Play the Tune Softly

PLAY THE TUNE SOFTLY Amanda Doyle

Fate had not dealt very kindly with Ginny Sorrel, but now at last she was on her way to a new and better life. Then it seemed fortune had sent her another blow, when the first person she met in her new home was the last man she had expected--or wanted--to see again.

CHAPTER ONE GINNY selected a patch of hot white sand, spread her towel out carefully, then flung herself down, to become another prone brown body among the thousands already lying on the beach. For a while she remained like that, digging her toes into the shifting warmth, her forehead resting on her folded arms, savouring her independence. Then she sat up, pushed a tendril of hair behind her ear, and looked about her, at the gay umbrellas, lolling figures, the arc of dazzling sand against a solid sapphire backdrop of glistening Pacific Ocean. She watched for several absorbed minutes the fascinating advance and retreat of foam-crested, hungry breakers, and listened with anticipatory awe for the inevitable boom as a gigantic wave accumulated, towered, then crashed, curling in upon itself in a swirl of angry froth and flailing bodies. A dumper, that one. The sort to be avoided by diving for the sea-bed in a hurry. One by one, the heads of the experienced surfers bobbed up again on its seaward side, while the victims caught in its relentless pounding surfaced . too, struggling awkwardly to regain their balance, spluttering and coughing, tottering shorewards. Ginny felt a pang of sympathetic amusement. She could remember what it was like to be caught in one - a long time ago, though, for she was a powerfully strong swimmer. There was a raised, man-made promontory skirting the beach behind her, buttressed by a concrete wallwith steps leading down at intervals. Palm tripes straggled in native disorder beside the row of martial Norfolk Island pines which had been spaced in splendid precision right round to the jutting clubhouse at the far end. Ginny's eyes dwelt momentarily upon the bright flag which fluttered in gay abandon from the top of the lookout tower. Its uncompromising colour was the red of newly-shed blood, hard and gaudy against the azure sky beyond. She

screwed up her eyes against the metallic glare, and looked at the people in her immediate vicinity instead." People. People everywhere. Hundreds - or, more accurately, thousands. Sun-worshippers. Nondescript figures, flaunting oiled bodies, hiding behind the anonymity of dark glasses, faces contorted beneath frown-making bathing caps or half-concealed by curtains of salt-lank hair. People all about her, and not one of them meant a thing to Ginny, or she to them. Not one of them could make a single demand upon her, or tell her what she must or must not do. Ginny gave a sigh of pure pleasure at that thought. Yes, from now on her life was her own, to mould as she would. No more would she have to answer Mimm's never- ending and sometimes querulous demands. No more need the trudge to the small shop at the corner for some minor item which her stepmother insisted she had forgotten. No more getting out of bed just after she had relaxed on the very brink of sleep. Mimm again. Virginia? Are you sure you locked the front door? Go and see, please. Virginia, it's going to rain. Bring in the clothes, please. No, it isn't after all. Take them out, please, Virginia. Virginia, keep those children quiet, you know the noise makes my head ache. Virginia, you'll have to mend Edward's trousers again, you should remember sometimes, without me having to remind you, how hard it is for me to make ends meet, considering the way your father left things. Virginia, you'll have to go to Edward's capping ceremony, I feel too faint with this awftd heat. Virginia, you'd better see about the arrangements for Margaret's wedding, since the child is determined to go ahead. You've not done a single thing about it yet, I suppose. Virginia, Virginia, always Virginia. It had been going on for seven years, but, at twenty-three, it grated. Never did one have the satisfaction of doing those obvious things on one's own initiative. And

all the other things she did do - so many, many things - never acknowledged, never even noticed. Oh, well, it was over now. The struggle was past. The children were children no longer. Margaret, at eighteen, was married to a mature, steady city businessman. Ted, now twenty-two, had successfully gained his B.Sc. by dint of much hard work, several scholarships and a good deal of scrimping on Ginny's part. She thought now, with affectionate satisfaction, of the victorious grin that momentarily transformed the youthful earnestness of his expression as he'd told her about his future. "I'm terribly lucky, really, Gin. To land a job with Professor Harrison! It's the most incredible, fantastic piece of good fortune. He hardly ever takes on anyone as junior as me." Ted plucked futilely at a persistently drooping strand of hair, his voice deepening in embarrassment as he put a bony hand on her shoulder for a moment. "Ginny, I'll never be able to thank you for giving me this chance. Never."Virginia turned to her brother. Already he had the slight stoop of the addicted scientist, the pallor of the back-room boffin. His eyes, behind their thick horn-rimmed lenses, were ringed with fatigue. His sister had observed in them lately the beginnings of steadfast seeking, the alternating quiet frustration and controlled triumph that were to be his in his search for knowledge in his chosen sphere. They were intelligent brown eyes, that now rested on Ginny warmly, in slightly sheepish appreciation. Ginny flushed. "I didn't do anything, Ted," she told him. "You did it yourself, and goodness knows, you deserved to win. All those gruelling months of

study, late night, holiday jobs, swotting for that last scholarship - and getting it, too." "No, Ginny," he corrected her gently, "I couldn't have done it without you, and you know it. You were there all the time, the buffer between Mimm and me. If you hadn't come home when you did, you know what I'd have had to do, don't you? Leave school at sixteen and get a job. I don't know how many times I was told that this was to be my last year of sponging on the household, that Mimm wasn't strong and couldn't carry on looking after grown boys who didn't pull their weight financially. If you hadn't given up at the Conservatorium, I'd never have made it, Ginny, and you know it. I'm grateful, and some day I'll make you proud of me. You see, I know what a sacrifice it must have been." Ginny swallowed the bitter lump in her throat at the reminder of her abandoned musical career. She stared down at her work-roughened fingers, flexing them absently, abandoning herself momentarily to the flood of pain that swept through her at the thought of what might have been. Music had been her world, her escape, her solace, since fate had deprived the young family of the father they loved at too early a stage in their lives. She could have been brilliant, her tutor told her harshly. Why give up a career of great potential, for the whim of a stepmother, when she had been endowed with this talent and the promise of a wonderful future? That had been his question, asked in varying tones of exasperation during the week it took Ginny to make up her mind. Determination had kept her voice steady as she explained. "There's not just myself to be considered, Herr Kleine. You see, ever since Father died, our" stepmother hasn't been well. She's nervy and easily overwrought, and can't seem to struggle out of this well of self-pity. If there were only the two of us involved, I'd not have a second thought, but there's my brother Edward, and our little half-sister, Margaret. She's perhaps been left fatherless at the worst

age of all. If I'm not there, she'll have no home life at all, and she's only eleven. And Ted has had this ambition ever since he was a little boy. If I'm at home, I can take care of my stepmother and smooth their path at the same time. I might even manage to give piano lessons to beginners for a few hours daily, to help the exchequer a little." But this last hope had not been realized, as it turned out. Mimm had complained that the noise would kill her. "You know I couldn't stand it, Virginia," she told her stepdaughter when Ginny had propounded her plan. "I just can't bear it, and it's not fair of you to suggest it. It's bad enough having to listen to you practising day after day, without the sound of stumbling juvenile fingers bleeping out false notes as well." Ginny reached for a handful of sand, and allowed it to trickle slowly through half-separated fingers. Just so had her own problems gradually ebbed, little by little. Fast upon Edward's graduation had come Margaret's marriage. What a wonderful thing to find such happiness and security at the tender age of eighteen, thought Ginny with good-natured envy. One only had to see them together to know that she and Hector Cameron were made for each other. Hector would protect and cherish his little Margaret against life's bufferings, of that there was no doubt. He was nearly twice Margaret's age, already successfully established. He had built her a small dream- home overlooking Watson's Bay, near enough to his mother for her to help Margaret in the dozens of ways a doting grandmother may, when the baby would arrive in the autumn. The last time Ginny had visited them, Hector and his wife had been happily decorating the nursery together, with primrose walls and white paintwork. Noting the look of proprietorial adoration which he vent from time to time upon the be-smocked Margaret, Ginny had acknowledged that here was yet another charge released from her care.

The, organization, single-handed, of her half- sister's wedding had left Ginny limp and tired. Edward was engrossed in his new career, Margaret excited but too inexperienced to be really helpful, and Mimm had adjured Ginny in a plaintive voice to send out the invitations in her name, and she would try to be well that day. She had been well that day. She had looked well, too - fragile and dainty and serene, and not at all querulous. In fact, she was complete mistress of the situation, and took over her duties as hostess in a manner which conveyed that the preparations had been effected by herself alone without any help whatsoever from anyone. Ginny didn't mind. Not now. For Margaret's wedding had been the starting-point of a change in Mimm. There she had met a man who was apparently completely floored by her fragility and daintiness and serenity. Gone was the fretfulness and self-pity. In its place was an assurance and strength of purpose quite unfamiliar to Ginny. So strange was it that she was unprepared when Mimm announced complacently one day, "I'm getting married again, Virginia. Perhaps you guessed ? John and I want it all to be very quiet - just a register office affair as befits a widow with a grown-up family. We've planned it for a fortnight from today, in fact. I shall dispose of this house, I think. I've never liked this area anyway, and you were reluctant enough to stay here all this time since you left school, so you won't mind." Ginny smarted inwardly at the injustice of Mimm's jibe, but managed to suppress a retort, as her stepmother continued smoothly, "You can do what you want to do, Virginia. I shan't stand in your way. I've already put this house in an estate agent's hands, though, so you'll need to move out somewhere at the same time as I go over to John's. Of course you'll get a little from the proceeds, but I'm afraid it won't be much. Margaret and Edward will have to get their share too, but I

know your dear father would have wished me to be independent, and riot have to go to John for every little thing. I've been humiliated enough these past years, and it will be heaven to be free of money worries at last, and not have to count each penny." Ginny had smiled wryly to herself. Mimm hadn't made much of an effort to count pennies, or budget in any way - that had been her stepdaughter's burden. Now it didn't matter. Ginny was free, free at last. Even if she was twenty-three, with few illusions about the possibilities of resuming her wrecked career, there was still music in her heart at that thought. When the time came to vacate her old hoihe, she found she had surprisingly few regrets. Her last years there had been monotonous and strained, if not actually unhappy. She realized with some dismay, though, that the tiny amount of money which Mimm had apportioned her would soon slip away in board and lodgings. She would need to look for some sort of living-in post. Ginny found herself a rather scruffy, inexpensive room behind Bang's Cross as a temporary retreat, and studied the papers rather hopelessly. From being the prop and mainstay of the Sorrel family, she had suddenly become the helpless one - the only member without a training, a degree, or a husband. Searching the advertisement columns, she realized that she was equipped for very little beyond uncoriipficated domestic work. She was almost in despair, and her confidence had dwindled considerably, by the time she spotted the plea which Ginny felt could only have been meant for her. It asked for a quiet, dependable, educated woman to supervise the schooling of one child in a pleasant country position. It promised a generous wage also. But what had really attracted Ginny's notice was the final rider - "Ability to teach primary standard pianoforte and foster musical interest an advantage." That settled it. Ginny had

unearthed Herr Kleine's recommendation from the pocket of her writing-case, pulled on a hat, buttoned a white cardigan to hide the shabbiness of her cotton dress, and raced round to the employment agency under whose name the advertisement had appeared. She was interviewed, accepted, and this was her last day in Sydney. Her room, which she was to vacate early tomorrow' morning, was being taken on by an impecunious art student, produced by her brother Ted. His name was Clive Barratt, and he was the boy-friend of the sister of one of Ted's fellow laboratory assistants. Ginny had only met him once - this morning, in fact, when he came to inspect the room in a hurry. He had a curling sandy beard, knowledgeable blue eyes and a flippant voice, and his manner had been so familiar that Ginny had felt rather sorry for the sister of the friend of Ted. He had told her, without taking his eyes off her for an instant, that the room would suit him perfectly, and had dumped a canvas duffle-bag, overflowing with masculine impedimenta, in one corner before leaving. Ginny's own possessions, which were few, were packed neatly into two small suitcases, and the dingy room seemed already to have rejected her and taken on the Bohemian untidiness of the morrow's occupant. Rather than spend the day there, she had decided to go to the beach, and forthwith withdrew her costume and towel from the depths of one of the cases. It was a stiflingly hot day, and as her new life was to be some two hundred and thirty miles inland, well into the country, she supposed it would be a long while before she would be lazing on the sand of an ocean beach again. She was glad, now, that she had come. A slight breeze had whipped up off the sea, relieving the oppressive heat, and Ginny, rising gracefully to her feet in a single lithe movement, decided she would bathe. She thrust her shoulder-length black hair carelessly into a scarlet cap, and

picked a route amongst the prostrate sun-lovers towards the surf, unaware of the interested glances she provoked on her way. If anyone had told Ginny that she had even one single claim to beauty, she would have looked askance. Yet there was something distinctly striking about her patrician features, smooth olive skin, her proud carriage and the graceful movement of her long, slender limbs that often made people stare as they surreptitiously did now. Her eyes were not so brown as her brother's - more hazel, if anything, with dancing gold flecks in them. They tilted engagingly at the corners, beneath clearly defined, winging brows. She sometimes wished that everything about her wasn't quite so clearly defined. Although she lacked Ted's air of doggedness and dedication, she. was aware of the impression she must inevitably give to people - one of challenge and independence, of decision and positiveness. A prop to lean on, not a clinging vine. Ginny, sighing, thought a little grimly that it must be heaven, in some ways, to be a clinging vine. What relief a fragile, tender plant must derive from the sturdy support of the stout trellis to which it clung. Someone tended it, someone watered it. Then, nurtured and loved, it climbed, blossomed and throve, leaning more heavily and confidently each day upon the prop which would not fail it. Perhaps, if Ginny had been like little Margaret, with her fragile build and that bewildered innocence in her forget-me-not blue eyes, she might have found a willing prop before now, as Margaret had in her devoted Hector. Only there hadn't been a chance to be feminine and dependent, and with her many responsibilities Ginny had developed a protective film of decisiveness that made people say - "Now, there's a girl who knows where she's going." The awful thing was, Ginny didn't know where she was going, not any more. She dabbled a toe tentatively into the receding frill of water at the surf's edge, and determinedly thrust the thought of her ruined musical career to the back of her mind, wishing she could exorcise it

for ever. It would keep looming up to taunt her with pain when she least expected it. Far better to keep one's eyes fixed ahead, fastened on the future. Far better to look as if one knew where one was going. Ginny plunged purposefully into the breakers, ducked and dived through the foaming waves until she reached the still water beyond, then swam and swam, with long powerful strokes. She cleaved her way through the buoyant salt water in a line parallel to the beach, away from the crowd, away from her thoughts, savouring the ocean's coolness and her own isolation. Finally, breathless, she turned on her back and floated, lulled and soothed by the swell of the sea, eyes closed against the glare of the sky above her,feeling the pull of the water upon her relaxed lipbs, as it drew them this way, then that. She felt as detached and aimless as a piece of seaweed. Then, abruptly, her peace was shattered. There was a splash somewhere behind her head, droplets spattered her upturned face, and a voice suggested, "Hadn't you better come back between the flags?" Ginny turned over lazily, purposely taking her time. There was something about that voice that reminded her of Mimm saying, "Hadn't you better take in the washing?" only this voice was about a hundred times deeper than Mimm's rather plaintive one, and there was a hard core of authority in its depths that somehow left one with as little choice in the matter as did Mimm's helpless appeal. When she saw the voice's owner, she decided she wasn't a bit surprised it had that implacable sound.

Ginny took in the granite firmness of mahogany- brown features and alarming breadth of shoulder of the man treading water beside her, and felt her heart give an unaccountable thud. Ginny resented that. No one had ever had that effect upon her before, and it left one unpleasantly short of breath, especially when one was adrift in the ocean, some hundreds of yards from the shore. Maybe it was that hatefully familiar ring of authority that piqued her, Ginny admitted, allowing herself to meet a pair of curiously arresting slate-grey eyes that appeared to be summing her" up shrewdly from beneath beetling black brows. She guessed the man's hair, hidden under a traditional black-and-white life-saver's cap, would be black to match them - black and springy. He was a black and brown sort of man, and looked as if he'd have a temper to match. In fact, he was regarding her now with such a wealth of disapproval that Ginny almost smiled her amusement at her thoughts. He was obviously a life-saver - she had noticed them drilling further up the beach when she came down the steps, a squad of sun-bronzed giants in the same black-and-white surf caps. Glancing past him, she realized that she had come further than she meant. The yellow bathing-flags which proclaimed the safest spot for the day's surfing were fluttering little triangles in the distance, almost merging with the background of sand and multicoloured bodies contained between them. The crowd in the water were anonymous specks. "Surely you realize you're too far out," the man said, as if he read her thoughts. 'There's a crosscurrent along this end that makes things tricky for any but the strongest swimmers. You'd better let me escort you back to the mob." So! He thought he was the only strong swimmer around, did he? Ginny bristled, knowing while she did so that there was nothing for it but to go back to the flags. Still, she'd show him. She'd let him have a start,

and then she'd catch up with him and pass him. Childish, but satisfying, somehow, to flout that hideous note of command. "There's no need for you to wait for me," she told him coolly. Then, seeing the eyebrow quirk in surprise at her tone, she added for good measure, "I prefer to swim alone, actually - that's why I left the crowd. You go back, I shall follow in a moment." Innate good manners forced her to say, unwillingly, "Thank you for coming to get me." The black-and-brown man didn't reply. He merely inclined his head gravely in acknowledgement, turned, and proceeded back in the direction from whence he had come with an enviably smooth and speedy crawl. Ginny decided that she would have to get a move on. She had been one of her school's best performers in the water, with a graceful style and surprising stamina, and she loved nothing better than a challenge such as this. After swimming for some minutes, though, she had to admit that something was wrong. Her powerful strokes and fluid movement were getting her nowhere at all, or almost nowhere. The dark figure of her erstwhile adviser drew further and further away in front of her eyes, and for the first time Ginny was aware of a relentless drag on her limbs as she struggled forward. She supposed she must have allowed herself to float too near that cross-current. Keep calm, she told herself. Another few minutes, and you'll be out ofit. She wasn't, though. She was still moving, but only just, and her legs felt weighted, her arms weary. Her breath was coming in irregular gasps, and her frantic actions were achieving nothing.

It was at this precise moment that the shark-bell rang. Ginny heard it, far off in the club-house tower, then echoed almost immediately at the lookout nearer her end of the beach. As one, the bathers turned for the shore, and Ginny, in distressed isolation, realized she must do the same, current or no current. What followed was a nightmare that she hoped she could one day forget. At first she swam with controlled effort, but as the shore became nearer, she imagined each wave that caressed her legs was a sleek, cold grey shape. Ginny began to kick wildly. Her arms, flailed tiredly, her lungs strained painfully, and she swallowed her first panicky gulps of saltwater. She choked, went under, bobbed up again, and felt her scarlet cap slide off. Keep trying, keep trying, her brain went on repeating. She did try, too, but it wasn't any use. She was too tired, too spent. In a way, it would be heaven not to bother any more. When you were as exhausted as this, you didn't even think about it. It was easy, really, just to give yourself over to the sea. It was simple, so welcome. "Don't struggle. Leave everything to me," said a voice in Ginny's ear. Ginny wished to assure the owner of the voice that she had no intention of struggling any longer, only she didn't know whom to address, and she had no breath left, anyway. Maybe it was King Canute, turning back the waves - they certainly weren't washing over her face any more. Maybe it was old Neptune himself, come to claim her. The arms that held her felt as strong and safe as any sea-king's. Ginny gave herself up to them willingly. Lights danced before her eyes before she closed them - sort of black- and-brown lights. She was carried a short way up the beach and dumped unceremoniously on the sand. An exploratory finger forced her mouth open, then her hair was seized in a painful grasp, and her head thrust back. As a pair of firm salty lips came down upon hers, Ginny reacted.

She opened her eyes, and pushed at the dripping bare chest that shut out the daylight above her. "Don't you dare!" she gasped, outraged.It was the black-and-brown man, of courses. He gave her a level look, and the hint of a triumphant grin, before he flipped her over expertly on to her face, and began to pummel her back. Water trickled from Ginny's mouth. She felt too ragged to do more than lie there and submit to his ministrations. Dully she reflected that it served her right. Pride goes before a fall, Ginny, didn't you know? What in the world made you go on like that out there, anyway, when he was only trying to be helpful? Just because he's the kind that obviously likes barking out orders, why be so-so - prickly? Now look where it's got you! Oh, heavens! Why did it have to be him, of all people, coming to haul you out like that? Ginny gave a groan of embarrassment, and was promptly turned over again and raised to a sitting position. Her rescuer propped her against him, and continued to rub her back briskly. He gestured impatiently to the small crowd that had gathered about them. "Thanks, everyone - she'll be O.K. now," he told them dismissively. To Ginny he said, "Take your time. When you feel up to it, we'll get your things and I'll take you home. My car's up there on the esplanade." "You - don't have to go as far as that," Ginny muttered. "I - I'm perfectly all right now, really." Her teeth were beginning to chatter, and she realized for the first time that she was shaking all over. She scrambled to her feet, determined to hide the fact, and found her arm taken in an iron grip. "We'll collect your things and go."

Her rescuer turned to a motherly-looking woman hovering worriedly on the edge of the dispersing crowd. "Perhaps you would stay with her, while I get my own gear from the club-house," he suggested, and the woman, of course, agreed. He wasn't the sort you disagreed with, Ginny thought wryly, as the trio made their way slowly to where her little pile of belongings lay in the sand. She was a nice woman, though, and she kept up a flow of normal conversation to take Ginny's mind off her recent near-disaster, and when the man returned Ginny was able to stand up unaided, slender and dignified in her blue towelling beach robe, and thanked her warmly for her company. The life-saver, now clad in narrow cord trousers and an open-necked, short-sleeved casual shirt of cream linen, which did nothing to diminish his overall impression of masculine dominance and sinewy strength, took her beach-bag and guided her towards the steps. Neither spoke till they reached the top. Ginny's legs felt weak with the effort of her climb, but she was determined not to lean, even the tiniest bit, on the hand that supported her elbow. She ascended with the airy grace of a ballet-dancer, when in actual fact she felt more like a soggy football which had once bounced proudly, but was now ready to lurch with punch-drunk willingness in whatever direction its owner tried to roll it. Ginny reached for her holdall, and said primly, "I shall be fine now, thank you. I don't live far away - just a short ride in the bus. I - I haven't thanked you properly for - for all you've done. I can't think what possessed me to act so stupidly." She couldn't, either. She was thoroughly ashamed of her previous behaviour, and now it was disconcerting to find that her outstretched hand was being ignored. "I'll see you home," she was told imperturbably.

"You don't have to - it's not a bit necessary," protested Ginny, following perforce in his wake, since he still had possession of her canvas bag. "It's going far beyond the normal bounds of duty. It - it makes me feel such a nuisance, so - responsible." "It's about time you started feeling - responsible, don't you think? As for duty, it's clearly my duty to hand you over into the safe keeping of your parents. You needn't argue. You look as if you might pass out any time, if you want to know." "I don't live with parents. I live alone," Ginny informed him with asperity. Really, he didn't have to drag her appearance into the conversation, she thought, fingering a salt-stiff tendril of hair with renewed resentment. "Then all the more reason that I should see you home," he returned sternly, holding open the door of a gleaming bottle-green limousine parked in a welcome patch of shade. Ginny knew it was useless to argue further. She got in meekly. Once he had seen her seated, the man threw her holdall on to the back seat, and slid behind the wheel. "Cigarette?" Gjnny shook her head, watched while his lean brown fingers extracted tobacco and papers from his breast pocket. It was unusual for a city man to roll his own cigarettes, and she observed the ritual in fascination, marvelling at the dexterity with which his thumb and forefinger produced the final neat cylinder, which he licked, down, then placed between his lips. There was amusement in the keen grey eyes that met hers through the ensuing cloud of smoke.

"Sure you won't change your mind?" he mocked. Ginny flushed, knowing she'd been caught staring. She had actually been thinking that his hair was just as black and springy as she had guessed it would be, even when concealed by the black-and-white surf cap. Now, the thought of accepting one of these home-made cigarettes, fashioned by those fingers, sealed by those firm and disapproving lips which had so recently come down upon her own - oh, dear! that thought induced the most unaccountable confusion within Ginny. She not only flushed. She blushed. Right from the base of her smooth, graceful neck to the roots of her lank, damp hair. She shook her head again, and hastily looked through her window. She found things to interest her in that direction until they reached her own building, while her companion guided the big car skilfully through the busy traffic in complete silence. Once again he forestalled her. "Which floor are you on ?" "The fourth, but—" "Come on, then, lead the way. You can't carry this thing up after what you've been through, and I don't suppose there's a lift ?" He glanced around unhopefully, eyeing the dingy walls, crumbling plaster and narrow steepness of the stairs with distaste. "No, no lift," she agreed apologetically. Truth to tell, she was glad to reach the top, and find herself confronted by the flaking paint on thedoor of "Room 41 on the fourth". Ginny fumbled in her bag for the key. Never had a door loomed more invitingly in front of her. Never, that is, until it was surprisingly and

unexpectedly opened for her, and the voice of Clive Barratt called jocularly from within, "Home already? Come into thy palace, princess." Oh, horrors! Ginny couldn't move, not until the man behind her gave her a propelling push which took them both into the room. Then she looked around, and observed with a dull sense of shock the change in her abode. Garishly patterned men's pyjamas lay carelessly on the wide divan her divan. The dressing-table displayed a pair of yellowed ivory hairbrushes, together with a shaving brush, a bowl of lather, and a bespeckled round mirror on a stainless swivel stand. The duffle- bag and its contents had disappeared, presumably into the drawers. A gaberdine raincoat of masculine proportions hung on a hook beside her own pastel flecked-tweed one, and canvases and an easel were propped carelessly in a corner. Ginny's eyes passed hastily from the charcoal eloquence of the tellingly simple sketch of a female figure which had been thumbed with a couple of drawing-pins to the wall above her bed. They skimmed over each and every detail in a matter of seconds, to clash finally with a pair of steely grey eyes, cold with scorn. Their owner's voice, when it addressed itself finally to Clive Barratt, was chilling too. "Your - this young lady has been involved in an accident. I suggest a good strong cup of tea and a rest, for a start. Further treatment, if necessary, will be up to you, but call a doctor if you're worried. It's perhaps a fortunate thing, in the circumstances, that she doesn't live alone."

Ginny flinched at the way he stressed those last two words. There was a wealth of meaning — hateful, sordid - concealed beneath their quiet emphasis. Oh, it was all too ghastly. It couldn't be happening! She turned, mute appeal patent on her distressed face, but all she saw was a broad expanse of cream linen back, beneath a sun-tanned column of neck and well-shaped crisp black head, before the door shut savagely, and angry steps clattered towards the street below.

CHAPTER TWO "Now what's eating him? Does he think I'm the villain of the piece or something? Who is the bloke, anyway?" Ted's artist spread his spatulate fingers in a gesture of comic dismay. Ginny, who was beyond words, slumped suddenly into the one and only chair, knocking off a purple-and- puce satin dressing-gown that had been draped over the arm. His, too, she supposed vaguely, but she felt too weak to bother about retrieving it. Clive Barratt at last became aware of her pallor and beaded forehead. "I say," he exclaimed remorsefully, "I am a heel! Didn't he tell me you'd had an accident or something, and here I am, standing batting the breeze, when what you're needing is that strong cup of tea. That's at least one sensible thing the fellow said! Come on, sweetie- pie, I'll help you to your downy bed - you'll feel better lying down." Ginny wanted to shudder at his breezy familiarity, but she was certain she would indeed feel better if she lay down, so she allowed him to help her over to the divan. After that, she had to admit that he was kindness itself He placed a rug over her, brewed a refreshing drink on the Primus in the corner, unearthed a tin of arrowroot biscuits from amongst his own possessions, and even found her hairbrush, and clumsily damped a cloth, with which he wiped her face quite gently. Ginny began to feel better. She drank her second cup of tea, and asked, "How did you get in ?" His grin was unashamed.

