The Post at Gundoee Page 2

  It was always the same after one of Carleen’s parties. Lindsay’s alarm would rouse her, and, heavy-eyed, she would crawl from the sheets, dress hurriedly, and attack the mountain of washing-up which Carleen had stacked in the kitchenette. Before she left for work, she generally managed to empty the ash-trays, put away the spare glasses, and marvel at the way in which Carleen contrived to sleep through the din. How lovely she looked, with her long blonde tresses spread around her, one arm outflung—like a sleeping Princess, Lindsay thought wryly, except for the scattering of dainty, brief undergarments flung carelessly on to the foot of the bed. A Princess would doubtless have had a servant to remove them and tidy the bed-chamber, but Lindsay herself had no intention of going as far as that!

  This evening, Lindsay found herself asking the same old question. How much longer could she go on? Carleen had been more demanding of late, and was not slow, when Lindsay tried to make her see how much she already had to do, in reminding her of her debt to her own parents. It was the cruellest form of moral blackmail, but Carleen did not hesitate to apply it whenever it suited her to do so.

  Tonight, more than ever before, Lindsay experienced a quiet sense of despair, of longing to escape. As she stared bleakly from the window, up there on Dover Heights, watching the yachts returning to their moorings in the gathering darkness without really seeing them at all, a poem which she had always loved came unbidden to her mind:

  ‘In my wild, erratic fancy, visions come to me of Clancy

  Gone a-droving down the Cooper where the Western drovers go;

  As the stock are slowly stringing, Clancy rides behind them singing,

  For the drover’s life has pleasures that the townsfolk never know,’

  Lindsay spoke the next verse aloud, savouring each line.

  ‘And the bush has friends to meet him, and their kindly voices greet him

  In the murmur of the breezes and the river on its bars,

  And he sees the vision splendid of the sunlit plains extended,

  And at night the wondrous glory of the everlasting stars

  Preoccupied as she was with her ‘vision splendid’, she had not heard Carleen’s key in the lock, and was unaware of her presence until a prolonged sigh of exasperation sounded from the kitchen doorway.

  ‘Lindsay, what are you doing? Have you got everything ready? They’ll be here soon, you know.’ Carleen’s voice was sharp.

  ‘Yes, I know.’ Lindsay came out of her trance.

  ‘Well, stop standing there spouting Banjo Paterson—if you’ve nothing better to do, you may press my blouse. And for the love of God, don’t moon around quoting poetry in front of my friends, will you? They’ll think you’re odder than they already do—and in any case, Paterson’s positively old hat, or didn’t you know?’

  Without waiting for an answer, Carleen took the garment to which she had referred from the laundry basket, handed it to her cousin, and disappeared. Moments later, Lindsay could hear the shower running, and Carleen’s voice humming the latest hit as she turned herself beneath the spray.

  Abstractedly, Lindsay switched on the iron, pulled the board down from its wall supports.

  How had the rest of the poem gone? She couldn’t remember the next few verses.

  ‘And something, something, something—something, something, la, dee, da,’ she muttered, spreading the blouse over the board.

  Yes, that was it!

  ‘And I somehow rather fancy that I’d like to change with Clancy,

  Like to take a turn at droving, where the seasons come and go,

  While he faced the round eternal of the cash-book and the journal—

  But I doubt he’d suit the office, Clancy of the Overflow.’

  Lindsay’s generous mouth curved a little bitterly.

  No, he wouldn’t have suited the office, any more than she did herself. She was a misfit, just as Clancy would have been if he had had to forsake the freedom of the plains for her sort of nine-to-five employment in the city.

  ‘And I sometimes rather fancy that I'd like to change with Clancy

  Oh, how she would like to change! Only Lindsay herself knew how trapped she felt, here in this unit with Carleen. She was just a cypher, really—a pair of hands that did things which were useful to her cousin, uncomplainingly, unquestioningly, because of that debt. Always there was that debt! Lindsay was asking herself now how long it took to pay off a debt of such magnitude. All of your life, maybe?

