we better have something to eat, it’s getting late.’
Ben said earnestly: ‘Don’t worry about me, I had supper just before finding your gate.’
That was fine with Helen. ‘Some coffee, then?’
‘No, it’ll keep me awake.’
Well, that gave her an opening. ‘Yes, you must be tired. I’ll show you to your room. I’ll put you in the foreman’s cottage, it’s empty. It’s just half a mile over there.’ She pointed.
Ben said: ‘I don’t mind sleeping outside in my sleeping-bag, in fact I like it. Pity to use your sheets.’
‘I wouldn’t dream of it. You deserve a nice soft bed after all the way you’ve come.’ She stood up.
Oh dear, Ben thought. He looked up at her. He said:
‘I hope I haven’t offended you – I mean by saying you’re beautiful. Please don’t think I’m … that I had an ulterior motive.’
Helen was further taken aback. ‘Of course not,’ she said self-consciously. ‘Well, I’ll go in the Land Rover, you follow on your bike.’
Ben stood up. ‘No need to show me the way, just point me in the direction and I’ll find it. There can’t be many cottages round here.’
‘Of course I will. I’ll just get some sheets.’
‘I’ll use the nice soft bed but I’ll sleep in my sleeping-bag. I insist on not using up your sheets – you said your washing-machine’s broken.’
Helen hesitated. ‘But … it seems so inhospitable.’ Then she added: ‘And please don’t think I’m inhospitable in putting you in the cottage. But it wouldn’t be … proper for you to sleep in the house with my husband away.’
‘I understand perfectly,’ Ben said earnestly. He added with a grin: ‘What would all the neighbours say?’
It was a beautiful morning. The sky was magnificently blue, the early sun cast long shadows through the trees, and the world was old and young at the same time. And on this glorious morning Helen McKenzie had to bury Oscar.
At nine o’clock she drove to the cottage to fetch Ben Sunninghill for breakfast. She found him outside, wearing shorts and singlet, his motorbike engine in pieces. He stood up when he saw her vehicle approaching. His skinny chest was covered in curly black hair, and he was only about five foot five in his bare feet.
‘G’day. Breakfast time,’ Helen said through the window. ‘Then I’ll show you our collection of spanners.’
He smiled. ‘I’ve already found the spanners – went for an early walk and found the barn unlocked, hope that’s okay.’
Again she was a little surprised by his forwardness. ‘Sure.’ She nodded at his motor cycle. ‘How’re you doing?’
‘Fine. Say, that’s a nice little airplane you got in that barn.’
‘Would be, if it worked.’
‘What’s wrong with it?’
‘Starter set-up, Clyde says. Clyde’s my husband. We’ve got to get spare parts.’
‘Has the engine been stationary for very long?’
‘No, I turn it over once a fortnight to keep it loose.’
‘Ah. Can you fly?’
‘Sure, when I have to.’
‘I’ve got a licence.’ He said it proudly. ‘Went down to Florida one winter and took a crash course. Don’t you enjoy it?’
‘Don’t like heights, and all that radio stuff about winds and weather. But you really need a plane out here. Do you – like flying?’
‘After sex and sailing, it’s what I like best.’
She didn’t like that – ‘after sex’. Far too familiar. ‘So, you’re a sailor too?’
‘An intrepid one. Want me to look at the airplane’s starter motor?’
It sounded a pushy offer, as if he were looking for an excuse to stay longer. ‘Reckon you could fix it, huh? Like you intrepidly kill snakes?’
‘I’m scared of snakes. But I can fix most anything. Does that old VW van in the barn work?’
‘Doubt it, we haven’t started it in a year and it’s as old as the hills. My father gave it to me when the kids were little so they could sleep in it when we went on holidays. Why, want to buy it? Swap it for your bike, maybe?’
Ben smiled. ‘No thanks. But I’ll have a look at it for you, if you like.’
That disarming smile of his. No, she decided, he hadn’t meant to be pushy. ‘Thanks anyway, but better let sleeping dogs lie. What’s wrong with your bike?’
‘Just a split head-gasket. That’s the thing—’
‘Sure, I know what a head-gasket is, helped Clyde put in new ones often enough in twenty-some years. Cuss, cuss, cuss.’
‘Nineteen,’ he smiled. ‘See, I remembered.’
Again, somehow she didn’t like that. Almost suggestive. ‘Okay,’ she said: ‘I’ve put everything on the table, just help yourself. Bacon and steak’s in the fridge.’
He walked towards his shirt. He was even smaller than she’d thought. His legs were wiry and his back was hairy too. ‘Aren’t you having breakfast?’ he asked.
‘No, I had mine hours ago, I’ve got to go’n fetch Billy to dig Oscar’s grave. Billy’s our stockman. If he hasn’t gone walkabout.’
‘Walkabout, huh? Look, I’ll dig Oscar’s grave.’ He pulled on his shirt.
‘Thanks, but I want that grave good and deep so the dingoes don’t dig him up, and believe me that ground’s stony – Billy’s got nothing much to do anyway.’
‘Do you want me to come with you to fetch Billy?’
She sighed inwardly. ‘If you like.’
Her tone made him look at her more closely. Her face was strained, as if she had done some crying in the night. He knew she didn’t feel up to being sociable. ‘Look,’ he said, ‘I have my own breakfast right here; you go’n see to Billy.’
‘Come on,’ she said, ‘it’s all waiting.’
He fried some eggs and bacon in her kitchen. He wasn’t hungry, but he was sure she would worry about being inhospitable if she saw he hadn’t eaten anything when she came back. She was a sensitive one, all right. He washed his plates, then went