"Simple. The old dragon downstairs lent me the master-key. I said I'd like to dump some stuff, and as I'm her next tenant she couldn't very well refuse. I thought I'd shave while I was about it — hot water's a scarce commodity in the digs I'm about to leave, and I won't be sorry to see the last of them! I spotted your little Primus in the corner there, and carried on." "Is that why you have a beard ? Lack of hot water ?" "Not really, sweetie. It's more trouble shaving around these smart whiskers than over the top of.them'. No, the real reason is that I'm an artist - certainly a struggling one, definitely an impecunious one, and possibly an un- talented one - but an artist nevertheless. And people expect artists to have beards. All the best artists have them. They go together, like bacon and eggs, or cheese and celery, or Hero and Leander." Ginny giggled. "That's better," he approved. "Don't be put off by my wolf-like appearance. Thine honour shall not be tarnished in my company, fair maid! This ardent expression" - he gave a devilish leer in her direction - "is merely a pose. It goes with the beard. All people with beards wear expressions like this when in the company of pretty girls. They go together, too, the beard and the look - like strawberries and cream, bread and butter, Echo and Narcissus." Ginny sat up and rah a comb through her hair. He was a puzzling young man, quite unlike anyone she had ever met, but there was something truly likeable beneath his flashy exterior. She suddenly decided he was much, much nicer than she had thought at first. "Do you know my brother well ?" she asked."Ted Sorrel? Not awfully well, but I like what I've seen of him. We're poles apart, of course. He's serious and dedicated, and I'm - well, you can see for yourself what a

will-o'-the-wisp I am." He sat on the edge of the bed, crossed his legs, and lit a cigarette. "I'm grateful to him for finding me this room, though. I'll be glad to move in tomorrow. If you think this abode is on the seamy side, you'd shudder at my present one." Ginny held his eye, and asked the question that had been uppermost in her mind ever since she'd returned from her disastrous sortie to the beach. "Did you really intend to move in tomorrow? Are you sure it wasn't today ? Because if—" "Tut, tut, tut." She was interrupted before she could go further. "So our princess doubts my integrity. I must look more of a roue than I thought!" He grinned at her tantalizingly, and blew a ring of smoke ceilingwards. "Come clean, now. What gave you the impression that my intentions were anything but - er - honourable? Don't you believe my simple tale ?" Ginny gestured around the room helplessly, her eye finally coming to rest on the gaudy night attire now pushed to one side of the divan on which she reclined. "Those pyjamas?" she queried weakly. "I mean - ' everything." A look of comprehension was swiftly chased from his face by one of quite wicked amusement. "Good lord! So that's what was getting you! I must confess all, I can see." He stretched one long leg and withdrew a packet of needles and a reel of white thread from his trouser-pocket. For the first time, he appeared distinctly sheepish. "Behold my alibi. As a matter of fact, I can explain everything. You've heard half of it already. I just meant to leave some more gear, and do a spot of unpacking, and then, when the old duck downstairs said you'd gone to the shore for the afternoon, I

reckoned I'd have a quick shave as well. Being fair, it will see me through until I move in tomorrow. As for the - er - the pyjamas, I thought you looked a nice kind lass when I met you this morning - you know, sensible and earnest, like brother Ted." Ginny's mouth twisted. What a ghastly description, sensible and earnest! Oh, well, she'd better hear him out. "So I bought a needle and cotton in Woolworths on the way round here, mean ing to leave a pleading little note on top of my pyjamas to await your return. One of those touching little notes that can't help twanging the maternal chord in any woman worthy of the name, especially where helpless bachelors are concerned. See ?" He held up the top half of the garment in question to reveal a large, fraying tear around the circumference of the armhole. "I don't mind having no buttons left" - he indicated their absence with a bony finger - "but losing an arm - well, that could be a painful business!" Ginny couldn't help laughing. He was incorrigible. He joined in, relieved. "You're not too angry, then? I know it was cheek, but they're my only pair. They've dripped themselves dry for me so faithfully, I had to make an all-out effort to save the dear old things." His smile vanished as a further thought occurred to him. "I say, the penny begins to drop. Is that why your friend was scowling like the seventh devil when he brought you home just now ?" "That's why," agreed Ginny dryly. "Only he's not my friend. I'd actually never seen him before, and I hope I never do again." And that was certainly true, she reflected soberly, remembering the. withering scorn of that cold grey glance which had swept her prior to

his abrupt departure. Oh dear! The awful thing was, on the surface evidence, he had been quite justified in thinking as he had, and her behaviour before that had been unforgivable, too. Ginny flushed miserably, recalling it in detail. What could have possessed her ? Surely her new-found freedom had gone to her head! To make things worse, she must have seemed rude as well, and that, to the dignified, quiet Ginny, was the most dreadful aspect of the whole affair. It helped, now, to recount her experience to Clive Barratt. Ginny didn't spare herself in the telling, but his was obviously too lighthearted a personality to sympathize with her feelings of guilt. Instead, he roared with laughter, rocking to and fro on the end of the bed, his blue eyes screwed up with merriment. Only when fee became aware of the injured look on Ginny's face did he stop, abruptly, wiping his eyes with an enormous paisley- patterned handkerchief, and striving to stifle his mirth. He took her hand. "Look here, sweetie, don't take it to heart. You'll never see the guy again, so what the heck does it matter? Don't be too serious about it see the funny side. Tell you what. It's all my fault - well, the last part anyway - so let me make amends by taking you out for dinner tonight. Come on," he cajoled, as she hesitated. "You can rest the whole afternoon, and I'll not call for you till seven-thirty. Please - to please me? Let me make reparation that way. I'll enjoy it, and I'll see that you do, too. I know just the place, cool, airy, with dancing, a cabaret - only you needn't dance if you still feel rocky." Well, why not? It was her last night in the city, she had nothing better to do, and it would certainly take her mind off this other business. She smiled, suddenly gay.,

"Thanks, I'd love to do that. Only what about your girl-friend ? Won't she mind ?" "Now, what girl-friend would that be?" "Well, when Ted told me about you coming here, he said he has a friend who has a sister who - who knows you." Clive dismissed that airily. "Honey," he said, "I have lots of friends, and some of them happen to be girls. But not one - repeat, not one - would mind me taking you out on the town tonight, not in the way you mean. O.K. ?" To Ginny's amazement, for the first time in their extremely short acquaintance, he seemed utterly serious. "O.K. And thank you," she repeated, as he unfolded his length from the foot of the divan, retrieved the purple dressing-gown, and hung it on top of the raincoat. At the door, he turned, and lifted his hand in a quick thumbs-up gesture. "See you at seven-thirty, princess." Then he was gone. Ginny rested once more after Clive's departure, determined to relax and forget her horrid experience. There was no point in dwelling on it, and as Clive said, she wouldn't see the guy again, so what did it matter ? In point of fact, she had to admit miserably that it did matter - to her, if to nobody else. She had unquestionably let herself down, had been bold and rude, and subsequently ungrateful, and not a bit like the Ginny Sorrel she knew herself to be. Again and again, her mind reenacted the scene she longed to forget. Like a dog that keeps returning to nose out the bone it has buried, her thoughts refused to be drawn away, and finally, tired of wrestling to dispel them, she rose, took a

quick shower in the communal bathroom on the floor below the fourth, and washed the saltiness from her hair. She mended the gaudy pyjama shirt before unearthing from her suitcase the only dress she could possibly wear. It was what Ginny always called her "safe" dress, an undateable, high-necked, sleeveless sheath of heavy white sharkskin material. It was cut with deceptive simplicity which unquestionably did things for Ginriy's tall, slender figure. Against its opaque whiteness, her Grecian features gleamed to aquiline, dusky beauty, and her hair shone darkly lustrous, held on one side by a mother-of-pearl slide, which was her sole adornment. It was the only piece of jewellery that Ginny possessed, and she treasured it, not only because it was pretty and unique, but because it had once been her mother's. She could remember the time her father brought it home. He had been away in San Salvador on a business trip for the metallurgical company with which he was at the time employed, and she could recollect, even now, the slow creasing of his customarily absorbed expression into one of gratified pleasure at her mother's obvious delight in it. The sound of the doorbell interrupted Ginny's reflections. It was Clive, attired, surprisingly, in a rather shabby black dinner jacket, which nevertheless lent his rakish frame an air of respectability. At the sight of her standing there, he gave a low, typical whistle. No one had ever whistled at Ginny before, and although she disapproved in principle, she couldn't help flushing with pleasure at the implied compliment. The night-club was down near the harbour's edge, and as their taxi turned beyond Macquarie Street, Ginny looked out over the moonlit Botanic Gardens and the Domain, to the familiar outlines of some of the city's tallest buildings, stark against the night sky. The twinkling, star-strewn heavens were pale above the blaze of neon lights, the

dizzily floodlit advertisements, the scintillating arc of the famous bridge. It was all dear and well-known, and she felt a sudden tug of uncertainty, almost of fright, at the thought that on the morrow she would be leaving it all behind her, and venturing forward to an unknown future. Almost she wished that she hadn't to strike out alone like this. And then common sense reasserted itself, as she remembered her recent frugal existence, the long and almost unsuccessful search in the newspapers' employment columns before she'd managed to obtain this country post. Determinedly, she tried to recapture the zestful feeling of independence which had bubbled over on her excursion to the beach. Wasn't she glad to be free ? Her own mistress, answerable to no one ? Or had these few brief moments of male courtesy and attention - the placing of her wrap over her shoulders, the hand beneath her elbow descending the stairs, the deferential pause as she was assisted into the cab - had they given her perhaps the tiniest inkling of how nice it can be to be a clinging vine, a very feminine clinging vine, supported by an adequate, if barely acquainted, masculine prop? Ginny glanced at her barely acquainted masculine prop, and decided with a sudden spurt of inward amusement that he would be a very wobbly support indeed! Clive was reclining in his corner of the taxi, left foot placed casually on right knee to reveal an enormous hole in the sole of his black patent shoe, busily sketching the profile of the driver with consummate skill. It was an amusing and clever caricature, as Ginny could see by craning her neck to study the original, who now was drawing up beside a striped awning, beneath which a commissionaire, liveried in splendid brown and gold, was pacing with lugubrious majesty.

Clive paid the taxi, winking at her wickedly as he handed the driver the sketch. For a moment that worthy blinked at it uncomprehendingly. Then a slow smile dawned. "Crikey, guv'nor. You're a wizard! Wait till the missus sees this!" He was still grinning as he drove away. Seated a few moments later in a dimly lit alcove, draped with crimson velveteen, Ginny looked about her. The decor was richly ambitious, heavily gilded, and altogether too warm in tone for this hot climate, she decided, but as Clive had promised, the place was cool and airy. A long line of windows were open to the harbour breezes. Fans whirred overhead, and the velvet drapes were stirring softly above the air-conditioned strip that ran along the wall beside her. Ginny had been occasionally to similar places with Ted and some of his student friends, but this was the first time she had ever dined a deux with a man. It was a novel experience, and Clive proved an interesting and effervescent conversationalist, if an egotistic one. "Do you always take that little sketching block with you on your evenings out?" asked Ginny curiously. "Mostly, sweetie. It's got its uses, y'know. I've sketched my way out of places such as this before now, when the old pocket-book refused to cough up. It's quite something to see their faces when you press a signed drawing into their hands and say, 'Keep this in lieu, old chap, I'll be famous some day.' Of course, one has to acquire an amount of savoirfaire to get away with it." Ginny looked dubiously about at their luxurious surroundings, and back to Clive to see if he was joking. He wasn't, but amusement lit his blue eyes as he read her thoughts all too accurately.

"Don't worry, Virginia. I'm not going to do it here. I'm in funds, as it happens, and didn't I promise you an evening on the town by way of restitution for my lapse this morning? I'm going to do us proud tonight, and to hell with everything. Oysters tonight, beans-on-toast tomorrow. That's life, y'know, princess." Ginny supposed she must have looked faintly shocked for he continued, eyeing her appraisingly, "You're awfully like your brother Edward, aren't you, after all ? I don't think I've ever met a girl quite like you before - so serious, so cautious, oozing with high-minded integrity. You know, I think you could be good for me, Ginny, my sweet." She smiled. "We'd make an incongruous team, Clive, wouldn't we! We're so terribly different. I'm afraid we wouldn't go together as well as all those things you mentioned earlier - cheese and celery, steak and onions, Hero and Leander." He laughed, then suddenly looked at her piercingly out of shrewd blue eyes. "Haven't you ever heard that opposites attract? Maybe that's what's happening to me. I intend to give it a trial, anyway, Ginny. I suddenly find I want to get to know you better - much better, in fact. I've a feeling I could be a reformed character, if you wanted me to." "I think you're forgetting I'm leaving Sydney tomorrow," Ginny reminded him dryly, before she adroitly changed the subject. "Clive, tell me a bit about yourself. Have you brothers and sisters ? Are your parents alive ? What do they think of this haphazard profession of yours ?"

She listened, entertained, while he skipped through a breezy summary of his life up to this point. It appeared that he was a first-generation Australian. His mother was Lithuanian, darkly beautiful, dreamy and unrealistic. "I suppose I take my artistic bent from her. It's certainly not from the old man, anyway. He's English by birth, and about as imaginative as a lump of sawdust. He was a trainee accountant in London when he met my mother. She was a waitress in the little café where he used to go for lunch each day, and I expect she swept him off his feet. I've a feeling that marrying her was the only impulsive thing he's ever done in his life. When I was a year old they came out here, and Father got a job with the firm he's in now. I think my mother was lonely and found the country strange. Perhaps if more children had come along she might have settled down better, but at any rate, she didn't. When I was four, she ran off with another fellow. He hadn't a sou, and she had to go back to her waitressing, but they were sublimely happy. Of course, my father was livid - he was too suburban and respectable to countenance a divorce, and he was given custody, so I always lived with him. I hardly ever saw my mother - we met in secret sometimes at the railway buffet where she worked. She was so gay and amusing, you'd have liked her, princess. She bought me my first oil paints, do you know that? When I came home with them, Father was furious. He'd have been worse, of course, if he'd suspected where they came from, but he never found out. Anyway, there weren't many more secret meetings after that. Mother died when I was fourteen. I had to go on living with Pa till my schooldays were over, and after that I pushed off. I sold some canvases, and bought more equipment with the proceeds, and here I am. I seldom see the old man, but I wish I could paint something that would make him proud of me. Sometimes I have a yen to lead a more settled existence, but in the main, life doesn't treat me too badly." Ginny swallowed, thinking of the little boy whose father had probably never understood him. No wonder he had turned towards his unstable, pretty mother. In that quarter lay warmth and love, and, as Ginny was

only too well aware, warmth and love were the things that make a child's world revolve. It wasn't surprising that Clive had become a roofless, flippant, superficial and somewhat selfish fellow. She discerned, by the end of the evening, that he wasn't such a puzzling young man after all. His was a nature that yearned for something solid, safe and secure, something continuous in both affection and existence, albeit these were the very qualities at which he mocked. At the top of the stairs, she turned to thank him, and was somehow unsurprised when he took her face in his hand and dropped a chaste kiss on her forehead. He continued to tilt her chin upwards and studied her for a further moment. "Virginia," he said gravely, "some day I'm going to paint you." Ginny smiled gently and shook her head. "You forget, Clive, I shan't be around after tomorrow. I don't suppose we'll meet again, but thanks once more. You made my last evening in Sydney a very happy one." Clive dropped his hand, and sketched a quick farewell. "There's always brother Ted," he responded enigmatically. "I hope you take to your new life, princess, as much as I shall like my new room. I'll be seeing you!" As sleep descended, Ginny's last waking thoughts were of a rakishly-bearded, merry face, whose cynical blue eyes weren't nearly as alarming as she had deemed on first appraisal. Afterwards, she couldn't exactly pinpoint the blurred moment of fusion when a stern, brown and black countenance intruded, and

superimposed its image upon the other. She tried to expel it from her mind, but unaccountably, it haunted her dreams all night.

CHAPTER THREE GINNY'S train left Central Station at ten-forty-five next morning. Ted came to see her off, and she realized that she was going to hate being so far away from him. They had always been extremely close to one another, and he was probably the only person in the world who really cared what became of her. All Margaret's affection was now channelled in directions that led away from her elder sister - to her husband, the new house, the coming infant. This was natural, and as it should be, and Ginny, understanding, felt neither resentment nor disappointment that there had been no word or gesture from that quarter at the time of her departure. It did not occur to her to expect anything in return for the precious years she had given up to the care of her young half-sister. No, Ted was her only bond with this busy, bustling city, or the world beyond it. It was a forlorn thought, and she fought down a sudden, overwhelming impulse to opt out of this contract she had taken on, in complete ignorance of what was involved. She couldn't, of course. She was dependable, principled, honest. Her fare had been advanced by the agency, she was expected, and it was not in Ginny to let anyone down if she could help it. Her spirits lifted at the thought of the child who would be waiting, probably longing for piano lessons, as Ginny could remember once having longed. Perhaps she could provide this child with the entree to that magical world of music upon whose threshold she her-self had stood, only to have to turn her back upon it. She wondered again if her pupil would be a boy or a girl. The advertisement had not mentioned this, and the agency had not known either. Ted and she were sitting side by side in the otherwise deserted second class compartment. Ginny supposed she would be its sole occupant for the entire journey, for there was no more than a handful of passengers throughout the whole of the train. Nobody travelled during the day time in midsummer if it could be avoided, preferring the comfort and

comparative coolness of the overnight sleeper service. Fanning herself half-heartedly with the magazine she had taken with her, Ginny saw the point. Ted had pulled her window down as far as it would go, and flung wide the doors, yet the air remained still, heavy with heat and the buzzing of innumerable small flies. "It'll be better once you're moving, Gin," he assured her. "It's a pity you aren't on one of the main interstate lines, and then you'd have all the modern benefits - air-conditioning, observation car, the lot. What is this place you're to alight at? Smedley's Creek?" He took a notebook from his pocket and wrote in it in his careful, methodical way. "I'd better have the whole thing, Ginny. I don't want you to disappear without trace, as it were. We'll write to each other often, I hope." "It just says, C. Jasper Lawrence, Esquire, Noosa, Billoola. That's the postal address, but Mrs. Mortimer in the ..agency said that Smedley's Creek is the nearest railway station, and that arrangements will be made for me to be met there." Ted looked dubious. "It seems a very impersonal approach to me. I only hope they give you a rousing welcome, Ginny. Heaven knows, you deserve one. You deserve the best of everything, as I said not long ago, for all you've done for me - and for Margaret." He glanced at his watch, pulled a face, and rose, kissing her with brotherly awkwardness. "Two minutes, and you'll be pulling out. Take care of yourself, old girl." He stepped down to the platform, shut the carriage door, and was still standing, waving, when the train snaked round the bend, and the dispersing collection of figures were obliterated by the sturdy framework of an iron bridge. It was dark when they approached the station at Smedley's Creek, and Ginny, who was hot and tired and grimy, was somewhat comforted

that her dishevelled appearance would pass unnoticed in the dimness of the flickering yellow lights on the platform. She admitted to herself, as her journey's end drew near, that she was secretly longing for the rousing welcome which Ted had insisted was her due - or if not a rousing one, at least one of friendly acceptance. She had experienced a number of feelings at the prospect of her imminent meeting with C. Jasper Lawrence and his family, from flut- tery nervousness to bleak resignation, but paramount and persistent was the aching hope that she would be accepted and liked, and eventually permitted to participate in the sort of warm family life which had been lacking for Ginny since her own mother died. She knew such households did exist, even outside her own wistful imagination, for she could still remember the comfort of her parents' loving arms, the gaiety and laughter, her father's combined gentleness and firmness, even her mother's perfumed presence when she came to kiss the children goodnight. Her swinging dark hair was often caught back by the quaintly-shaped mother-of-pearl comb. It was Ginny's most precious memory, and sjie longed to recapture that golden feeling of loving and being loved, needing and being needed. Yes, it would be wonderful to be in a real family atmosphere again, and she must be needed, or the Lawrences wouldn't have advertised specifically for someone like herself. This little child would be the recipient of all the untapped loving and giving bottled up inside Ginny. She felt there were limitless depths of both these commodities, even allowing for the lavishness with which she had showered them on Ted and little Margaret. The Lawrences would find her a capable tutor and an affectionate companion for their offspring. Her carefully concealed uncertainty and frustration would gradually ebb away, and her true personality, moulded by Mimm's demands over the past years into a veneer of assertiveness, would slowly unfold in the knowledge that she was appreciated for herself, and her contribution to the smooth running of a happy household. Ginny Sorrel, the "girl who knew where she was going", would not only know where she was going. She would have arrived.

So thought Ginny, as she stepped gracefully down to the platform at Smedley's Creek on that still, hot summer night. She looked about her expectantly. The place was busy, and obviously it was a junction for another branch line. While waiting for the crowd to thin out a little, she studied the names listed on a blue and white board, but Billoola was not amongst them. It must be a bit off the beaten track, she surmised. Soon she would know. Ginny was standing, a case on either side, studying the passers-by in a vague attempt at guessing whom she should contact, when a man strode out of the nearby parcels office, and looking about him, met her eye, and came forward unhesitatingly. He was shortish, broad-set, and even at that hour of the evening, wore a wide-brimmed slouch hat on the back of his forehead. In the golden pool of light beneath which Ginny stood, he appeared middle-aged and greying, with a swarthily genial face above -the pale shirt he wore, complete with tie. "Miss Sorrel." It was more a statement than a question. Ginny smiled and put out her hand. "Yes, that's right. Are you Mr. Jasper Lawrence?" The man grasped her extended hand and wrung it, tipping his hat back an inch as he did so. He grinned. "Heaven forbid!" he replied, amused. "Pete Sumner's my monicker. I'm the mailman and storekeeper at Billoola, and Jas Lawrence left word that I was to pick you up and take; you over to Noosa, seeing he's away."

He picked up her cases, swung them into the back of a small motor-bus with seats along each side, and shut the double doors. "You can sit up in front, next to me. There's only the two of us." He indicated the passenger seat, and helped her up on to the high running-board, from where she was able to climb in. "Wait there while I get the mail, will you ? They're sorting it now. I won't be more'n a jiffy." He hurried off, to return presently with several large canvas sacks and a collection of cardboard cartons. Ginny could see, as they proceeded smoothly down an incredibly wide, straight street, well-lit and flanked by tall poplar trees, that Smedley's Creek was, in fact, a sizeable town. There were several large general stores,an impressive bank built of concrete blocks, standing back from the road in a neat square of well-kept garden, and an assortment of Greek and Italian cafes, which exuded music, light and noise. Soon, though, the township receded, and blackness enveloped them once more - a blackness which, as they bumped on over a gravel road ridged with tiny corrugations, became heavily laced with thick, cloying dust. "How far is it to Billoola?" she asked Pete, as they began to climb upwards into a generously timbered range of hills, where stout trunks and foliage almost shut out the night sky. "Thirteen miles," was the laconic reply. "There's a mountain in between the Creek and us. Most of the timber on the other side is Jas Lawrence's, and the homestead is two-thirds down. Billoola's about four miles further on, but Jas owns all the valley along that way. It's grand loam along the river - grows the best lucerne you've ever seen, and corn near six feet high sometimes. But the trees are Jas's first love any day. He's about the best axe in the district, although he doesn't

compete any more. Yes, sir! The times when Jas was chopping, you couldn't poke your nose between the shoulders in the crowd. There isn't any other bloke can make the chips fly like he can." Ginny pondered over this somewhat ungrammatical commendation of her future employer, and decided she would have to revise her ideas the least little bit. Making the chips fly in front of a crowd of people didn't sound like a very homely occupation to her, but possibly, now that he was a settled family man, it had lost its allure for Jasper Lawrence also. In any event, most of her own dealings would be with his wife and child. She preserved a thoughtful silence while Pete Sumner negotiated several rather alarming hairpin bends, after which she deemed it safe to speak once more. "Did you say Mr. Lawrence was away - just now, I mean?" "Yep, he's been off" in the Big Smoke for a day or two. He'll be back tonight, though, same as you, but as his air-strip is over near Billoola on the flat, he reckoned he might not be in time to meet your train." "His air-strip ? Is there an aerodrome near here ? Can one fly down from Sydney ?" Ginny was thinking she'd have gladly paid the difference on an air-fare to escape that wearisome train journey. Pete put paid to that idea, however. "Not anyone can fly down - no public service. Jas can, though. He's got a plane of his own, see? A fourseater Piper, she is. A super little job. He pilots her himself, so he's free to come and go as he likes. Not that he's away all that much, he's that wrapped up in Noosa, In fact, he's probably looking round just now, to see that things've been O.K. in his absence. That's how he asked me to meet you. These civilian planes have to come down before dusk when there's no landing lights or proper facilities at country air-strips, so I reckon Jas would've been home by six o'clock."

Ginny shifted her weight, feeling the bumpy seat springs creak and bend beneath her. This certainly wasn't a very comfortable finish to her travels, but she supposed Pete had passengers so seldom that it was hardly necessary to study their comfort. There was a gnawing ache behind her shoulders, her legs were numb and cramped, and her throat felt dry with dust. Her eyes blurred with fatigue as the old van rocked and shivered its way over the corrugations, probably caused by the traffic of timber-lorries, she supposed. Her mind clung to the comforting thought that Mr. Lawrence had slipped back obligingly into the niche in which she had first placed him. He may have been a rakish young axeman in his teens and twenties, but now, obviously, he was the devoted family man, successful grazier, dedicated forester, glad to be home again, even after "a few days in the Big Smoke". She could picture him, longing for nothing more than to be back where he belonged, greeting his wife and family affectionately, strolling around his own beloved domain, making sure things were all right. Ginny was thinking along much the same lines as those she had attributed to Mr. Lawrence. It would be lovely to be home - she regarded it as "home" already, this unknown destination. There would be a welcome here for her, she was beginning to feel sure. She told herself that the next most acceptable things to a pleasant reception would be a pot of tea, a warm bath, and bed. She was unutterably weary, and realized now, as the van emerged from the forests and plunged down towards the mountain's gentle lower slopes, that she had been foolishly tense and strung-up for days before she left Sydney, although she had managed to cloak her doubts and fears beneath her best "I know where I'm going" air.

Ginny expelled her breath happily. This time, she suddenly felt that she really did know where she was goipg^ Pete took a swing to the , left, at a fork in the road where a giant gum-tree stood alone. In the brief moment in which its vast mottled trunk was caught in the shaft Of light as they made the turning, Ginny saw a large, square mail-box against it, with the name "Noosa" printed blackly on the white-painted board above. "Yep, this is it," confirmed Pete, correctly reading her thoughts, or perhaps aware of the sudden tensing of anticipation in the girl beside him. "Billoola is on the main track, further on like I told you. The Mayberrys live on the other side of my store, about a mile up. They're the nearest neighbours - nice people. Marella's about your age, I guess. You might chum up with her - in fact, you will, if she has anything to do with it. Yes, sir! She'd sure like an excuse to get over to Noosa more often, would Marella," he concluded whimsically. Ginny would have liked to ask why, but on such short acquaintance she felt it would appear unforgivably presumptuous. In any case, her attention was diverted by the leaping of the springs as they rumbled noisily over a cattle grid and proceeded up a long, dark avenue, bordered by some sort of bushy evergreens, to pull up finally at the bulky outline of a single-storied homestead, which rambled into the darkness on all sides - or so it appeared to Ginny, accustomed as she was to the square red brick suburban villa she had shared with Mimm. Somewhere behind the house several dogs began to bark excitedly. A light came on, and illumined a long gauzed-in veranda, reached by a flight of shallow concrete steps. Pete cleared them in two quick strides, pushed open the fly-screen door, and deposited her cases inside.

"Wait here and someone'll come," he told her. "I gotta get going again, Miss Sorrel, but you'll be O.K. Sparky'll be out in a jifiy." Ginny suspected that Pete's "jiffy", which term he used frequendy, could mean anything from ten seconds to ten minutes. She waved as he revved a moment be-fore disappearing once more into the darkness, then stood nervously just inside the door. Pete must have been familiar with the habits of the occupants of Noosa homestead. The steps that came "in a jiffy" through the hall in front of her were heavy, solemn steps. Ginny's heart thumped in time with them, fluttered with something akin to relief when she saw the homeliness of the large, middle-aged woman who came to greet her. She had a cumbersome figure and a square, sallow face, which was at the same time feminine and serene, as if it would take a good deal to ruffle her. Her blue eyes were friendly and set well apart, and her hair was truly beautiful, an abundance of soft brown tresses lacking even the slightest trace of grey. Behind her, as she stepped on to the veranda and extended her hand, hovered a small, wiry girl of perhaps nine years. "Miss Sorrel? How do you do. I'm sorry I wasn't on the steps to meet you. We don't always hear cars when we're at the other end of the house, so we depend on the dogs barking to alert us." Ginny murmured a suitable reply, and found the courage to say, "I expect you're Mrs. Lawrence." The little girl came forward indignantly. She had a dark, inscrutable face, with beadily dark eyes that devoured Ginny from top to toe with unfriendly intensity. Her voice was derisive as she pointed to her companion.

"She's not Mrs. Lawrence. She's only Mrs. Sparks, the housekeeper. It's my mother who's Mrs. Lawrence, isn't it, Sparky? At least, she's really Mrs. Lawrence, only she calls herself Rosana Pirelli mostly, 'cos her audiences wouldn't know who she was if she didn't." Ginny, a hand on each of her suitcases, relaxed her grasp on them and straightened disbelievingly. "You - you can't mean the Rosana Pirelli - Rosana Pirelli, the concert pianist ?" The child's sombre face creased with amusement. She giggled. "Look at her, Sparky. She's looking just like the rest of them. They all look like you do when I say Mummy's other name," she told Ginny pityingly. "That's enough, Mona," the woman rebuked sternly. "Come with me, Miss Sorrel, and I'll show you to your room." Ginny picked up one case, Mrs. Sparks the other. She was led through the wide, cool hall on to another veranda at the back, the housekeeper talking as they went. "Mona has told you my name already - Mrs. Sparks, only everyone shortens it to Sparky, so you may as well do the same. I've almost given up answering to anything else." She smiled over her shoulder at Ginny. "Ajid what are we to call you ?" "Well, if I'm to call you Sparky, I hope you will call me Ginny. It's Virginia, really, but my stepmother is the only person who doesn't corrupt it." Ginny's nervousness had abated, and her spirits began to soar again in a more cheerful fashion. This was a beautiful old home, shabby

perhaps, but with a comfortable, lived-in atmosphere. The child Mona seemed a nice girl at heart, although full of that unnerving precocity often apparent in only children. Ginny was sure they would soon be on friendlier terms, and, after all, there was some excuse for her air of aloof superiority. Fancy having Rosana Pirelli for a mother! Heavens! All the same, Ginny was certain that, once she'd controlled her initial feelings of awe-struck wonder, she would get on well with Mrs. Lawrence-extremely well, for hadn't they this wonderful bond in common, thypir shared interest in music? It was inconceivable that Rosana Pirelli, fiery, temperamental, a brilliant artiste in her chosen sphere, should in real life be simply Mrs. Lawrence, living tucked away on the far side of a rugged mountain range without even a railway station nearby. Of course, it was an exacting career, as no one knew better than Ginny who had been prepared to dedicate herself to it single-mindedly. One doubtless lived on one's nerves a good deal, and this place, Noosa, would be a heavenly retreat from the pressure, publicity, bright lights and late evenings. It was the sort of haven that she herself would have chosen had she become a Pirelli. Ginny, chasing after her bitter-sweet dream, almost cannoned into Mrs. Sparks as she paused to open a door. "Your room." She indicated the interior, which, under the electric light, looked large and shadowy. The ceilings were high, the furniture was heavy and old- fashioned, and gave a lustrous gleam - proof, no doubt, of the housekeeper's constant attentions. The solid brass bedstead winked with polish. Bright chintz curtains framed double doors, a pair of inner-folding wooden ones, and then the ubiquitous gauze. Mrs. Sparks opened the latter, and led the way on to a small wood-floored sleepout, with two beds at one end, each with its white mosquito-net on a hooped frame above.

