Authors: Jane Corrie
moment he had started the car up and was on his way out of her life.
As she let herself into the chalet, it was all Teresa could do to answer her uncle's gruff, 'I hope you gave him his come-uppance this time,' as she met him in the hall.
'Oh, I did,' she answered in a voice that trembled slightly. 'And you can't imagine how won ... wonderful it was.' The tears in her eyes were blinding her as she made her way to her room. It was nice to know, she thought bitterly, that someone was happy. She had no doubt that she had just made her uncle's day.
Her room seemed twice as bleak as it was before, the clinical whiteness of the walls seemed to echo her feelings of being shut away from warmth and love, and she shivered as if the cold in her heart had penetrated her very being.
As the tears cascaded down her face, she told herself she ought to be proud of herself. She had come through with flying colours. Carl had no inkling of the true state of her heart, and what it had cost her to give him up—and for what? A sob tore its way through her silent grief. He was still going up north! She had accomplished nothing! And she hadn't even been able to tell him that she had no intention of marrying Michael. Her lower lip caught in her teeth as she tried to stem her chaotic thoughts. She was the one who ought to go away, not Carl! He belonged here. Her tears increased in volume as she thought of him making. a new life for himself, deliberately cutting himself off from all he loved.
It was the thought of Isobel that gradually
brought her back to a calmer state, bringing with it a kind of bitter-sweet reasoning. Isobel would fight for him, and make him see the utter senselessness of throwing everything up. Bitterness and hurt was blinding his judgment now, but given time he would come to accept that what had happened had happened for the best—even, she gulped, be thankful for the way things had turned out.
The following week, Teresa settled down to a day-to-day existence, not unlike the existence she had lived while her memory was impaired, only now she found herself waiting with a kind of doomsday expectation for news of Carl. If he did make the move up north she would be certain to hear of it, for as her uncle had said what seemed like years ago, when she had first gone to live with him, nothing an Elton did went uncommented upon. The fact that Carl was still at Sunset Ridge did not mean that he had changed his mind; there would be many things to wind up at that end, but Teresa was sure that the news of his impending departure would sweep through the small township like a bush fire.
She was also sure that it would be her uncle who would be first with the news. She had not told him of Carl's decision that night. It was enough that Uncle Patrick knew that it was over between them; the rest did not concern him. She also knew the day when such news might be expected to reach her, for Wednesday was the day her uncle took himself down to the local pub, and there he would have a gossip with several of his cronies, one of whom was Joe Spang who worked for Carl. At this thought Teresa's
lips had twisted wryly, for it had been Joe Spang who had started off the whole wretched affair. At this point Teresa had to rebuke herself sternly, for both he and her uncle had acted for the best. If she had married Carl ...
When her uncle returned that night Teresa steeled herself for the news she felt certain would be forthcoming, and as he said nothing, she was forced to inquire as casually as she was able whether he had enjoyed his evening out, and how was Joe?
Her uncle did not think there was anything unusual in this query, and answered readily enough. 'Sure, he's fine, but thinking of changing his employment,' he chuckled.
Teresa's heart missed a beat; now she would hear it? But she said nothing and waited for her uncle to enlarge on that, and he did.
`Seems there's no living with Elton these days,' he said slowly, savouring the thought. `Joe says he's known sweeter-tempered cornered grizzlies '
Teresa winced inwardly but made herself stay calm. If her uncle expected the news to give her pleasure, then he was going to be disappointed, she thought, and waited for him to go on, her expression showing nothing of her thoughts. It might have been something about her stillness that prevented him from enlarging on this subject, for it was clear he would have liked to expound on this theme. However, to Teresa's dismay, he changed the conversation and gave her the latest news on the weather. 'The wet's set in further down south, and that means we'll be having our share within a week or two,' he commented.
It appeared that this was the extent of the news he had gathered, and Teresa allowed herself to hope that Carl had changed his mind and was staying after all. The fact that he was unleashing his temper on his employees was surely a healthy sign, wasn't it? she asked herself hopefully. He needed to get it out of his system and she would rather he did it that way than brood inwardly, although, she conceded, she did feel a little sorry for those on the receiving end.
Another week went by, and another Wednesday, without any startling disclosures from Uncle Patrick, and as the news was something he simply would not have been capable of keeping back from her—he would have been too delighted at the prospect of a Rafferty uprooting an Elton, which was precisely the way he would have seen it, Teresa mused shrewdly—it really looked as if her hope( had been realised. It did, of course, also mean that Isobel had got through to him, and Teresa didn't know whether to feel glad or sorry about that. She only knew she wanted him to be happy, but try as she would, she couldn't see a vast amount of happiness in store for him as Isobel's husband. But then, she reminded herself sadly, she had only seen the vicious side of her—perhaps in the same circumstances; she too would produce claws and fight tooth and nail for what she considered was hers, particularly when she knew that if she lost it meant unhappiness for the one she loved.
Precisely two days later Teresa received the confirmation she was looking for in the forth of an article in the local paper, accompanied by a photo-
graph of Carl shaking hands with a prosperous-looking man. The article was headed 'Sunset Ridge scoops deal in foreign trade.'
`Them that has gets!' commented her uncle bitterly, peering over her shoulder as he passed her chair and seeing the article. 'Heard he'd pulled off a big deal with a U.K. firm. As if he hadn't enough share of the market as it is,' he growled. He shook his head sadly. 'Sure the devil looks after his own, that's for certain,' he lamented.
It was not until Teresa was washing up the supper dishes later that evening that the full significance of the newspaper item reached through to her, and her hands stilled on the plate she was putting on the drying rack. Carl was staying! He must be—for she couldn't see him calmly handing over the fulfilling of a contract of that magnitude to a foreman. Her eyes glistened as she said a silent 'thank you' for the opportunity that had come at such an appropriate time.
