Undercurrents Read online

  The door opened on silent hinges and Maggie was about to make her entrance when she caught sight of Sam and Olivia. They were leaning over the bar in the hatch, their dark heads almost touching. Her determination ebbed as a sharp pain of anguish ripped through her. The two of them were smiling and talking, looking into one another’s eyes, completely oblivious to everything around them. The electricity between them was almost tangible. They made a handsome couple, she admitted with a bitterness she could almost taste.

  She watched the two of them laugh at something. Noticed the fleeting touch of Olivia’s hand on Sam’s arm before she took the piece of paper from him. There was no doubt about it, thought Maggie. They were flirting. Why, oh why, didn’t Sam look into her eyes like that? The longing was an ache she could hardly bear.

  Olivia turned from Sam, her eyes widening in surprise, her smile friendly. ‘Hello, Maggie. You do look nice. Decided you couldn’t stay away from the old place?’

  Maggie’s face was stiff with resentment as she attempted to smile back. ‘Something like that,’ she muttered.

  Olivia grinned. ‘Enjoy your day off and don’t let him bully you,’ she said with a tilt of her head towards the watching Sam. ‘Perhaps we’ll see you on the beach later?’

  Maggie stood in the doorway and watched the other woman run lightly up the stairs. Even in cotton strides and a shirt she looked elegant and cool, she thought bitterly. She had everything. Why couldn’t she just leave Sam alone?

  ‘How y’goin’, Maggs?’ Sam was leaning on the counter and grinning. ‘Coming back to work?’

  Maggie was galvanised into action. She let the door slam behind her and strode across the hall to the hatch. ‘No. It’s my day off,’ she snapped. ‘And as you seem to have nothing better to do than flirt with our customers, I’ll have a gin and tonic with lots of ice.’

  A dark eyebrow shot up. ‘Jeez, Maggs. What’s biting you? She only wanted to borrow the ute.’ He poured out the drink and put it in front of her.

  Maggie took a hefty swig, which almost took her breath away. Being a beer man, Sam had always been heavy handed with the gin. ‘What’s she want with your ute? It’s not as if there’s anywhere to go, and there’s that fancy hire car out back.’

  Sam dipped his chin in an obvious attempt to hide the smile that was tugging at his lips and sparkling in his eyes. ‘She and Giles want to go out to Deloraine,’ he muttered.

  Maggie’s hand stilled. The cold glass touched her lips, but she didn’t notice. ‘Why?’ she asked softly.

  Sam shrugged. ‘None of our business, I reckon,’ he murmured. His eyes were no longer sparkling, but were clouded with concern as he looked at her. ‘You all right, Maggs? Gone a funny colour there, mate.’

  Maggie swallowed the drink and ordered another. ‘I’m fine,’ she lied.

  *

  The bar was finally closed, the doors locked behind Kenny, the part–time barman, and the lights off. Sam covered the crates with damp cloths and wearily came through into the main hall. It had been a busy night, and he could fully understand why Maggie had put her foot down and refused to do any more. He would give her some slack from now on, he decided. He hadn’t been fair, and it was his hotel, after all.

  He was about to make his way up the stairs to his room when he noticed the lights were still blazing in the lounge. Swearing softly under his breath, he retraced his steps.

  Maggie was sitting in an armchair, her face turned towards the dusty paper fan in the empty fireplace, her hair falling in a soft veil over her shoulders. An empty glass was on the low table beside her, and the room was full of cigarette smoke.

  ‘Since when did you smoke?’ he asked as he opened a window and let the cool night air clear the fug.

  ‘Since I started drinking,’ she muttered. Holding out her glass, her face still turned from him, she ordered another gin and tonic.

  Sam eyed the empty glass, and after a swift calculation reckoned she’d had more than enough for one night. ‘Time for bed, Maggie. Work tomorrow.’ His tone was soft.

  ‘Yes,’ she said wearily. ‘That’s about all I’m good for, isn’t it, Sam?’

