‘I don’t believe it. It’s natural that she would say that, because of the disgrace, as it were. But—’ Mrs. Stafford shook her head, ‘I’m not convinced, Gail, and won’t be until you return and tell me that the man really was married to poor Sandra.’
‘I wonder what he looks like?’ mused Gail, veering the matter a little. ‘Sandra never could be persuaded to show either Dawn or me a photograph.’
‘You didn’t find one in her belongings?’
Gail shook her head, the tears starting to her eyes as she recalled the unhappy task of sorting out her cousin’s pitiful little store of possessions.
‘She described him,’ she said after a while. ‘He’s certainly the tough handsome type of giant one associates with the Outback graziers. He owns a cattle station of ten thousand square miles, so Sandra told me one day when she was talking about him. He inherited it from his father, apparently.’
‘What else did she tell you?’
‘Very little, really,’ frowned Gail reflectively. ‘But somehow I gained the impression that the man was a boaster.’
It was her mother’s turn to frown.
‘You mean, he might not be all he described himself to be?’
‘I don’t know...’ A pause and then, ‘I’m pretty sure he is as wealthy as she says — no, don’t ask me why I have this conviction, because I don’t know myself. What I meant about his boasting was that he seems to have talked far too much about his possessions. Wealthy people don’t normally go on about what they own. This Kane Farrell seems to have done just this.’
‘Sandra said so?’
‘No, she never actually said it. I gained the impression, as I’ve said, yet I can’t explain why I should have gained it.’
‘And you’re firmly set on going to Australia?’ her mother said after a while. ‘You’re going to appear pretty foolish when he tells you to clear off and take Leta with you.’
The glint entered her daughter’s eyes.
‘I shall leave her—dump her on him!’
Her mother grimaced.
‘Knowing you as I do,’ she said, shaking her head, ‘I can accept that. My, what an absorbing scene it will be when you turn up and say, “Mr. Farrell, here is your child.” ‘
Gail smiled at the mental picture that arose before her.
‘He’s going to feel pretty sick, I must admit. Serve him right! Perhaps he’ll think twice about seducing another young girl.’
‘Has the thought that he might be married ever entered your mind?’
‘Of course. But what difference will that make? His wife can look to the child.’
‘And what an experience that will be !’
‘Leta’ll disrupt everything in less than ten minutes.’
‘No doubt at all about that,’ was the grim rejoinder from Mrs. Stafford. But she did then go on to reassert her own conviction that Leta would never find a home at the cattle station owned by her father. ‘Do, dear, consider a little more before you go out there,’ she added, but saw at once by that familiar glint that her daughter’s mind was immovably made up.
‘Where’s the brat now?’ Gail was asking a few minutes later, ‘She should have been home a quarter of an hour ago.’
‘She won’t stay with Mrs. Goring, who is so kind as to offer to bring her home. I expect she’s playing in a gutter somewhere, or beating up some other little girl.’
‘Bad-tempered wretch! How on earth did Sandra produce a child like Leta?’
‘It seems impossible,’ agreed Mrs. Stafford, shaking her head. ‘She was such a darling child herself when she was little. I didn’t see much of her, of course, because as you know I couldn’t get on with her mother. I believe it was this that made Sandra so independent as far as I was concerned. She wouldn’t allow me to give her a thing.’
‘You gave it through me, though.’ Gail paused a moment. She was musing on her own attitude towards Leta, who as a baby was so very attractive. But from the moment she could think for herself she had been almost uncontrollable. She would lie on the floor and scream if she could not have all her own way; she would think nothing of grasping a handful of hair and pulling it if some other little girl did anything to annoy her. At play-school she was disliked, but the woman running it had taken pity on Sandra when she heard that, were it not for Leta, she could take a part-time job, so earning a little extra money for herself and the child. ‘You know, Mother, I sometimes think that she can’t be as bad as she appears. After all, she’s only four.’
‘Four and a half. And don’t forget, badness comes out at a very early age. She’s bad all right, and the best place for her is with her father—annoying him and making a little hell of his life. But I’m sure he won’t have her, especially when he knows what she’s like.’
‘He won’t have time to discover what she’s like,’ was Gail’s grim reply. ‘I shall simply dump her on him, as I’ve said.’