  She shuddered at the prospect She could imagine herself as an old, bent woman, still stooped over this very ironing-board, saying, ‘Yes, Carleen,’ ‘No, Carleen.’

  ‘Haven’t you finished?’ Her cousin spoke from the doorway, wafting a cloud of French perfume into the small kitchen.

  Carleen’s hair was still confined in a shower-cap, and there was cream on her face, but standing there in her quilted housecoat and swansdown-trimmed mules, she managed to look as glamorous as though she were posing for some perfumerie commercial.

  ‘Thanks’—as Lindsay handed her the blouse—‘Have you put those pastry things in the oven? Well, switch it on, for goodness’ sake! Another few minutes, and they’ll be starting to arrive. What has got into you tonight?’

  Lindsay was wondering the very same thing. Whatever had possessed her to go into a dream world like that, when there was so much yet to be done? How could she possibly have forgotten to switch on the oven? Oh dear! She’d be caught now, most probably!

  In feverish haste, she took glasses from the sideboard, assembled bottles together, carried through the plates of savouries, and put olives and mixed nuts into small bowls which she dotted about the lounge. After that, she got ice from the refrigerator, crushed it, and placed it in its own thermally-protected container.

  She was in the act of carrying this through when the doorbell rang.

  ‘Drat! Someone’s early!’ Carleen’s voice, muffled and annoyed, came from her bedroom. ‘Answer that, will you, Lindsay. I’ll be out in a couple of minutes.’

  Lindsay glanced from her apron down to her old shoes. Then, with a shrug, half humorous, half despairing, she went to the front door.

  Carleen’s photographer—the one for whom Lindsay had made the oyster cocktail a few evenings ago—took in her shabby appearance with one comprehensive sweep of his light-blue eyes, and then averted them politely.

  They were quite nice eyes, really, and his smiling mouth was pleasant, if not exactly strong. Lindsay decided that Carleen had sometimes done a lot worse!

  ‘Good evening. Am I too early?’

  ‘No, not at all. Won’t you please come in, and I’ll give you a drink while you wait. Carleen won’t be long, and I dare say some of the others will arrive soon, too.’

  He followed her along the hall to the sitting-room.

  ‘You must be the little cousin,’ he observed quite kindly. ‘The one who hates parties and people.’

  ‘Yes, that’s right.’ Lindsay forced a stilted smile. Was that what Carleen told them? Oh well, what did it matter? There was nothing to be gained by defending herself to this man. It was pure chance that she had not managed to escape before he arrived, and his definition of her, while strangely hurtful, was of no real consequence, after all.

  ‘Martini? Or would you prefer something here?’ She indicated the bottles on the sideboard.

  ‘Martini would be very nice. Dry, please.’ He watched with interest as she speared an olive, and laid it deftly across the filled glass. ‘Tell me,’ accepting his drink, ‘what have you got against people? Or parties either, for that matter? You seemed to do that with the efficiency of long experience.’

  Lindsay flushed.

  ‘N-nothing. Nothing, of course,’ she declared with hasty politeness.

  ‘Then why not honour us with your presence this evening—just for once? I don’t mind being left alone while you go and change—not that you aren’t perfectly charming as you are,’ he added, with what to Lindsay appeared to be spontaneous gallantry.

  ‘
Oh no, I couldn’t! I mean—’

  ‘What do you mean?’ He was studying her closely.

  ‘Well, I mean, I just couldn’t. I’ve—er—things to do.’

  ‘Don’t you want to?’

  ‘N-not particularly. I don’t know any of Carleen’s friends,’ she pointed out lamely.

  ‘Has anyone ever told you that you have an interesting face, little cousin?’ His abrupt change of topic took her by surprise. ‘That bone-structure would photograph well.’ Lindsay smiled. What a line! All Carleen’s friends had a line, one way or another. You expected it of them. They were given to extravagant statements and exaggerated phrases, and their conversation was usually quite generously spattered with ‘darlings’ and ‘sweethearts’.

  Knowing this, she simply smiled, making no attempt to reply.

