Trial By Marriage

Sarah eyed him exasperatedly. ‘Why not?’

‘I don’t think this would be a good time for it.’

‘It’s a much better time now that school’s finished rather than sneaking up on me when I’ve got Billy Pascoe pinning me to the wall about Father Christmas in front of a whole lot of younger kids,’ she said crossly.

‘So that’s why you’re angry? But I thought you handled it very well—’

‘I’m not—angry,’ Sarah denied frustratedly and none too truthfully.

‘Constrained, then?’ he suggested. ‘As if I’ve done something to alienate you further?’

Sarah stared at him and discovered that her heart was beating oddly with a little pulse of panic. Surely he couldn’t have divined her peculiarly ambiguous state of mind since she’d witnessed him kissing Wendy Wilson on the veranda last night?

‘You’d be better off telling me,’ he said after a strangely tense little pause.

Sarah came to life. ‘No! I mean no, there’s nothing. Look, I’m quite fine actually so why don’t we get it over and done with… ?’ She trailed off on a lowering note as she realised how that sounded. ‘Oh, hell,’ she added hollowly, ‘perhaps you’re right.’

What he would have said then was to remain a mystery because as he looked her over with the frown still in his eyes Ben and Sally popped back into the schoolhouse demanding to know if he’d come to fetch them or what. ‘Yes,’ he said slowly, ‘why not?’ And added expressionlessly, ‘Another day, then, Miss Sutherland?’

‘Thank you. Yes. Whenever it suits you,’ Sarah said and groaned inwardly at how craven that sounded.

It was two weeks before she had anything more than passing contact with Cliff Wyatt but it was impossible to be unaware of his presence daily on the property. Her pupils and their parents were full of his doings, the changes he was making, and there was an air of hope and expectancy about the place rather than the sad feeling of whistling against the wind that had pre- vailed before it was sold.

It also became evident that Cliff Wyatt was not all sweetness and light, as Sarah could have told them, but an exacting boss who expected everyone to give their best and who could be coldly, cuttingly and sar- donically unpleasant in a devastatingly accurate manner when they didn’t. Nevertheless, this on the whole engendered a spirit of respect, she judged—and discovered that that irritated her as well.

All in all, she thought with a sigh once, the wretched man has contrived to set me on an uneven keel and I can’t seem to right myself. If I didn’t have to hear so much about him it might help and, of course, if I didn’t have to see him at all, that would help even more…

But it was not so easy to avoid seeing Cliff Wyatt although it was generally at a distance, but, even so, his height and easy carriage made him unmistakable, as did his air of authority, and, whether he was riding a horse, climbing into the helicopter which he piloted himself sometimes or simply striding to and from the homestead, she not only saw him often but felt the same stupid impact as she had the first time she’d laid eyes on him.

Of course it has to go away, she told herself more than once. I’m twenty-six! I’m not a giddy girl—and I don’t like him. You simply can’t be a rational adult and be obsessed with a man you don’t like…

That was how, unfortunately, as it turned out, on one of the occasions when she did come into contact with him briefly she also came to be more friendly than usual towards Tim Markwell, the vet, who was with him when they all met as she was shepherding the children back from a ramble they’d taken as part of a nature-study class.

Tim was not as tall as Cliff Wyatt but good-looking in a quiet way with a kind, gentle manner towards animals and humans alike. He flew his own plane from Longreach where he was based and his surgery covered hundreds of square miles. He was in his early thirties, she judged, and it was only after she’d bestowed a particularly warm smile upon him that she found herself hoping against hope that Mrs Tibbs had been wrong, and remembering uneasily that she’d been right about Wendy Wilson, though.

‘Hi, Sarah,’ Tim said easily but with a faint tinge of surprise in his eyes. ‘Been studying the local flora and fauna?’

‘Yes,’ she said wryly, ‘and I’m all talked out on the subject.’ In fact she did feel a bit tired, she realised, but for no real reason that she could fathom.

‘Why don’t you give them an early day?’ Cliff Wyatt suggested after subjecting her to a penetrating scrutiny.

‘Oh, no.’ Sarah looked shocked. ‘I couldn’t do that!’

‘Ah, but I could,’ he said, and turned to address the group of kids, who, delighted at their stroke of good fortune, needed no further invitation to scamper off delightedly.

‘How could you do that?’ Sarah said incredulously.

‘It was quite simple,’ he replied gravely but with a tinge of irony.

‘Well, you shouldn’t have!’

‘Why not? A couple of hours off isn’t going to harm them and it might even do you a bit of good.’

‘But it’s undermining my authority!’

‘I doubt it,’ he drawled. ‘Don’t you think you’re over-reacting?’ he added politely but in a way that somehow caused her to squirm inwardly and feel shrewish, and also added force to his point that she needed a break.

‘Perhaps you’re right,’ she said abruptly and turned away.

‘Oh, by the way, Sarah,’ Tim said. ‘That sick wombat that I took to the surgery has recovered com- pletely and is in a fair way to becoming the bane of my life! He eats shoes and socks.’