‘She might begin right away—spit at him or some such thing.’
‘She won’t. You don’t know Leta as well as I. She can be bribed.’
Her mother threw up her hands.
‘Another vice!’ she exclaimed.
‘Yes, she has them all. You name it and Leta has it. Lord, it makes you wonder if it’s safe to bring children into the world!’
Mrs. Stafford had to laugh at this.
‘You’ll never produce a child like Leta,’ she told her with conviction. And for a quiet moment she gazed at her daughter, taking in the fine and noble lines of her face, a face of character and determination. And yet the full wide mouth was soft and Mrs. Stafford smiled faintly on recalling all those incidents when Gail had given forth compassion in abundance, whenever it happened to be called for. The eyes, of so unusual but attractive a colour, were large and widely-spaced be neath a high intelligent forehead. The dark brown hair with its bronze glints was long and silky and luxuriously thick. High cheekbones, attractive though they were, seemed not to fit in with the short nose and pointed chin. And yet it was an extraordinarily beautiful face and one that invariably brought the light of admiration to the eyes of the men with whom Gail came into contact both in her working and her social life. Mrs. Stafford was justifiably proud of her only child, just as Gail was proud of her pretty mother, with her slender figure and happy carefree way of life. Her husband was just as attractive, in a different way of course, and always Gail had thanked the stars for her having the kind of parents whose affection and understanding had gone such a long way in preventing any dissension whatsoever between them and their daughter.
It was less than a fortnight later that Gail set forth, with Leta, for the cattle station known as Vernay Downs, situated in the Never-Never, just south of Capricorn. The child was dressed in denims and a bright red cotton sweater; on her head she wore a bright green knitted cap with a red bobble on top and over her shoulder she carried a red leather bag containing sweets and chocolate, and a toothbrush in a waterproof case. Gail’s mother had provided the entire outfit plus the contents of the shoulder-bag. Not one word of thanks had left the child’s lips. She had told Gail that the toothbrush would never be used.
‘I don’t like cleaning my teeth, so Mummy never made me,’ she said.
‘Nevertheless, you’ll clean your teeth whenever the opportunity presents itself,’ Gail told her. ‘You’re not to eat sweets without cleaning your teeth afterwards.’
‘You can’t always clean them. What about in the taxi?’ Leta had said when, all the luggage having been placed in the hall, they were waiting, with Gail’s parents, for the cab to arrive.
‘You mustn’t eat your sweets yet,’ said Mr. Stafford mildly. ‘You’ve only just had your breakfast.’
‘I’ll please myself,’ returned Leta, stamping on the floor to give emphasis to her words. ‘If I want to eat my sweets I shall eat them.’ At which Mr. Stafford looked across at his daughter and silently conveyed to her his anxiety about the journey over to Australia.
‘You’ve taken on more than you can chew,’ he managed to get in when Leta, having seen a small insect crawling along the path, went forth to put her foot on it. ‘What a horror! No wonder her mother gave up; I’d do so myself if I had a child like that.’
‘Paul,’ protested his wife, ‘you shouldn’t say such things. You know how any reference to poor Sandra makes our daughter sad.’
‘I’m sorry,’ he muttered, then lapsed into silence, breaking it only on the arrival of the taxi when he gave the driver the necessary instructions for getting them to the airport. Once there another silence followed, with both Mr. and Mrs. Stafford sending worried glances at each other, and at their daughter.
‘I can manage her,’ Gail told them confidently, noting this anxiety. ‘You’ll remember, Mother, that I told you she can be bribed.’
‘Why have to bribe a child?’ was the indignant query. ‘It’s disgraceful! Sandra, poor dear child, must have had a dreadful time with her.’
‘Undoubtedly,’ murmured her husband. ‘Were she mine I’d flay her alive!’
‘She certainly needs controlling.’
‘Her father is shortly to have the task,’ said Gail grimly. ‘And the best of luck to him!’
There were a few tears on Mrs. Stafford’s cheeks when at length the good-byes were being said, and Gail, herself deeply affected but managing to hold back the tears, reminded her mother that she would in all probability be back within a fortnight.
‘I wish it were a shorter period, dear,’ sighed her mother. ‘Can’t you manage it in a week?’