  She turned towards him and Sam tried unsuccessfully to hide his shock. Maggie’s face was streaked with the black stuff she’d put on her eyelashes, her lipstick smeared, nose shiny. His heart went out to her and he perched on the arm of the chair, and placed his hand awkwardly on her shoulder. ‘Come on, luv. What’s wrong?’

  ‘Everything,’ she said with a sniff, her voice muffled by his shirt.

  He knew he shouldn’t, but he couldn’t help smiling. ‘Everything’s a lot to be wrong,’ he said gently. ‘Come on, Maggs. This isn’t like you.’

  She jerked away from him and blew her nose. With angry swipes she attempted to clean the mess from her face. ‘So what is?’ she rasped. Turning bloodshot eyes to him she glared through fresh tears. ‘Good old Maggie,’ she snarled with a toss of her head. ‘Want something done? Maggie will do it. Need a cleaner and cook, a barmaid? Good old Maggs will come up flaming trumps.’

  Sam stared at her in amazement. He had no idea she was this angry. But what on earth could have brought it on? ‘Reckon it’s the gin talking,’ he said.

  ‘No it flaming isn’t,’ she snapped as she wrested from his hand and stood up. Leaning heavily on the solid mantelpiece, she drew up her chin and with admirable dignity attempted to appear steady on her feet. ‘It’s me talking, Sam. Margaret Finlay. The gin has only given me the chance to see things clearly.’ She hiccupped and almost lost her balance.

  Sam caught her elbow. ‘Come on, Maggs, I’ll walk you home. You’re in no fit state to leave here on your own.’

  ‘But I’ll still be alone, won’t I?’ she snapped as she tried to get her elbow free. She stumbled as she stepped back from him and looked up into his face. ‘I’ve always been alone, Sam,’ she said with heartbreaking simplicity. ‘Why is that?’

  He was at a loss. This wasn’t the Maggie he knew. Not the Maggie who was tough and seemingly able to cope with anything. Not the Maggie he admired. He tried to think of something to say – but what words could heal the obvious pain she was going through? ‘Maggs,’ he began.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said with a sniff. ‘Perhaps you’re right. I’ve had too much to drink and made a fool of myself.’ She looked back at him. ‘But the loneliness suddenly became all too much,’ she explained. ‘I just couldn’t bear the thought that everyone I’ve ever loved has shut me out, left me behind – forgotten me.’

  He put his arm around her, his chin resting lightly on the top of her head as she sobbed into his chest and soaked his shirt. Maggie felt surprisingly tiny in his arms, so frail and helpless. It had been a long time since he’d held a woman like this. A long time since he’d experienced that wonderful sense of protecting someone small and defenceless.

  ‘I don’t know what to say,’ he admitted. ‘I never realised …’ He faltered to a halt, not really knowing where the sentence was taking him. The memory of Stella was sharp and this was a delicate situation. Emotions could easily get out of hand, and poor Maggie had obviously been hurt enough without him trampling all over her feelings with his size elevens.

  She sniffed back her tears and stepped from his embrace. ‘Come with me,’ she said softly as she took his hand. ‘I want to show you something.’

  He hung back. ‘Maggs. I don’t think that’s wise, do you?’

  Her tear–streaked face was lifted towards him and she gave a ghastly smile. ‘No worries, Sam. I’m not about to leap on you.’ She tugged his hand again. ‘I just want to explain things, that’s all. Come on.’

  His reluctance made him resist. The last thing he needed now was for Maggie to bare her soul, or whatever it was women did at times like this. Experience had taught him it was dangerous, and often led to things they would both regret in the morning. ‘Can’t you tell me here?’ he aske
d, as he stood firm.

  She shook her head. ‘I’ll make coffee, and we’ll sit in separate chairs and be frightfully respectable,’ she said in a mockery of Olivia’s plummy voice.

  Sam reluctantly allowed her to lead him through the back door and across the yard. He held on to her as her legs almost gave way and she stumbled over a rough piece of tarmac. He was beginning to realise this had something to do with the English woman – but couldn’t fathom what. There had been no sign of animosity this morning, and he’d have expected them to become friends, for he guessed they were about the same age, and there were few enough women here not to be falling out for no reason.