As she wiped the dishes and stacked them away, her thoughts roamed on. Woman-like, she couldn't help feeling a little rebuffed at his apparent change of mind; although she hadn't wanted him to go up north, the gesture, had he carried it out, would have shown how much he loved her. It had only taken a fortnight, it seemed, for him to get her out of his system. He could hardly be termed a constant lover she thought with a stab of sorrow.
Impatiently she shook these thoughts away; Carl was being sensible, she argued silently with herself. He had picked up the threads of his life again, as indeed she had wished him to do. There would be
no lasting ill-effects of their association—on his part anyway, she thought sadly. The only one who had got hurt was herself. She sighed; she wouldn't have had it any other way, she told herself stoutly, and made an effort to put the whole episode out of her mind.
The following day was cloudy and oppressive, and Michael remarked cheerfully to Teresa when she arrived for work that he hoped she had brought her gumboots with her, as it looked as if she might need them later.
Teresa replied in the same vein, and said she didn't mind getting her feet wet—in fact, she would look forward to it. She had found she actually missed the variable weather of her homeland.
`Ah, but just wait until it comes,' answered Michael, grinning. 'It doesn't stop at rain; the heavens open and the place is awash before you can turn round.'
Teresa thought Michael was teasing her, and asked politely if he could row a boat, for to hear him tell it, there would be no other way she could report for work the next day; at which he chuckled and said, 'You'll see ! '
However, the threatened downpour held off for that day, and by the time Teresa got home that evening her head ached, and she fervently wished the rain would come, if only to relieve the oppressive stillness of the evening. Her depression deepened as her eyes fell on two large cases standing just inside the hall as she let herself in to the chalet.
On the top of the cases lay an envelope addressed to her in Carl's writing. With fingers that shook
slightly she opened the letter and read the contents. It was a short and very impersonal missive which told her that he apologised for not returning them to her before, and he hoped she hadn't been too inconvenienced without them.
Teresa swallowed and placed the letter back into the envelope, then gazed back at the cases and frowned. He must have forgotten her large trunk, and really, she thought sadly, had she been given the choice of which luggage she would have preferred delivered first, the trunk would have taken precedence, for inside it were photographs of her family and small unvaluable ornaments that she had kept from her old home. Unvaluable, that was, from the monetary point of view, but irreplaceable from the sentimental angle. Her eyes closed as she thought of the trunk's contents—of Rob's blazer with the International badge which she and her mother had gently squabbled over, on who should be given the honour of sewing it on—and compromised in the end by doing half each!
She passed a hand over her forehead and pushed back a tendril of her bright hair, as if by this slight action she could also push her memories away, but of course she couldn't. She had had some idea of giving the blazer to Carl. He and Rob had been much of the same build, and she knew it was a custom to exchange items of clothing with visiting teams, and also knew that Carl would have felt honoured to wear Rob's county colours.
Her uncle's van pulling up outside shook her out of her unhappy musings, and she dashed into the kitchen to start getting the meal ready. He would
be very hungry, as he had not had time that morning to sit down and eat what Teresa considered a good breakfast; and she doubted whether he had stopped to get himself something during the day. She did not consider a snatched sandwich, eaten while still driving, a substitute for a meal, and had only the other day scolded him about this practice. Not that she had had much success, for he had replied, 'It's only till the wet comes, girl. I'll be off the road then for a couple of days or so,' and looking down at his thin wiry frame, he had added ruefully, 'It's no use trying to fatten me up, you'll not alter this shape—'sides, I can't tuck it away like I used to.'
In spite of his air of gloomy preoccupation, Teresa had known that her interest, be it scolding, or just fussing over him, pleased him, and she sighed as she put the potatoes on to boil; she couldn't, she thought sadly, have come across two men with more conflicting convictions. Her uncle Patrick was stubborn, not to say pigheaded! And Carl ... she sighed again as she recalled her uncle's words when he introduced himself at their engagement party. "Tis a miracle, so it is '
As she busied herself with the rest of the preparations for the meal, a tiny voice inside her kept repeating these words until in sheer desperation she was forced to answer the taunt. 'Yes, and it'll take another miracle to put things right again,' she whispered fiercely.
THERE was still no sign of the promised deluge the following morning, and although the clouds were very much in evidence, Teresa did wonder if the 'wet', as everyone seemed to call it, had passed them by, and mentioned as much to Michael as she met him at the office door.
Glancing up at the sky, he shook his head firmly. 'I'd say any time now,' he said, adding consideringly, 'It might hold off until the evening, and I hope it does. Dad and I are off to Bathurst after lunch, remember.' He gave Teresa a hand up the step to the office, holding on to her arm a little longer than necessary, and she was quite prepared for his next words. 'Should be all over by Saturday, Teresa. How about our unfinished date?'
Teresa hadn't the heart to refuse him. It would do no harm anyway; and it wasn't as if it mattered to Carl any more. She nodded quickly. 'Very well,' she replied lightly, and was rewarded by the quick squeeze of his hand on her arm and the delighted grin he gave her.
It was nice, she thought a little sardonically, that someone was still interested in her, and wondered if the day would ever come when she could seriously consider marrying Michael; for it was plain to see that he would grasp the earliest opportunity to propose to her, even though they had had as yet only
one date. It was the little things he did that spoke volumes when they were in the office together, and the way he would watch her when he thought she was unaware of his attention. And it was the little things that counted so much, she thought. There was no doubt that Michael would do his level best to make her happy. Perhaps one day ...