"Mona sleeps out here, and her bedroom is next to yours". She says it's cooler, so by all means use the other bed any time you like. Personally, I'd rather be cooped up inside a gauzed house than suffocate under a mosquito-net, but each to her own taste. You'll have to try both, and decide for yourself. Your bathroom is the door on the opposite side of the passage here, and there's a small pantry next door where you may make a cup of tea if you happen to like one at odd hours. Just now Jas has left instructions for you to join him in his study for a cup, so I'll take a tray there. He's not long home himself, but wanted to meet you tonight, to be sure that you're comfortably installed. I'll leave you to wash and brush up, and then if you come back to the main hall, I'll show you where to go." "Thank you, Mrs. - er - Sparky." Ginny found it difficult to use the diminutive on such brief acquaintance. Australian country people had a name for being casual, though, and she supposed she would soon get accustomed to it. She noticed that the other had said simply "Jas". This must certainly be C. Jasper Lawrence, Esquire. Combing her hair into its smooth dark curtain, Ginny found herself wondering what he would look like. The housekeeper's voice had been both affectionate and deferential when she had said the word "Jas". It hadn't been said familiarly, but respectfully, almost reverently. He was evidently an endearing employer, a fact for which Ginny was supremely thankful. She laid out her brush and sponge-bag, then made her way back to the hall, to follow the waiting Sparky into a small den, whose walls were lined with book-filled shelves. Mrs. Sparks murmured an introduction, then tactfully withdrew, leaving Ginny with an unobscured view of the man now rising to his feet behind a stout oak desk.

In that moment, Ginny's thankfulness evaporated, and she never afterwards defined satisfactorily the tumultuous combination of emotions which took its place. She only knew that her senses reeled, her knees shook alarmingly, and she was obliged to sink down un-bidden into the green leather chair which was conveniently near. From its cool, impersonal depths she was able, when her vision cleared sufficiently, to take a second horrified look at the cool, impersonal face now turning in her direction. Yes, her worst fears were confirmed! All hope abandoned, she acknowledged the fact that she, Virginia Sorrel, had made this tedious rail journey, all day long, with only flies and the all-pervading heat for company; had bumped and lurched for miles in Pete's sadly-sprung, bone-shaking motor-bus, over some of the most rugged, lonely country she had ever seen, to come face to face with a man she had hoped never to set eyes on again. Her paralysed brain was incapable of fathoming, in that moment of sickening awareness, just how, or why, C. Jasper Lawrence Esquire should turn out to be none other than the black-and-brown man who had dragged her out of the frothing surf, only yesterday.

CHAPTER FOUR GINNY raised her eyes and looked helplessly at him. Judging by his look of blank incredulity, he was even more disbelieving than Ginny herself. As it was, she found her voice first. Attack was essential when one found oneself in the inferior position, and she rushed in lightheadedly, to say, "What are you doing here ?" It wasn't just the squeaky weakness of her voice that made her realize, seconds too late, what a stupid question that was. One jet eyebrow soared in response. "As this is my home, I think it's reasonable to assume that I am here more often than not," was his frigid comment. "A more sensible question would appear to be, what are you doing here ? You can't possibly be Miss Sorrel, so why have you come in her stead, without permission or invitation ?" Ginny bridled at his tone, which was becoming warmer - not just warmer, but approaching white heat. In fact, he looked, even to her uninitiated eye, as if the black-and-brown temper, which she had first suspected he possessed, was brewing up rapidly. Ginny quailed, but only inside. Outwardly she didn't flinch. "Of course I'm Miss Sorrel," she stated impatiently. "Who else could I possibly be but Miss Sorrel? Or did you think perhaps that I'd followed you home all the way back from the beach ?" she tacked on acidly. "Judging by your manner of existence in that extraordinary apartment of yours, it could be possible, couldn't it?" he conceded, unforgivably.

Ginny sprang to her feet, drawn at last. "What a perfectly hateful thing to say!" she flashed. "Conceited, too. You may regard your charms as fatal to the gentle sex, but I can assure you that here is one member of it, at least, who is completely and utterly immune, and likely to remain so. In fact I think you're the most overbearing—" Ginny's voice failed her, primarily because she was suddenly aghast at her own audacity. Oh, goodness! She couldn't have spoken like that to C. Jasper Lawrence Esquire, could she? Not to that kind, homely, middle-aged doyen of family life, whose image had been uppermost in her mind during most of the journey in Pete Sumner's bumpy old motor-bus ? The room blurred once more before Ginny's eyes, and she found herself handed firmly back into the green leather chair. "Don't overdo the indignation, Miss Sorrel," Jas Lawrence advised her jadedly. "I didn't come down with the last shower of hailstones, so it won't wash with me. Good heavens, my girl, one only had to look at that man in your - er - flat, to see what a pretty face and form mean to him. They're as necessary as bread and water to that type of chap. Without them, his tawdry little world wouldn't spin round at all." "I'm not your girl, so please don't say 'my girl' like that," Ginny revived sufficiently to tell him with asperity. "And as for that man, I'd never set eyes on him until yesterday morning. He's the next tenant in that room, and he just happened to bring round some of his stuff. And - he's not at all the sort of man you make him out to be, with all your beastly insinuations. I thought the same at first, but it's just an artistic sort of pose. He thinks people expect it of him, the beard and all that. Why, underneath it, he's kindness itself. Shy and defensive, and - and really generous and sweet. He can't help it, can he, if he hasn't the tough, materialistic approach?"

"How do you know so much about the fellow, if you haven't set eyes on him before ?" he asked pointedly. Ginny reddened painfully, and then went deadly pale. He got beneath your guard that time, my girl, she told herself. Where do you go from here ? Either way, you can't win. What would he think if you admitted you'd gone out for the evening with the man? What wouldn't he think! Better say nothing or he'll turf you out on your pink ear, before you even have the chance of that pot of hot tea, warm bath, and bed you were counting on. The pleasant reception didn't come off, but there's still hope for the other three. Aloud, she muttered breathlessly, through the sudden rush of sound in her ears, "I - I'm sorry, Mr. Lawrence. I— think I'm going to faint." Her voice sounded a long way off, and so did his as he contradicted her bluntly. "Of course you're not going to faint, Miss Sorrel. Get your head well down - like that." He suited the action to the word, and Ginny felt a firm hand stroking her nape with surprising reassurance. "You're not the kind to pass out when you're in a tight corner," he told her, suddenly kind. "You've had a long journey and a surprise at the end of it, that's all. And you're probably still a little shocked from yesterday. Just lean back there a moment, then we'll talk things over calmly, and see if we can't straighten them out over a cup of tea. I'mbeginning to think I need it as much as you do." The trouble was, he didn't look as if he needed it - or any other form of aid, either, thought Ginny enviously. Whatever his feelings of the moment might be, they were now cleverly concealed beneath a mask of urbanity, as he poured two cups of steaming tea, sugared them liberally without even asking, and passed her one.

"Like a biscuit with it ?" His tone was non-committal. She took one gratefully, and munched it in silence. She hadn't realized how terribly hungry she was. "They're good," she acclaimed, as he passed her the plate again without comment. "There's something about home-baked things, isn't there ? Did - did Sparky make them ? I somehow can't imagine your wife being domesticated to this extent." "I can't imagine it, either," he agreed dryly. "Especially as I don't happen to have a wife, domesticated or otherwise." Ginny's cup clattered saucerwards as she jerked her head up, amazed. She found he was watching her reaction with apparent amusement. "I'm afraid I simply don't understand," she proceeded cautiously, mystified as she was. "I distinctly heard the little girl, Mona, tell me that her mother was Mrs. Lawrence. Oh-h-h," she smothered an embarrassed exclamation with her hand to her mouth, as the truth dawned, "you mean you - you're divorced ? You must forgive me for making such a dreadful blunder. It was clumsy of me. I just didn't think around the subject thoroughly before I spoke." "Quite a habit of yours, it would seem," he reproved coldly. "However, in this instance, the end result is quite unaffected by your lack of thought. I am not, and never have been married. Rosana Lawrence, Mona's mother, is my sister-in-law. She was married to my brother Gideon. And he's not divorced, either. He's dead." He bit the word out baldly, and his expression was curiously hard. Ginny waited silently for him to continue. When he did, his voice was flat.

"He died in a yachting accident, at a midnight party of the sort Rosana was forever dragging him along to. Perhaps you've never experienced that sort of party, Miss Sorrel, given by people who suffer from the 'too much' bug - too much money, too much leisure, too much sophistication, too much frustration, too much drink. They're a complete waste of time, those parties. This particular one wasn't only a waste of time, it was a waste of a life - Gideon's." Jas Lawrence got to his feet, strode irritably about the small room for a moment, as if by doing so he could outpace an unwelcome memory. He stopped in front of her, gazing down in stern abstraction. Ginny had a feeling he wasn't seeing her at all, just then. His craggy features softened. His voice became suddenly more gentle. "Poor Rosana. She has been so different ever since. So much more sincere, more - responsible. She never used to bother much about Mona, for instance. All she cared about, between recitals, was having a gay time with gay friends. She is much sought after socially, because people foolishly think it adds prestige to their parties to include a celebrity such as she. It was no life for their child, and I often told them so. Gideon's death shocked her utterly, made her see the folly of it all. She was stricken with remorse, blamed herself, swore she would never be really happy again. She insisted on sending Mona up here, to get her away from the undesirable influences, so that she may have a normal, uncluttered childhood. And of course, she comes up to see her whenever she is able. The child looks forward to it immensely." And so do you, realized Ginny, with sudden unexpected intuition. Aloud, she said, "Poor Pirelli - poor thing. One would never suspect, from her playing, that she was trying to live down a personal tragedy of that sort. Her interpretations have always struck me as being exuberant and

triumphant, rather than tragic, but of course she is incredibly gifted, and that may be the way she chooses to cloak her personal emotions." Jas Lawrence looked at her in surprise. "You've heard Pirelli playing, then, Miss Sorrel? You've actually seen Rosana at one of her concert performances ?" "Yes, several times," she nodded. "I've attended every recital I possibly could, and I even have some recordings of her Beethoven concertos, but I left them with my brother Edward." "You are as fond of music as all that?" He was eyeing her with genuine interest at this unexpected discovery. "Yes," said Ginny, briefly and bitterly. She wasn't going to confide her own secret sorrows to this domineering and unsympathetic man, who had been so ready to believe the worst of her. Not even in return for the confidences he had just now imparted to her would she tell of the aching hurt, the almost crazy longing, that the sound of great music could still arouse in her. After all, she was entitled to hear what he had told her. As a governess to the little girl, she needed to know something of the background of her charge, and this he had supplied as any employer would naturally do. No more personal information was expected of her in reciprocation, so Ginny stilled the slight tremor that painful memories brought to her lips by biting them hard together, and waited. Almost as though he had sensed the closing of her mind against him, Jas Lawrence now put out a hand, and said, crisply, "Now. May I see your certificate of engagement from the employment agency, please ?"

He studied it a moment, before reading carefully through the reference from Herr Kleine, her old music master. "I - see." He assessed her thoughtfully for what seemed to Ginny an uncomfortably long space of time. She wanted to wriggle beneath that clinical scrutiny. "Well, Miss Sorrel, in view of these documents, I am prepared to give you a trial here at Noosa, although in the light of my own knowledge, I do not regard you as a suitable person to have charge of a nine-year-old girl. It's obvious that, for some reason or other, you have a built-in resentment of those in authority over you. No need to deny it, is there ? Remember your foolish attitude in the water yesterday, and you'll realize I'm right. However, I must insist that, in your role as proxy mother, you do not allow this disregard of your employer - or any other of your enlightened ideas - to rub off on the child. Mona and I enjoy a fairly satisfactory relationship, and I see no reason for it to suffer from your presence, provided you adopt the right attitude about the whole thing. If that's clear, and you've no further questions, I think we'll call it a day." He passed a lean brown hand over his face in a gesture that combined both weariness and boredom. One finger flicked back his black forelock, and for an instantthere was revealed to Ginny a long, angry scar, recently acquired, judging by its vivid hue and the stitch-marks spaced precisely on either side. Of course! Now she understood! She indicated the same spot on her own head timidly. "Is - is that why you wore that surf-cap in the water ? I couldn't understand it till now. You see, I thought you were a life-saver. Only now I realize your costume was all wrong. Your chest was bare - it dripped on me," she ended accusingly.

Jas Lawrence gave a sudden shout of laughter. "Yes, that's why, Miss Sorrel. I collected this gash on the timber slopes. I'd just had the stitches out, and was advised to keep the thing dry, so I borrowed a cap from the club-house. As for thinking I was a life-saver" - he held the door open for her to scuttle thankfully past "well, for once, Miss Sorrel, you were perfectly right, weren't you ?" That deep, overbearing voice rang tauntingly in Ginny's ears long after she sank gratefully between Sparky's immaculate sheets. She was sure morning would be upon her before she could get to sleep at all. She spent a restless night. Things hadn't turned out as Ginny had hoped they would. .Jasper Lawrence himself had been a shock. A further shock had been the fact that there was no Mrs. Lawrence in residence to act as a buffer between herself and her hatefully assured employer. The child, Mona, was an enigma as yet, with her impenetrable expression, and curiously adult caution in the presence of a newcomer. Ginny had the feeling that she herself had been weighed up by her young charge, and found wanting in some respect, and there had been a certain air of indifference in Mona's approach which made it cleat' that she resented the intrusion of a governess into her easy-going existence. No, Mona could not be counted upon to soften the situation, and neither could Mrs. Sparks. It was easily seen where her allegiance lay. Ginny sighed, punched her pillow, and turned it over to the cool side. She hoped there would be no question of "sides", but Jas Lawrence had made it painfully clear that he intended to exert his authority over her just as often as he deemed it necessary - and, considering the ill-opinion in which he held her, Ginny surmised that "often" could turn out to be "very frequently indeed" if she gave him the chance. What a gloomy thought! Best to keep out of his way, carry out her duties as inconspicuously as possible, and leave the monster to wield

his powers over other, more worshipful subjects, she decided sourly. He certainly wasn't going to boss her around if she could help it. She'd had enough of the "doormat" treatment from Mimm to last her a lifetime. On which unsurprising sentiment, Ginny slept.

Dawn in the country can be so peaceful as to be almost sacred. As the first warm, pink glow suffused the eastern sky, Noosa stirred. Mother Nature yawned, rolled over and stretched in bed. Ginny, doing much the same, was aware of each sound breaking into the reigning pool of silence. The last, long call of a mopoke - forlorn and eerie, bidding a sad farewell to the darkness; the fanning of wings in the still air, as the first birds flew over the homestead to water at the river; the shrill crowing of a cock as the hens began to shuffle about in the run beyond the stables; the silken whispering of the silver poplar beside the veranda, interspersed with the yapping of dogs, the sudden purring beat of a distant motor leaping to life, and the nearer, muffled creak o£ a mattress, which must surely mean that Mona was getting up on the sleepout beyond the gauze door. Ginny rose, and padded barefoot to look out. "Hullo." She smiled at the child, tousled with sleep, standing leaning on the wooden balustrade that separated the lean-to from a clump of cannas. Beyond that were well-kept lawns, formal flower beds, and a profusion of the most beautiful trees Ginny had ever seen. There were elms, kurrajongs, planes, heaven-trees. "It's all so green," she breathed, awestruck. "Not always, it isn't," corrected Mona, beside her. "This just happens to be a good season, but in a bad summer it's all brown and horrid, and

there's not a blade of anything, except for some lucerne down on the flats - and Uncle Jas even has to irrigate that to keep it going. Of course, here around the house, it's different. There's lots of sprays joined by pipes to the river supply, and the garden almost always looks all right, even when things are scorched off beyond it. Uncle Jas is quite dotty about his trees 'n shrubs, and Mummy says it's only because he keeps the place so cool and green that she can bear to come here in the hot weather at all. She says it's like Eden after the drive from Smedley's Creek. She only did that once, though, it was so awfully uncomfortable. Uncle Jas usually brings her down by plane now instead." Of course he would, thought Ginny, remembering the tenderness in his voice last night when he spoke of Rosana Pirelli. Not for her that long, dusty, jolting trek over the mountain road in a motor-bus, such as he had arranged for Ginny herself. And, let's face it, if he had known she was actually the ungrateful girl he had fished out of the sea a day earlier, he'd probably have sent a horse and cart to fetch her - if he'd allowed her to come at all! "Does your mother come often ?" Ginny asked. Mona wrinkled her nose thoughtfully. "It's about six weeks since she was here last," she replied. "She doesn't come much, really, only when she's resting. Uncle Jas sees her when he's in Sydney, though. I wish I could go back and be with her. I hate it here." The child was suddenly vehement. "You hate it? Why?" "I just do, that's all." Mona's voice was rebellious. "I wish I was back with Mummy. Uncle Jas makes me do lessons all the time, 'n all that. He even makes me dry the dishes for Sparky. When I lived with Mummy in Sydney, no one made me do anything I didn't like, and we

had an awful lot of fun. There were parties 'n things, and Mummy was always dressing up and going out. I loved to watch her getting ready she's beautiful, you know - much prettier than you." Here Ginny was forced to submit to a candid inspection, before Mona, satisfied with the veracity of her statement, continued fretfully, "Uncle Jas is nice, of course, but the men that took Mummy out were nicer. They used to bring me sweets and toys. I even got a box of chocolates once. It had orange ribbon on it, and a big bow. And I'd wave good-bye from the balcony, 'n then I could stay up late and play with my new things. Mummy had a lovely new car - a big, shiny green one - much nicer than Uncle Jas's estate car, or his horrid old Land-Rover. It's ever so boring here, really." Ginny gulped. She was recalling the bottle-green Chevrolet in which she had been driven from the beach to her digs - recalling not only its luxurious splendour, but the sand on the carpets, and the wet mark left by herbeach-bag on the back seat when Jas Lawrence had lifted it out. Something told her Rosana wouldn't have been too pleased about that. "It's going to be different now I'm here," she told Mona, purposely bright. "It's just that Uncle Jas and Mrs. Sparks are busy, and that's why I've come, dear. We'll have lots of fun together - even lessons can be fun, you know, and we'll become great friends, and play games, and go for walks, and get to know each other really well. And I'll dry the dishes for Sparky too, and that way we'll be finished all the quicker. Many hands make light work, you know.'' The little girl shrugged unenthusiastically. "You can help Sparky if you want to, but I know Uncle Jas'll still make me do it, too. I'd much rather be back in town with Mummy." She eyed Ginny pityingly. "I bet you'll be wishing you were back in Sydney, too, before you've been here much longer," she opined. "It isn't half the fun you think it is. And if we're late for breakfast, Uncle Jas'll be

furious, and he can be awful cross if you do things he doesn't like. The men who came to see Mummy were never like that." With a nostalgic sigh, Mona retreated to her bedroom, and Ginny realized that, if punctuality was likely to please the tyrant, then, in that respect at least, she had better toe the line. By the time Sparky came to announce that breakfast was ready, she had made the two beds, dusted the rooms and swept the wooden floor on the sleepout. She neatened her hair in front of the mirror, wishing her shabby cotton dress were smart enough to lend her the confidence she needed to face Jas Lawrence. She could imaging that Rosana Pirelli, in private life, would have a flair for superb dressing. On the platform, at any rate, she displayed an exacting choice of chic, expensive simplicity, the attractiveness of which could be discerned from the humblest seat in the concert hall. Ginny laughed ironically to herself at the trend her thoughts had taken. Why, for goodness' sake, should she start comparing her clothing with that of Pirelli, simply because the other woman had achieved the fame and musical distinction which had been Ginny's dream, and because she was now to teach a child who could call Rosana Pirelli "Mummy" ? Their circumstances could not possibly be more different, and in any case, she had absolutely no desire in the world to impress her employer, Ginny admonished her reflection severely. Even though it would have been nice to start a new page in one's life with a more adequate and attractive wardrobe, it just hadn't been possible. Margaret's wedding had been a strain on the household budget. Ted had needed overalls and equipment for his position with the Professor, and her short sojourn in lodgings had used the remains of her carefully accrued savings. Breakfast was served on the veranda adjacent to the kitchen.

Mrs. Sparks had put an array of covered dishes on an oblong hotplate at a side-table, together with an assortment of cereal packets and a jug of freshly-squeezed orange juice. The aroma of coffee was deliciously welcoming, and the primrose-checked cloth was as gay and sunny-looking as the bed of bright geraniums on the other side of the gauze. Jas Lawrence was already there when Ginny arrived, but he rose at her approach, gave a businesslike good morning, and saw her seated, before resuming his attack on a generous helping of steak, bacon and fried eggs. Mona arrived last, and slid hastily into her place with a rather breathless apology for being late. To Ginny's inward surprise, it was received with a pleasant smile and a nod of understanding. The little girl worked her way stolidly through a breakfast almost as large as her uncle's, but Ginny confined herself to orange juice and a small helping of cereal, before pouring the coffee for herself and the man beside her. Mona preferred milk. Jas Lawrence cast a critical eye in Ginny's direction. "Aren't you going to have an egg, at least?" "No, thanks, Mr. Lawrence. I - I'm not accustomed to a cooked breakfast." "You should try it, you know. You're far too thin for your height," he replied impersonally. "And you'll find yourself needing it before the morning's out. Life out here is a good bit more demanding than that piecemeal existence of yours in Sydney." "I think you know less than you imagine of my existence in Sydney, Mr. Lawrence," Ginny retorted coolly. Then, seeing the challenging glint that appeared in the slate-grey eyes probing into hers, she added,

discouragingly, "Not that I have the slightest intention of boring you with further unattractive details, I can assure you." "That's considerate of you, Miss Sorrel," was the terse response. "I've no desire to learn more if they are as unpalatable as the ones I've already discovered, so we'll call it quits, shall we? By the way, for as long as you are with us" - he made it sound as if he didn't think it would be for very long - "you may as well call me Jas, as everyone else does. And I shall call you Virginia. I think Sparky said that was your name ?" Ginny flushed. "It's Ginny actually," she told him, embarrassed. "I'm only called Virginia if I've done something to cause annoyance." He grinned at her, suddenly quizzical. "Well, Miss Sorrel, in that case we'll settle for Virginia in the meantime - until I find a good enough reason to abbreviate it to your liking." Ginny gritted her teeth on the piece of toast she was chewing. Hateful man! Whatever had possessed her to stay, once she'd discovered his identity? If she'd had any sense, she'd be on her return journey to Smedley's Creek with Pete Sumner by now. Her glance strayed to Mona, sitting staring indifferently into her mug of milk. There was such an aura of unhappiness about the child that Ginny felt a sudden, overwhelming compassion for this badly-adjusted, spoiled little girl, yearning for the brilliant, beautiful parent who hadn't time to bring her up in the way that was desirable. It was unthinkable, of course, that Rosana should not pass on to her devoted public the extraordinary gift she possessed, but someone had

to suffer in the process. First, it had been her husband, by all accounts, and now, unquestionably, it was her daughter, in spite of Jas Lawrence's well-meant intervention. No, there was nothing for it but to stay, and see what her own feminine influence could achieve-. She turned from Jas Lawrence to smile warmly at Mona. "Drink up, Mona. Then we'll help Sparky with the dishes, and you can show me round. I've never been in the country before, so you'll find me terribly green." The child gazed at her apathetically, before picking up her mug and obediently draining the contents.Under Jas Lawrence's shrewd eyes, Ginny was careful to conceal the hurt she felt at Mona's silent rebuff. Instead, she said briskly, "Perhaps you'll be kind enough to tell me exactly what the routine is, Mr. - er - Jas ? It will be simpler to live up to your high ideals if I know what is expected of me." For the life of her, she couldn't prevent an acid note from creeping into her voice, and she had the satisfaction of seeing a wave of angry colour appear beneath his swarthy tan. However, Jas Lawrence was not to be drawn. With a warning glance in the child's direction, he unfolded his length from the chair, withdrew her own as she too stood up, and returned, with deceptively quiet courtesy, "By all means, Virginia. Mona does her lessons from ten o'clock until twelve-thirty each morning. You will, of course, supervise these. In the afternoons, her mother wishes her to receive at least one hour of

musical tuition, plus whatever period of technical practice you feel is required at this stage." As he spoke, he led the way round the corner of the veranda, opened a door, and stood aside. Ginny found herself in a large, airy morning- room, with a small desk and chair beneath the window, a table on which stood an adjustable electric fan, several easy chairs, and a chaise-longue against one wall. £he flooring was of singularly beautiful natural pine", waxed to a honey-coloured gloss, with a round, fringed rug in the centre. "What a lovely room!" she exclaimed, in spite of herself.. She stooped, and ran a reverent palm over the exquisite wood beneath her feet, then drew herself - up to find Jas Lawrence watching her with an unfathomable expression. He turned towards the adjoining archway. "This is the sitting-room. The upright over here is the piano you will use for teaching Mona, please. The other" - he indicated a magnificent grand piano at the far end, near the row of bay windows - "is, of course, for Rosana. Naturally, she requires a superlative instrument, and I asked her to choose it herself. The little upright has always been here, but it's quite satisfactory - for normal requirements such as yours." - Ginny almost flinched. How he rubbed salt into one's wounds, this autocratic creature! She looked at him hastily, to assess the intent to hurt, but his smoothly tanned features were as unrevealing as ever. Why, after all, should they not be? He knew nothing of her, nor of her frustrated musical aspirations. He could not have known the bitterness an innocent remark could provoke.

Ginny dragged her eyes from the rosewood grand unwillingly, to take up the thread of his instructions again. "Did you hear me, Virginia, I wonder? Get Mona to show you the homestead and precincts. I myself will take you on a conducted tour further afield when I can find time. There are certain places it's inadvisable to go, but once you know them, there are any amount of attractive walks upon which to take the child." With the merest hint of a formal bow, he left the room, and minutes later, Ginny was still standing near the bay windows when he strode past outside in the direction of some distant sheds, with a broadbrimmed hat crammed rakishly upon his crisp, black head. She was gazing at the instrument beside her, lost in her old, impossible dreams, and she wasn't even aware that he went by.

CHAPTER FIVE MANY days passed before Ginny felt she had made any points of contact with Mona at all. Lessons were successful to a degree, although the little girl was reluctant at first to reveal the extent of her knowledge on any of the subjects which they attacked together. Ginny felt at once frustrated and sympathetic. Mona's schooling had obviously been spasmodic, and she was too intelligent a child not to realize that there were depressing gaps in her education. They had the effect, at times, of making her wish to give up altogether, and Ginny found her patience and ingenuity taxed to their utmost in an effort to cover the missed ground, and recapture her pupil's interest. More successful were their rambles about the lovely old homestead. Behind rose the closely timbered mountain, with its patches of varied greens, rent half-way up by a distant, russet gash, which Mona pointed out as the sawmill. The thin whine of the giant saws came wavering nasally towards the house when the breeze was from that quarter, wafting over the corrugated-iron roofs of the buildings to the gentle slopes below, where the land spread out into a wide, fertile basin, in whose verdant bosom nestled the tiny cluster of houses that was Billoola. There the paddocks were dotted with the woolly, light shapes of sheep - lambs fattening on the clover flats, according to Sparky, who persuaded her husband, the "milk, kill, and garden man", to take Ginny and Mona down in the 'Rover to see them at closer quarters. He pointed out the flocks of merino ewes, and the curly-horned Dorset rams which fathered the crossbred lambs. Ginny saw the shearing-shed, and the storing-place for the sweet-scented bales of green lucerne hay, and admired the pair of Clydesdale stallions in the paddock behind the stables. These were a relic of the past, since we were now in the automated age of tractor- drawn implements and mechanization, so Sparky's husband informed her, and they were only

kept on Noosa now because the boss was attached to them. Ginny was somewhat sceptical of these sentiments as applied to Jas Lawrence, nevertheless the horses were there yet, even while the machinery sheds were bursting with gleaming red tractors, discs, moleboard ploughs, and seed drills of a width that would require more horses than the noble pair in the paddock to draw them. Jas remained an enigma, who presented himself punctually at meal times, remote, courteous, and unnervingly handsome, even in his working garb of open- throated khaki shirt, narrow moleskin trousers and dusty boots with high elastic sides. He was obviously preoccupied with the administration of the many facets of his station enterprises, and conversation was restricted to polite enquiries as to her pupil's progress and her own personal comfort. On being assured that she had everything she required, he would turn his attention to little Mona, joking with her, chiding her - always gently - for some slight misdemeanour or occasional lapse in manners, telling her amusing stories, or listening to, her own rambling ones with a patience and understanding that surprised Ginny almost as much as the fact that he would pension off two faithful old horses who had become redundant, merely because he was fond of them. She wished, time and again, that Mona would be as responsive to her own overtures as to those of her Uncle Jas. The piano lessons were at present the most tiresome hours in Ginny's day. She would sit there, curbing her impatience, trying to elicit from the unwilling child some enthusiasm for the whole business, but Mona's fingers rested slackly upon the keys, she forgot the exercises Ginny thought had been successfully instilled the previous day, and wouldn't bother to practise her scales, or persevere with her sight-reading. There came an afternoon when, driven beyond measure by Mona's complete indifference to what her tutor was trying to impart, and

perhaps with the desperate hope of inspiring in the child some sudden burst of appreciation of the wonders and delights of the great composers, in contrast to the simple studies which apparently bored her almost to tears, Ginny crossed purposefully to the Bechstein grand, opened the lid, and raised the top. The piano was Rosana's, she was aware of that. But this was Rosana's daughter, and Ginny was almost at the end of her tether. Her fingers ran lovingly over the keys, thrilling to the exquisite tone and depth of the fine instrument. She began with a simple duetto from Mendelssohn's lieder, whose flowing melody must stir the child with its very beauty. She saw, by the expression on Mona's face, that she had at least captured her attention, and, exultant at this meagre triumph, she plunged into a wild Hungarian dance; an intricate fugue; the heady majesty of Beethoven; the emotional simplicity of a Chopin nocturne. Ginny, transported, lost track of time and place. She had afterwards no idea how long she played, or when she first became aware that her listener was not a little girl with unfriendly black eyes, but a silently standing man with curiously intent grey ones. Jas Lawrence was leaning against the lintel of the doorway in his rolled shirt sleeves, brown forearms folded, one boot crossed over the other in easy relaxation. His hat sat at a crazy angle on a cushion where it had obviously been flung with unerring aim. When she ceased playing, it seemed to Ginny an eternity before he moved at all. He came finally towards her, and she half-turned on the stool to meet him, her hands folded on her lap in resignation. When he spoke, it was in an oddly abrupt, almost angry manner.