  Maggie tugged at her skirt and straightened her hair as she weaved across the cabin and put the kettle on the gas hob. Then she pulled out a drawer, grasped a thick book and fell into a chair. ‘Sit down,’ she ordered. ‘It’s time you and me had a long talk.’

  ‘It’s late,’ he said as he hovered just inside the door. He glanced over his shoulder at the dark and deserted yard. ‘I really should be going.’

  She cocked her head. ‘What’s the matter, Sam? Afraid I might declare undying love for you? Afraid I might muck up your comfortable little life by making a scene?’ Her expression softened. ‘You’ve got a lot to learn about women, Sam. Sit down, luv. This won’t take long.’

  The kettle was whistling and he made them both a strong cup of black coffee before he sat in the chair opposite. He was exhausted and needed the coffee to keep him alert. They drank in silence and he glanced around the cabin. Maggie had made it homely and it was far removed from the squalor the last manager had left behind. ‘What’s that?’ he asked finally, nodding towards the book in her hand.

  She looked at it, her fingers running over the tooled leather in a caress. ‘This is my life,’ she said softly. ‘This is all I have to prove who I am and where I came from.’ Her eyes were golden in the lamplight as she looked at him. ‘But even that was a lie,’ she added.

  Sam swallowed the lump in his throat. Maggie was getting to him, and he felt the overwhelming need to hold her. To hold her and shield her from whatever it was that tormented her. Yet he was wise enough to resist. For Maggie’s very posture spoke of needing space around her – of that singular, invisible barrier of resistance all women seem to put up when they are determined to be heard.

  *

  Maggie watched him, and saw the different emotions flit across his handsome face. In that moment she loved him more than ever, for he was trying his best to console and be patient despite his reluctance to be here. She was mortified at the scene she’d made. That was definitely the last time she’d hit the gin bottle, she vowed silently. She looked at his face, and at his large hands clasped loosely between his knees and remembered how they had felt when he held her. Perhaps, after she’d told him about her life, they would reach a closer understanding. Perhaps then he might see her as more than just a skivvy.

  She looked down at the first photograph and gently slid it out of the little corner pieces that held it in place. ‘This is Waverly,’ she explained. Her hand was remarkably steady as she passed the photograph over, her voice soft and loving as she recounted those early years and the death of her mother.

  *

  Elizabeth Finlay was buried at Waverly. The small family cemetery was in a far corner of the property, surrounded by a picket fence that was bleached by the sun. Crows cawed in the surrounding trees and the light breeze sifted through the long grass with a mournful sigh. It was a peaceful place – a place of refuge – a fitting resting place for one so loved.

  Maggie came every day to lay fresh wild flowers and pull weeds and ivy from the grave. She would sit beside that little wooden cross and stare across the valley to the hills beyond in silent communion with the woman who now slept beneath that warm, scented earth. Home just didn’t feel the same any more. There was no laughter. No vigorous tap, tap, tap of Elizabeth’s feet on the wooden floor. No soft kiss at night. Harold had withdrawn into his own world, his own mourning, and there seemed to no longer be a place for Maggie in his sorrow.

  Maggie should have been lonely, for there were no playmates, no brothers or sisters. But she had Ursula, her constant companion. Maggie knew Ursula was a figment of her imagination, and now she was almost grown up she should have ended the friendship. But Ursula remained steadfast and true. Her friend listened to her secrets, colluded in adventures and consoled when there were tears. They had grown up together in the adult world of Waverly, and now, in her darkest moments, Ursula was her solace and more real than ever.

  The drought had taken hold and the beef cattle were rounded up and sold. The men paid and sent on their way. Silence fell on Waverly throughout that long dry summer and the following winter. The rains still hadn’t come during the next summer and as another winter approached the remaining stock was slaughtered. The paddocks were empty, and so were the kennels. The horses and tack and all the farm equipment were sold off at auction and Harold stood to one side, his expression morose as he watched the hammer fall and another piece of Waverly was carried away by strangers.

