Authors: Jane Corrie
Her shocked senses tried to sort out the implica-
tions of this ultimatum, for that was what it had been, even in her befuddled state she had grasped that much. In other words disown her uncle, for there was no doubt that Patrick Rafferty was her uncle. She looked back at Carl, still gazing out at the paddocks beyond the homestead waiting for her answer.
He was only an arm's length away yet Teresa felt he had moved miles away from her, and a feeling of desolation crept over her, making her want to throw herself at him.
What was Patrick Rafferty to her anyway? Blood relation, yes, she wasn't denying that, but who had been the one to lift her out of the darkness and give her life meaning? Carl—it was Carl's shoulder that she had wept on, and Carl who had gently dried her tears and filled her days with thoughts of the future as his wife; of the ranch he owned, and the homestead she would become mistress of.
Teresa did not hesitate. Her hand reached out for his, certain that she wouldn't even have to speak, for he would see her answer; it was there in her eyes.
At the touch of her hand Carl looked down at her. His fingers did not close around hers but left them clinging to his, and Teresa felt a tremor of shock pass through her as her eyes met the blue enigmatic ones of his. There was no love there now; it was as if he were seeing her with different eyes—as a Rafferty, she thought bewilderedly, and she knew with heartbreaking certainty that whatever her answer would have been, he would always see the Rafferty connection there. She didn't understand why the name was so abhorrent to him, and she felt that it
wasn't just her uncle but the name Rafferty that had sent her new-found happiness crumbling into ashes at her feet.
With a spurt of surprise she acknowledged one essential fact—Carl had never loved her! It was her looks that he had fallen for, for Teresa was a beauty by any standards, and had she needed confirmation on this point the countless men who had pestered her for dates would have given it to her.
Carl was just like all the others, she thought with a pang of sorrow; it was the wrapping he had fallen for, not the person she was. He had seen her as a beautiful possession he had commandeered for his home—something he had picked up abroad, she thought wildly; and that something had turned out a fake—not only a fake, but a Rafferty, and that he couldn't take.
Whatever he held against her kith and kin would, at some time or another, be levelled against her, and Teresa knew what her answer had to be.
Without looking at the ring on her finger she slipped it off and put it on the desk in front of her; there was no need for words here either, her action had said it all.
She watched dully as his gaze went to the ring now sitting in solitary glory on the table, then back to her partially blank eyes.
`I brought you over,' he said stiffly. 'I'll make arrangements for your return home, if that's what you'd prefer.'
Where was home? Teresa thought blankly. She had no home; nothing except an uncle nobody seemed prepared to want to know.
Her expression must have shown her thoughts,
for he said harshly, 'You're not considering joining that old devil, are you? Because if you are, I'd advise strongly against it. He can barely scrape a living as it is. I'll fix you up with work here. It's the least I can do under the circumstances.'
Teresa found herself wanting to laugh hysterically at his reluctant admission of his commitment to her, but she swallowed the urge to give way to hysteria. Her pride kept her on an even keel, and she even managed a small, if bitter, smile at him. 'Thank you, I'd rather not put you to that trouble. It appears I'm lucky in having a relative, even if he is a Rafferty,' and on these words she made for the door, feeling unable to cope with any further debate on her future, and did not even turn round a
t Carl's shouted, 'Teresa—wait !
'
She made straight for her room, and for the first time since she had arrived two days ago, did not stand and admire the beautifully furnished bedroom she had been given, but got out her case and started packing.
One part of her was fully conscious of what she was doing; she wanted enough clothes to last her for as long as it took her to get settled in her uncle's home, or in an hotel in the nearby small township; the rest, she told herself wearily, could follow on later.
That same part of her—the one that knew exactly what was happening, as against the other part of her that couldn't accept as yet that her world lay in ashes—also knew no surprise that Carl had not followed her and pleaded with her to stay, telling her that it had all been a shock to him, and that no matter who she was, he still loved her; for that part of
her knew everything, and knew he wouldn't, he was too relieved that he had been released from such an embarrassing connection.
When her case was packed, Teresa slipped on her light coat and collected her handbag, and without a backward glance left the room and made her way down to the front of the house and let herself out of the front door.
A shape detached itself from a covered porchway. It was her uncle; and he had obviously been waiting for her. Taking her case from her, he said in a mournful voice, 'Guess I knew he wouldn't be able to take it. Sorry, girl, but I had to do it.' He said no more, but Teresa barely heard him, and felt herself guided towards a very dilapidated-looking van drawn up behind the gleaming cars of the guests. Again the urge to laugh uncontrollably seized her, and again she pushed the temptation away and forced herself to remain calm.
Teresa never clearly remembered reaching her uncle's home. She knew he talked a lot about this and that, as if he realised the need to keep her mind off certain matters, and when they drew up in front of a small chalet-style house, badly in need of a coat of paint, her uncle climbed out and remarked a little shamefacedly, "Tis a little on the shabby side, girl, but you'll be mighty welcome here.'
At that particular time Teresa wouldn't have minded if the place had been a log cabin; she was past any comments on the matter, only knowing that as her uncle had just said, here she was welcome, and at Sunset Ridge, the Elton homestead, she wasn't.
BARELY noticing the shabby furniture and curtains that could do with a wash, Teresa allowed herself to be led into what appeared to be a sitting-room, only there was hardly any space in which to sit. Each chair was loaded down with either papers or books, and on one, what looked suspiciously like a pile of clothes was waiting to be ironed.
