The Tartan Touch (7 page)

I chose the bedroom next to Andrew’s for my own. It was a room which could have been used equally well as a dressing-room and probably had been in the days when his parents had lived in the house. It was not a particularly large room, but it was quite the most beautiful that I had ever inhabited. The bed was as soft as a cloud! There was, too, a fine bureau, with everything set out for writing and, in the top, a vast selection of books, hardly any of which I had read. Books become very important in the Australian Outback, when visitors are few, for the ideas they bring to men and women who might otherwise have grown lonely.

But it was hard to convince Mary that this was the room I really wanted. She spoke to Andrew about it that night at dinner.

“Does Kirsty snore?” she asked bluntly.

Andrew looked embarrassed. “No,” he answered, frowning.

“Then I can’t understand it,” the girl said frankly. “Why don’t you
make
her—”

Andrew shook his head at her. “You shouldn’t speak about things you don’t understand,” he reproved her.

“I’m not a child!” Mary retorted. “Even if you do treat me as one!”

“An adult would know when to mind her own business!” he shot back at her.

“I’ll remember that!” she informed him darkly.

“You’re making a great fuss about nothing,” I told them both, with some asperity. “I choose to have a room of my own and that’s an end to the matter
.”

“Gosh,” said Mary, “I never would have thought that Andrew would allow his wife to tell him what to do!”

I was taken aback by her frankness, “Oh, but I wouldn’t!” I denied hotly “It isn’t like that at all!” I looked anxiously at Andrew for help. His face was completely inscrutable.

“Don’t make trouble, Mary,” he said almost casually.

“I’m sorry,” she apologised immediately. She laughed suddenly
.
“I might have known that you’d be managing things in your own devious way!” she added brightly. “Poor Kirsty! Someone ought to warn her!”

Andrew smiled slowly. “Do you mean to say you haven’t?” he asked her.

“I told her you are quite the ladies’ man! That they flock around you hopefully on all and every occasion! But I didn’t say a word beyond that!”

“Is there a word to say?” He sounded surprised.

“Oh, Andrew!” she protested. “What about—”

“Enough! Enough!” he pleaded.

“I should think so! I chimed in. “It’s a shameless conversation—”

Mary laughed outright.
“
Kirsty,” she giggled, “there’s nothing shameless in sizing up the opposition! It’s one of the few things I learned at my mother’s knee!”

“Then she should have had something better to teach you,” I observed firmly. “It isn’t fitting for either of us to be discussing Andrew’s—
”
I broke off, not knowing how to put it.

“Andrew’s affairs?” Mary riposted sweetly.

It was I who blushed. “I’d not be so brazen!” I told her, my nose in the air.

She laughed delightedly, “I
wish
my mother could hear you! Andy, I think you did yourself a bit of good marrying Kirsty!”

Andrew’s grey eyes slid over my face. “So do I,” he said gently.

I
felt my heart hammering within me, Now here was a fine thing, I thought, if his play-acting could have such an effect on me! I frowned fiercely down at my plate.

“I think perhaps we’ll ask Miss Rowlatt to Mirrabooka when Margaret comes,” Andrew remarked slowly.

Mary nodded at him acutely. “You should have told me,” was all she said. “I won’t tease any more, Andy. I promise.”

There was no mistaking the deep affection he had for her as he looked at her for a long moment. “I knew I could count on you,” he said at last.

Mary nodded. “Tit for tat? I’m counting on your support later on?”

“You’re still only seventeen,” he reminded her doubtfully.

“I won’t change my mind, not in a million years, so why not now?” she said sadly.

“We’ll see,” he told her, “in a month or so.”

Mary’s eyes lit up. “I’ll hold you to that!” she said with a whoop of joy.

I wished I knew what they were talking about. I felt a stranger, shut out from their lives because I knew so little about them. The whole evening had been strange, I thought. The homestead, as they all called it, had come as a shock to me. It was so comfortable and well furnished. It scarcely seemed appropriate in the middle of a great, empty desert. Then, too, Mary had, told
me
that they always changed into clean clothes for dinner. It seemed odd to me to eat in state, with the candles lit and the silver shining on the table, when outside there was nothing but space and sheep.
My
father would have thought it vanity, but I was not
so s
u
re.
It was pleasant for the whole family to meet together at least once a day, and it was a courtesy to each other to be clean and tidy for the occasion.

The meal itself had come as a surprise too. We had begun with soup, which had been followed by roast lamb and a multitude of vegetables. Andrew finished his meal with biscuits and cheese, but Mary and I both ate fresh fruit. To my great surprise, Andrew took an apple himself and peeled it, cutting it into neat quarters, which he put on my plate.