  Maggie watched, tears in her eyes as her father shuffled back to the homestead after the auction. His step was slow and unsure, his shoulders slumped in defeat. He was lost without Elizabeth and it seemed to Maggie that he’d given up on Waverly, even life itself.

  She followed him as the last of the trucks left the Station, the clouds of dust rising over everything. It was as if the dust was just another smothering blanket of silence – another shroud to be laid on this dying, desolate place that had once been home.

  ‘We have to do something, Dad,’ she said quietly as she sat beside him on the verandah. ‘Waverly’s dying. Mum wouldn’t have wanted that.’

  His sad eyes peered out from beneath his hat brim, taking in the desolation. ‘I …’ he began as a tear slowly trickled down his face.

  Maggie moved swiftly and knelt at his feet, her hands on his knees as she looked up into his face. ‘It’s all right, Dad,’ she said. ‘We’ll manage somehow. You and me together. Make Mum proud of what we can do.’

  ‘It’s too late,’ he said gruffly.

  Maggie grasped his knees. ‘No it’s not,’ she persisted. ‘We can buy more stock. Do the repairs. Borrow some machinery and a couple of horses from Betty Richards.’ Her enthusiasm was growing. ‘We could paint the old place up, and before you know it, we’ll be right again.’

  He smeared away the tears with a work–roughened hand and finally looked down at her. ‘I’ve failed, Maggie. Failed you and yer Ma.’ His hands covered her fingers and held them tightly. ‘I’m sorry, darlin’. I haven’t been much of a Dad to you over the past two years, have I?’

  The relief that he still loved her took her into his arms. They held one another as Harold finally cried for his wife, and Maggie’s heart ached at the sound of this once strong man’s tears.

  He eventually eased away from her and after blowing his nose and wiping his eyes, he stood at the verandah railings and looked out over the land he and his father and his grandfather had worked all their lives. ‘It’s all gone, Maggie,’ he said finally.

  Maggie frowned. Her father’s tone was so final, the words a puzzle. ‘No, it isn’t,’ she protested. ‘It’s all still here. We just need to love it again, to look after it properly.’

  Harold dipped his head, his hands clutching the railing as if his very life depended upon it. ‘It’s all gone,’ he said again. He ignored her interjection with a dismissive shake of his head. ‘I owe too many people too much money. The auction was to settle some of the debts, but I’ll never be able to pay them all.’

  Maggie felt the breath being punched from her as she took in what he was saying. ‘But how? Why? Waverly has always been a good station.’

  ‘It is,’ he said flatly. ‘And will be again in the right hands.’ He turned then and Maggie saw the bleakness in his eyes and etched in the
lines on his face. ‘I took risks, darlin’. Thought me and yer ma could ride this depression out. But it’s getting worse. Every day there’s another bill, another demand for lease payments. Our savings are gone – all of them. We have until next week to get out.’

  Maggie sat there stunned into silence. She’d had no idea of how bad things had got. Couldn’t possibly imagine what it would be like to leave this place that was the only home she’d ever known. ‘Where will we go?’ she whispered.

  Harold’s rough hand gently stroked back the light brown hair from her face and tucked it behind her ear. ‘I’ve been offered a job up in the Territories,’ he said. ‘It ain’t much, but it’s work and board and will see me through until I can find something more permanent.’

  Maggie felt a rising tide of panic as her father’s gaze slid away from her and he stepped back to the railings. ‘What about me, Dad?’ she demanded. ‘Have you found me a job up there too?’

  ‘No, darlin’. I’ve arranged for you to stay with some nice people until I get settled.’

  ‘I don’t want to go anywhere without you,’ she burst out. ‘I’m nearly thirteen. I can cook and clean and be useful around the place.’ She rushed to his side, grasping his arm, forcing him to look at her. ‘Take me with you, Dad,’ she begged. ‘Don’t leave me.’

  He held her close, his rough hands stroking her head as if she was a young, frightened colt. ‘Can’t do that, darlin’. The Territory’s no place for a girl.’ He eased her from her tight grasp at his waist and looked down at her. ‘I’ll see you right, Maggie,’ he said firmly. ‘And when I’m settled, I’ll send for you.’