"Miss Sorrel - Virginia - what in heaven's name d'you think you're doing down here at Noosa ?" Ginny was startled, to say the least. Perhaps her dismay was obvious. He ran a hand through his hair in perplexity. "I beg your pardon. What I mean is, why aren't you doing something about it ? Good God, girl, don't you realize you have talent there, crying out to be developed?" He was calmer now, reasoning with her, back to his stern and autocratic normal. In fact, he sounded distinctly impatient at what he probably regarded as her deliberate obtuseness. If he only knew, his roughly spoken entreaty had all but demoralized Ginny. She was wrestling with an ominous lump in her throat. It was incredible to think that her own playing had touched a chord in the domineering, impervious, sometimes brutal Jas Lawrence - that he,, of all people, had recognized in it the touch of genius she knew she possessed. She shrugged, and gave a shaky little laugh. "That's just one of the details of my murky past that I don't intend to bore you with," she told him, with brittle levity. "Let's just say it wasn't to be, shall we, and leave it at that? There must be hundreds, thousands of people, endowed with greater gifts than mine, wandering around without developing them - and for a thousand different reasons personal reasons." Silence hung between them, a silence in which she was more than ever aware of the probing intensity of his gaze. At last he said, smoothly, in the sort of voice she had often heard him use with his little niece when she was inclined to rebellion,

"All right, Virginia - we'll shelve the discussion in the meantime. I'd like you to play on the Bechstein whenever you wish, though. Is that clear? You have my entire approval. And come here." He grasped her wrist and drew her up, across the room, to a walnut cabinet beside the radiogram. "This is my own collection of records," he told her gruffly. "You may put any one of them on whenever you like, if you wish. I don't have much time these summer days, but I know they'll be in the hands of someone who will derive genuine pleasure from them. There are some very fine recordings amongst them." He straightened up, dwarfing her own slender height. He was businesslike, aloof, once more. "You'd better find your pupil again, hadn't you? I suspect the bird has flown." So saying, he retrieved his broad-brimmed hat, and disappeared with the typically long easy stride of the bushman. Ginny went slowly around the veranda towards her room, calling to Mona as she went. She felt slightly dazed by her experience, so bittersweet and unexpected. Perhaps she could find some catchy pieces amongst the recordings Jas had put at her disposal, that would appeal to her reluctant charge. Doubtless there would be instrumental works that might fire the child's imagination, when the piano alone could not. "Mona ? Where are you, Mona ?" She pulled up short at the sight of her, seated at Ginny's own dressing-table.

The drawers were open, and her nimble fingers were attempting to secure the mother-of-pearl slide in her wavy, fine hair. As Ginny came up behind her, she met her eyes in the mirror, and without turning round, asked cheekily, "Is this the only bit of jewellery you have, Ginny? Mummy has heaps and heaps." Ginny retrieved her property, and reproached her gently. "You mustn't go to other people's drawers, dear, you know. Yes, that's all I have to show you, I'm afraid." Mona's unfathomable eyes followed the slide back into the drawer, which Ginny closed firmly. Mona flushed. "Mummy never minds if I play with hers, so there," she stated spitefully. "Hers is nicer, anyway - well, maybe not nicer, 'cos that's awful pretty, but she's got all sorts of different things, like beads and necklaces and bracelets and ear-rings. She never cared how many I tried on at once. She used to laugh and say I was worse than a jackdaw 'cos I picked out all the brightest ones. I just love bright colours, don't you?" "Mm - yes, I do really. But I love that slide especially, Mona. I suppose because it's my only treasure. It's pale, I know, but when it catches the fight, there are myriads of delicate pastel colours caught on the surface." "Well, I wish you could see all Mummy's stuff," said Mona regretfully. "I wish I could, too. I just hate being here at Noosa, even if Uncle Jas is nice and kind."

"Darling, why did you run off from your piano lesson? When I looked over, you seemed to be enjoying listening." "I wasn't - not a bit," came the hot denial. "I was only surprised 'cos you can play that big piano almost as well as Mummy. I wish she wasn't so keen on me learning to play, Ginny, just because she does it so well. I just hate every minute of it, honest I do." There was something in Mona's candid wail that caught at Ginny's heart. She knelt down and turned the child towards her. "Mona, don't you like even listening to the piano ?" Mona shrugged. "Listening's all right," she conceded dolefully. "It's doing it I hate. Why have I got to do it, Ginny ?" "Well, what would you rather do?" asked Ginny, somewhat helplessly. "I'd like to paint," stated the child positively and unexpectedly. "I'd like to paint with real paints - you know, tubes and jars, on that linen sort of stuff, not just making pictures with crayons and coloured pencils and chalks like we do." Ginny considered this revelation in silence a moment. Eventually she replied reasonably, "Well, I don't see why you can't try it, Mona, if you're longing to, as you say you are. I can easily get you some oils and canvases. Pete Sumner would bring them for me. I'm sure Smedley's Creek will have some sort of a crafts shop." Mona's sullen face lit up hopefully.

"Oh, Ginny, would you really? I'd absolutely love to have some proper paints. I've wanted them for ages and ages." Ginny watched her reaction curiously. "Have you ever tried your hand with them before, Mona ? In Sydney, perhaps ?" The child shook her head. "Only with water colours - those little square ones. They're sort of pale and washy, aren't they, a bit like your hair-slide. What I'd like are the sort you can put on in messy sort of blobs." Ginny couldn't hide a smile. "Well, you shall have them, or my name's not Ginny Sorrel. Come on, Mona. We'd better get cleaned up. It's almost tea-time." Jas was late for tea that night. Ginny and Mona had eaten their meal by the time he came striding up the cement steps and through the gauze door in the direction of his own shower-room. Tendrils of hair clung to his forehead, and there was a fine film of sawdust covering his head. Even his eyebrows, which soared in surprise as he met Ginny carrying a tray of empty dishes kitchenwards, were coated with dust as well. "Great Scott, have you two finished already? Sparky .will shoot me. Tell her to give me ten minutes, will you, Virginia ?" Ginny nodded, wondering how anyone could look weary and energetic at one and the same time, the way Jas Lawrence managed to do. Combined with his air of rugged strength, there was a lithe grace about the way he walked, or almost loped, that reminded Ginny of the tireless tread of a panther. She didn't see him again that evening, but at the breakfast table he broached the subject of piano lessons to Mona.

"I want you to keep at them for Mummy's sake," he told her. "You'll want to give her a lovely surprise when she comes up next time, won't you ? It's what she wants most in all the world, and you're especially fortunate in having someone like Virginia here to teach you. Make the most of it, Mona." The little girl glared balefully at Ginny, as if she were somehow the cause of this uncalled-for lecture. The look wasn't lost on her governess, and once they were alone again, she took Mona's hand. "Come on," she said. "You can listen to what I'm going to say to Pete. I'm going to ring through to the store at Billoola, and ask him to get me those paints, and in return, dear, you must try and make more effort, if only to please Uncle Jas and Mummy." Mona's thin shoulders drooped disconsolately, but Ginny was aware that she listened attentively to every word she spoke to Pete Sumner. Afterwards, Ginny turned to her cheerfully. "There now! That's done! How about coming for a walk, Mona? You've lots to show me yet, and we've almost an hour and a half before lessons begin." Mona's shoulders drooped further. "I don't specially want to go, Ginny," was her slack reply. "Why don't you go yourself? You could walk up the hillside a bit, couldn't you? There's a gorgeous view, if you can be bothered." Ginny looked sceptical. "Of course I can be bothered," she said spiritedly, "but is it all right to go up that way? Are you sure I wouldn't get lost or anything ?"

Mona looked pitying. "No one could possibly get lost up there. You can see the homestead practically the whole time. Take the forestry road up, till the second one crosses it, and then walk through the plantation on your left, and you come out on that little knoll there, see ?" She pointed a thin finger from the railing of the sleep- out. "You'd do it easily before ten o'clock," she urged. Ginny weakened. Truth to tell, she didn't need much persuasion. The heat of the day was not yet upon them, and she was longing to explore a little further. She could imagine that the view from Mona's knoll might be breathtaking indeed. "Right, I'll go," she agreed gaily. "I'll wave a handkerchief when I get there, and you can tell me if you spotted it when I return — that's if you happen to be looking. Be a good girl for Sparky until I get back. I'll just put on some sandshoes, and take a flask of orange juice to wet my whistle at the top." Mona gave a pleased little laugh, probably amused at such a slang phrase on the Hps of her governess, and Ginny, leaving the vegetable-garden and fowl-run behind her as she began to climb steadily, reflected upon what a startling difference a smile could make to the child's features. Poor little scrap! She was a naturally unhappy girl, and surely children of her age should be carefree and gay, full of giggles and fun. Possibly she missed her father more than anyone suspected. His death must have caused an emotional shock to them all, of course, but it seemed to her that Mona had been indelibly scarred by it, and there was no doubt she fretted at the prolonged partings from her mother, too. Ginny wished she knew Jas Lawrence well enough to discuss her pupil with him. Dear me, no .' That was out of the question! Ginny's face, red with exertion, became even redder at the memory of his succinct summing-up of her own character. He'd probably think

she had a fearful nerve broaching the subject at all, especially as she was here more or less on trial. The forestry track was heavily rutted, and marked all the way by the tyre-treads of giant crawlers and four- wheel-driven lorries. Ginny picked her way over the numerous indentations, and was relieved when she reached the second crossroad. There she scaled the fence that enclosed the plantation, and was pleased to find that the ground beneath the neatly spaced, well-grown trees was soft, springy and free from weeds and nettles, even though she had to thread her way carefully among the lower boughs. The tops were lost in a mesh of foliage away above her head making the place pleasantly cool and gloomy. As she pressed on, the buzz of power-saws, which had been a mere thin whine from her position lower down, now seemed to shiver right through her eardrums with increasing nearness. She must be close to the sawmill, she surmised, but even then, it was on the opposite side of the forestry road, and she was amazed at the intensity of the noise. Just then Ginny became aware of a different noise - the staccato thud, thud, thud of a heavy axe biting into sappy timber. The next moment she stopped dead, daring to go no farther. Ahead of her, not twenty yards away, was Jas Lawrence, working his way through a doughty tree-trunk, oblivious of her presence. The axe, of course, was his. He was naked to the waist, and the muscles on his bare brown back rippled powerfully as he swung his implement with strong, rhythmic strokes that were beautiful to behold. Ginny, mesmerized, almost winced each time the blade met its mark with savage precision. The chips flew, but the axeman, with the intense concentration of his breed, carried on, unaware of his intrigued

audience. And that was the way it had better remain, decided Ginny, turning to sneak softly away. Even as she did so, there was an urgent shout somewhere to her right. "Look out! Timber! Look - OUT!" Ginny, bewildered, did look out. She looked about her, then upward, rooted to the spot as she watched a quivering bulk of leafy boughs swaying in her direction. An ominous creaking made her drop her flask and move hastily to one side. There was a final ear-splitting protest from the newly-severed trunk, a spatter of leaves in all directions, and a rushing noise close to her head. A twig flailed her cheek, and in the same instant, she felt herself plucked up and lifted bodily out of the way. Two hands came up to protect her head. There was a resounding crash, then silence. Ginny's vision, momentarily impaired by the arms that had covered her, cleared as they were removed. She lifted her eyes, dreading what she would see. She was leaning against Jas Lawrence. His sweat- streaked face hovered over her, pale and set beneath the tan. His chest still heaved from the frantic sprint he had taken, and his breath came in gasps. Furious grey eyes locked with remorseful sherry- brown ones, and something happened in that moment to Ginny. A pleasant tingling soared through her veins, and it seemed as if a magic, unseen thread was pulling her towards this angry man who had rescued her for a second time. It was part of the magic, and quite inevitable, that he should utter a single anguished groan, and enfold her to him in a clasp that hurt. The next second the magic vanished.

She was released abruptly, as steps came blundering towards them. "Strewth, Boss, I thought she was a gonner! Is she O.K. ?" Jas's voice was brusque. "She's O.K., Wilson - a slight scratch on her face, nothing more. You get back to work. She won't get in your way again. I'll see to that!" The other man, visibly shaken, gave her a single, accusing glare before turning back to his post. Now the storm broke, as Ginny had guessed it would. "What the blazes did you think you were doing, barging through a plantation like that when it's being thinned? Couldn't you hear the saws? Couldn't you see the snicks out of the trees marked for felling? Didn't I tell you I'd take you around myself when I had time? Or did you simply intend to flout my authority in your usual independent fashion ?" The questions cracked out so fast, one upon the other, that they reminded Ginny of the biting blows his axe had taken as it ate into the tree-trunk. "I was merely taking a walk," she replied repressively. One of them had better keep cool, after all. "The hell you were! Don't you ever think?" he barked. He looked around in sudden anxiety. "You didn't bring Mona, I hope? She's not wandering around in there too, is she ?" he asked grimly. Ginny shook her head. "I should think not! I pointed out this very planta-tion to her the other day, and warned her not to come near it on any account. It would seem

she has a higher regard for my authority than you have, Virginia. I distinctly recall briefing you on this subject the night you arrived. Did you think I spoke for mere amusement? You'll have to overcome this completely unreasonable resentment of those in authority over you. I can assure you that their dictates usually have a basis of sound common sense." Ginny hardly heard him. She was busy recovering from the tingling delight of being held in his arms, and also the shock of Mona's duplicity. The child had actually had this particular area pointed out as a danger spot, had she? Yet she had guided her governess purposely to it. Ginny seethed at the thought. Just wait till she got home! Just wait! However, as this was a matter for herself and Mona alone, she somehow forced herself to say placatingly, "I'm sorry, Mr. Lawrence - er - Jas. Please believe that. It was extremely foolish of me to come that way, I realize that now. As you say, I simply didn't think. I deserve all the coals of fire you're heaping on my head. I really do." She peeped up at him apologetically, and smiled uncertainly, waiting hopefully to see if her humble admission of guilt would have the desired effect. It did! She had the satisfaction of watching his scowling brows ease. A reluctant grin softened his stern expression, and he shook his head ruefully. "That's all right, Virginia. I'm not sure that eating humble pie suits you as much as I anticipated." He reached for his khaki shirt, which hung over the slip- rail at the nearby fence. "Seeing you've made the trek up here, I may as well show you round, as I meant to do some time if you hadn't jumped the gun first. Come here." She obeyed. When he took her hand and led her over the rough path to the waiting Land-Rover, the magic was back in the atmosphere for

Ginny. But, as he handed her up into the vehicle, Jas Lawrence had assumed his bland air of impersonal, courteous informality. The magic was for her alone.

CHAPTER SIX GINNY enjoyed her conducted tour more than she had thought possible. At first she tried to stifle her new awareness of Jas Lawrence as a person - a man, and an extraordinarily attractive man, at that. It wasn't just that he had physical charm, in abundance. She had been conscious of that from the first, but it had been offset by his snap judgement of her own failings, his overbearing manner - tyranny, no less - and his unnerving capacity for looking right into her mind and discerning her thoughts with uncanny accuracy. Now, as they bumped over the rutted roads and she listened as he pointed out the varieties of timber and means of extraction, showed her the nurseries below the sawmill, and the different grades, lengths and cuts of treated logs, she experienced an enthusiasm and kinship of spirit that left her feeling slightly breathless. A warning bell rang somewhere in her brain. "It's so steep, isn't it," she said. "I didn't realize it until I began climbing up." "Yes, there's quite a gradient. 'Noosa' is actually an aboriginal word, meaning 'rising' or 'climbing up'. The area already went by the name when the first squatters came here long ago. Those are cedar," he indicated. "The ones higher up are ash and pine. The stands down along the river banks are red gum. They're natural stands, and to me are the most beautiful of all. We'll drive through that way going back to the homestead." Ginny felt both humility and wonder as they passed between the giant boles of the old river red-gums, great-hearted sentinels guarding the banks of the wide, torrid stream.

"Those red-gum forests are a national heritage," Jas explained. "Too many of them have been cut down as striplings by axe-happy woodsmen, either through ignorance or vandalism. I won't permit any but mature trees to be felled, and that only occasionally. Natural regrowth restores the balance if not interfered with. Here's a fine example of a mature one. See, he's a big, sprawling fellow with spreading arms and mottled bark, quite different from that tall, thin, orderly chap there - he's a sugar-gum." Ginny was fascinated. She stored up all the information avidly. She would write it down, and tell Ted in her next letter. The Rover rattled over the grid, and up the avenue. "I know these are pepper-trees, anyway," she told him proudly, as they passed between the rows of bushy greenery. "Jim Sparks told me when he took us down to see the sheep the other day." She glanced at her watch. "Good gracious," she gasped guiltily, "just look at the time! I'd no idea the morning could fly so fast. It's almost lunch-time, and I've missed the lesson period." "Stop worrying," he replied expansively. "I can assure you I'm not. After all, it was my own suggestion to have a look around, and I've a feeling Mona will be delighted." Ah, yes. Mona. That was to be her next problem, thought Ginny wryly. How to tackle it, she wasn't quite sure. Although the child's eyes widened when she saw her uncle helping Ginny from the Rover, she said nothing, and her governess was equally uncommunicative. Ev&en through lunch, Ginny managed to restrain herself, but afterwards, when they were alone, she came straight to the point.

"Why did you do it, Mona?" she asked in exasperation. "You purposely directed me to the very place you knew we shouldn't be, didn't you ? Why ? Did you really want something to happen to me ?" Mona blushed, and had the grace to look ashamed. "I didn't want something awful to happen to you, Ginny, not like getting squashed under a tree or something." She traced the floral design on her cotton dress with an agile forefinger, not meeting the accusing eyes upon her. "I just thought that if you got a good fright, or if Uncle Jas got mad enough with you, that you'd go away, that's all." "Go away? Mona!" Ginny was hurt, ridiculously. "Don't you like me, Mona - not even a little bit ?" "'Course I like you," Mona stated, as if Ginny's question were stupid in the extreme. "I like you almost as much as Uncle Jas. Only - oh, can't you see, Ginny, as long as you're here, he'll make me slave away at my scales and harmony, won't he? You heard him this morning, didn't you ? I'm so lucky to have someone like Virginia to teach me, oh, so lucky! As long as you're here, he'll expect you to do it. But if you weren't here, well, you couldn't, could you?" she concluded reasonably. Ginny was beaten, and she knew it. "It's .not as simple as that," she told Mona. "If I go, he'll get someone in my place. Didn't that occur to you ? Uncle Jas is simply carrying out your mummy's wishes for you, and as you love your mummy, you really must try harder, Mona. What have you been doing this morning ?" Mona's sulky face brightened.

"I've been making potato cuts, Ginny - it's great fun. Sparky gave me some clean flour-bags to decorate for her, and I've pressed on some super designs. Do come and see." The bags were covered with bright, blotchy designs, easily discernible as a cat, a rabbit eating what was presumably a carrot, and a leaf whose veins had been painstakingly carved from its potato-surface to give a skeleton effect. No doubt Mona could and did apply herself with fervour to anything that really interested her. Ginny wished, as they made their way to the sitting- room for her music lesson, that she was as enthusiastic in this quarter. It seemed to be Mona's lucky day, however. They had plodded through a couple of scales, and had just embarked on a simple study, when the unmistakable sound of horse's hooves approached, and a girl rode past the windows. She had short, pale hair and smoothly tanned skin, and she wore a becoming shirt of yellow silk. As Mona ran to press her nose against the window- pane, the rider waved, stopped, and dismounted from her bay mare. "It's Marella!" exclaimed Mona. "Marella May- berry. I haven't seen her for ages. She used to come often to see Uncle Jas. Probably she's heard you're here, and wants to have a look at you." Ginny had a feeling that this candid supposition might be fairly accurate. She could hear Sparky's voice murmuring a greeting of some kind, and then Marella's, deep and vibrant, and slightly amused. "Out, is he, Sparky ? Never mind. No, don't bother I'll find my own way through."

Mona gave her an amiable, if undemonstrative hug when she appeared in the doorway. Marella smiled. It was a nice smile. She had beautifully even teeth, a full mouth that was only faintly touched with pale colour, and honest, dark-fringed violet eyes. "Hullo, scrap," she said affably to Mona, looking beyond her to Ginny. "And you are Miss Sorrel? Pete told me I should come over and make your acquaintance. He had to go to Smedley's Creek today for a load of phosphates, and he got something you'd asked for, for Mona. As it isn't mail-day, he thought Mona might like it straight away, and suggested that I ride over with it." She held out a large, flat parcel with several exciting- looking bumps and angles. "The paints, Ginny! It's the paints already!" Mona cried, flinging Marella a hasty thank you, before falling upon the package. "It was extremely nice of you to bring it over," Ginny said, indicating a chair. "She's been longing for them, and we never dreamed we'd have them before mail- day. What a surprise!" Mrs. Sparks appeared with a tea-tray at that moment. "You'll be needing some tea after your ride, Marella. Ginny will do the honours, won't you, my dear? Mona, you come with me, and show me what on earth you've got that needs all that brown paper to hide it." The child needed no second bidding. Marella gave her a playful spank as she passed. When they were alone, she inspected Ginny frankly, and helped herself to a scone. "Did Sparky call you Ginny ? D'you mind if I do too ? Miss Sorrel sounds so stiff - and you must call me Marella." She took a large bite,

mumbling, "Gosh, these are good! Sparky has the touch all right! And tell me - how are you getting on with your pupil ? She's a bit of a terror, isn't she ?" Ginny had taken an immediate liking to Marella, and she didn't resent the question. She guessed Marella was the sort who believed in playing things straight from the shoulder. Her forthright manner and lack of guile only added to her attraction. Ginny laughed. "After this morning I'm inclined to agree with you!" She found herself telling the other girl about her startling experience. Marella pulled a face in sympathy. "Heavens, I'll bet Jas was livid with you! He loathes anyone walking around up there when the men have the saws going. Did he eat you alive ?" Ginny, remembering, blushed awkwardly. "Not really," she muttered, feeling uncomfortable. Marella eyed her astutely, and began to laugh softly. "Oh, Ginny," she said reproachfully, "not you, too - not already. My dear, welcome to the happy throng." "The - happy throng ?" Marella reached for another scone.

"Sure," she drawled. "The happy throng of worshippers. You've fallen for him, haven't you, just like the rest of us. No, no, don't deny it. Marella should know the symptoms, if anyone does." Ginny's cheeks were burning. She was suddenly swamped by a dreadful, terrifying feeling that Marella had hit on the truth. Had she been bewitched, or what, up there in the plantation? Was this what the magical exhilaration really was - love ? If so, it wasbound to be a one-sided affair. Oh, Ginny, you little fool, she admonished herself in silent misery. "Cheer up, pet," spoke Marella bracingly. "It's new, isn't it? It hurts a bit at first, but once you admit there's no future in it, it's much easier to bear. All of us local girls who suffer from similarly misplaced affection for him will tell you the same." Ginny couldn't prevent a pale smile. "Oh dear, why are we such fools?" she moaned. "I - I never thought - I mean, honestly, Marella, I've - I've hated him since the very first day I met him. I don't like him even now. Truly I don't. He's never done a thing to make me like him the least little bit better." Marella's pretty mouth pursed wisely. "My dear Ginny, he doesn't have to. Jas doesn't have to do more than quirk one of his sarcastic eyebrows and crook his little finger, and we all come running, every one of us. We just lap up his brusque- ness, his indifference, his loathsome superiority. Only it's no use," she finished whimsically. "Rosana has the game sewn up, I'm afraid, and we other candidates have lost the race before we've even done the first lap." "Well, I've no intention of being a candidate," said Ginny with the firm despair of someone shutting the stable door after the horse has bolted.

"I don't, somehow, understand about Mrs. Lawrence, though. Rosana?" Marella gave a resigned, comic shrug. "You'll understand when you meet her. Rosana holds all the aces none of us can match her for beauty of figure and face, not to mention brains, even if they are scheming ones. Why do you think she insists on Mona staying here with Jas?" She gave a choked little laugh that, oddly, had no malice in it, before answering her own question. "She does it because it gives her a foothold, an excuse to visit him regularly. I don't think she really gives a hoot about Mona's life in Sydney being either suitable or unsuitable, but her presence here is a marvellous pretext to come as often as she can, and gratitude, the way Rosana can put it over, is no mean weapon. Jas is a tough nut to crack, but she'll win in the end. He's so utterly incorruptible himself that he won't suspect her devious lures, and she plays up to his love of music in the most sickening way. He's never made it more than a hobby and a relaxation, but he has a genuine appreciation of it, and it does make a bond. No, Ginny, she's got the trump-cards all right. I've realized the hopelessness of it for ages now, and yet, woman-like, I and my colleagues in the Mutual Sufferers' Society don't want her victory to be too easy, so we make a half-hearted little fight for him whenever we get the chance." Marella stretched her trousered legs, and then stood up and put her cup back on the tray. "It doesn't even hurt, when you've faced the fact for as long as I have, that Jas doesn't see you as a woman. I'm just a nice kind girl whose company now and then brightens up Mona's day. Not his day, mark you, but Mona's. And, talking of Mona, where has the scrap got to? I hope nothing was broken in the parcel. Well, Ginny," she held out her hand in a friendly gesture, "It's nice to know you are so near. Another neighbour is always welcome in this part of the world. Do come over

and see us some time. Ring me when you think you'll be free, and I'll come for you, or Jas would let you have the Holden. 'Bye for now." She waved from the saddle as she turned her horse for home, looking pretty and feminine and wholesome, and not the least bit heartsick. Ginny, who thought she was one of the prettiest girls she had ever seen, reflected that Jas Lawrence must be blind if he didn't see it too. She stood for several minutes after Marella had gone, thinking over what the other girl had said about Rosana. What she had heard had come as a surprise to Ginny. She had somehow imagined Rosana as a heartbroken widow, dedicated to her career and, to a lesser degree, to her child, whose father must have given her such happiness. She couldn't adjust her ideas to the conception of a hard-headed, scheming beauty, intent upon capturing the handsome brother of her dead husband. It had a curiously distasteful flavour. In her innocent way, Ginny reflected that the sort of success which Rosana had attained in her chosen profession should be enough for any one person, without someone like Jas Lawrence thrown in as well. She looked right into her own heart, and despaired at what she saw and felt. Perhaps it was Marella May- berry's own candid admission that helped Ginny to acknowledge the truth. She was in love with Jas Lawrence. How it had crept up on her without her awareness, she couldn't say. When her antipathy had changed to liking, she couldn't put her finger on. She only knew that after this morning, when she had been encircled for a moment by his powerful arms, there would always be this yearning ache in her heart. Unlike Marella, who probably led a gay life, loaded with masculine admiration and attentions, Ginny couldn't relegate her newly-uncovered longing to the category of a rather amusing misfortune, shared by others. For Ginny, who had had so little

experience of men, it was in the nature of a personal tragedy. She was the type to love only once, with fervour and devotion. Now she had given her heart where it was neither wanted nor needed. Ginny sighed, and wandered towards the veranda. She had better find Mona again. Poor little Mona, a pawn in the game. At the mental image of her unhappy, wistful, dissatisfied little face, Ginny was suddenly incensed. Passionately she decided that she must do all she could to help and encourage the child in the things that gave her a modicum of pleasure - and Ginny had suspected for some time that piano tuition was not one of them. This could be why fate had sent her to Noosa, to rescue a miserable little girl from the cultural and educational no-man's-land into which she had been pushed either by ignorance or machination. Even if it meant a battle of wills with Jas Lawrence - and it probably would Ginny was utterly determined on a course she suddenly realized was both just and humane, and in Mona's best interests. She herself had absolutely nothing to lose in risking Jas's displeasure. Why, he'd even refused to call her Ginny until he found some good reason. Ginny recalled vividly his nonchalant expression as he said that, and the satirical twist of his firm mouth. Well, no good reason had been forthcoming. He still called her Virginia, and always in the same stern, formal tone. No, her duties lay with Mona. The child needed support, and Ginny was there to give it. She didn't feel so kindly disposed towards her youth-ful charge that evening, when she entered her bedroom to find her mother-of-pearl clasp on top of the dressing- table.