Sarah turned back with a smile lighting her face. ‘Oh, I’m so pleased, Tim! Not about the shoes and socks but that he’s recovered. What will you do with him?’

‘I’ve got the feeling I’m stuck with him,’ Tim said ruefully. ‘Unless you’d like him back?’

Sarah grimaced. ‘I’m not sure that I could cope with a naughty wombat on top of—well, some naughty kids.’

‘Then I’ll spare you that fate!’

She spent that afternoon working on Cindy’s dress and taking herself to task over the image she ap- peared to be projecting of a slightly rattled teacher.

Three days later she was summoned to the home- stead and arrived to find Amy in tears, Wendy still in residence and Cliff Wyatt in an unpleasant, cutting mood.

‘Sit down, Sarah.’ They were assembled in the main lounge-cum-dining-room, a large, graceful room with a high ceiling and a wooden archway dividing it. The furniture, she noted in a quick glance around, was beautiful; there was a round mahogony dining-table with a central pedastal and eight chairs, a studded leather lounge suite and two exquisite Persian carpets on the restored wooden floor.

‘We’ve asked you to come up and give us your opinion as to whether Sally and Ben can be left here for a couple of weeks without their mother,’ Cliff Wyatt said.

Sarah blinked and Amy said tearfully, ‘Do you have to make it sound so awful? As if I really am aban- doning them?’

‘I’m not doing anything of the kind,’ he replied in clipped tones.’ What would be quite ridiculous, to my mind, is the idea of you carting them off for an in- definite period, upsetting their schooling and gen- erally unsettling them all round while you try to get

your life back together. Sarah—’ he turned to her

‘—as if it isn’t obvious, how are they settling in?’

Sarah said slowly, ‘Very well. Ben can be a bit of a handful at times but that’s nothing unusual for little boys, especially bright little boys. And now I’ve dis- covered he has quite a flair for art and loves to paint I’ve been giving him some extra art lessons, which he loves. As for Sally, she’s made a friend, they’re in- separable actually, and got over a lot of her shyness. I’d say they’re both happy and well-adjusted at the moment.’

‘And we can’t lay much of the responsibility for that at your door these days, Amy,’ her brother said pointedly.

The result was inevitable. Amy started to sob con- vulsively and Wendy murmured, ‘Cliff, I don’t think this is helping much.’

Sarah stood up. ‘I’ll—’

‘Sit down,’ Cliff Wyatt ordered.

But Sarah stood her ground with a little glint of anger in her eyes. ‘This has nothing to do with me,’ she replied evenly, and in truth, although she couldn’t help feeling some impatience with the ever-tearful Amy, she also couldn’t help feeling a bit sorry for her.

‘It has in the sense that if Amy could be assured of your interest in Sally and Ben she might go with a clearer conscience.’

Sarah returned his hard, probing look with a rather old-fashioned one of her own. ‘Naturally I’m interested in them,’ she said stiffly, ‘and if Mrs Tibbs needs a hand at all I’d be happy to help—.’

‘Good, that’s settled, then,’ Cliff Wyatt said decis- ively but Amy only sobbed harder and Sarah glared at him then walked over to the other girl and said gently,

‘They’ll be fine with us for a while, Amy. But I think you should let them know that it won’t be for long, and you should make every effort to be calm and loving before you go.’

‘I’ll try—I will!’ Amy wailed. ‘Oh, thank you, Sarah! I know Mrs Tibbs is very good with them but you’re such a sensible sort of person. I’ve watched you with the kids and so on…’ And she resolutely blew her nose, swallowed several times and managed a shaky smile.

‘The very personification of it,’ Cliff Wyatt mur- mured, while Sarah thought two thoughts—that she’d been unaware of Amy’s approval or that she’d even been interested enough to notice anything, and, sec- ondly, to wonder what she was getting herself into.

CHAPTER THREE

AMY and Wendy departed a day and a half later and for the next couple of days Sarah watched Ben and Sally with extra care but could detect no trauma. And on the third day after their mother’s departure they arrived at school, bustling with importance and an invitation for Sarah to have dinner that night at the homestead.

She groaned inwardly but, looking at their eager faces, knew she couldn’t refuse although she would have dearly loved to because she was still filled with indignation directed squarely towards Cliff Wyatt for his high-handed ways.

But the early dinner they shared with the children was a pleasant meal, and something became obvious that hadn’t occurred to her before—Sally and Ben were clearly very fond of their uncle. And she helped Mrs Tibbs put them to bed, read them a story then went to find her host to bid him goodnight, only to find that Mrs Tibbs had made coffee for them and served it in the lounge.

‘I—,’

‘Sit down, Sarah,’ Cliff Wyatt said with a tinge of humour. ‘There’s no need to dash off; I’m really not the ogre you take me for.’

She hesitated but as he poured her coffee she sat and accepted it with a quiet word of thanks.

‘So. No problems with our temporary orphans, I gather?’

‘None that I can see,’ she replied. ‘Has… have you heard from Amy?’