  ‘There has to be first time, doesn’t there?’ he persisted. ‘What are you smiling at? You look as enigmatic as the Mona Lisa! Why not come tonight—with my support, of course! I’ve helped launch countless young lovelies into society, you know,’

  ‘Lindsay can’t possibly come.’ Carleen’s voice came sweetly from behind them. ‘Such a pity! She has other things to do, haven’t you, pet? Now, do let her go, John. It’s not fair to the poor girl to let her get caught by the others looking like that, is it? You, of all people, should know women’s little vanities by now. We hate to be discovered without our face on, darling.’ She gave a tinkling laugh.

  ‘Some faces can stand it,’ Lindsay caught his words as she fled from the room, thankful to take the opportunity to escape, but her cousin’s reply was lost in the chinking of ice as Carleen helped herself to a drink.

  Soon after that, the bell rang again, and for some time the front door remained open while ‘the crowd’ poured in.

  The same old routine followed. As the party gathered momentum, the hum of conversation caused the flat to literally vibrate with the buzz of human voices. The sounds of speech and laughter, the clink of glasses, the beat of the record-player, chased each other in and out of Lindsay’s brain as she moved about her room, and finally went to bed.

  Her clock showed her that it was two o’clock before the noise began to diminish. She could hear goodbyes being called every now and then, and the bang of the front door as people departed.

  Soon there were only two voices left—Carleen’s and the photographer’s.

  ‘Coffee, John? Let’s make some in the kitchen, now that we’re alone.’

  ‘Sounds cosy,’ the deeper voice agreed.

  They were there for quite some time, and Lindsay relaxed. The low exchange of talk had an almost soporific effect on her after the previous abandoned din, and she was on the very brink of sleep when Carleen and the man passed her door again on the way to the lobby.

  ‘—wonderful evening, sweet.’ His voice. ‘Make it by twelve-thirty if you can, tomorrow, will you, Carleen?’

  ‘I’ll try, darling. I hope I wake up. I mustn’t be late if Sarino himself is to be there, must I? It’s my big chance!’

  ‘Wrong, my pet. I’m your big chance, and don’t you forget it! Although I’ll admit Sarino’s handy with a lens.’ A pause. ‘Why don’t you bring that little cousin along with you when you come? She’s got a challenging face—a sort of undiscovered quality, quite appealing—and those green eyes are remarkable. Green as the sea itself. In fact, that’s what I see her as—a seascape. One of those gran turismo poster backgrounds, if you like—you know, the cliff road winding away, and in the foreground the sophisticates, watched from a distance by this green-eyed water-nymph in the briefest little bikini you ever saw—all big green eyes and green sea spray ’

  ‘Darling, you’ve gone quite, quite mad—It must be the champagne.’ Carleen’s voice was dry, amused ‘She’d be utterly hopeless. She would freeze at the mere thought, and you’d embarrass her. She’s full of inhibitions, you know.’

  ‘She didn’t strike me as quite that.’

  ‘Well, she is. In fact, she’s as dull as ditchwater. Quite the dreariest flat-mate possible.’ There was a bite in that cool, floating tone. Lindsay, now sitting upright in her thin cotton pyjamas, listened with a sort of awestruck compulsion, shivered. She wished she hadn’t begun to listen, because now, to her horror, she found she couldn’t stop. Even in her humiliation, something drove her to it!

  ‘Don’t you like her? Why have her, then? Why not get someone else to share—someone who isn’t as dull as ditch-water?’

  ‘Oh, John, I’d love to, you know that, but she—well—Carleen’s voice became honeyed, almost, one might say, sacrificial—‘I can’t let her down, John, the poor child. Do you know, she actually begged me to take her in, and what was I to do? My parents had had her for years, and I couldn’t let them do it for ever, could I—limit their lives in that tedious way? No, I decided that it was my turn to offer her a roof, even though she cramps my style, too, just the teeniest little bit. I told her that she could stay here for just as long as she needed me,’ Carleen finished on a positively magnanimous note.

  John’s voice came.

  ‘Or you needed her.’

