way it’s my money—”

“It wouldn’t be my money at all,” I said gruffly.

She was silent. Then she said: “You are happy with
Andrew, aren’t you, Kirsty?
”

“Oh
yes
!
”
I exclaimed.

I thought so,” she said, the worried crease in her forehead disappearing. But she gave me a very odd look all the same. “I’ve never known Andrew be
mean
?”

“Oh
no
!”

“Then I don’t quite see the trouble?”
sh
e hazarded gently.

“I couldn’t lose Andrew’s money
gambling
!” I tried to explain.

She threw back her head and laughed. “Oh, I
see
.”
she said. She laughed again. “No, Andrew would be rather quelling under
the circumstances! Dick, on the
other hand, couldn’t frighten a fly! You’ll see what I mean when you meet him!”

I was quite prepared to believe her. I was also relieved that she thought it was only that I was a bit afraid of Andrew that made me hesitate before wagering his money. She wasn’t to know that I had no right to his money at all, and it wasn’t my place to tell her, though I longed to do so, for I hated acting a part wi
th
anyone who was so prepared to be my friend
.

We went back into
the store and paid th
e
man
for my trousers.

“Shall I get
another
pair made up for you, Mrs
.
Fraser?” he asked me.

“If you would,” I answered
him.

“I can find you some shirts out of stock,” he told me, a sly grin creasing his features. “I have some here for young boys
th
at might fit you
.”

I accepted this wi
th
aplomb, which slipped a little
when he brought out a whole pile of cotton shirts, all of them checked, or in would-be tartans, bright enough to knock your eye out
_s
I spotted the Fraser tartan amongst them and pulled it out eagerly.

“I’ll take this one!” I said eagerly.

The man sniffed. “Reckon some of these are prettier, Mrs. Fraser,” he objected. “What d’you think, Mrs. O’Dell?”

Bridget shrugged her shoulders. “They all look much the same to me!”

“Not this one!” I insisted doggedly. I found another one with the same pattern and pulled that one out too. “I’ll take these two,” I said
.

When I had paid for them and he had wrapped them up with the trousers, I was not so sure that I had done
the
right thing. Andrew would be bound to recognise his own tartan and he might not like my wearing it
.
If I had had the courage, I think I would have changed them, but there was no opportunity to do so, for at that moment
the
men came pouring out into the street, full of talk of sheep and horses and the costs of keeping both.

“Hi
s
wool-cheques are bound to be down on last year,” one of them said wisely. “The world market is falling off. Everyone says so.”

“Reckon so.”

I searched for Andrew amongst them and found him by walking slap into him. “Oh, Andrew,” I said apologetically.

“We’re not bankrupt yet!” he said slowly, his eyes looking deep into mine.

Th
e men laughed. “Would you care?” they asked. “Seems to me you’ve got yourself another interest! Eh, Andy?”

“The Frasers look like surviving for a few more years yet,” he grunted.

“Is that so?” a small, laughing man drawled. “You haven’t lost much time, mate!”

“I don’t think that’s what he meant,” Bridget reproved him. “Not everybody wants to have children as quickly as we did, Dick.”

I turned quickly, to escape the look in Andrew’s eyes. “Oh, have you got children, Bridget?” I asked her. “I wish I could meet them!”

“So you will,” she assured me, “We’ll all be there to see you up on Birrahlee, screaming our support!”

“Screaming is about right,” her husband agreed. “They’re in fine voice at the moment
.
The youngest is teething.”

Andrew took my hand and tucked it into his arm. “What do you think of Cue?” he asked me.

I didn't have time to answer, “What should she think?” Bridget put in crossly. “We all know what it’s like! If you want a decent hair-do you have to go to Perth! It’s time we did something about it!”

“You don’t live here,” Dick O’Dell reminded her.

“She’s right though,” Andrew said. “It’s a crook town and we ought to do something to liven it up. Perhaps we will one day.”

“One day it’ll be as dead as Guddingwarra,” I said quietly.

“And Big Bell,” Bridget concurred. “And I, for one, won’t be sorry!”