“I think you’ll find it crisp and juicy,” he said gently. “Our Australian apples are getting quite famous.”

I was very aware of him as I ate the apple. It was as if I had never seen a man before, and whether the apple was good or bad, I couldn’t have told a soul!

My first night at Mirrabooka was rudely shattered by the arrival of Mary in my room.

“Come on! Wake up!” she commanded me. “It’ll be dawn shortly and I want to ride out to see them bring the sheep in before it gets too hot ”

“Ride?” I muttered sleepily
.

“On a horse!” she laughed at me.

I sat up quickly. “I don’t ride,” I said. “You’d best go without me.”

“It isn’t difficult,” she assured me, “Oh, come on, Kirsty! You’ll have to learn sooner or later.”

“Then it’ll be later!” I said dourly.

But I argued in vain. I had no suitable clothes, I told her, and absolutely no inclination to leave the soft comfort of my bed.

“I’ll lend you a pair of jeans,” she promised.

“But I’ve never worn trews in my life!” I exclaimed.

“Then it’s time you did!” she laughed at me, imitating
m
y own downright manner. Her mimicry set me laughing.

“And me a daughter of the manse!” I said, shaking my head.

“I know!” she retorted. “It’ll be lipstick next!”

“It’s been lipstick for a few years now,” I said, put out.

She was not at all repentant, “I thought I saw a faint pink film over your lips,” she teased me, “Naturally, I thought that Andrew had kissed most of it off!” Her bright eyes took in my agitated face. “Everyone wears jeans around here,” she said very gently. “You’ll look very nice in them, so you don’t have to worry!”

I did look well in them, though they
w
ere
a bit full for me in places. I could see that for myself when I stared at myself in the long looking-glass that hung on the wall of my room. But I still felt shy and peculiarly exposed when I went through the kitchen to join Mary in the yard out at the back. A long, low whistle of approval assailed my ears as I stepped outside. I very nearly turned and ran back inside, but pride would not permit such a course. I met Andrew’s eyes, the glow of temper in my own.

“You’re mighty free this morning!” I told him.

He looked away from me, much to my relief. “I’ll whistle at my wife whenever I want to!” he drawled.

“Oh,
w
ill you just?”
I
said grimly.

“Too right I win.”

I glared at him, wondering at the little tickle of pleasure at the back of my mind that any man should whistle in my direction.

“’I’ll have my own trews made,” I informed him belligerently. “I’ll have them made of the MacTaggart tartan!” I added for good measure
.

He pushed his hat forward over his eyes, “Mustn’t frighten the sheep!” he said. He whistled a tune softly under his breath and then began to sing the words, so softly that I might not have heard them.

O whistle, and I’ll come to you, my lad:

O whistle, and I’ll come to you, my lad:

Tho’ father and mither and a’ should gae mad,

O whistle, and I’ll come to you, my lad.

I tried not to listen to him, but the words, familiar to me all my life, were not so easily ignored
.
Besides, his Scottish accent made me want to laugh.

“I’ll not listen to you!” I said with decision.

To my surprise he chuckled at my discomfiture. I had the uncomfortable feeling that he could read my mind like a book. Did he truly think he had only to whistle for me to come? Perhaps it was true and I would, but it wasn’t something that I wished to dwell on. I stood there, my face as grave as a judge’s, and wished I had the strength of mind to tell him where I wished him.

Mary looked as discomfited as I felt. “I’ll fetch the horses,” she offered quickly.

“Do that,” Andrew agreed. “What are you putting Kirsty up on?”

“Birrahlee.”

“He’s a goer,” Andrew said doubtfully.

“But he’s as smooth as silk!” Mary said admiringly, “She couldn’t fall off him. He has such beautiful manners.”

“Okay,” Andrew allowed. “Have Jim bring him out here and I’ll mount her myself.”

The horse looked alarmingly large, Standing as tall as I could, I could only barely see across his back. I licked my lips, longing to refuse to have anything to do with this animal, with his wide, flaring nostrils and his wild eyes.

“I don’t think he cares to have a novice up on him,” I hazarded hopefully.

“What? Birrahlee?” Marv said scornfully. “He’s as quiet as a rocking horse
!
”

Andrew merely stood beside the horse, patiently waiting. “Take time to get to know him,” he advised me. “Talk to him. Let him get wind of your smell. Never hurry over getting to know a horse. Your life may depend on him, so you’d better make friends with him.”

I took it all very seriously. Timidly, I patted the strong neck and allowed his flaring nostrils to nuzzle against my shoulder. Nor was he the only one to take in my scent, for his own was strong enough to hit the back of my throat when he came up close to me
.