‘Yes. She rings every day. She’s staying with Wendy but I’m not sure that’s such a good thing.’

Sarah raised an eyebrow at him.

‘Wendy is a very…assured person,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘Amy never has been and for her to try to practise Wendy’s philosophies regarding love, men and marriage…’ He shrugged.

‘They seem to be such good friends, though.’

‘They’ve known each other since primary school but, whereas Amy got herself into marriage and motherhood when she might have been too young to know what she was doing, Wendy has been a career girl. To date,’ he added.

Sarah frowned faintly as she tried to analyse his tone but it proved impossible so she sat in silence for a while then heard herself say, a little to her surprise, ‘What’s Amy’s husband like?’

It took about a minute for Cliff Wyatt to reply. Then he said drily, ‘The strange thing is, he’s a good friend of mine and works for me.’

‘Oh.’

‘Yes,’ Cliff agreed wryly. ‘Rather awkward. And, while he may not be the finest husband in the world, he’s not an ogre either. But something has gone out of it for them obviously and she is my sister.’

‘I’m glad to hear you say that,’ Sarah murmured.

He glinted an amused look across at her. ‘What prompted that? Your membership of the universal club of women? Or the conviction that blood should be thicker than water?’

‘Both probably,’ Sarah said caustically.

‘So if I were to tell you that my real conviction on the subject of Amy and Ross is that it’s about time she settled down and stopped looking for moonlight and roses around every corner, stopped worrying more about hairdressers and clothes than being a mother and a wife she would be a lot better off—if I were to tell you all that, no doubt you’d take instant umbrage?’

Sarah looked across at him coolly. ‘Not at all. But I would make the comment that it’s probably im- possible to know exactly what goes on between a man and a woman and only a fool would imagine he does.’

‘Ah, well, I’d be surprised if I was wrong but,’ he drawled, apparently in no way put out, ‘that’s quite a list you’re compiling, Sarah.’

She frowned. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

‘You’ve called me a fool, an underminer of your authority—oh, and let’s not forget what an aggres- sively, unpleasantly macho type I am. But tell me something—what goes on between you and Tim Markwell?’

The unexpectedness of it caused Sarah some con- fusion and caused some colour to come to her cheeks. ‘That’s none of your business… nothing!’ she said disjointedly.

‘Then there’s no need to protest so much,’ he said lazily. ‘But I thought you’d be quite well-suited.’

Sheer anger all but took Sarah’s breath away. ‘You know nothing about it,’ she shot at him. ‘You’re just being…’

He lifted a wry eyebrow and waited a moment. ‘Another damning epithet? I don’t mind, you know. In fact I enjoy our little sparring matches.’

Sarah ground her teeth but before she could say anything he went on leisurely, ‘I’m just not quite sure why I have this—ability to enrage you so much whereas Tim apparently doesn’t. Hence my question.’

‘Every second thing you say is calculated to enrage me one way or another,’ Sarah replied coldly.

He laughed softly. ‘So it would seem. But in point of fact, for example, I’d be much happier to see Amy spending some time here with you and getting down to a few of the basics of life—now that surely has to be a compliment?’

Sarah stood up. ‘Depends which way you look at it,’ she said. ‘If you’re implying, for example, that I’m such a down-to-earth, mundane sort of person for whom moonlight and roses might never exist—’

‘Sarah—’ he stood up as well and looked down

at her gravely ‘—I think you should give Tim a bit more encouragement—I say that because it seems to me you’re exhibiting all the classic symptoms of a girl who has gone too much the other way—the opposite way to Amy, I mean—and that you’re actually dying for a bit of moonlight and roses.’

Sarah’s lips parted and she was struck speechless by his sheer effrontery, speechless but stiff with outrage that was stamped into every taut line of her body. She longed to hit him.

‘And that,’ he murmured, his gaze suddenly nar- rowed and rather intent, ‘is where you slap my face, I gather, Miss Sutherland. Now what would be a fitting finale to such a scenario? I could always re- taliate by pulling you into my arms and kissing you breathless.’

‘D-don’t you dare!’ she stammered.

‘Why not?’ he drawled. ‘I’m quite as capable as Tim Markwell of providing some moonlight and roses, I should imagine—why don’t we put it to the test?’ And, without waiting for a reply and before she could guess his intentions, he removed her glasses so that not only was she besieged by a maelstrom of emotions but she was suddenly at the acute disadvantage of having to peer up at him short-sightedly. Nor was anything relieved when he said softly, ‘That’s much better, and much more comfortable for doing this, I’m sure.’

‘This’, as she moved convulsively and opened her mouth agitatedly, was to be drawn into his arms and have his lips seek hers.

‘No, no!’ she protested. ‘You mustn’t—Mr Wyatt! Please…’

‘You’re probably quite right—I shouldn’t,’ he said against the corner of her mouth as he moved his hands on her back. ‘But the fact remains I’m going to—I don’t know why but you rather intrigue me, Miss Sutherland. Is it possible that you’re still a virgin?’

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