Gail shook her head, saying that the journey fallowing the flight itself would be a very long one.
‘I shall have to hire a car, or something. There’s in Overlanding bus, I’ve been told by the girl in the travel agency, but I’ve enough money to hire a car.’
Her father glanced at Leta, who was deliberately pulling threads out of the new knitted gloves she had taken from her hands.
‘I am of the opinion,’ he remarked significantly, ‘that it will be preferable—and certainly less wearing on your nerves, my dear—to taking that young brat on a public conveyance, especially for as many hours as that.’
‘I agree wholeheartedly,’ said Mrs. Stafford, handkerchief held to her face. ‘Darling, do be careful!’
Gail had to smile.
‘There’s no danger, pet,’ she said soothingly as she put an arm around her mother’s shoulders. ‘Anyone would think I was taking a load of explosives to Australia!’
At this her father sent another glance at the small child who was now scraping the shiny toe of one shoe with the sole of the other, determined to take the gloss off completely.
‘I’d feel rather less apprehensive if you were,’ he rejoined with a crisp sort of chill in his voice which neither his wife nor his daughter had ever heard before. ‘That, over there, is more destructive than any load of dynamite!’
‘What’s dynamite?’ inquired Leta, suddenly interested in the grown-ups.
‘Something that explodes—blows you up!’
‘Ooh ... I’d like to blow somebody up!’
‘And kill them?’ Mr. Stafford was frowning heavily, but Leta was totally undaunted by this.
‘Of course.’
‘Come along,’ snapped Mrs. Stafford. ‘Take hold of Gail’s hand! If you’re not careful the aeroplane will go without you!’
‘I don’t want it to!’ Leta exclaimed, running to take the proffered hand. ‘I’m going to live with my daddy!’ And to the utter amazement of Gail and her parents Leta’s eyes took on a glow of excitement which transformed her whole appearance.
‘She really wants to go!’ Mrs. Stafford looked be- wilderedly at her daughter. Gail could only shake her head, recalling how, since the first mention of the father with whom she was now going to live, Leta had retired completely into herself, showing emotion only when she had one of her tantrums. Not a tear had been shed when she was told that she would not see her mother again and, troubled by the child’s long silences, Mrs. Stafford had sent for the doctor. It was he who told Leta that, if she did not go to her father, then she would have to live in a children’s home. Gail was furious about his, but the doctor did manage to convince her, after a while, that some threat was necessary in order to make the child go quietly, as it were.
‘Unless she is willing you’ll never get her on that plane,’ he had warned, and as he had the support of both her parents Gail at last forgave him for the ultimatum he had offered the child. For it was an undisputable fact that, if Leta made up her mind not to board the plane, then she would fight like a tiger to obtain her own way. Gail certainly did not relish a scene where Leta, lying on the ground, would scream and kick and eventually have to be dragged or carried to the plane.
The threat having done what it was intended to do, Leta became resigned to the idea of living with her father. But apart from one occasion when she had said, quite unexpectedly, ‘I hope my daddy’s nice,’ she had not until this moment displayed an atom of enthusiasm, and Gail had surmised that, as far as the child’s reaction was concerned, living with her father was the lesser of the two evils.
‘Are you really looking forward to seeing your daddy?’ asked Mr. Stafford, and Leta nodded her head.
‘I want to see what he’s like. If he’s nice then I’ll be a good girl for him!’
This left no impression on Gail. She knew Leta far too well to take any notice of a promise like that.
‘Good-bye, darling.’ It was the last time this was to be said, and mother and daughter had one final hug. Leta was again engaged in mutilating her shoe, but soon Gail had her firmly by the hand, and it was not until they were on the plane that she let go.
‘You’ve pinched my fingers! I hate you !’ Leta stamped her foot, glaring at Gail. ‘You’d no need to hold my hand so hard, because I wouldn’t have run away!’ Gail said nothing. She had held on simply because she was not taking any chances. Knowing Leta as she did, she was quite prepared for trouble, even though the way had been paved by the doctor’s words, and even by Leta’s enthusiasm. However, it were better always to be prepared for the worst with a child of Leta’s temperament—a temperament of changing mood and heightened passions. ‘I’ll pinch you if you do it again! You’ve no right—’