  ‘What did you say?’

  There was a rich, amused chuckle—the man’s.

  ‘You heard me, darling,’ he said smoothly. ‘I said, for as long as you need her. Oh, come off it, Carleen, be honest! We’re birds of a feather, and I can read you like a book. We’re both unscrupulous, and we both use people, so why not admit it? We’re even going to use Sarino tomorrow, aren’t we? You’re using your dull little cousin for all the nasty little domesticities that you yourself can’t bear, and so long as she copes with the sordid, everyday domestic routine, you’ll keep her. Well, I want to use her, too—or her eyes, at any rate. That’s all I want, sweetie, just her eyes, so you needn’t worry that she’ll spoil things for us.’ He adopted a more persuasive tone. ‘You have my word, Carleen—from one rogue to another! So take that jealous look off your pretty face, you little spitfire. Of course, I’ll have to play her along just a little bit at first, to get her co-operation. You and I will both know it doesn’t mean a thing, and it shouldn’t be too difficult. I don’t think your little cousin has ever had much attention from the male of the species, and I can be quite devastating when I like. You should know that! And remember, my interest is solely professional. If you don’t bring her along, I’ll be really disappointed.’

  ‘She’ll be working. How do you expect me to get round that?’ Carleen’s voice was sullen.

  ‘You’ll get round it, sweet, just as you get your way in other things.’

  ‘And if I don’t?’

  ‘Then I’ll get round Sarino.’

  ‘You wouldn’t!’

  ‘I would. If I’m to be disappointed, then I’ll make certain that you are, too.’

  ‘Then I’m afraid you’ll just have to be disappointed, both of you,’ came Lindsay’s strangled interruption from the doorway.

  She had meant to sound calm, even sarcastic, but instead her voice was husky with hurt, as she stood there confronting them, heedless of the ridiculous figure she must present in her checked cotton pyjamas, with bare feet and ruffled hair. Her whole body was shaking with outrage and humiliation. It was no use trying to carry the thing off with elaborate sophistication—such a measure was quite beyond Lindsay just then!

  ‘Lindsay!’ Carleen uttered shrilly, then, collecting herself—‘Darling, did we wake you up, you poor sweet?’

  Lindsay threw back her head and met her cousin’s eyes. There was about her a curious air of dignity, as if some hidden force had taken possession of her and was guiding her actions, telling her just what must be done, what must be said.

  ‘No,’ she returned evenly, ‘you did not wake me up, and I am not your sweet. I am merely your dull flat-mate, whom you told could stay here just as long as I needed you—wasn’t that how you put it? Well, it will be a relief to you to know that I don’t need you any longer, Carleen, so you can start looking for someone else to share straight away. I sh
all be out of here by the end of next week.’

  ‘But, darling— ’

  ‘As for you’—Lindsay addressed herself now to the man—‘there is just one thing that I would like you to know. You were quite right in thinking that I’ve had little attention from the male of the species, and having just heard your own sickening revelations, I count myself lucky to have been spared. Goodnight!’

  ‘Well done, Green Eyes! I guessed there was a bit of hidden spirit under that submissive little exterior. How about that, Carleen!’

  ‘Shut up, John!’ Carleen snapped. ‘You keep out of this, you’ll only make things worse.’ She advanced towards Lindsay, arms outstretched placatingly. ‘Lindsay darling, you don’t really mean that. You’re tired and a bit put out. I’m sorry we were so noisy. You’ve every reason to feel irritable, but you can’t be serious.’

  ‘I’m perfectly serious, Carleen. I’m leaving in a week.’

  ‘Dear, don’t be silly. Where would you go?’

  ‘I don’t know yet, but I’ll find somewhere,’ Lindsay retorted hardily.

  ‘I think Green Eyes really is serious, sweetie! Could be you have a problem on your hands.’

  ‘John, for heaven’s sake, go, if all you can do is to stand there being clever!’

  ‘Don’t hurry away because of me,’ Lindsay told him politely, although inside she felt quite numb with shock, ‘because I’m going back to bed in any case.’