Andrew put the reins in my hand and showed me how to hold them. He made me grasp the saddle with both hands and, taking my foot in his hands, he flung me up on to the great animal’s back.

It was a long way down to the ground! I reeled away from the quick look I had taken and concentrated fiercely on hooking my feet into the stirrups. The saddle fitted me closely, rising into a ridge behind me that would hold me on no matter what I did
.

“You’d best walk him round the paddock first,” Andrew said, casting a critical eye over the way I was sitting.

I urged the horse forward. He poked his legs down hard on to the ground, jerking me at every step. I thought maybe it was because he was going so slowly and eased the reins against his neck, as I had once seen someone do in the films. Birrahlee’s reaction was totally unexpected. His ears went back flat against his neck, and he shot forward, tearing past Andrew and Mary, who was just at that moment getting on to her own horse. He stretched himself out, his hooves thundering against the hard, dry ground. I shut my eyes, praying that I
would remain on his back and would not disgrace myself before Andrew’s critical eyes.

I need not have worried, for I soon found I was enjoying myself. The lurching ground settled into an understandable pattern of trees and scrub. It was the most exciting sensation I had ever known and I was quite put out when I realised that the others were following in hot pursuit. I touched my heels to Birrahlee’s flanks and was delighted as he responded by galloping even faster.

“
Scots, wha hae
!”
I yelled into the wind.

“Pull him up!” Andrew shouted behind me. Reluctantly, I did as he said. We faltered back into a canter and circled round to meet Andrew as he came up to us.

“Oh, Andrew!” I exclaimed exultantly.

“I’ll
Scots, wha hae
you!” he threatened. “I thought you said you couldn’t ride?”

“Did you see me?” I laughed at him. “Did you see him fly over the ground?”

He relaxed a trifle in his saddle. “If you think you can do it again, I’ll time you with a stop-watch,” he promised.

“You mean, have a race?” I demanded happily.

“If you think you can hold him,” he said seriously.

“He drives himself!” I assured him blithely.

He blenched, but he said nothing. It was left to Mary, who came panting up to join us to say:

“Did you see it, Andy? Don’t you dare say a word to anyone, either of you! Mirrabooka’s secret weapon at the next races has been found!”

“I don’t know,” Andrew said slowly. “It’s a pretty rough event.”

“Please,” begged Mary.

“I’ll think about it,” he said.

Reaction had begun to set in and I felt weak at the knees and was shaking as I clung to the reins as if my life depended on it
.
But I didn’t think I could dismount, so there was nothing to do but to stretch my legs in front of me and hope that the weakness would pass over quickly.

Andrew gave me a sharp look. “Do you want to go back?” he asked me
.

I shook my head, straightening my back. “I thought we were going to see the sheep,” I rallied him.

He took off his hat and blew into it. “You’re going to be stiff tonight,” he told me. “Oh, my word you are!”

“I can bear it,” I said.

“Pluck to the backbone?” he said in exactly the same tone of voice.

“No, it isn’t that,” I confided, “but I don’t think I can get down.”

His laugh ran out across the paddock, joined by Mary’s softer note.

And Mary wants to turn you into a jockey!” he smiled.

My hands trembled and I allowed them to drop on to the pommel on the front of my saddle. “If you don’t want me to—” I began.

“But, Andy, it’s a bonza idea!” Mary interrupted me. “Birrahlee has never gone like that for me!”

“Do women ride in such races?” I asked thoughtfully.

“Everyone rides in them
!
” Andrew, answered.

I hesitated
.
“I shouldn’t like to make a spectacle of myself,” I said slow
ly.

“But you wouldn’t!” Mary cut in crossly.

I looked shyly at Andrew. “If you say I may—” I coaxed him.

"We’ll see,” he said. “Birrahlee may not feel like submit
ting
another time. Kirsty is very light to hold him if he runs away with her.”

“Oh, don’t be so mean, Andy!” Mary said flatly. “Can’t you see that she’s longing to ride him, but is afraid of offending you for some reason?”

“Do you?” he asked me, his eyes enigmatic.

I nodded briefly, excited by the thought.

“Then I’ll enter you myself!” He touched me briefly on the shoulder. “It’s time we had a Fraser in the races,” he added kindly.

Only it would be a MacTaggart, I thought to myself, and I would wear my own plaid whether he liked it or not.

Mary clapped her hands together in sheer delight. “Ridden by Mrs. Andrew Fraser!” she exclaimed. “I can hardly wait
!”

I cast her an anxious look, “I can’t promise to win,” I pointed out nervously.

“You won’t be able to help it,” she retorted. She grinned at the two of us. “It will be one up for the Frasers!” she added with deep satisfaction.