It lay in two pieces, and the comb which had been part of it made a third. Ginny could only stare disbelievingly for several minutes, and then she sank down in utter distress and spread the three pieces on the palm of her hand. Her gaze misted over, and she looked down, not really seeing at all. This was the final crisis in what had turned out to be the most painful day of her life. Ginny regarded it, somehow, as an omen. The fact that she had always attached an excess of sentimental value to a trinket of singular beauty but modest financial merit had nothing to do with it. It was her last and only tangible link with the warmth of her parents' love and understanding - the sort of love that Ginny had long ago received and given, to a man and woman who had for each other a wonderful affinity. It was the kind of affinity that Ginny, as she grew older, dreamed of experiencing one day with the man of her dreams. A noise behind her brought her out of her trance. Mona stood there, watching her apprehensively. Before Ginny could even speak, the little girl had run forward, flung her arms about her neck, and begun to sob abandonedly. "Ginny, I'm sorry - truly, truly, I am." Mona's words were barely distinguishable as she buried her head in Ginny's shoulder. "I n-never meant to break it, honest, I didn't. It - it just seemed to c-come apart when I was putting it in. And it was so p-pretty, even if it was sort of p-pale. Oh-h, Ginny, whatever will you do to me?" Ginny patted the thin back. "Hush, Mona, hush. You mustn't cry like that. I'm not going to do anything to you, dear - not in punishment. You've been punished already, knowing you came here and touched it without my permission, and seeing it broken. That's your punishment, Mona."

And mine, too, spoke a small voice sadly within her. It was as if her heart had been squeezed and wrung. It took a genuine effort to stifle the burning resentment she felt against Mona just then. The sight of the child's tear- stained cheeks helped her to control herself, and bite back the bitter words of reproach that trembled upon her tongue. There was no doubt that the remorse evident in the blotched little face was genuine enough. "Go and get your shower, dear." She spoke automatically, picking up the pieces of her clasp. "It will soon be tea-time. Be a good girl, and hurry, and we'll say no more about it." Mona raced to obey. Ginny wandered through the passage and out on to the veranda, still fighting to assuage the acrid lump in her throat. Instinct took her, as it had always done in times of stress, towards the only solace Ginny knew. She still had the broken remnants of her ornament in her hand. Now she laid them tenderly upon the glossy rosewood surface of Rosana's piano, and started to play. It was the only thing she could think of doing, to purge hef mind of the bitterness that lay upon it, to expurgate this ominous superstition - that the shattering of her little pearly slide was actually the material confirmation of the shattering of her awakened love for Jas Lawrence. Hardly had it been born than it must be condemned. It was quite useless. Quite hopeless. He loved Rosana. Ginny's fingers roved over the notes, extracting a peculiarly painful comfort from their singing response. The tune she played was haunting, disturbing - now a mournful yearning of exquisite tenderness, now a tormented torrent of protesting violence, falling away to the sombre melancholy of the minor key.

"Sibelius." Jas Lawrence's voice spoke somewhere behind her shoulder. "I always think that's an unhappy air, and the way you're playing it does little to dispel its depressive effect. What's up, Virginia ?" Ginny didn't turn, but even so, she could imagine how he would be looking. Broad and strong, and kindly concerned in his impersonal yet perceptive way. His hair would have damp, dark wings where the shower had wet it. His smooth lean cheeks would be freshly shaven. She could smell the masculine aroma of his shaving lotion, so near was he. "Nothing's wrong." Her voice, even to her ears, sounded stiff and discouraging. Jas moved. He came forward to take up his stance on one side of the piano, where he could see her face. "Of course something is." He brushed aside her denial impatiently. "No woman looks like that, and plays like that, unless something has upset her. Can't you tell me, Virginia ?" His voice deepened. There was an almost tender invitation in his brusque appeal. Ginny met his keen grey gaze defiantly, trying to harden her melting bones against the persuasive charm he could adopt so unexpectedly. His eyes moved to the remnants of the ornament laid out before her. He took them up in silence. Ginny watched his supple, square-tipped brown fingers as they fitted the pieces together. He held them in place for a moment, but when he set them down, they fell apart again. To Ginny, it was symbolic.

"No good," was his verdict. "That'll never mend. Was that why you were unhappy enough to play your Sibelius so very sadly ?" Ginny nodded. "I was just getting it out of my system," she told him. "I know it won't mend. It doesn't really matter. It was just an accident." Her forlornness communicated itself in spite of her steady voice. "Did it mean a lot to you ?" he asked gently. "Only for sentimental reasons. It's silly to build up such an attachment to anything, I know, but I did treasure it. You see, it was my mother's. She was such a sweet, happy person, and she loved my father very much. Her love sort of spread out, right over the whole house, when Ted and I were small." "I see," Jas said slowly, and Ginny had the feeling, as she often did, that he saw far more than he was meant to. "Ted is your brother, of course ?" She nodded. "He's a scientist now, like my father was. Only Dad specialized in metallurgy, and Ted's gone in for chemical analysis." "Any other brothers or sisters ?" "A half-sister, Margaret. She's not been married very long. My stepmother married again, too, and Ted has digs near the laboratory." "And that's how you were living - alone - when I happened to take you home that time," he finished for her flippantly.

A flinty look had crept into his fine grey eyes, and his tone was censorious. "You're something of an enigma, aren't you, Virginia? On the one hand, you choose to live that sordid existence that you were anxious to conceal. And on the other, you treasure this little talisman here, because it has associations for you of honesty and goodness, and the sanctity of marriage and family life. I wonder if I've got you figured right, after all?" Ginny could have told him he hadn't, but he didn't wait for an answer. With an irritated shrug of his square shoulders, he strode out of the room, as if glad to get away.

CHAPTER SEVEN SUMMER wore on, and Noosa, in keeping with the distant horizons across the valley, daily lost its green appeal, and developed a shimmering brown dryness. The days were cloudless arid stark, no slight breeze stirring the body of parched brown grass, which, though long, had some time ago relinquished its moisture to the vampire rays of the sun which beat down mercilessly, drawing its life away. Jas cast anxious glances at the metallic skies, checked the long-range weather forecasts in his pastoral journals, and prowled the property daily, moving stock, as occasion necessitated, and renewing the firebreaks around his forestry plantations. From the sleepout, Ginny could see the big red bulldozer. It worked from the upper boundary of the property methodically downhill, because, as Jas had taken time off to explain, that was the quarter from which the prevailing winds blew, and thus it presented the most immediate danger in the event of a bush-fire. Looking on to the green lawns and colourful clusters of shrubs and trees, still watered by garden sprays supplied from the river, Ginny found it hard to imagine such a contingency, but on her infrequent visits to Billoola she was struck by the arid bleakness beyond. The rectangular pattern, of freshly-churned earth strips grew daily, spreading down the mountain towards the homestead itself. Ginny found the heat oppressive, but not nearly so enervating as the sticky airlessness that had often prevailed in the city during seasons such as this. She was finding, as countless others had done when moving from the coast further inland, that the dry heat was easier to bear.

Mona continued with her lessons, but her responses were as wooden as ever. She and Ginny still worked in the morning-room, but nowadays the electric fan buzzed incessantly, and they were glad of the tall glasses of fresh tomato juice, chinking with ice, which Sparky brought to them half-way through each session. Ginny thought she had never known such a tireless worker as Sparky. An understanding - in fact, a genuine affection - had sprung up between the two, and Ginny had taken to helping the housekeeper with whatever chore she had on hand, once the piano lesson was over, and Mona was occupied with her period of practice. Together they bottled fruits and vegetables; made jams; preserved juices; sliced innumerable buckets of green beans which Jim Sparks brought up from the garden, and packed them in huge earthenware jars between layers of salt. Ginny thoroughly enjoyed both the work and the companionship, and while she was thus employed, she could at the same time keep a check upon Mona, for the tinkling of the piano could easily be heard from the kitchen. Sometimes there were depressing spells of silence, and Ginny would find the girl sitting disconsolately, gazing into space. She would always ask the same question when Ginny appeared. "Isn't it time to stop yet, Ginny ?" Ginny was sorry for her, and frequently renewed her vow to do something to help her, but she was not sure how to go about it. She would need to tread carefully if she was not to make matters worse. It hurt her to see the relief that spread over Mona's usually inexpressive features when she said it was time to stop. She would leap up with alacrity, and rush off, like some small, plain bird released from captivity.

Ginny usually went on helping Sparky to finish whatever job was in hand, and it was purely by chance, when searching for a mislaid textbook one morning, that she discovered where Mona Went, and what she did. She was on her knees, groping at the back of the double-doored cupboards of the tall bookcase in the morning-room, for she supposed that the missing book must somehow have slipped from the back of the drawer above, and she was anxious to retrieve it before the day's lessons commenced. No, nothing there. Ginny began to lift out the contents of the shelves, and was suddenly startled by frantic hands upon her shoulders, tugging so hard that she sat back with a thump, and gazed, astonished, into Mona's angry little face. Her dark eyes were flashing, and she looked quite as fierce and ruffled as a mother-bird defending an eyrie of eaglets. "You're not to go there! That's my place, Ginny. That's my secret place, just for me, and you're never, never to look there again!" Ginny recovered her balance, and rubbed her nose perplexedly. "Darling, why ever not?" she asked mildly. "I'm only looking for that green geography book. It could have fallen down the back, and we'll have to find it." "It's not there. I promise it's not there, honestly, Ginny. I keep other things there, so I know it's not." "Well, maybe it wasn't there when you last looked,but if it's only just fallen down, you wouldn't know, would you ?" argued Ginny soothingly. A horrid thought suddenly struck her.

"Mona," she said suspiciously, "you-you haven't got anything awful in there, have you ? Not frogs or spiders, or those ghastly greeny-brown crayfish like the ones you had in a tin on the back veranda ?" . The little girl laughed scornfully. "'Course not," she replied. "Although I can't think why you don't like them, Ginny. It's awful good fun watching them catching on to bits of stick, and I always put them back in the river afterwards." "Well, if it's not that, what is it? Mona, I think you'd better tell me, dear, really I do. I promise not to be angry." Mona stirred the fringe on the circular rug with one sandalled foot. "It's - my paintings," she admitted reluctantly, scowling at Ginny, who sat back upon her heels again in pure relief. "Your paintings? Darling, how wonderful! I didn't know you'd been doing any painting. I've never seen you at it." "It was my secret - and now it's spoilt," complained Mona resentfully. "It was to be something of my very own, so there! Not like the piano, Ginny, that I've got to do because Mummy's so good. And I know my fingers'll never sound like hers, not in a million years." Ginny thought she was beginning to see daylight. She drew the thin little form to her, and held Mona close. "Mona," she said carefully, "different people like different things. Your mummy, for instance, likes playing the piano, and listening to music. But she doesn't keep it secret, does she? She spreads it around, so that those who like to listen may hear it. Lovely things, like music and painting and singing, are things to be shared. You'll get more enjoyment from it if you share your delight in it with others. And that's quite a different thing from making others try to paint like you do. You

see, in all these things, there are the doers, and the lookers-on, and it's sometimes a mistake to try to mix them up." Oh, what a mistake, echoed Ginny to herself. For weeks now she had been a silent witness of one such error of judgement, and the victim stood in front of her now, watching her with the timeless patience of a small sphinx. "Mona, I can't paint, I never could. I can't draw cats and rabbits, and cut leaves out of potatoes and print them on to flour-bags, like you can. But I love to look at all these things. I always notice pictures and paintings. You see, I'm one of the lookers, not the doers, and if no artists wanted to share their paintings with me, I'd never be able to see any, ever, because I can't do them myself. Couldn't you - wouldn't you - let me see yours ?" Mona pondered a long moment, hesitating. Finally she came to a decision. She nodded her head solemnly, and knelt down beside Ginny. From the depths of the cupboard she withdrew a large folder. It had obviously been made by herself, from a piece of stout cardboard folded in half. Ginny swallowed when she saw the pieces of orange ribbon which decorated it. They looked suspiciously like the ones which had adorned Mona's precious chocolate box. When Ginny had admired the folder sufficiently, it was opened, and she was handed a series of six or seven of the small canvases, one by one. She exclaimed appropriately over the first and second, but after that, she studied them in silent appreciation, aghast at her discovery. Here was an obvious flair, such as Ginny would not have suspected Mona to possess. She had always been so quiet and listless and introspective that Ginny would never have associated her with the vitality and richness contained in these paintings. They were mostly landscapes of subjects close to the homestead - the two horses

cropping in the small paddock; the patchwork of forestry on the hillside; a study of river red-gums; a corner of the garden; and an interpretation of the homestead in late evening, with lengthening shadows, and a mountain backdrop of gloomy bottle-greens and plunging purples. Although all possessed the inevitable naivete of a child's hand, they were executed with unconscious skill, rather in the style of the French Impressionists. They were full of energy and life and enthusiasm, as if Mona had a secret store of these qualities which she was prepared to impart to canvases, if not to people. Ginny felt slightly dazed. She scrambled to her feet and propped them along the ledge of the bookcase. Then she perched on Mona's desk and studied them anew. "Darling, I think you're awfully clever. I've loved looking at them. I can't tell you how much pleasure it has given me to see what you can do." Mona flushed at the warmth of Ginny's praise. "If you like you can have one, then, Ginny, to keep. And I'm sorry I didn't show them to you before. After all, it was you who got me the paints 'n' stuff. Which one would you like ?" Ginny didn't hesitate. A plan was forming in her mind. "May I have this one, dear? I think it's my favourite." She picked out the study of spreading gum-trees. They possessed an ingenuous touch of fluid beauty, their limbs all reaching out as if in supplication, their giant trunks slanting yearningly towards the great sluggish stream on whose banks they stood.

"I'll prop it up in my room," she told Mona proudly. • "And I'll get you some more materials whenever you run short. Now, I think we'd better get on with our lessons, don't you? We'll just have to skip Geography today." Mona set to work almost with relish. It was as if some tightly coiled spring had been released within her now that Ginny knew and approved her secret. A tide of goodwill flowed from one to the other, and from time to time Ginny received a smile of conspiratorial triumph which completely altered Mona's expression. That evening, after tea, Ginny took her chance. "Jas," she said, as he prepared to leave the table, "may I see you for a moment or two in your study ? I'd like to speak to you about something." Jas's brows rose at her surprising request, but he assented readily enough. "I shan't be a second, then. I just want to get something first." Ginny raced off to her room, and when she knocked at the door of the book-lined room where she had seen Jas that first evening, she had Mona's painting in her hand. Jas saw her seated, then hitched his trousers and took his own swivel-chair behind the desk. "Well, Virginia," he asked with courtly gravity, although a hint of amusement lurked in his eyes, "what is all this mystery ?"Ginny laid the painting carefully in front of him. - "It's this," she replied. "Mona painted it." Jas took it up, held it away, and scrutinized it. "Mona did that? Good for her! I didn't know she had any oils."

"She didn't. I got them for her from Smedley's Creek." Ginny hesitated, unconsciously clasping her hands together. "Jas, I don't quite know how to put this, but I can't help feeling that Mona is terribly unhappy, the way things are at present with her life. She needs the company of other children, and the opportunities to do the things she has a natural bent for - that, for instance." Ginny leaned forward to tap the canvas. Jas was watching her, his face unfathomable. "Go on," he invited. Ginny wished she knew what he was thinking. It might have helped her to present her case more favourably. "I've realized for some time now that Mona will never make anything of her piano lessons, Jas. For some reason, she hates them. It could be an emotional barrier, to do with her father's death, or her mother's brilliance. But whatever it is, there's a hard core of resistance to it, and a complete lack of receptiveness. It produces a genuine tenseness and unhappiness in her, and I'm absolutely convinced that it's a mistake to force her, or subject her to it any longer." Jas gave her a level look. "Virginia, are you trying to talk yourself out of this job?" "Of course not!" she told him hotly. "It's Mona I'm thinking of. It's about time someone thought of Mona, instead of—" She broke off, biting back the angry reproaches she had almost uttered. More calmly she continued, pleading with him, "Jas, can't you understand what I'm trying to say ? It's Mona's happiness that's involved. She's a repressed little thing at the best of times, and her lack of musical ability only increases her sense of

inferiority. Her painting is something she can do under her own steam, and it's important to her on that account alone. It fulfils something within her. It has a - a sort of emotionally therapeutic value. Already there's a tremendous improvement in her outlook. And besides, can't you see how full of promise that is ?" Jas squinted again at the red-gums. "I like my trees to look like trees," he told her humorously. "Oh, really." Ginny clicked her tongue impatiently. "That's how Mona sees them. It's her own impression of them, and she's conveyed it astoundingly well. You must see that ?" v

He ran a large brown hand through his crisp hair 'helplessly.

"Look, Virginia. I'm a grazier and a forester at heart. I know my trees, I know my stock, and God gave me an appreciation of fine music which affords me much pleasure. But I appear to have missed out entirely where art is concerned. Is Mona's really as good as all that ?" Ginny met his gaze steadfastly. "I think it's promising, yes. She should be given the opportunity to develop it. But it's the fact that it means , sp much to her that matters to me. It's what it's able to do for her that should count." She added, honestly, "I don't know an awful lot about art, either, but possibly there's only a hair's breadth between a love of music and a love of painting. They are both expression of beauty, in a way - one of form, the other of sound. Surely her mother will see that, and not be disappointed in her?" Jas surveyed her thoughtfully.

"You really care about the child, don't you?" He said it as though the discovery surprised him. "Yes, I do. I want to see her happier." Ginny's words were muffled. Her throat suddenly hurt. Jas stood up, and Ginny, sensing her dismissal, did likewise. "Well, Virginia, you've made your point. I've to fly up to Sydney in two days' time, and I'll be seeing Rosana then." He held up his hand warningly. "Don't raise your hopes too high, though. Remember, I'm not the child's legal guardian. It's entirely up to Rosana, and I don't think she's going to approve. She'll be bitterly disappointed if Mona abandons her music, for one thing. And for another," he waved the canvas in the air, "I don't know whether she'll be any more impressed with this work of art than I was." Ginny seethed with impotence and frustration as she went away. She had done her best, but would it be good enough? Jas had been reasonable, even helpful, but how could she possibly convince him, or Mona's mother, that the child had real talent ? Impulsively, Ginny went to the morning-room and took out the folder containing the rest of the canvases. She selected two at random, and took them to her room. There she wrote a letter to Ted, explaining her reasons for sending him the paintings. Would he be good enough to contact Clive Barratt for her ? Knowing how he moved about, he might have left the room he had taken over from her, but she would like to have his candid opinion of the potential involved in the works she was sending, considering that they were executed by a child of only ten years. When she had completed the letter, backed the canvases with a stiff piece of card, and sealed the package, Ginny felt better. Clive was the

only artist she knew, die only person she could ask whose opinion would be of any real value. If his verdict compared favourably with her own intuitive judgement, she would renew the battle on Mona's behalf, even if it proved difficult to convince Rosana. Ginny needed the support of someone more knowledgeable than she. Jas, at least, was impartial, and open to conviction, and she had no doubt that although Rosana had the final say, his influence and opinion would count for something. Ginny found herself wondering, for the hundredth time, about the relationship between Rosana Pirelli and Jas Lawrence. When he spoke of her, there was genuine affection in his voice, and he always made a point of seeing her when business took him to the city. Presumably this was because he wished to, and not merely for Mona's sake. He had spoken very occasionally of his late brother, and Ginny sensed that he still suffered a deep sense of loss over Gideon's early and tragic demise. That alone would create a bond of sympathy between himself and Rosana. Ginny had no difficulty in picturing the two of them together - Jas, tall, grave and tender; Rosana, darkly beautiful and vivacious, gazing up at him adoringly. Ginny put the painful picture from her, and went to find Mona. Jas left for Sydney after breakfast on Thursday morning. The pale, tropic-weight suit he wore made him seem browner than ever, but in these sophisticated, well-cut clothes, he was a stranger to Ginny. He appeared assuave and immaculate as any city businessman, and wore his air of casual elegance as easily and naturally as he did most other things. Quite unaware of the impact he was making, he waved good-bye and slid behind the wheel of the Hol- den, which he would leave at the air-strip at Billoola.

When he was gone, things didn't seem the same. Ginny realized just how much she had come to listen for his step, and to welcome even the meagre amount of formal conversation they exchanged at mealtimes. A dangerous state of affairs, she admonished herself. She really must control her feelings better. She was discovering that propinquity did nothing to help in that direction. One good thing, at any rate, was her new relationship with Mona, who had become far more relaxed and talkative, and now regarded Ginny as a true friend. Together they went for walks, or swam in the slow- moving, brown river, at a pool which was quiet and cool and fringed with basket-willows. One had to be careful of "snags", or submerged branches and roots, but Ginny kept a constant watch on the little girl, and taught her some new strokes with which to confront her uncle. The river water was flat, without the buoyancy of the salt sea, and a delicious feeling of languor would pervade their limbs when they came out. They would lie on the shady bank, allowing the summer heat to dry them without the aid of towels. Sometimes Mona took her canvas and paints. She would work away with quiet enthusiasm, and each time Ginny looked at a completed picture, she was more certain than ever that the piano was not Mona's metier. On Saturday morning there were no lessons. Ginny rose early, did some washing for herself and Mona, to relieve some of Sparky's Monday burden, and then packed a picnic. She had promised Mona that they would climb as far as time permitted up the forestry road, and eat their lunch before coming down. From their viewpoint, the child surveyed the panorama beneath them, and turned to Ginny, disappointed.

"I haven't a big enough canvas, have I ?" she asked. "These little ones won't get it all in. If I don't include that clump of trees, it will all be lopsided - sort of too much light." Ginny looked over her shoulder at the vista below. She could see what Mona meant. An artist would probably have called it "balance" or "contrast" or something equally technical. Mona had no name for it, but her feeling was instinctive and accurate. "I'll get you some larger ones next time we see Pete," Ginny promised. "I had no idea, when I ordered the first ones, that you'd get such a kick out of covering them with all those messy blobs, as you once called them!" Together they laughed. "Sit still, Ginny. I'll draw you instead." Ginny obliged, and Mona worked away, her tongue protruding in concentration. The pencil sketch she showed to her sitter was certainly in proportion, but Ginny's features looked almost hawklike, and her eyes weren't right. There was something anaemic about the whole thing compared with the rich originality of the oils. "Gosh, do you really think I look like that ?'\ Mona giggled, and dodged away. Ginny gave chase and caught her. "I've a good mind to get my own back, and draw you too," she told her in mock annoyance. They were both laughing as they packed up their things, and clambered down towards the homestead. When they got there, the Holden was at the door.

"He's home!" screamed Mona, racing for the steps. "Uncle Jas is home! I wonder if Mummy sent anything for me. Did you bring me anything, Uncle Jas?" she asked, as he came around the corner of the veranda and she ran into his outstretched arms. Jas lifted her easily, and swung her round before depositing her firmly on the ground. He smiled at Ginny over her head. "What a reception!" he exclaimed equably. "You might at least say hello first, Mona!" Mona gave a little guffaw, and eyed him expectantly. Jas shrugged resignedly. "On the table in the morning-room there are two parcels - one from Mummy, and one from me. Be careful now! One is breakable." She dashed off, whooping with excitement. Jas looked Ginny over, and indicated the canvas deck-chairs nearby. Together they sat down. "Everything going all right?" he asked, taking tobacco from his pocket and rubbing it between his palms, before rolling it into the usual neat cylinder with a dexterity which never ceased to fascinate Ginny. "Yes - fine, thank you." "You're browner than when I went away." "Perhaps." Ginny turned her bare arms, to inspect them more closely. "We've been swimming a lot. I've taught Mona how to do backstroke and breaststroke. She wants to surprise you." There was a curiously sweet domesticity about the exchange, which smote Ginny to the heart. They could have been husband and wife,

greeting each other after a few days' absence, so normal did it seem. The only thing missing had been the initial embrace. Ginny looked at the firm mouth of the man opposite, and wondered what it would be like to be kissed by those lips. A fiery wave of colour stole over her face at the trend her thoughts had taken. "What are you thinking about?" Jas's amused question took her by surprise. "Er - nothing, really." "No ? I thought the mention of swimming might have reminded you of our first encounter. Or do you never think of that, Virginia ?" "Sometimes," she murmured, confused. "I've always wanted to apologize for my seeming ingratitude." He brushed that aside with an expressive flick of his cigarette. "No need," he told her. "It's always galling for someone who swims as well as you to find herself on the losing side in a strong current. Oh yes, I know your prowess in the water. I watched you making your impressive bid for solitude before ever you got into trouble." Ginny, acutely uncomfortable, sought to turn the conversation into less personal channels. "H-how did you get on in Sydney ?" His broad shoulders lifted carelessly. "The business side went satisfactorily enough. I'm not so sure that I pleaded our cause with sufficient skill, though. Rosana seemed quite dismayed about the whole thing. However, she's coming to see Mona

some time during the next fortnight, so we'll shelve discussions until she's here, shall we? Meanwhile, Mona is to continue with piano lessons as before." Ginny bit her lip. She was very disappointed, but somehow not surprised. She had realized at the outset that it would not be easy to persuade Rosana to change her plans for Mona, especially in view of Marella Mayberry's enlightening information. That was precisely why Ginny had felt it necessary to secure some more authoritative opinion to turn the balance. She should hear from Ted in a few days, surely, and it would be interesting to learn if Clive's view supported her own. "Don't look so downcast." Jas's voice interrupted her reverie. "I'm sure we'll find a solution to the problem in the end. I can see quite a difference in the child myself. She's more alert and confident. Noisier, too. Noise is always a healthy sign in the young - far better than introspection and apathy. By the way, here's a trifle to cheer you up, a little memento from Sydney." He reached into his pocket, withdrew a small package, and tossed it into her lap. "Jas, you shouldn't have done that!" protested Ginny, delighted and embarrassed at the same time. "Better open it," he advised her quizzically. "You might not even like it, but I hope you will." Ginny's fingers trembled as she peeled away the tape that bound it. She had never in her life received a gift from anyone, except at birthdays and Christmas, and then only from the immediate members of the family. An oblong, grey leather box was revealed when she drew aside the paper.

In silence she raised the lid. "Oh, Jas!" There, on a black velvet pad, lay an exquisite mother-of-pearl comb, almost the exact shape and size of her own broken ornament. Only, where the other had had an untouched, native beauty of complete simplicity, this one was delicately carved, and along the top ran a band of classic silver, studded with tiny turquoises. Ginny lifted it out, and turned it gently. "Do you like it? I picked it up in one of those little boutiques in Row Street." She lifted her eyes. They were unaccountably brimming with tears, and she hoped she wasn't going to be so stupid as to cry in front of him. "It's beautiful," she breathed. "How can I thank you? It's the most enchanting thing I've ever possessed. Oh, Jas, whatever made you do it ?" He stood up, and towered over her, looking down with impenetrable grey eyes. When he answered, it was in an unbelievably kind voice. "Well, Virginia, I suppose it was because of the associations your other one held for you. They were too worthy to allow them to lapse into obscurity, and I thought this might serve to remind you of them sometimes. After all," he added, a little grimly, "I infinitely prefer the pre-artist period in your life myself." Ginny was left, staring after him open-mouthed, but before she could summon a suitable retort, his long form had disappeared into the gloom of the cool, dark hall.

CHAPTER EIGHT MAIL-DAY on Monday failed to provide a letter from Ted, but on Wednesday Ginny saw the familiar neat black writing on an envelope addressed to her. She took the letter out on to the shadiest veranda with a sense of pleasant anticipation, but when she read them, the contents were disturbing, and she was no further on in her search for support over Mona. "I took a turn round to Clive's digs the other day," ran Ted's epistle, "but the landlady said he was camping with a mate at Terrigal, and wouldn't be back till near the end of the week. As soon as I track him down, I'll let you know, though. Knowing me as well as you do, you'll probably scoff at my inevitably scientific opinion, but I was quite taken with those paintings myself, although I don't pretend to have any understanding of techniques. It does seem an extraordinary style for a child of her age to adopt, and she appears to handle it with some skill. Anyway, Gin, Clive will let you know what he thinks in due course. I've seen him once or twice since you left. He divides his attentions equally between a number of girls, it seems to me, but when my lab pal's sister gets her turn, I see him and have a yarn. He always asks for you, by the way. He's not a bad chap, but as restless as ever. Now for a bit of bad news concerning myself, only you are not - repeat not - to worry, as the worst is over. I haven't been too well lately. Got caught in one of these thunderstorms which have been raging on the coast, and stupidly forgot to change my wet clothes. We were actually in the midst of an extremely interesting experiment, and I came in from my lunch-hour and got involved, although I know that excuse won't wash with you! Anyway, Gin, the long and short of it is that I contracted pneumonia, and felt pretty rocky for a while. In fact, my last letter to you was written in bed. I'm really all right again, but still a bit breathless, and the doc has written me off for another ten days before I'm allowed back to work. He says I've to rest and sleep and so forth, which is an abominable nuisance, and thinks it would be good for me to get away from this humidity for a while. I must admit it's not much

fun in my digs. I always had my midday meal at the lab canteen, and I think the landlady regards me as a bit of a nuisance now, although she was very good to me while I was really ill. I thought of coming up to be near you for about a week, Ginny. I'd love to see you again, old girl. Is there a pub in Smedley's Creek or Billoola where I could stay ? I'd hire a car when I needed one, and hop over to see you sometimes when you were free. Do let me know as soon as possible if this idea seems feasible, and just tell me if you feel I'd be in the way at all. As I say, I've ten days left, but they soon fly past, and a week in the country would seem like heaven after my enforced incarceration in this little room." Oh, poor Ted! All other thoughts were banished from Ginny's mind immediately, and her brows contracted with anxiety. Of course she must do something, find out about hotels, and write to him straight away. Better still, she would phone the lab. They would almost certainly be keeping in touch with him, and could deliver a message to him, and save precious time. She hoped he would be strong enough for the journey, and had really recovered as well as he had led her to believe.It was like him to make light of anything he thought would worry her, but worried she was - quite desperately. She went to seek out Jas, and eventually found him in one of the machinery sheds, lying beneath a tractor. An assortment of tools lay on an opened leather kit, and all she could see of him was one muscular brown arm which reached out occasionally to fumble for what he required. His voice came in muffled response as she explained the situation. She felt it was only proper to ask his permission to have a relative coming to see her at Noosa in her free moments, although she knew he would not mind. Jas must have sensed her distress. He came rolling out from beneath the vehicle he was servicing, stood up, and reached for a piece of oily waste, upon which he wiped his greasy hands. They were quite black, and so was his forehead and the front of his khaki shirt and trousers.