Andrew smiled at me. That was
twice
,
I thought, and there had been no reason for him to smile either time. “Meanwhile I’m hungry,” he said. “How about you?” I nodded shyly, clutching my paper parcel closer to me. He took it from me. “Did you buy everything you wanted?”

“I think so,” I said
.

“We still have to buy a hat for you,” he reminded me.

I licked my lips, “One like yours?” I said hopefully.

“Right,” he agreed.

We said goodbye to the others. I watched them exchange glances with each other, reminding themselves that we were little better than a honeymooning couple who would want to be alone. It was nice of them, I thought.

“
I could eat a mountain
!”
Andrew exclaimed as we walked off down the street.

“
I thought maybe the beer would have blunted your appetite,” I told him, smiling at him to take the edge off my words.

“Did you mind my leaving you?” he half-apologised.

“No,” I said simply.

“Bridget is right
!
” he exclaimed. “There’s nowhere here to take one’s wife! I’ll have to see about it.”

“I don’t mind,” I assured him.

“But I do!” He sounded surprised at his own sentiments. “There’s going to be some changes round here, Kirsty, I promise you that! One of these days we’ll have a town we can be proud of, and that our children can be proud of, instead of having to go down to Perth all the time.”

“But we won’t have any children,” I reminded him primly
.

“No?”

“No,” I said with decision. “Besides, I’m hungry too,” I added.

“Ah, yes,” he said wisely. “You’re longing for apples again!
‘
As an apple tree among the trees of the wood, so is my beloved among young men
’
—I pulled my hand away from him, blushing, but he went on quoting relentlessly:
“ ‘
With great delight I sat in his shadow, and his fruit was sweet to my taste
.’ ”

I
looked down my nose, pretending that his words meant nothing to me. “I certainly wouldn’t compare you to an apple tree!” I said sourly. How
dared
he quote the Song of Solomon to me, the daughter of a minister
?
“
And anyway, I’ve gone off apples
!
”

Andrew reached down and blew an insect off the back of my neck. “Liar
!
” he remarked.

It was a moment of sweet confusion. I took a quick glance at his face, hoping that he hadn’t noticed the effect he had on me. He was
smiling
! And
that
was
the third time
!

Andrew bought me a hat that was exactly like his own, only mine was brand new. It would take time for it to become soaked with sweat and the smell of
the
Outback, but I was determined that it would in time.

“You look like a grazier’s wife now,” he commented with approval,

“A Boss Cockey’s wife?” I teased
him.

“You look a bit young for that!” he tossed back at me.

I sighed. Poor Mary! She was younger still!

It was time to go home then, back to Mirrabooka. I climbed into the old ute and Andrew piled my purchases on to my knees.

“Do you think Mary will approve the belt I bought her?” I asked him contentedly,

‘You shouldn’t spend your money on her,” he reproved me seriously. “She’s a spoilt brat now, without any help from you!”

“But I wanted to,” I insisted. I felt suddenly shy and I had to
cl
ear my throat before I could go on. “I—I have something for you too,” I managed.

“For me?” The quizzical expression in his eyes made me look away. “It’s a long time since anyone gave me a present,” he added.

“What about your birthday and Christmas?” I asked thoughtlessly.

“
Oh, sometimes then,” he agreed. “It’s not as much fun as a present for no reason in particular, is it?”

“
No,
”
I agreed. I fingered the hat he had given me, reflecting that it was the first present of that sort that I had ever been given. It had not occurred to me that Andrew, too, knew what it was to be lonely. “I bought you the poems of Robbie
Burn
s,” I told him.

He accepted the volume gravely, as I had known he would, turning over the pages with his strong brown fingers.

“
Was it a good choice
?
” I asked him nervously, when I could bear the suspense no longer.

He turned and looked at me. “One day I’ll tell you how good,” he said.

He didn
’
t thank me. He put the book away in the pocket of the car in front of him and started up the engine, whistling softly under his breath. I recognised the tune at once.
O whistle, and I’ll come to you
,
my lad!