At least, she told herself dully, she would not only be welcome there, it looked as if she was needed too, and it didn't look as if she would have much time to mope. For that she was grateful, for she had gathered that her uncle was a bachelor who suffered the casual ministrations of one Mrs Hanney, who would come and sort out the place when the mood was on her, which, Teresa surmised, did not happen often.
Her uncle quickly made a space for her to sit down, gathering the papers up and putting them on a table with a shamefaced grin, and said, 'Sure, I'd better mend me ways now, girl,' then perched himself on the arm of one of the armchairs and studied her with concern. 'Now, how about a nice cup of tea?' he queried.
Teresa felt the tears spring up behind her eyes and quickly blinked them back, but she couldn't speak, just nodded as she watched him go out of the room. The unwelcome thought that she would have to tell him about her mother and brother hovered
uneasily at the back of her mind, and she closed her eyes. As if she hadn't had enough for one day!
While she waited for her uncle to reappear with the tea, she forced her mind away from the heartbreak so near the surface. She wouldn't, couldn't, think of Carl and what had happened.
Mercifully he was not long, and carrying a tray that also looked as if it could do with some attention such as a good polish, he laid it down on a side table after pushing off a pile of ancient magazines.
Handing her a cup of tea, he commented kindly, list you get that down you.'
The tea was very strong, but Teresa was too weary to ask for more milk in it and sipped the hot dark liquid. A few seconds later she was coughing and spluttering and her eyes were watering; this time not from sorrow, but from whatever it was that he had put in the tea.
Instead of looking concerned, her uncle grinned at her. 'Brandy, girl; get it down you, you could do with a bit of propping up.'
Teresa blinked back the tears and nodded mutely, then sipped the sweet fiery liquid, grateful for anything to help her through this bad time.
When she had finished she really did feel more able to cope; enough, anyway, to say what had to be said, and told him about the air crash.
For a short while afterwards her uncle sat staring at the worn lino on the floor, then abruptly he went back into the kitchen, and Teresa knew he had gone to give himself a dose of the same liquid courage he had given her.
When he came back, he was shaking his head.
'You poor wee mite,' was all he could say for a few seconds, then shook his head again, and his brow darkened. 'And fool that I was, I made things worse for you.' He sat down heavily on the chair arm again. 'It explains why our Maureen didn't tell me about you and Elton.' He sighed heavily. 'I thought maybe she'd hoped things had blown over like, though that didn't make sense, but it was all I could come up with.'
He looked across at Teresa, who was now feeling the full effects of the liberal dose of brandy, and her lids were heavy, although she was making a valiant attempt to keep awake. There was so much she wanted to know, but she was too tired to pursue the matter.
'What you need, girl, is a good night's sleep,' her uncle said, and Teresa made herself sit up straighter as if to prove she was all right—or would be, if she could only shake off this feeling of numbness. She would have liked nothing better than to be able to lie down and sink into oblivion, but her tired brain assessed the unlikely possibility of there being a spare room, and if there were, if it was in a fit state to accommodate her.
Her uncle settled the matter for her, and clearing his throat, he said, 'I maybe thought you might be needing a place to go to. I kinda hoped you'd agree to stay a while.' His gaze settled once more on the lino, and she saw his features harden as he muttered, 'And glad I am too. As I said afore, we're kin, girl, and if you've a mind, I'd be right grateful if you'd consider staying now that you're here.'
°Teresa nodded dumbly. She didn't have any-
where else to go anyway, for there was nothing in England for her now; all ties had been severed when she left.
A few minutes later she was shown round the chalet, and finally to her room which was located in an added wing tacked on to the building. 'You'll get plenty of peace here, girl,' her uncle commented. 'I have to be up early, so I won't disturb you; my room's back in the main section of the place.'
With a start, Teresa realised she didn't know what her uncle did for a living, but she was too tired to ask. There would be plenty of time in the future, she told herself dully—all the time in the world.
Not long afterwards, she took a quick shower, and was soon climbing gratefully into the small camp bed in the spare room. The cover was plain but clean, and so were the sheets. Half of her saw these things, the other half saw the room she had been given at Sunset Ridge and her heart cried out to Carl. He hadn't meant what he'd said, she told herself; tomorrow he would be round to beg her forgiveness, to say that nothing mattered so long as they were together. And on these thoughts she fell into an exhausted sleep.
The following morning however, Teresa's hopes were not fulfilled. A day went by, then two, then a week, with no sign of Carl.
She tried not to run to the telephone each time it rang, or raise her hopes too high each time she answered it, for it was always someone 'wanting her uncle or wanting to leave a message for him, and these would come from the local auction sales, for this was how her uncle earned his living, by trucking
livestock from sales to outlying farms.
The work could hardly be called lucrative, and Teresa, recalling Carl's words about her uncle barely being able to support himself, started to worry about this, for she couldn't see how he could be expected to support her as well.
Somehow she had to bring up the subject of getting a job of some kind and paying her way without hurting her uncle, and this wasn't going to be easy, for he was a proud man, and never failed to show appreciation for even the smallest task Teresa carried out as she made the chalet into a real home, a task she had set about with a fervour almost amounting to fanaticism. She gave herself no time to mope, there were things to be done, curtains to be washed; windows likewise, chair covers and mats—nothing escaped Teresa's busy hands; tables were polished, the lino was given a new lease of life, and said thank-you by shining as if new.
When everything was right, Teresa promised herself, she would set about getting that job, although she hadn't much of a clue about the sort of job she could obtain, for as yet she didn't know much about the immediate territory and what chances of employment there were, if any. If she had been a man she could have assisted her uncle, for she could drive, but she was terrified of cattle and would prove more of a liability than a help in this respect.