He looked hot and weary, and when he rubbed a palm across his damp forehead, some more streaks appeared, heightening the effect. "Phew! There's not much air on the go under there," he said, leaning against one of the enormous rubber- studded wheels and reaching for his tobacco. "Now, about your brother - of course you'll tell him to come, Virginia. But why to a hotel ? He'll be most welcome to stay here at Noosa. He won't have the effort of making a journey each time he wants to see you, then, and he'll have a better chance of recovery, too. You and Sparky can go to work and feed him up." Ginny shook her head firmly. "No, although it's kind of you, Jas, and I do thank you. Ted would never agree to coming here to stay while I'm in your employment, and besides, Mrs. Lawrence is coming up soon, and Sparky will have enough to do. I think I'll phone Marella Mayberry and ask her which is the best hotel for him." Jas fingered his lean chin, watching her face whilst she was speaking. "As you like, then, Virginia. You're an independent lot, you Sorrels, aren't you ? I still think your brother would be better here, but perhaps, in his position, I'd make the same decision myself. Go ahead and speak to Marella. She'll be able to tell you more about the hotels at the Creek than I. And, Virginia," he called after her as she reached the doorway of the shed, "try not to worry too much. He's young and healthy, and by the sound of things, he's past the worst." "I know." She smiled palely, and there was a slight quaver in her voice. "He'd be angry himself if he thought I was fussing, but - I sometimes feel he's all I've got." She stumbled away.

With typical country hospitality, Marella, too, offered to have Ted to stay with the Mayberrys, but when Ginny stood firm, she supplied the name of the most comfortable hotel, and also a garage which ran a carhire service. "You haven't been over yet," she accused Ginny. "Maybe when your brother is here with a car, you'll bring him to meet us. By the way, how is His Nibs these days ? Tyrannical as ever ?" Ginny laughed. "Much the same as usual," she replied. "Mrs. Lawrence is coming next week, I think. Jas seems very busy out on the property just now." "He will be," agreed Marella soberly. "I'll bet he's worried about the season - we all are. This big body of long grass is tinder-dry, and it's no joke wondering where the first fire is going to start. We can see Jas's firebreaks being renewed, even from here. A pity his neighbour on the other side of the hill isn't so particular. His boundary follows Jas right down one side, as well as along the top, and he never cares a fig about taking any preventive measures. Ah, well. We can only hope we escape in this district." Thinking of all those precious trees, and the long years of growth before maturity, Ginny found herself fervently hoping so, too. Jas had a vast load of worry and responsibility on his shoulders, and yet he was always kind, and thoughtful of those around him. Ginny thought of her treasured hair-slide, and the old familiar feeling of longing lapped about her. When Ted received her message, he rang her up at Noosa to let her know he would definitely be travelling at the week-end. Ginny was heartened to hear his voice coming over the telephone wires so strongly and cheerfully. He sounded very much as he always did, and her spirits soared in relief. It would be wonderful to see him again.

She found it hard to concentrate on her daily activities, so excited was she at the prospect of his arrival. Mona was almost as pleased as Ginny. Having no brother or sister herself, she was agog to meet someone else's, and asked all sorts of questions about Ted. Was he tall ? Was his hair long, or short like Uncle Jas's? Could he swim as well as Ginny? Had he ever painted pictures? Did he like tadpoles? Could he run fast? Why did he wear glasses? and so on, ad infinitum; Ginny answered to the best of her ability, and regaled Mona with stories of her childhood, and the pranks they had got up to. The little girl displayed an intense interest in every detail, and Ginny guessed that she was still lonely at heart. Ginny's affection and staunch friendship could not make up for what she lacked in the company and companionship of children of her own age. To be fully contented, Mona needed that. Sparky spent her spare moments polishing every item in the house that could be polished. "I like to have everything as nice as possible when Mrs Lawrence comes," she admitted to Ginny. "After all, she is a celebrity, and expects to be treated like one." Sparky was discretion itself. It was a trait that Ginny respected, but just then she wished it hadn't been quite such a dominant one in the housekeeper's make-up. There was absolutely nothing in her voice to indicate to Virginia how she felt about Rosana, one way or the other. She elaborated no further, and Ginny, who could not bring herself to indulge in idle gossip, rubbed away at the heavy silver tea- service in silence. By the week-end, the old homestead was winking from top to bottom. The honey-coloured pine flooring gleamed with wax, the windows shone, the rooms looked fresh and bright and free from dust "However long that lasts," said Sparky unhopefully, beating fiercely

with her broom at the last rug hanging on the fence outside. "The season's far too dry to be healthy, Ginny, mark my words. A good strong wind from the valley, and the dust'll be coming in thick and fast. We're needing rain badly. Like my Jim says, if the wind comes before the rain, it's goodbye to my nice clean house, unless it's from the usual quarter, over the mountain there. The fine silty river-loam further up the flat blows like mad when it's dry. Jas's paddocks won't blow, there's too much grass - but that's almost as big a worry in a year like this. They're having dreadful bush-fires in Victoria, by all accounts." Dust storms. Bushfires. Ginny, city-born and raised, had never thought very deeply before about the constant battle country people fought against the elements. She could remember several times when fires had threatened some of Sydney's outermost bushland suburbs, but that was the nearest she had ever been to personal involvement. It was a pity the district looked so brown and scorched for Ted's visit, but the trees on the hillsides were green and healthy, and he couldn't fail to be charmed by the lovely homestead, with its lush lawns and peaceful gardens. She had described it so often in her letters, and now, childishly, she wanted him not to be disappointed. Ted was travelling up on Friday, and had wisely decided to have a good night's rest and a long lie the next morning, before seeking out the garage. He was to drive over after lunch on Saturday, assuming that she would have that afternoon at her disposal. After the meal was over, Ginny dried the dishes for Sparky, keeping one eye on the dogs in their kennel under the heaven-trees beyond the kitchen windows. The second their ears pricked into alertness, she would know the car was coming. They had a built-in radar system about approaching vehicles, and always waited, straining eagerly at their chains, until they heard the clanking of the ramp at the bottom of the avenue, which was the signal for them to yap excitedly.

As soon as they began to bark, Ginny took off her apron, smoothed her hair, and flew down the passage, through the hall, and on to the front veranda. Jas was there, reading a paper, as he often did in the hottest part of the day, before going out again. He was leaning back in a cane chair, with his legs stretched out. He lowered the paper, and smiled when he saw her excitedly flushed face. "Take it easy. He won't run away." The car pulled up near the cement steps, and Ginny ran round to the driver's door and gave Ted an enormous hug of welcome. She studied his face anxiously. He was paler than usual, or perhaps she was accustomed to Jas's swarthy tan. Certainly he was thinner. His face had the gaunt angularity that illness often produces, and his eyes seemed larger and deeper-set than ever. "Oh, Ted, you're too thin," she wailed reproachfully. Only then did she realize that someone else had got out of the car on the passenger's side. Ginny's heart did a double-somersault as Clive Barratt straightened up and winked at her with his breezily familiar air. Clive! Here at Noosa! At Jas Lawrence's own home! Dear heaven, it couldn't be true. "Hello, princess! My, you look well - positively peachy! Are you surprised to see me? When brother Edward told me he was having a week in the country, I found the idea irresistible - especially as it also meant seeing you. I even managed to rustle up my hotel bill! Where's the junior art student, by the way? Those were most interesting canvases you sent." Jas Lawrence was coming slowly down the steps. Ginny turned towards him.

"My brother Ted - Jas Lawrence." Ginny's voice was an octave higher than she'd meant it to be. She watched the two men shake hands, then indicated Clive helplessly. Words failed her altogether. Jas, fortunately, took the initiative. She might have known he would. "We've met before," he stated coolly, clasping Clive's hand with brevity, "only I didn't get your name on that occasion." "Barratt - Clive Barratt. Good lord! It's unbeatable - you turning out to be you, I mean." Clive was unabashed. "Ginny didn't tell me." "Obviously not," confirmed Jas crisply. He forced a measure of cordiality into his tone. "Come inside and get cool. Would you like tea, or perhaps a beer? Yes, beer, I think. There's some lager on the ice, I believe, Virginia. You might bring me one, too, and then I've some things to see to outside, if you'll excuse me. I've told Virginia to take as much time off as she likes, during your visit," he told Ted. "She's had no free days since she came, so you mustn't feel that you're usurping her time in any way. I hope you'll make this home your own as often as you wish while you're in the neighbourhood." Ginny knew that her employer and her brother were sizing each other up. Clive, completely at home, had rolled up his shirt-sleeves and sprawled in the chair Jas indicated. In nightmare haste, Ginny departed to get the lager for the three men. She found her hands were shaking as she tipped cubes of ice into the tall pewter mugs, and placed them on a tray with the bottles. Not by the flicker of an eyebrow had Jas Lawrence hinted at his thoughts upon seeing Clive. He had betrayed no emotion whatever, had not even seemed surprised. He was the urbane, courteous country host, and Ginny's heart overflowed with gratitude towards him for the generous reception he had given Ted and his unexpected companion. Of course it was the sort of behaviour she had come to expect of Jas Lawrence.

He might be autocratic and domineering, but his standards of behaviour were at all times as high as he expected them to be in others. Even his anger, when he brought it to bear, was of the cold, controlled variety. Ginny suppressed a shudder of anticipation. When she returned to the veranda, conversation appeared to be flowing normally. Ted and Jas were in the midst of a spirited discussion on the latest chemical treatments of timber against "white ant", and it was obvious that Jas was finding her brother's ideas interesting. She was idiotically pleased that they were getting on so well together. She did not bother to analyse why she desired so much that they should be friends, but it mattered acutely to Ginny just then. They were the two important men in her life, although one of them was never to know this. "And where's the little lass - Mona, isn't it?" Clive sat forward to accept his mug from Ginny's extended tray. "I think you said, in your letter, that she's ten years old, didn't you, princess ?" "Yes, that's right." Oh, Clive! You don't know how you're complicating everything, moaned Ginny inwardly. Jas Lawrence had heard his words, and when she met his eyes, there was a frosty, penetrating look in them that she didn't like at all. Shortly after that he took his leave, retrieving his broad-brimmed hat from beneath the wicker tatye. He held up his hand to Ted. "No, don't get up," he said kindly. "You look as though you can do with all the rest you can get at the moment. My advice is to take things as easily as you can. I'd stay there for the afternoon if I were you there's plenty of time to see around. I hope you'll have a meal with us this evening, before you go back to the hotel ?" Ginny was relieved to hear Ted refusing firmly.

"Thanks all the same," he told Jas gratefully, "but we've arranged to have all three meals in the pub. I wouldn't dream of taking advantage in that way." Jas gave a non-committal nod of understanding, and left them. He was probably as thankful as she was that he and Clive Barratt were not to share a table that evening, or any other. Ginny felt she'd have choked on every mouthful! Ted followed his host's advice, thankfully, it seemed to his sister as she watched him anxiously. It wasn't like Ted to be so languid and listless. He made a Wry face as he correctly interpreted her expression. "I know, I know, Gin. It's the devil to feel so weak and tired. All my own fault, though. I was overdoing things a bit in any case, and I suppose that's how the bug managed to slay me the way it did. You take Clive off, and show him the place. There seems to be a feast of scenery for his artistic eye! I'll be here when you come back." They found Mona down by the river pool where she and Ginny frequently swam. She looked up, and when she saw Clive she gave a small shriek. "Ginny, he's got a beard! And his hair's long - it's kind of red. He's not like you said at all," she accused. Ginny laughed. "Darling, this isn't my brother - we've left him back at the house. This is a friend. His name's Clive, and he's an artist. He's longing to see all your paintings. He knows all about them." Mona put her head on one side and inspected him inquisitively, like a cheeky sparrow.

"An artist? A real, proper one? Yes, you do look like one, too. I've always thought men who made pictures 'n' all that would have beards, and you do!" Clive squatted down beside Mona, stroking his beard ruefully. "See what I mean?" he murmured to Ginny good- naturedly. "It's expected all right - artists invariably have beards, or they're not artists. I hope you're not disappointed that I'm not Ginny's brother?" he said to Mona. "Oh, no." She was politeness itself. "I think it's awful good fun to meet someone like you." "Good." Clive smiled at Ginny, and held her eye. "Personally, I'm glad I'm not Ginny's brother, too. It makes for a far more promising relationship." "Now, Clive," Ginny reproved him somewhat helplessly, "I thought we were agreed there's no future in that." He smiled broadly. "Look here, sweetie, that's sheer defeatism, a thing I never countenance! You don't think I came all die way up here with brother Edward only to look at some of this youngster's work, do you ? Oh, no. I'm going to further my cause whenever opportunities present themselves, so be warned! You won't be up here for ever and ever, and when you return to Sydney - who knows ? Now, poppet, let's see what you're doing there." He lifted Mona's folder, which lay on the grass beside her, and leafed through it thoughtfully. Soon he and the little girl were involved in a quaint exchange of ideas on the subjects depicted. Ginny lay on the bank in the shade, only half listening. She was thinking of Jas

Lawrence. She hoped Clive's presence wasn't going to alter the pleasant state of truce between herself and her employer. Just lately in fact, ever since he'd returned from Sydney - Jas had been gentle and kind and disturbingly charming. It seemed as if he was prepared, at last, to let bygones be bygones, and accept her as she was, without further judgement and condemnation. Eventually Ginny rolled over, sighing to herself. "Clive, I think it's time we were strolling back. Sparky will have a cup of tea ready, and then I suppose you and Ted will need to start back to the Creek if you're to be on time for the evening meal." "I'll follow," Mona told them. "I just want to finish this bit, and see if I can do what Clive says." "That's a smart kid," he observed, when they were out of the child's hearing. "She's got a gift, there's no question of it, Ginny. Properly taught, she could go a long way. She's young, though, and there's plenty of time. Seems a funny life for someone her age, though, doesn't it? The only child in an adult household." He grimaced. "It reminds me of my own youth. My father got a very starchy housekeeper when Mum ran out on us, and I used to hate coming-, home in the evenings. At least I had friends at school, though. I used to go to their homes for tea, and stick around, kicking a ball and so forth, until their parents sent me packing." "It's all wrong," Ginny agreed violently. It hurt her to hear Clive's reminiscences. Mona must be saved from the same fate, and would be, if Ginny could possibly bring it about. There was no self-pity in this man's observations, and that was partly what touched Ginny's soft heart. Clive seemed able to get outside himself and almost to laugh at himself objectively. There was no bitterness in

him, and Ginny, thinking of the lonely little boy he must have been, admired him for it. She told Clive about her hopes of persuading Mona's mother to let her go to boarding-school, since a proper home-life with Rosana was out of the question, committed as she was to frequent recitals, often in distant cities. He listened understanding^, and Ginny thought again what a thoroughly nice person he was. A little crazy, but nice. The two men departed in good time. Sparky's afternoon tea had been much appreciated, and she was gratified to notice the empty plates when Ginny returned to the kitchen with the tray. She refused to let Ted carry it for her, but he followed, all the same. He shook hands with the housekeeper and told her how much he had enjoyed her sandwiches, and from that moment he was "tops" with Sparky. "The poor soul!" she said to Ginny afterwards. "I wish I had him here under my wing. I'd put some flesh on his bones, so I would. Working too hard, that's what he's been up to. See the circles under his eyes, poor lamb. I only hope they've a decent cook in that hotel he's staying in. I always go to the Golden Door when I'm in Smedley's Creek. Really good steak and eggs, you get - but of course they don't do bed and breakfast." Ginny turned away to hide her smile. Dear Sparky, with her ample bosom and heart of gold. She wished, too, that Ted had been able to stay, but it would have been impossible, even had Clive Barratt not been with him. As Jas Lawrence had rightly observed, the Sorrels were independent. Ginny's independent spirit took over that very evening, as things turned out. It was her armour and shield, cloaking her vulnerable

feelings, and she sheltered behind it hardily when Jas brought his guns to bear on her after tea. Her mind was a turmoil of apprehension when he ordered her to his study at the conclusion of the meal, and when the door closed upon the two of them, she wondered if he could hear her heart beating. It laboured heavily, and a kindred pulse beat at her temple. She gazed at him, wide-eyed, waiting. "Sit down, Virginia, for heaven's sake!" he commanded impatiently. "And stop staring at me as though I'm some sort of ogre. I trust I'm able to say what I have to say in a civilized fashion, even if your own methods of deception are slightly primitive." Ginny fingered her throat. He was in a decidedly odd mood, one which was unfamiliar to her. He seemed to be curbing some strong emotion, holding himself in check, and she had no idea how best to handle the situation, nor the cause of it. "What do you mean ?" she asked quietly. "I think you know quite well what I mean," he said heavily. "I have never - ever - turned anyone away from the doors of this homestead in my life, but I was strongly tempted today, when that Barratt fellow turned up." Ginny gasped. So this was it! She might have known! Jas continued abruptly, "Fortunately for him, I was quick to realize the implications. You actually invited him, and yet you deliberately made no mention of it when we spoke about your brother's visit. You may label that as passive deception, if you like, but it's deception nevertheless, and I'm disappointed in you."

Ginny bristled. She flung back her head, and looked him in the eye unflinchingly. "You talk of implications, Jas," she returned hotly. "Well, those may be the implications, but they aren't the facts. I had no more idea than you that Clive Barratt would turn up today. It was supposed to be a surprise, and it was!" He gave a harsh laugh. "It was a surprise, certainly, to me! But to you? I think not. Do you deny that you wrote him a letter, asking him to come ?" "I do, indeed! The letter was to Ted. He - he passed a message on for me." Jas regarded her sternly. "Virginia, let's not start splitting hairs. You've kept in touch with this man, haven't you, and yet you told me you'd never set eyes on him until that morning when I brought you back to your room. Your brother doesn't know a thing about it, does he? He looked completely nonplussed when he heard we'd met before." He rumpled his hair in a gesture of extreme exasperation. "Virginia, these just don't seem like the actions of the sort of girl I think you are. I realize you've had no parents to guide you through the years when you'd have learned such things from them, but one simply doesn't contact a man - a chap of Barratt's type - on a mere hour's acquaintance." "And just what sort of girl do you think I am, Jas?" she flashed at him angrily. "Oh, no, you needn't bother to answer. You've made it quite clear, any number of times. But, just for the record, this time you're wrong. I sent Ted two of Mona's paintings, and asked him to get

Clive's opinion of them. Can't you see, Jas? Please see?" She was suddenly pleading, and her voice trembled just the tiniest bit. "I did it for Mona's sake. You wouldn't believe how promising her art work is. I didn't think her mother would believe it, either, and I wanted some knowledgeable opinion of it. Clive was the only man I know who could give it. I'd no idea he would come here in person to do just that." Jas Lawrence stood up, thrust his hands into his pockets, and took an irritable pace or two around the confined space at his disposal. He stopped in front of her. His grey eyes were searching, somehow troubled, undecided. He was making a genuine effort to bring a reasonableness and calmness to his voice. "Virginia, that I'll believe, and your motive was worthy if it was to help Mona. But we're back to square one, aren't we? You've just said he's the only man you know who could give his opinion?" He spread his hands expressively. "If you didn't know him, how do you value his opinion as one worth having? How do you know he's even able to pass an opinion? Do you expect me to believe, that, on a few minutes' acquaintance, while he leaves some 'gear' - I think that was your description of all that junk - in your room, you suddenly know him well enough to act as you've done? That on the strength of those few minutes, he talks your brother into coming up here with him, to see you? Does your vast experience of men enable you, in a matter of mere moments, to find out so much in such an incredibly fleeting space of time? If it does, you're the first woman I know with the gift, I can tell you." Ginny sighed. Of course she'd have to tell him. She should have done before, that very first night, only she'd been so desperately tired, confused, and shocked. She pushed her hair back from one cheek and regarded him soberly, her loyalty to Clive forcing her to be truthful.

"I haven't much experience of men," she stated, with unselfconscious honesty. "I didn't find all this out in a few moments, naturally. You see, I was lonely, and Ted was tied up, and it was my last night in Sydney, and I - I spent the evening with Clive. That's how I know that, although it isn't obvious, he's basically nice and kind and thoughtful and - and - sweet." "I-see." Jas looked suddenly old, somehow, and weary of the whole discussion. The taut angle of his jaw gave his face a carved, granite bleakness that was reflected in his eyes. He held the door open for her with a peculiarly final gesture. "You've made the position perfectly clear, Virginia. We'll say no more about it." Ginny had the feeling that the tenuous thread of sympathy which had hung between them during the past few weeks had somehow snapped for ever.

CHAPTER NINE THE idea that she and Jas Lawrence were now on totally different wavelengths persisted with Ginny over the next few days. He was courteous, but remote, and she smarted over the fact that he was dividing his attention between the two members of the Sorrel family in quite unfair proportions. For he and Ted appeared to get along extremely well together, and enjoyed each other's company. While Ginny and Clive took Mona for walks, and while Clive patiently helped the little girl with her painting and sought to improve her technique, Jas would take Ted away with him in the Holden or the Land-Rover, explaining the various activities that were going on at Noosa at the time. He wouldn't allow him to walk too far, or "knock himself up", as he put it. If he couldn't take him in one of the vehicles, he insisted that he rest on the coolest veranda, where Sparky brought him refreshing drinks and cosseted him when she got the chance. Ted was more like his old self now, and Ginny was relieved to see his cadaverous look disappearing daily, and the colour seeping back into his cheeks. Sometimes when she and Clive returned with Mona from one of their frequent rambles, Ted and Jas could be seen in deep discussion over some absorbing topic or other. She wondered what they talked about, but when she asked her brother, he only smiled and said, "Oh, just men's talk, Gin. Nothing that would interest you." She could hardly confess, even to Ted, that every single thing about Jas Lawrence did interest her. For instance, she wished she knew why he looked at her so often, and yet with such disturbing indifference. It made Ginny miserable. She'd almost have preferred him to be angry. At least anger was something positive. Once, when she came up the steps and through the gauze door, she was astonished to find Ted fast asleep in one of the chairs, with Jas sitting nearby, quietly smoking.

"Sh!" He held up a warning hand. "Don't waken him, Virginia. He's made a fair recovery, but he still needs it all. If he's got to go back on Friday, his days of peace are numbered. Rosana rang to say she's got a charter plane for Wednesday, and she'll start things buzzing the minute she arrives. As you'll discover, she's not a restful person. She likes a lot of noise and activity." Jas's words were softly spoken and indulgent, but Ginny could think of only one thing. Rosana was coming at last. At lunch-time on the day she was introduced to the celebrated Pirelli, who sat on the front veranda sipping the Martini Jas had fixed for her, Ginny was quite overcome by the other woman's beauty. At the few performances she had managed to attend, she had never been close enough to catch the vivid mobility of Rosana Pirelli's Latin features. Her skin was pale, almost sallow, and yet exquisitely flawless. Her brows gleamed like black satin above sloe eyes that could flash fire or melt expressively, and her mouth was full, red and provocative. It smiled now, as she extended a hand dutifully to Ginny. There was a gracious sort of hauteur about the gesture, almost as though she expected it to be kissed. Well, if it was worship that Rosana craved, she had all of Ginny's, in the field of music at least. Ginny could hardly believe that she, Virginia Sorrel, was at this very moment shaking hands with the fabulous darling of the concert halls, the great Pirelli. Rosana obviously did not experience a reciprocal feeling of awe at meeting Ginny. Her smile was brief and lukewarm, and her greeting definitely condescending. There was little warmth in the lovely eyes that appraised Ginny momentarily with cool curiosity. "So you are Virginia, are you ? Mona has of course written about you frequently in her letters. I somehow imagined you as more of a child,

but no doubt that's owing to the juvenile slant of Mona's description. You appear to have built up an enviable relationship with my daughter, Virginia - she regards you almost as a sister, I take it, whereas you really are quite the young woman, aren't you ? It's disturbing to find one's preconceived ideas of a person so wide of the mark, but I've adjusted mine already, so it's of no consequence." She turned away, and Ginny was left feeling that in some unwitting manner she had caused displeasure. She was ignored by the visitor during the meal that followed, although Rosana was gay, witty and extremely charming to Jas, and maternally interested in all that Mona had to say. However, when Ted and Clive appeared in the middle of the afternoon, she shooed her little daughter away impatiently, and prepared to hold court. There was now no doubt in Ginny's mind that Rosana, superlative though she might be as an artiste, was as a woman completely and utterly spoiled, although in a thoroughly captivating manner. She craved a doting audience as much in daily life as she did on the platform, and if it turned out to be a masculine one, so much the better. It gave her the scope she needed to turn on the full battery of her feminine charm. She "could be delightfully amusing in a superficial way, and what man wouldn't be flattered at being singled out for her coyly flirtatious attention? Clive, with a sly wink at Ginny, played up to her magnificently. He had met her sort before, and handled the situation admirably, matching her sophisticated wit with the sort of brilliant repartee that provided the best foil for her conversational abilities. Ted relaxed in his chair, obviously entertained.

As Ginny left them to find Mona for her music lesson, she heard Clive saying, "You've a delightful little daughter, Mrs. Lawrence, as one would expect. I wonder if you are aware that she has positively loads of talent in the field of art? She paints already with a degree of sensitivity and perception which is surprising in a child so young, but possibly she has inherited some of her mother's brilliance through a different medium of interpretation." Rosana looked gratified. "Jas did mention something about it," she returned idly. "He brought an extremely odd illustration of some trees or something down to Sydney, expressly to show me. My dear, you'll have to tell me all about them, these paintings. We'll look at them together, shall we, and you'll realize how clueless I am. I shall have to depend on you for explanations, Clive. You'llfind my ignorance quite sickening, I expect." Rosana gave a deep-throated, gurgling laugh, and peeped engagingly at her tall, bearded companion. "Isn't it the funniest thing?" she continued dreamily. "My grandfather ran an art school in Florence once. Perhaps his talents have skipped a few generations. What do you think?" Ginny didn't wait to hear what Clive thought. ' She was astute enough to realize that he, in his artless fashion, was about to do Mona's cause far more good than she could ever achieve. Rosana had placed her hand on his arm, and was looking up expectantly. Clive returned the look with one of admiring gallantry. He obviously needed no help from Ginny, and was better left to handle things in his own inimitable way.

It was only in retrospect, after her distressing conversation with Rosana Pirelli that same evening, that Ginny realized how little Rosana's ultimate decision concerning Mona's future had to do with anyone's influence but her own unwitting one. She sat on her bed, with her head in her hands, while cold waves of shock sent tremors through her slender body. She felt clammy and weak, and wondered for a moment if she could be sickening for some illness, and if the whole episode might not be an invention of her feverish imagination. It wasn't, of course. It really had happened, and yet it had all been achieved so slickly, with such civilized capability on Rosana's part, that Ginny had felt as powerless as a piece of flotsam left stranded on a rocky coast at ebb-tide. "Virginia, I'd like a little talk with you, if I may?" Rosana, emerging from her room as Ginny was on her own way to bed, appeared amiable and composed in a midnight-blue peignoir and white satin mules. "Shall we come into my sitting-room? There's no fear of our being disturbed there." Ginny silently followed the graceful figure into the guest-room. It had been added to the house at some time, and was actually part of an isolated suite of bedroom, bathroom and small, bow-windowed sitting- room, all possessing a luxury unfamiliar to the rest of the house. All the same, decided Ginny as she sat on the chintz-covered sofa indicated by Rosana, it lacked the shabby warmth and intimate comfort of that part of the homestead which was used and lived in daily. The sumptuous surroundings somehow suited Rosana's personality, though, and as Ginny's eyes roved over the dove-grey sea of carpet, French- blue brocade curtains and cream-and-gilt furniture, she wondered if Jas had perhaps had it decorated especially for Mona's mother.

"Cigarette?" Rosana extended a slim silver case. When Ginny shook her head, she took one herself, fitted it into an elegant enamelled holder, and flicked her lighter. Through the ensuing haze of smoke she observed Ginny thoughtfully. "That's a very charming young man you have, Virginia, Clive Barratt, is that his surname ? You must be quite thrilled that he takes the trouble of coming all this way in order to see you." What an extraordinary opening to the conversation! Ginny felt slightly bewildered. She shrugged. "He's not my young man, Mrs. Lawrence," she said evenly. "I hardly know him, to tell the truth, but I agree he's nice. Perhaps he told you I had asked for his opinion about Mona's paintings ?" Rosana placed her holder to her lips and inhaled. She nodded. "Yes, he told me. He also told me that he is very fond of you. It's quite obvious that he's attracted, isn't it?" Ginny shied from the thought of discussing anything so personal with a woman she hardly knew. "Did he say what he thought of Mona's works?" she asked, changing the subject back to the former one. "He thinks they have a certain amount of potential, actually." Rosana was taking a new pride in her miracle-child. "We've always been a gifted family, one way and another - it's the Italian in us, I expect. I never dreamed that Mona had any hidden talents, though, she's always been so quiet. I sometimes feel I hardly know her. Of course, I had to

be away from her so often, I didn't see as much of her as I should. So I'm really very grateful to you, Virginia, for uncovering this latent propensity for painting. And, for that very reason" - Rosana exhaled a beautifully formed smoke- ring, and watched it creep ceilingwards "I'm going to give you a little good advice. I do hope you won't resent it?" Ginny gazed at her, suddenly apprehensive. Rosana looked like a feline predator about to pounce. "It's just this, Virginia. Go after your nice young man, and hook him before he turns elsewhere. Don't waste your feelings on someone who doesn't reciprocate them, My dear - someone like Jas, for instance." Ginny gave a muffled gasp of pure distress. She put her hands up to her burning cheeks and met the older woman's eye in horrified embarrassment. Rosana smiled kindly. "My dear, you don't have to pretend with me. I'm a woman of the world, you know. I was aware of your infatuation for him in the very first moments I met you. And believe me, it is just infatuation. You see, Virginia, Jas and I - well, we .have a very close understanding, and I happen to know that he does feel sorry for you, very sorry. He more or less told me so. That's why he bought you a Kttle present when he was in Sydney. Oh, yes, I know about that, too. It was his excuse for being late for our luncheon engagement. Jas is absolutely never late for our appointments, and that's how we happened to discuss it at all. Virginia" - Rosana leaned forward as if„to emphasize her point - "it's always a mistake to confuse pity with love." Ginny wished miserably that she could die. She had never felt so ashamed in her life. She thought she had concealed her feelings so

competently, and here was this woman, coming in, deftly tearing down the flimsy curtain of privacy with which she had cloaked her heart. Rosana fluttered one of her graceful hands deprecatingly. "This will remain entirely between you and me, so don't be afraid on that score. I shan't tell a soul, and meanwhile, my dear, your nice Clive Barratt is there, patiently waiting for you to come to your senses, so life isn't too bad for you really, is it ?" She stretched languidly, pulled a small petit-point stool towards her, and placed her feet upon it. "Actually, I've come to a decision about Mona. I'm arranging for her to return to Sydney in a fortnight's time. My last recital before the winter series will be over then, and I shall have time to arrange for her entry into a boarding-school, where she will be able to pursue this artistic bent she has. I believe that was your ownidea when you spoke to Jas about it, wasn't it, Virginia?" "Yes," agreed Ginny dully, wishing she could feel the triumph she should be feeling that at last little Mona was to lead a more normal life. "Well then, that will suit all round," confirmed Rosana briskly. She paused, watching Ginny thoughtfully. "I don't suppose that you had the idea of giving yourself more time with Jas when you made that suggestion, did you?" she suggested slyly. "I hear you've been making yourself indispensable in other ways - helping Mrs. Sparks with the housework, and so on." Ginny leapt to her feet, her face flooding with angry colour. "Mrs. Lawrence, that's an insulting thing to say, or even think! Obviously my position here ends with Mona's departure. I - I'm

terribly glad for her, for Mona. It's what I've wanted for her above everything." "I'm pleased to hear it," returned Rosana, mildly pacific. "In that case, you'll quite understand that you are actually under notice now, Virginia. Technically speaking, I am your employer, so I shall tell Jas of my change of plans. There's no need for you to have the embarrassment of discussing it with him at all. He'll be delighted for Mona's sake, and it will save him from any further necessity for having governesses for his niece invading the privacy of his home, and so forth. It was hardly fair of me to place him in that position, I can see that now. In fact, it will be so much nicer for us to find ourselves quite alone when I come up on visits. Jas has the idea that one day—" Rosana paused significantly. "But of course, we must wait, you understand. It's just too soon after losing poor Gideon." She laid a friendly hand upon Ginny's shoulder as she walked towards the door. "Goodnight, my dear. And cheer up. Think what a good turn you've done for my little girl, hm ? You'll be able to see her when you're back in Sydney. You may even be Mrs. Clive Barratt soon, with a nice little house of your own somewhere, and—" Ginny didn't wait to hear the last of Rosana's predictions. She was too sickened and weary at heart, and she had never been more thankful to gain the sanctuary of her own room. Next day, the sight of Mona's beaming little face did help to lift her depression. The child was almost too overcome with excitement to concentrate very much on the lessons they were supposed to be doing together.

"Oh, Ginny, isn't it fun?" she exclaimed. "Mummy says I'll have a uniform to wear, to do my lessons in, and all the other girls who do them with me will have a uniform too, the same as mine. We'll be all exactly the same. Mummy says it's blue, the uniform - a really bright blue, Ginny, the kind I like. And it will be like having lots and lots of sisters to play with. And Mummy says there's a huge big art-room, and all sorts of handwork, and things like pottery and weaving, only of course we've got to do sums and history and things as well. And guess what, Ginny? Mummy says I don't have to have any more piano lessons, if I really don't like them. She says I can play instead in the afternoons, until I go to Sydney. And she says you'll be coming to Sydney too, so we'll see each other, won't we, Ginny ?" The little girl looked anxiously at her governess. Ginny wondered if her face was perhaps still revealing more than she intended. Rosana had seen beyond it, to the innermost depths of her heart,, and now here was Mona, eyeing her curiously. Ginny knew that her eyes were shadowed and dull, and that her cheeks were paler than usual. She roused herself from her apathy, and gave her pupil a difficult smile. Her mouth felt stiff and unwilling, as ifit would never curl up at the corners again. Snap out of it, Ginny, she adjured herself harshly. Where's the girl with the independent spirit? The one who thought she knew where she was going? Oh dear, it wasn't easy to discipline her turbulent thoughts and concentrate on the lesson in hand. She was having as much difficulty as her pupil in that respect. Today was the last day of Ted's leave of absence. He and Clive were coming over in the afternoon,, and they had promised to take Ginny and Mona on a picnic up the hill, by way of a farewell gesture. Clive was bringing some large canvases, and intended to rough out a landscape for Mona along the lines he had been trying to explain to her verbally. Jas had insisted that they take the Land-Rover as far as they

could, so that Ted would have a minimum amount of walking to do. His keen eyes had probed the depths of Ginny's troubled ones while he was issuing his orders, and his face, as he loomed over her, was oddly intent. He drew her aside. "You're not still worried about him, are you?" he' asked, jerking his head in Ted's direction. "You look strained and a bit tense today, Virginia." Ginny made a conscientious effort to brighten up. "You know how it is?" she replied. "I just don't like goodbyes. They're - depressing. I've always felt like this about them." Jas gave a hint of his old twisted grin. He seemed to be having as much trouble producing a smile this morning as she had. "Well, buck up. You can hardly call two weeks' parting a proper goodbye. I've been speaking to Rosana, and I understand that for more reasons than one you'll be very glad to get back to Sydney when Mona returns. Now off you go, and have a pleasant picnic. Rosana wants me to run her down to Pete's store for some trifle or other she forgot to pack." The leaden weight resettled itself on Ginny's heart as she turned away. She wondered exactly what Rosana had been saying about her to Jas. Her pride prickled uncomfortably at the idea of being discussed by one or both of them. She made a positive vow to herself, in that moment, that she would provide absolutely no cause for further speculation, or give provocation for further discussion - by anyone, at any time, during the rest of her stay. She would be businesslike and professional, at the risk of being thought "governessy", and that would make things easier to bear during the last trying days.

Her voice was completely matter-of-fact about the whole thing as she told Ted and Clive of Rosana's plans for Mona, and the consequent imminent termination of her employment at Noosa. Indeed, she even tried to sound excited and triumphant about it, because Mona herself was listening, and she expected everyone to feel as elated as she did at the wonderful change which was happening in her life. Her eyes glinted beadily as she looked from Ted to Clive to see what they thought of her governess's revelation. "Isn't it super, Clive ?" she squeaked. "Mummy says when I'm older she's going to ask you who to get to help me with my painting. She says when I leave school I cango to a proper place where they teach you art alone, and you don't have to do horrid old sums and problems ever, again. Doesn't that sound gorgeous ?" Clive tweaked her hair. "It sounds gorgeous to me, poppet. Each man to his own taste, though. I don't think Ted here would care for it much. He thrives on sums and problems, don't you, old boy ?" "Gosh! You can't mean it ?" Mona's attention was diverted to the driver of the Land-Rover, which was lurching arid bounding up the forestry road. "D'you really like arithmetic and all that stuff?" Ted was amused. "I really like it, yes. You see, Mona, it's a necessary part of my particular way of life, which is chemistry. Even the paints you use are part and parcel of a branch of the chemical world, called industrial chemistry. They are compounds of various extracts to give colours, with certain additions to fix it, to render it non-toxic, so that you won' t die if you lick it - all that sort of thing. Even the solution in the bottle Clive showed you, with which he sometimes treats his finished

canvases, is a chemical solution. So there have to be some people who like sums and problems, or we wouldn't have a lot of these things that we use every day, without thinking how they come into being." It was a novel thought. Mona started asking question after question, in her usual persistent fashion. Clive turned to Ginny. "Does this really mean that you'll be returning to the city in two weeks or so ?" he asked gaily. She nodded. She wished she could feel gay about it, too. "Here's where we turn off, Ted," she instructed. "Take the fork to the right, and we'll pull into the shade under the trees, A little creek runs down just there - I don't suppose there's water in it now, though, but there are some lovely big stones to sit on, and we can make a little fire in the middle of the creek-bed quite safely. Sparky has given us lashings of chops to grill." They all clambered out, reaching into the back for Sparky's large cane hamper. In it she had put salads, hard-boiled eggs, jelly and a tall jar of stewed apricots. They found cakes and scones and biscuits, and some small pork pies with raised, fluted edges. "For you," Ginny said, displaying her discovery to Ted. "She knows they're your special favourite, and she still thinks you're far too thin. This is obviously a last- minute bid to fatten you up." "What about me ?" Clive asked in mock self-pity. "Well, if you want to know what she really said about you, it was - 'As for that Mister Clive, he'll eat anything !'" Ginny informed him.

They all subsided into laughter, and a lot of good- natured teasing ensued. It set the tone for the entire afternoon, and they were in a light-hearted mood as they bumped their way down again in semi-darkness. They were later than they had intended, and Ted had to switch on the headlights before they reached the house itself. Normally Jas was a stickler for punctuality, but Ginny knew now, that he would not mind having those extra hours alone with Rosana, and Sparky had told them not to worry if they were late. Clive and Mona were singing in the back as they rounded the bend, clattered over the ramp, and proceeded up the avenue. Ted swung the Rover along the road that branched to the back of the house, and pulled up near the door there, to unload their assorted equipment. Instead of arming himself with a bundle or two and heading for the kitchen, as Ted and Mona had already done, Clive grasped Ginny's wrist and drew her after him, out of sight. "Ginny, I've got to talk to you." His voice was hurried and urgent. "We've only a few minutes before Ted and I will have to go. Come around by the side veranda here, where I can see our car. We can talk then, till Ted comes out." Ginny followed where he led. She couldn't do anything else, since he still held her hand. Together they stopped near one of the shrubberies. There was a rustic elm bench there beside the narrow flag path which divided the wide sweep of lawn, and Clive drew her down to sit beside him. When he spoke, it wasn't in his usual bantering tone at all. "Ginny, I've wanted to get you alone ever since we came up here perhaps you guessed ?"

Ginny shook her head slowly, gazing at the pale blur of his face close to her own. "Well, I have," he asserted more confidently. "Ginny - darling - I've made no secret of the way I feel about you. Ever since that moment when you returned to your digs so unexpectedly, and found me there, you haven't been out of my mind, not once. I've taken out other girls and tried to get along without you, but none of them can compare with you, Ginny. It's been no use." "Clive." Ginny moved her hands restlessly in his. "Please, dear, you mustn't go on." "I must, and I'm going to, so just sit still and listen. For once in my life I'm deadly serious, Ginny my pet. I'm nof going to ask you to marry me right now, darling. I've nothing to offer a girl like you at present - no security of any sort not the way I've been living. But what I plan to do is this." He took her fingers, separating them with his own as he continued. "I'm going back to the old man, Ginny, and I'm going to take on a proper job. It'll mean eating humble pie, and I'll have to start on the bottom rung and work my way up - he's made that quite clear at the outset." He laughed shakily. "I guess you might call it the Sorrel influence, Ginny, sweet. Even spending this week with old Ted, and seeing what a stable, worthwhile sort of person he is, makes me realise that I haven't a ghost of a chance with a girl like you unless I make an effort, and pull up my socks a bit. I've been kidding myself that I couldn't satisfy my artistic creative needs and hold down a decent job at the same time. Well, I was deceiving myself all along about that. And now I'm coming to the point at last."

Clive cleared his throat, and for the first time sounded distinctly unsure of himself. "Ginny dearest, I'm asking you to say you'll marry me, once I've proved I can make the grade. I'm not going to hold you to any sort of emotional ransom, and say I won't do it if you turn me down. I'll carry out my decision regardless, I can promise you that, so don't think I'm trying to hold a pistol to your head. But it would spur me on to better things if you were my fiancee. I love you so much, Ginny . Will you agree ? Say you will." "Clive, I - can't." Ginny's eyes were bright with unshed tears. Her throat felt tight, and her words were a mere whisper. "Why can't you, sweetheart ? There's no such word, not where love is concerned." VGinny disengaged her hands. "Clive, that's why, dear. That's why I can't do it. T- I like you very, very much, you know that, and I've the most tremendous admiration for the decision you have made. I have every faith in your ability to carry it through, too. But marriage ? No, Clive, I'm sorry. It - it takes love to make a marriage, and I just haven't got the right sort of feeling.'' "It will come, darling," Clive persuaded her. "We haven't given it much of a chance. You'll come to feel that it's the real thing, just like I do, in time." "No, Clive." Ginny was suddenly firm, so firm and . despairing that he drew slowly away and peered at her in the darkness. "Ginny, there's not someone else ? Or is there ?"

It wasn't fair to dissemble, not when someone of whom you were fond paid you the compliment of asking you to be his wife. Ginny knew that to Clive, at least, she must confess. She nodded her head miserably. "There is," she said. "There is, but it's quite, quite hopeless." "Is it - Jas Lawrence ?" She nodded again, and suddenly laid her head forward on to the shoulder of the man beside her. His hand came up to stroke her hair. For a time there was silence between them. Finally, he asked, "But you're coming back to Sydney in a fortnight, aren't you ? That's correct, isn't it ?" "Yes, that's right," agreed Ginny wearily, "but that doesn't give me the excuse to mislead you over this, I - just know I'll never change, not in my feelings towards him. I - I couldn't." Clive drew her against him. "Dearest, you don't think so now. But time changes all things. I'm going to make a pact with you, princess. We'll see each other in Sydney sometimes, just as friends. I'll ask for nothing more but just to go on seeing you. And if ever your feelings do alter, and you begin to love me in the way that I want, I'll be waiting. What do you say ?" "I say that it's just not fair to you," she murmured helplessly. "Dear little princess. I'm the one to worry about what's fair to me and what isn't. It's fair enough for me to agree to it right now. And it's the

sort of bargain that should be sealed in the appropriate way - with a kiss." Clive put his hand beneath her chin, and gently tipped her face to meet his. His kiss, too, began gently enough, until suddenly, with a groan of utter frustration, he gave greater rein to his passion. Ginny attempted to push him from her, and feeling the resistance in her, he at last lifted his head. Two figures were strolling towards them down the little path between the lawns. Ginny knew the tall, broad outline was that of Jas Lawrence. She knew his cream linen jacket, and the glow of his cigarette in the darkness. She knew, too, that he couldn't have failed to see herself and Clive in that fervent, bargain-sealing embrace. Rosana left her in no doubt. Her deep-throated, amused laughter drifted over the grass. "Darling, we're quite de trop here tonight. Let's walk in the other direction, and leave the poor dears in peace. I don't think Mona would have had her governess much longer, in any case - do you, Jas ?"

CHAPTER TEN THE next few days passed uneventfully. Ginny found that she missed the diversions provided by Ted's and Clive's spasmodic comings and goings. Her own sense of isolation was increased by the subtle way in which Rosana sought to monopolize her host whenever the faintest opportunity presented itself, ignoring Ginny where possible. Now that Mona's future had been decided, Rosana's interest in her daughter waned once more. Ginny was left to entertain the little girl, even out of school hours, while her mother prowled restlessly around the homestead, complaining of the dullness of country life compared with the rounds of social gaiety to which she had been accustomed in the city. "When we're married, I intend to change all this," she confessed to Ginny one morning when she was in one of her more friendly moods. She gestured vaguely about her, and flicked away her cigarette ash impatiently. "It's all too archaic for words. I'm going to have a barbecue built on the side lawn, and then we can have house-parties to liven up the week-ends. Mrs. Sparks will have to retire from the kitchen, at least. I'll get a proper chef. The meals are deadly boring, although perhaps you don't notice it. I'm accustomed to more imaginative food, though, and Jas will have a nice surprise when he samples some of my zippier menus. The poor darling hardly bothers about what he eats at the moment. For all the notice he takes, it might as well be sawdust from some of those silly old trees he adores so much." Rosana prattled on, and Ginny's misgivings deepened. She almost wished she had "walked out". If she had gone back with Ted and Clive,

she wouldn't have had to listen to this, at least. Rosana's words were turning a knife in her injured heart. Jas remained as inscrutable as ever. Ginny often heard him walking past the veranda as the sun was tinting the sky with its first pale rays. He didn't spare himself, and he worked his men equally hard. Each day the newly-turned firebreaks were spreading down towards the house and outbuildings, although there was still some way to go yet, before they would be completed. Jas often drove the bulldozer himself, and deployed the driver to other pursuits. He would come in caked with dust from head to foot, seemingly tireless, although he made no demur when Sparky fussed over him, bringing him tall glasses of freshly made lime juice and clucking over his oil-stained clothes. He was tanned to a deep mahogany, which made his grey eyes appear almost luminous, and when he smiled - which he frequently did at Rosana's diverting conversation - his teeth flashed with incredible whiteness against his brown skin. Rosana pretended to a fastidious distaste of his workmanlike appearance. She would throw up her hands in horror and shudder delicately at his grimy condition, making the sort of pungently witty comments at which she excelled, so that Jas would throw back his head and laugh outright. She was a source of genuine amusement to him, and he glinted at her good-humouredly when she would chide him lazily, "Darling - your hands! What have you been doing with them, pet? Can it be possible that you're gouging out these monstrous firebreaks with your own bare hands?" She held them up, and inspected them briefly. "Look! No bulldozer - just his hands! Really, darling, if I hadn't been fortunate enough to see you in your black tie and tuxedo, you'd have me worried. What a Jekyll and Hyde you are, aren't you ? And I do

think you're spoiling your lovely hillside, making all those horrid bare strips all over it. Is it really necessary?" "It's necessary, all right." Jas was momentarily grim. He took her arm and guided her towards the sitting- room. "Come on," he said. "If you're wondering what to do, you may play for me — something soothing. I reckon I've earned half an hour's rest." Then Rosana would sit down at her Bechstein, and Ginny would hear the music that flowed easily from her supple fingers. It came flooding through the doors of the adjacent morning-room, where Ginny and Mona were engaged in various sorts of amusement to occupy the child. It was at these times that Ginny was able to put aside her antipathy to Rosana, as a woman who had hurt her, and to recognize and pay homage to the superb artistry of Pirelli, the pianist. There was absolutely no denying that in her own field, Rosana Pirelli reigned supreme. On one such occasion, Jas Lawrence suddenly appeared in the morning-room, where Ginny and Mona were cutting out illustrations of various kinds to paste in Mona's scrapbook. They sat beside a pile of old Geographic magazines which Jas had said he no longer needed. Sparky had contributed a couple of housekeeping monthlies, and they had a promising assortment of cut-outs ready to glue on to the waiting pages. Ginny looked up as Jas spoke her name. She was mixing flour and water into a paste in an old cup, and had not heard him approach. "Virginia, could you come through for a moment, d'you think? I'd like you to play for Rosana, if you will?" Ginny set down the cup, and stared at him, wide- eyed.

"Oh please, no, Jas. I couldn't do that. I wouldn't like to, truly. I've no wish to play when there's Pirelli herself to do it for me. I'd much rather listen." He came right over, to stand beside her. "Please," he entreated, "to please me? I've told her that you're an exceptionally gifted pianist, and she'd like to hear you. Don't let me down." His grey eyes, so near to hers, were almost pleading. The total absence of customary arrogance in their fine depths left Ginny somehow powerless to refuse. "Well, all right," she agreed, albeit reluctantly. She had always had an irrational sense of impatience of people who insisted coyly on lengthy persuasions to perform, when they had every intention of doing just that in the end. She didn't want Jas to place her in that category, and therefore she consented, although she had never felt less like playing on a piano in her life. Rosana greeted her quite kindly when she entered the room, and happily vacated her place at the instrument. "Jas tells me you have quite a degree of accomplishment," she said pleasantly. "I'd be delighted to hear you, my dear." There was an element of condescension in her tone which Ginny, in her humility, found it easy to forgive. If one were Pirelli, almost anything was allowable. Rosana relaxed against her cushions, prepared to enjoy herself. If she turned her head a little, Ginny could observe her from time to time: Just now, she looked ahead, beyond the piano, to where Jas Lawrence stood in profile, arms folded characteristically, feet slightly apart in an

easy stance, gazing out of the window beside him. He turned, met her enquiring eye, and gave an imperceptible nod of encouragement. Ginny began to play. She knew that she played well, that her technique was almost flawless. She had a flexible repertoire, and wandered from one piece to another, handling some extremely difficult passages with the same singular ease and control as she did the simpler ones. She was aware that Rosana's look of faint surprise had changed to one of unease, that she was suddenly tense and watchful on the sofa, studying Ginny with narrowed black eyes. When Ginny stopped, her praise, though grudging, was generous. She had been quick to recognize the sheer excellence of this girl's performance. Only Jas seemed to realize that something was lacking. He strolled over to Ginny's side, and looked down at her, puzzled. "What's wrong?" he asked gently. "You can do better than that, Virginia. You're holding something back, aren't you ? You're putting nothing of yourself into it. It's wooden. Well, anything's preferable to a wooden performance." He took out his tobacco, and tipped some into his palm, leaning back against the wall nearby. "Play me the Sibelius - you know the piece I mean," he commanded without looking up. He had spoken so softly that she only just caught the words, but something within her compelled her to obey. Ginny felt as if she were drowning in the tide of sorrowful" music her own fingers were creating. She played passionately and hopelessly,

giving the refrain an urgency of meaning and sadness of spirit that were indescribable. She broke off suddenly, her eyes blurring, and shook her head helplessly at Jas. "I - can't go on." Her voice sounded decidedly husky. She couldn't look to where she knew Rosana sat, in frozen immobility. As she walked to the door, Jas's voice came to her. "Virginia - wait." "Darling, let her go." That was Rosana, lazily calm. "We're all allowed a certain display of temperament, you know. It's a permissible emotional licence when one can play as well as she can. And, Jas, don't forget the child's in love. Parting is such sweet sorrow, and all that, even when it's only for a fortnight." "She's not happy, Rosana. I've known she wasn't, and now I'm sure." Jas's words just reached her. There was an almost triumphant ring of discovery in his deep voice, but his companion's reply was lost as she closed the door softly behind her, and walked slowly back to Mona and her scrapbook, recovering herself on the way. Ginny felt she didn't want to face either of them the next day. So long as Mona was there, she gave all her attention to her small charge, and at lunchtime she tackled Jas. . "Would you mind if I took Mona over to the Mayberrys' this afternoon?" she asked. "I did promise that I would look in some time, and I haven't many more days left in which to do it. I, wouldn't like Marella to think me rude, and I'm afraid she will if I just disappear into thin air. She doesn't even know that Mona is going off to boarding-school."

"Yes, of course." Jas was willing enough. "Are you sure you want to take Mona along, though? All right, then. Take the Holden. It's not such a dusty ride as in the Land-Rover." Mona was wildly excited. She insisted on changing into her best spotted cotton, and put short white ankle- socks on her usually bare sandalled feet. "How super!" was her verdict. "I've only been to Marella's place once.' It's called Tharwinna, and I know how to get there. I can show you the way!" Ginny hid a smile. Tharwinna was the only other property for miles around, and as there was but a single road into and out of Billoola, it would have been difficult to lose one's way. "Now, isn't that lucky!" she humoured the little girl. "I'm glad one of us knows how to get there. Marella will be pleased to see her Scrap, I know." "She's always called me that," Mona informed her solemnly. "It's her pet name for me. I think it's nice to have a pet name, don't you, Ginny ?" "Mm, I do. Sparky, and Scrap, and even Jas. They're all pet names, aren't they?" Ginny pointed out. Mona bobbed up and down on the seat beside her as they drove down the avenue and over the grid. "And Ginny? That's a pet name too, isn't it, Ginny? You'd rather have it than Virginia, wouldn't you ?" "Much rather, darling," agreed Ginny vaguely.

"Well, why doesn't Uncle Jas call you Ginny? Like we all do ?" That was Mona's next question. "Is it because Jib's angry with you ? He often looks at you in a kind of scowly, frowny way, doesn't he specially just lately?" "Does he ?" countered Ginny weakly. She slid a quick glance at Mona, but her childlike countenance was bland and innocent. Ginny bit her lip wryly. What was it they said? Out of the mouths of babes and sucklings-? Oh, well, he wouldn't need to be scowly and frowny much longer. Soon she would be away, far away, and Noosa would seem a remote and dreamlike place - a passing phrase in her life, a mere chapter in her book of existence. Only Ginny knew that it was a chapter printed indelibly on her heart and mind. No passage of time could ever erase the effects of her brief sojourn here. What it had done to her was permanent and profound. She felt old and wise and sad and resigned, and it didn't do to think too deeply about any of it. At Billoola they called at the store, where Ginny purchased the largest box of chocolates she could see, for Mona to give to Marella. It was the child's idea, and Ginny hadn't the heart to dissuade her, although she did attempt to guide her choice into the safer paths of bon-bons and barley sugar, or some of the colourful boilings in Mrs. Sumner's meagre array of jars. Ginny had a suspicion that the large box of chocolates might have been sitting on that shelf since time immemorial, its contents melting in the hot summers and congealing in the cool winters, just waiting for a little girl to come along and fall in love with its brightly painted lid and gaudy ribbon. Mona's face was a study as she came out clutching the large box, now protected by a brown paper wrapping and wide tape with "Sumner's General Store" stamped on it at intervals in heavy black lettering.

Ginny had an idea that the tape would render the possible condition of the contents self-explanatory, and Marella was the sort of person who would understand. Tharwinna was a large, square Victorian-looking residence, and it didn't ramble all over the place the way Noosa did. It was neat and solid, in two storeys, completely surrounded by rather ugly wrought-iron balconies. The garden was limited to a few stretches of well-kept lawn and some informal flower beds, but Mona pointed out a swimming-pool as an exciting substitute for her Uncle Jas's magnificent trees and shrubs, and to one side there was a tennis-court, from which the clipped exchanges of a tennis-ball and occasional bursts of hilarity emerged. As they rounded the corner of the house, Marella threw down her racket, and ran to meet them. Her face was lobster-red, and her pale hair clung in spiky wisps from her exertions, but her blue eyes crinkled merrily at the corners as she greeted them. "Hullo, Ginny. What a lovely surprise to see you - and you too, Scrap. What ? For me ? This whole enormous box? How exciting!" She extricated her gift from its brown wrappings. "Ooh, lovely!" She bent to kiss Mona's expectantly presented cheek. "Come round and sit in the shade," she invited. "We've almost finished our set. Daddy's away outside somewhere, but you'll meet my mother. She's just gone in to start the tea. I've a few friends up for a week or so." She nodded her head in the direction of two stalwart, . if perspiring, young men, and a short plump girl, who were leaning on their rackets awaiting the reappearance of their fourth player.

Marella introduced the girl as Betty, with whom she had been at school. "And this is Bruce Playford, and Rex Allingham." The young men shook her hand with painful zest. She wiggled her numb fingers, and thought with inward amusement that Marella didn't waste her energies on regrets and lovelorn hankerings for Jas. "There are as good fish in the sea" was obviously her motto, and she had hauled out two now, both very willing to swallow the hook. Ginny envied her her philosophy, and the facility with which she applied it. The players resumed their game, while the two visitors sat on the bank to watch, until Mona appointed herself to retrieve balls for the adults. Afterwards they all went inside for tea, and Ginny and Mona were again made welcome, this time by Mrs. Mayberry herself. "It's so nice for Marella to have neighbours of her own age," she told Ginny, as she offered some slices of lemon for her teacup. "Too many of the young people round about have gone off to the city for one reason or another. Most of them go to school there, of course, and then that gives them a taste for city life and they're reluctant to come home again. Marella's always loved the country, though, and she helps her father a lot. We've two daughters, you know - Maureen is married and Marella is son and daughter rolled into one to her father. I hope you'll come over often, Ginny. Marella would be so glad." Ginny thanked her warmly, and took the opportunity to explain Rosana's intentions for Mona, which would soon render her own presence redundant. Mrs. Mayberry listened with polite interest.

"I've often wondered why she sent the child to Jas in the first place," she said, looking about to make sure Mona was not within hearing distance. "It didn't seem the sort of household that one should foist a solitary child upon. I've thought more than once that Mona must have found it lonely. Jas is kindness itself, ofcourse, but he's a busy man, and I'm sure he couldn't spend as much time on the poor little thing as he'd ha$e liked." "No, of course not," agreed Ginny. "This will be a much better arrangement for Mona. We've become great friends really, she and I. I'm going to miss her, although I'll make a point of keeping in touch with her in Sydney. Tell me, Mrs. Mayberry" - Ginny, loath to gossip, asked a question about which she had wondered quite often - "is Mona like her father at all? I've heard so little about him that it's impossible for me to guess. Physically, she doesn't resemble her mother in the slightest, except perhaps in colouring, and she has a completely different disposition too, as far as I can see." "My dear, you are the soul of discretion, aren't you? You haven't given me one little clue as to what you think of Rosana yourself, have you, Ginny?" Marella's mother seemed shrewdly amused. "I know what my daughter feels about her, you see, so I'm naturally curious about others' reactions!" She became thoughtful. "You ask about Gideon. Well, I would say that Mona is very like him in nature - quiet, a little introspective, intelligent, single-minded when she wants to be. He wasn't the type to enjoy those mad parties that Rosana was always dragging him to. If he hadn't gone with her, though, she'd have gone alone - and that's the beginning of the end of any marriage. No, physically, Mona isn't like either of them. I think she's gone more to the Italian side, to Rosana's people. Gideon was the image of Jas, you know - a little slighter, not quite so broad, not quite so tall, but they were as alike as peas in a pod. You'd have singled them out anywhere as brothers, and they were very close to each other. Some brothers aren't, but Jas and Gideon did everything together when they were young. It was only after they left school that they went their separate

ways, naturally. And then Gideon met Rosana - and you know the rest." "And how is Rosana?" Marella had come up, and the question was hers. "Mona's been telling me that she's off to the city in a fortnight, and taking you with' her. I don't wonder she's overjoyed. But how about you?" Marella waited till her mother's attention was engaged elsewhere, and then she leaned towards the other girl and hissed comically, "How's the fellow-sufferer ?" "Bearing up nicely, thank you," Ginny replied cheerfully, and quite untruthfully. "But you don't appear to be suffering any longer, Marella ?" Marella chuckled. It was an attractive sound, full of genuine amusement. She nodded towards Bruce and Rex, handsome and tanned in their white tennis shorts and open-necked shirts. They were dealing with enormous wedges of sponge cake, and making intermittent conversation with the girl Betty. "Those are my two antidotes," she said, laughing again. "Life's not too bad these days, actually. I've come to realize Jas is not for me. A pity he'd be such an exciting husband, too. I still hate the thought of Rosana being the lucky one, but I'm sure I was right to warn you, wasn't I, Ginny? She's got the game sewn up, hasn't she, just like I said. She's an old hand, and she knows we're still in the kindergarten, drat her!" Marella spoke with such humorous intensity that Ginny couldn't help smiling at her vehemence, although inwardly she was pervaded by the now familiar sense of hopelessness.

After tea, they played some more tennis, insisting that Ginny take her turn as well. Mona was kept occupied racing after the balls. Ginny was sure she gave her more rescue-work than anyone else. It was a long time since she had had the opportunity of a game. Once she left school, and was involved in looking after Mimm and the younger ones, there had been little chance of meeting friends or keeping up her interest in any sport but swimming, which wasn't dependent on the participation of others. Hot, weary, but still talkative, they eventually made their way to the pool to "cool off", and Ginny, clad in one of Marella's several swimsuits, felt happier in the element she knew so well. Mona proudly demonstrated her prowess in her new strokes, and the two boys were tactfully impressed by her efforts. Ginny felt cool, relaxed, and much more cheerful as they waved their goodbyes and prepared to depart. The afternoon away from the strains and stresses of Rosana's presence had done her good, she decided. She might even manage to bear Jas's present rather curt behaviour. In fairness to him, he was probably under a similar strain. His home had not only been invaded by a small niece, plus governess, but just lately there had been the governess's brother and friend as well. In addition, there was the presence of the woman he loved, but whom convention decreed he must wait a suitable time before he married. No, Rosana's provocative presence did nothing to ease the situation for any of them. No wonder life at Noosa seemed difficult and unpredictable, and anything but peaceful. Mona chatted animatedly on the way home. Her hair was still wet, and clung in bedraggled tendrils to her nape, but she was oblivious of the fact that her appearance was no longer pristine, as it had been on the way across. Her white socks were white no more, and her cotton dress was crumpled and grubby. She had . been dumping her tennis balls in the skirt, the better to carry them.

She didn't care. She was excited almost to fever pitch, and was recalling every detail of her afternoon with avid relish. Ginny marvelled at how much the outing had meant to the child. She appeared to thrive in company, and loved being with people, even though at times she seemed quiet and withdrawn. After the effervescent variety of her mother's city household, with frequent comings and goings, constantly changing faces, streams of visitors, presents and parties, life at Noosa must have seemed dull by contrast. Subtract, also, the presence of her mother, her one remaining parent, and, it was small wonder that she had become morose and insecure. Ginny reflected that Rosana must have wanted a point of contact with Jas Lawrence very badly to subject her daughter to such a radical change. It revealed a certain ruthlessness in her that one would hardly suspect. Ginny shivered slightly. She hadn't suspected it, either, in spite of Marella's early insinuations. Now she knew, from personal experience, that it was there. "Can we stop at Pete's again, Ginny, on the way home? We could take Mummy something, couldn't we? She doesn't like chocolates, but there's tins of cigarettes. I'd love to take her one, and maybe I could have one of those twisty sticks of barley sugar. What do you think?" "I'm sure we could run to that, dear. I'd like to say goodbye to Mrs. Sumner and Pete, in any case, just supposing that I don't see them again before we go."Together they went into the store. "Did you see Marella's face when she saw the size of her box?" she whispered to Ginny. "She was awful pleased, wasn't she ?" Her governess nodded, smiling. It was nice that Mona was discovering the pleasure that could be derived from giving as well as from receiving. The accent in her young life, to this point, had been placed very heavily on "What have you brought me ?"

Carefully she chose her mother's favourite brand of cigarettes, and solemnly selected what she hoped was a slightly longer stick of barley sugar than the rest. Mrs. Sumner beamed indulgently. "So you're leaving us, Mona, are you?" she asked. "We'll miss you, won't we, but you'll probably come up and stay with your Uncle Jas sometimes, won't you?" "I 'spect I will," replied the little girl. "I asked Mummy if we could bring Ginny with us when we come, but she said Ginny would be much too busy. She said it was out of the question. Will you really be too busy, Ginny?" Ginny swallowed the lump in her throat. "Much too busy, poppet," she stated firmly. "I'll probably have other little children to look after, you know, and I couldn't just leave them and run off to Noosa, now, could I ?" "So it's goodbye, is it, Ginny?" Pete had come in with a bundle of rabbit-traps which he deposited in the gloom at the back of the store. They talked for several minutes, but Ginny was thankful to find herself back behind the wheel of Jas's Holden. Her eyes were smarting. As she had truthfully said, she hated goodbyes. For Mona, there was the prospect of holidays at Noosa, with her mother - and with Jas. But for Ginny the break, when it came, would be final. Darkness was falling when they arrived back. Jas Lawrence came striding down the steps, and opened the door for Ginny, his hand beneath her elbow as she stepped out.

Immediately aware of his air of grimness and resolution, Ginny looked up at him as he slammed the car door. "Something's wrong," she said. It was a statement, not a question. "A fire has started up over the other side 9f the gap there, nearer Smedley's Creek," he informed her without preamble. Afire! It was only then that Ginny realized that the pink glow which suffused the sky behind the mountain was not, after all, the last faint flush of the setting sun.

CHAPTER ELEVEN GINNY saw Mona safely into bed, and returned to the hall to find Rosana and Jas facing one another there. Jas's eyes had a decidedly steely glint, and she, in contrast, wore an expression of pouting dissatisfaction. She laid a conciliatory hand upon his arm as Ginny approached. "But, darling, you don't have to go tonight, surely ? Why, the fire's not even on your own property." "Not yet," was Jas's terse reply. "Rosana, I've tried to explain that it's my duty to go, and my men's, as well. Quite apart from the fact that I happen to be a fire officer for this district, it's what any responsible grazier does in the event of his neighbour's need. Every able-bodied man from a large radius will turn out, and they've to be organized into proper shifts and graded formations. A bush-fire is quick to seize the advantage if there's a lack of cohesion and purpose amongst the fighters. You don't just go out and swat at it haphazardly, you know." Rosana appeared somewhat chastened. "No, darling, I suppose not. I'm glad to say I've never been personally involved, so I just can't imagine it. Are you really serious when you say you mightn't be back for a few days, though? You did say days, and not hours?" "I did. Look, Rosana, I can't stand here talking any longer. I'll have to get moving." "Well, in that case, pet, so shall I." She stood on tiptoe and put her soft lips against his for an instant.

"I'll phone my agent tonight, and get him to send a plane to Billoola for me in the morning. Virginia can run me over. It would be too dreary for words hanging about here without even seeing you, darling. Presumably you'll leave us with a vehicle, for me to get to the air-strip in?" Jas turned to Virginia. "I'm leaving you the Holden," he stated briskly. "I'll take all the chaps except Jim Sparks. At present he can be spared, and you're as well to have a man about the place. Ask Jim if you're in doubt about anything, and if you want to get in touch with me you, can do so through the exchange at the Creek. Is that clear, Virginia ?" "Quite clear." Ginny was numb at the sudden dire turn of events. "Right then. I'll go and collect the equipment and then get the men. Goodbye, Rosa - I'll see you when you come up for Mona, or was it your intention that Virginia should take her to Sydney ?" Rosana smiled engagingly. "Of course not, Jas. I'll come here, darling. I thought Virginia could go when I arrive, and we would have a few days together, just you and Mona and me." He nodded abstractedly. "We can discuss it nearer the time." He sketched a brief salute of farewell and disappeared into the darkness. Ginny and Rosana were at the air-strip by ten o'clock next morning, and shortly afterwards the small plane she had chartered came winging down, droning in the hot, still air.

Ginny was thanked quite formally for drivingRosana over, and with an equally formal injunction to attend to her daughter's needs until she returned, Jas Lawrence's beautiful sister-in-law climbed gracefully up the steps the pilot had placed for her use, waved briefly, and was gone. With her went much of Ginny's tenseness. Rosana had been fretful and unhelpful that morning, and Sparky had been taken to task for not having ironed some of the visitor's clothing, although she had not been notified of Rosana's proposed departure. Rosana blamed Virginia for this oversight, having first made sure that she extracted appropriately abject apologies from the housekeeper for being so remiss. By the time Ginny returned, Sparky had put the incident behind her. There were other more important things to think about than a mettlesome display of temper by the fiery Mrs. Lawrence. The day passed, curiously unreal. The two women tried to keep up an appearance of normality, but both were aware that they were waiting for something - what, they didn't quite know. The house was so still, it was. like floating around in an echoing well of silence, and even Mona's lessons were conducted in hushed voices., Ginny laughed at herself each time they descended to whispers, but it was no use. Every now and then she and Sparky would stand at the back door and watch the western sky. The ominous red glow had increased in density each time they locked. Sparky pressed her lips together. "It may be all right, if the wind doesn't get up, and it stays on the flat the other side of the mountain. A fire's a terrible thing to hold in hilly country, though, and with the wind behind it, it can be almost impossible. It must have a wide front to look like that just now." They went indoors again.

All three ate a salad lunch in the kitchen. Jim did not turn up, but Sparky, who had experienced such emergencies before, seemed unperturbed by his non-appearance. Afterwards, Ginny took Mona for a swim to their favourite pool, where they spent most of the afternoon. By now they could smell the smoke in the air, and Ginny's mind was tormented with thoughts of Jas. Where was he, she wondered, and what was he doing at this very minute? It was better not to think too much about it, but returning to the house with the pungent, smoky air beginning to dry their throats, they were both depressed and quiet. Even little Mona was beginning to reveal a sense of strain. Ginny played Chinese chequers with her until it Was time for the child to go to bed. Then she wandered resdessly about the house, and finally sat down by the radiogram in the sitting-room, where she made an aimless selection of several records to which she found she could hardly listen. It was no use. She went to her room, and in a short time her light was out. It must have been the unfamiliar noise that wakened Ginny. She stirred to a sound she hadn't heard for some time now. It was the silky rustling of the silver poplar beyond the sleepout, as the wind tickled its leaves. Barefoot she emerged on to the sleepout, taking care not to arouse Mona, who was still sleeping soundly beneath her mosquito-net. Ginny leaned on the railing, feeling the stiff slap of the breeze in her face. It was almost morning. The grey light was. there in the east, but it was an anaemic flush compared with the angry redness of the western horizon. Ginny could almost have sworn she saw the occasional leap of tongues of flame skyward. Cinders were being carried to her on the wind. She could flick them off her pyjamas where she stood. She went back to bed and lay there, tense and wakeful, until it was time to get up. '

Jim Sparks was in the kitchen, talking to his wife, when Ginny arrived. "It ain't so good this morning." He shook his head doubtfully. "This brute of a wind! Why the flamin' thing had to start up just now beats me. They'll never hold it. The boss'll be mad as blazes. This wind'll take it right on to his trees." Ginny shivered. She thought of the long, patient years of ministration and care that went on while one waited for those trees to reach maturity. By mid-morning great plumes of smoke poured over the horizon above them. It came in gushing waves each time the fire devoured new stretches of long, dry grass in its headlong rush before the wind, which blew it on to the house in suffocating clouds. Out of the smoke came Jas Lawrence. He leapt out of the Land-Rover almost as he brought it to a halt, cleared the back fence in a single spring without bothering to go around by the gate, and strode over the lawn and into the kitchen. Mona, Sparky, and Ginny were all there, watching wordlessly as he entered. Jas's eyes were red-rimmed, his usually black, crisp hair almost grey with ash. His shirt hung in tatters on his large frame. Where it hadn't been ripped on branches and twigs it was holed in other places by stray sparks and cinders. The holes had little charred, ragged edges that told their own tale. He didn't look weary, as Ginny had thought he might. He was tensed and powerful and strong, full of pent-up, controlled energy. It was as if he were bracing his reserves for the battle to come, and one got the idea that when he did unleash them those reserves would be boundless and indefatigable. He wasted no time in polite greetings.

"I'm afraid the fire's temporarily out of control," he told them levelly,' giving not the slightest hint of what Ginny knew he must be feeling. "It's heading directly for the top boundary up there. At the moment we're going to let it rip. The wind will drive it directly on to my firebreaks, and I'm banking on them being wide enough and clean enough to check it at that point. From then on it will have to burn diagonally to the wind down the side-boundary, and we're going to catch it there, while it's on a narrow front again. In a way the wind will help us now, provided no sparks carry across the break into the trees. Just in case anything goes wrong" - for the first time he sounded a little grim - "I want you three to take the Holden and go down to Billoola. Mrs. Sumner will make you comfortable at the store, and I'll contact you later. I'm going to have to take Jim with me - we'll need every man we can get - and I don't want the additional worry of two women and a child here all alone, if things don't go our way." "But can't we help, somehow, Jas?" asked Ginny distractedly. "You can help by doing exactly as I say," he told her sternly. With a curt nod, he disappeared. Ginny and Sparky met one another's eye, and the housekeeper gave a small shrug of resignation."We'd better pack a few necessities and go," she said. "Poor Jas! What he must be feeling!" "I'll get Mona's things and mine, Sparky. I'll see you in a little while." Ginny turned away, taking Mona's hand. "What are we taking, Ginny?" queried the little girl. "I want to take everything, Ginny - all my paints and canvases 'n' everything. I don't want them to get burnt." "They won't get burnt, Mona," her governess stated with an assurance she was far from feeling. They could hear the roar of fire in the wind,

and the smoke was thicker than ever. "Uncle Jas isn't going to let the homestead get burned. He's well prepared, darling." Ginny sounded confident, but Jas's words kept ringing in her ears - "in case anything goes wrong", "if things don't go our way". Even Jas must have grave doubts. She flung some overnight wear and a change of clothes into Mona's suitcase, while the child darted to and fro, thrusting her favourite books and toys down the sides. Then she raced off to the morningroom to collect her paints. Ginny went to her own bedroom and took down the smaller of her two soft-topped cases. She opened her drawers and calmly selected as much as she considered necessary, folded a dress, cardigan and gown, and put them on top, then went to the bathroom for her own and Mona's sponge-bags. She made her hands move slowly and confidently, but inside she was gnawed by a fearful anxiety for Jas. She wished she could have stayed, to be near him at least. It was sheer cruelty to be sent away at this point, not knowing where he was, unable to reach him. Her hands shook a little as she took from her top drawer the grey leather box containing the mother- of-pearl ornament he had brought her. She held the box clutched tightly in her hand for a moment, praying silently for his safety. What did it matter that he belonged to Rosana and not to her, so long as he was safe? Strength seemed to flow back to Ginny. She slipped the box into her case, snapped the catches down, collected Mona's belongings, and carried everything to the estate-car. Sparky was already there, clucking over the amount of paraphernalia which Mona was hurling excitedly into the boot.

"That's enough now, Mona," she said firmly. "Uncle Jas didn't mean us to take too long. Come on now, dear, and Ginny will drive us down to Pete's." The four miles over to Billoola seemed endless. Behind them the sky was rent by smoke, sparks and flame. From this depressed angle of observation, one could be excused for imagining that the fire was actually in amongst the topmost plantations, but common sense told Ginny that it must still be raging towards them. Mrs. Sumner came out to carry in their bits and pieces, fussing worriedly. "I knew we'd get it before the season broke," she said. "Pete's been saying for ages now that it only needed one careless act for the whole district to go up in flames, and here it is. Come in, Sparky - Mona, bring all those things of yours and I'll find a big carton to hold them. Whatever are they, child? You've everything here but the kitchen sink!" The day dragged on. Ginny admired these two country women who carried on at normal household tasks with such quiet courage while their menfolk were out battling in that raging inferno. They made endless cups of tea, chatting quietly together in the kitchen. Mrs. Sumner had decided this was a good time to fill up her cake-tins. Jas and the other officers had no doubt organized a canteen and first aid unit, but there was no knowing when they might be called upon to relieve some of the others, and anyway, it helped to keep one's mind off those voracious flames that were steadily devouring everything in their path. Sparky offered to make some buns, and Ginny wandered rather aimlessly between the kitchen quarters and the veranda, where Mona had set up her easel and was busily engaged with her oils, with that single-mindedness of which Mrs. Mayberry had spoken.

It seemed as though an eternity had passed since Ginny and she had been having their discussion, yet in reality it had taken place only two days ago. Restless, Ginny made her way to the bedroom in which Mrs. Sumner had put their belongings, and raised the lid of her suitcase. There was no point in unpacking anything until they knew what was happening more definitely. Jas had said he would contact them here. Ginny's eyes strayed to the leather box which held her talisman. Jas's absence and the danger in which has beloved Noosa now stood made it all the more precious and necessary to her just then. She opened the catch and stared, shocked into immobility. The box was empty. Nothing lay on the black velvet bed before her eyes, nothing at all, although the indentation of the ornament's own shape was clearly there. Ginny felt as if she had received an actual physical blow. Almost, for an instant, she couldn't breathe. Foreboding stole over her. She couldn't have lost it. She couldn't! Not at a time like this. That could only mean the worst possible luck, for Jas, for Noosa, for herself. She'd rather die than lose his gift. She walked mechanically back to the veranda, to Mona. "Mona, you know the little pearl and silver hair- slide - the one your Uncle Jas brought me from Sydney? Do you happen to have seen it, poppet? I could have sworn it was in its little grey box, and it's just not there." Mona stole a glance at her, blushing suddenly and fiercely. "Ginny, it - it's in your drawer. I was looking at it the other day, 'n' I heard you coming, so I just slipped it under your pile of handkerchiefs. You came so quick, I hadn't time to put it back properly."

She looked nervously at Ginny's face. She had never known her governess to look quite like that before. "I was only looking at it, truly, Ginny," she hastened to assure her. "I never even opened the catch, I just held it in my hand. I wouldn't have put it in my hair or anything, honest I wouldn't." "No, dear, I'm sure you wouldn't." Ginny's words were strangled. Tears glistened on her lashes. She had to have that ornament. She couldn't leave it behind, not now. If anything happened to the homestead itself, she'd have nothing, just nothing, to remind her of Jas when she went away. "I'm going back to get it," she said, suddenly making up her mind. "But why?" asked Mona, bewildered. "You said the house won't get burned, so it's safe enough, isn't it? You said Uncle Jas is well prepared, didn't you?" "Yes, I did. And so it is," returned Ginny with a conviction she couldn't actually believe in. "But I - I just want to have it with me, just in case of - of anything. It's my good-luck charm, you know - like a black cat or a lucky horseshoe." She smiled gaily at Mona, trying to keep her voice bright. Mona followed her inside, watching with interest as she told Sparky and Mrs. Sumner in an off-hand way that she was returning to Noosa for a few moments just to get something from the house. Sparky's reaction was immediate and definite. "I don't think you should, Ginny, not after Jas telling us to leave. It can't be all that important, my dear." "It is." Ginny was miserable. She felt quite desperate.

"It's her hair-slide, Sparky, the one Uncle Jas gave her," Mona's piping voice informed them. "It's awful important to her, honest it is. It's her good-luck charm, like black cats and horseshoes." The two older women dropped their eyes before the naked emotion they saw in Ginny's. So that was the way, was it ? "Go on, then, Ginny," Sparky told her, kind but reluctant. "Only come straight back and don't be long. And keep a watch-out where the fire is, to be sure you don't get cut off or something." Ginny reversed the Holden around the side of the store, let in the clutch and slid away, back along the four-mile route to Noosa. As she drew nearer, she was aware that the belching smoke from the upper boundary was there no longer. Instead, the flames were licking half-way up the side of the hill, well to the left of the homestead. They were much nearer to the house itself than they had .been before, and Ginny could see distant figures standing out against the fiery red background. That meant that the fire had not crossed Jas's breaks, and was still being fought along the grassy margin of the neighbouring property. The men were too far away to be recognized individually, but they appeared to be beating in slanted lines of four - a leader, two followers, and a "mopper-up". It looked like a full-scale military manoeuvre. Ginny parked the estate-car at the front door, and went straight along to her bedroom. Sure enough, beneath her pile of clean handkerchiefs lay the mother- of-pearl hairslide. She looked at it a long moment, smoothing her finger along the narrow silver band studded with tiny turquoises. She felt incredibly reassured now that it was safely held in her palm.

She shut the drawer, left the room, and retraced her steps, through the dim hall and out on to the front veranda. There she walked straight into Jas Lawrence himself. His hands shot out to grasp her wrists, and his grey eyes were censorious as he confronted her. This time he did look tired, there was no question about it. Harsh fines showed about his mouth, his hair clung damply to his scorched forehead, and his keen grey eyes looked her over from shadowed depths. His swarthy face was black and smutty. He looked piratical and challengingly masculine. In spite of his obvious exhaustion, there was a virile strength about the way he held her wrists and kept her prisoner. "So," he said, half angry, half amused. "I might have known it would be you, Virginia - contravening my instructions, as usual! What the devil d'you think you're doing, coming back here alone at a time like this?" Ginny felt oddly weak. Her heart was beating in a way that could only be described as panic-stricken. "I - I just came back to get something," she said helplessly. His quick eye had spotted the silver top of her ornament, still clutched in one of the hands he held. Jas was suddenly very still. He brought up the hand, gently uncurled her fingers, and revealed their treasure. It lay on her palm between them, satin-smooth, beautiful. "Is that what you came back for?" he asked abruptly. "Yes," she whispered. Her eyes were huge pools in a pale face.

"Why?" "Well, I - I thought I had it with me, you see. I took the box and then, after we'd been at Billoola for a while, I discovered that it - wasn't there." "So you came all the way back here for it?" "Yes." "Why ?" he asked again. "I - don't know. I just did, that's all." Ginny was temporarily witless. Jas picked up the pretty thing and turned it over slowly. It looked milky-white and pure against the blackness of his hands. "Does it mean so much to you, Virginia?" he questioned her softly. Ginny nodded, utterly miserable at this unlooked- for catechism. "Because it replaced the one your mother wore? Because it served to awaken those old memories?" he pursued gravely. Ginny nodded again. Tears trembled like dew- drops on her long, dark lashes. "Partly," she admitted grudgingly. "And what's the other part of it? Come on, Virginia, this isn't the time to play around with half-truths." Jas's shrewd gaze was probing and insistent. Ginny felt mesmerized by it. A magic thread was there again, pulling her towards him. She couldn't speak, in case the spell somehow got broken.

"Is it - could it be, just partly, because it was I who gave it to you?" persisted Jas, with unaccustomed gentleness. Ginny nodded dazedly. It wasn't done of her own volition. It must have been the magic thread that caused her head to go up, then down, just once. "Ah—h!" Jas expelled his breath on a sigh of satisfaction. He slipped the clasp into his shirt pocket, buttoned the khaki button, and took up her hands again, enveloping them in a strong, warm grasp. "Virginia," he said, on an oddly tender notfe, "will it help you to say it, if I say it first ? I love you, darling. Do you understand ? I love you, and I want you to be my wife." "Oh, Jas!" The magic thread had drawn them into each other's arms. Jas was holding her to him and kissing her with a mastery and passion that left her breathless."My God!" He stopped, holding her away a little His voice was rough and slightly reckless. "How much does it take to wring an admission from you, my sweet, independent little Ginny ?" Ginny laughed, shakily. "I love you, Jas - I always have," she told him, obedient at last. "Oh, Jas, do you realize what you called me ? You called me Ginny!" "I'll call you that if I please," he replied with a return of his old arrogance. "Dammit, you're the woman I love, after all! Ginny, sweetheart, darling, little love - I'll call you the lot of them." He was kissing her again, and Ginny's arms crept over his tattered shirt and fastened themselves around his neck. It was some time before Jas straightened, and gently disengaged her clasp, although he still kept a firm hold on one hand.

"Come here and sit down for a minute," he ordered. "All this on top of a fire is almost too much. We've got it under control, but I'll have to get back, Ginny. I spotted the Holden leaving Billoola again, and I hoped something hadn't gone wrong." He pulled her down beside him, and searched her face sternly. "Virginia, there's an aspect of this whole affair that doesn't please me one little bit." She looked at him in alarm. Jas proceeded. "Do you mean to tell me that, feeling the way you actually do, you'd have gone away from Noosa without a word or a sign, allowing me to think you were going to walk straight into that artist fellow's arms?" "He's not an artist fellow, Jas darling. His name's Clive Barratt, and he's very nice, as I once told you. Look at the good turn he's done, Mona." Jas brushed that aside impatiently. "That's all very well," he growled. "But he nearly did me a devilish bad one. Why did you allow me to think you were head over heels in love with him? It's been utter torture, do you know that, my sadistic little darling?" Ginny shrugged helplessly. "I - I suppose it was stupid of me, but it helped to salvage a little of my pride, and you must admit you always seemed to turn up at the most awkward times. Anyway, I - I thought all along you were going to marry Rosana."

"Rosana!" Jas's heavy black brows shot up incredulously. "Good grief! You're not serious? Whatever gave you that idea? Such a thought has never entered my mind at any time." "I — I just thought so. It was simply an idea." Jas was watching her intently. "Did Rosana say something to you, perhaps?" he asked, with sudden unnerving perspicacity. "A little," she admitted evasively. "I see." Jas regarded her soberly. "Ginny, I'm going to have to tell you a little bit about Rosana. You see, in her own odd way she was very much in love with my brother, and when he died, she was on the verge of nervous hysteria. I think she knew within herself that she was partly, if not wholly, to blame, and the knowledge almost defeated her. I've felt intensely sorry for her. Regrets are always difficult to live with." He paused, took her hand in his, and rubbed her wrist with his thumb, searching for the best means of explanation. "You won't know this, but Gideon and I happened to look very much alike, incredibly so, in fact. When we were small, we were even mistaken for twins I think it was this purely physical likeness which caused Rosana, after his sudden death, to transfer the affection she had for him to me. I've been aware of it all along, and although I've done nothing to encourage it, I haven't negated it altogether, because it has been helping her. Rather, let's say I've admitted its existence, and gradually I've watched her become stronger, healthier, and better able to cope. All the while this rehabilitation has been taking place, the feeling she has had - or imagined she had - for me, has dwindled correspondingly, until now it barely exists. Rosana pretends it does a

little, perhaps, because it's an old friend, and it helped her in her time of need. But now She's more than able to stand on her own two feet again, and we'll find she will do just that, with dignity, when the time comes. Which it has. Do you understand, sweetheart ?" Ginny nodded. With understanding came a sincere and adult compassion for Rosana and what she had been through. "Yes, I do see, Jas. I understand much better now. Little Mona has had rather a miserable time over it all, hasn't she? But it will be better now." "Much better all round," he asserted positively. "You will find Rosana will build up a much more intimate and affectionate relationship with her, as I drop but of the scene." He stood up, leaning over her, his eyes on her upturned face. "I'll have to go back, darling. Wait for me at Billoola. The house is safe now, and so are those trees. It's a mere matter of time before we have the fire out altogether, but until then I'll have to be there. We caught it up at the top, as we'd hoped. One can always get at it so much better when it's burning side-on and the front is reduced. The countryside looks black and ravaged just now, I know, but when rain comes the grass will appear sweeter than ever. A bush-fire has a curiously cleansing effect on grassland, and it comes up really lush afterwards. I'm not belittling the devastation it causes when I say that. It's the loss of feed and fencing that's the curse in a season like this. Those trees, though, it would have cost them their lives, and years of work and clearance to replant and bring the next ones to this stage again." He drew her tenderly into his arms. "Darling, I've some apologies to make before I go back out there about several things," he admitted gruffly. "I've wanted to say this for

some time, and then I thought there was no point in speaking at all, when you seemed to be so wrapped up in that Barratt chap. Most of my misapprehensions about you were the result of sheer, blind jealousy. That very first day, when we had our skirmish in the sea, I think I fell in love with you then - d'you know that? It was a bitter blow to find that fellow there when I took you home. I didn't want to believe, even then, that you were that sort of girl. When I got to know you better, here, I realized I'd been wrong. By then, though, I'd got the impression that you'd fallen for him, and I was plagued by jealousy all over again. I've been a brute, haven't I ? It didn't need Ted to tell me you'd had a pretty raw deal, one way and another, and there was I, adding to it. You never so much as confided in me about your musical career and how you'd had to give it up, did you ?" "Hush, Jas," she whispered softly, gazing up at him adoringly. "I don't know what Ted said to you, but it's all behind me. It doesn't matter any more." "Well, you can't have a musical career now, either," he said firmly. "Being Mrs. Jas Lawrence is enough of a career for anyone, but you can play a tune softly, now and then - just for me." He kissed her with swift intensity and put her from him. "Dear heaven! We'll have to end this 'half-way house' state of affairs. I can't stand it. We'll get married as soon as I can arrange it. And" - he looked down at her, suddenly quizzical - "do you think you'll possibly manage to keep your promise to love, honour and obey ?" "I'll try, Jas," she offered meekly. "Well, if you default, you shall be punished - like this, " he told her sternly.

Ginny returned his kiss with fervour. It was quite the nicest punishment anyone could wish for, as far as she was concerned.