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She was racing back to the concealed cycle, kicking it to life again, then racing home to the hut as fast as she could.

Had she looked around her as she approached the chalet she would have seen a horse tethered behind the tank. But Georgina did not see; she only saw, when she entered the small brown room, a man waiting. He was sitting at the table and evidently watching her.

He wore large tan riding boots.

‘Mr Brown,
I presume.’ The big man sitting in front of her papers did not get up, and it took a few confused moments for Georgina to realise why, to remember she was a young man and not a young lady, and that older men do not rise for junior members of their own sex.

Not far from hysterical laughter, Georgina nearly retorted : ‘No, I’m Dr Livingstone.’

She stopped it in time, though, and murmured: ‘Yes, sir. Mr Roper, I presume.’ She hoped she didn’t sound facetious, and that he would not take it as effrontery.

He did not.. He extended his large hand, so she extended hers, and the next moment she was biting back tears of pain. Quite unconscious of her torture of crushed bones— she was sure they were crushed—the big man waved magnanimously to the bed for Georgina to sit down, since there was only one chair in the hut, and he occupied it.

‘How have you settled, Brown?’ he asked.

His use of the surname irritated Georgina. It was not an Australianism; Australians were immediately on first name terms. An ordinary Australian would have called her George by this, asked her to call him Larry. Age made no difference, environment, status, still surnames were never used. Yet this extraordinary man chose to saw ‘Brown’, in a subtly condescending way. No wonder Craig had spoken of him as ‘the mighty Roper’.

‘I’ve settled well, sir,’ she managed, ‘I’m very comfortable.’

‘And have been getting through some work, I see.’ The man was turning over the pages that Georgina had stacked on the writing end of the table.

‘Yes, sir.’

There was water trickling down her neck to her back from her wet hair; it was very uncomfortable.

The big man must have noticed it, for he said: ‘You look hot and bothered. Feeling the weather up here?’

‘It’s hotter than Windmill Junction, sir.’

‘I can see that by the state of your head. Your hair is drenched. See to it that you wear a hat, Brown.’

‘Yes, sir. I had a helmet on just now. I was on the cycle.’

‘Keep the helmet on while you’re on wheels, of course, but carry a hat for when you’re not. Obviously you’re not used to the sun.’

‘Oh, but I am, this dampness is because ’ Georgina stopped herself sharply. ‘I just hurried too much,’ she excused instead.

‘What was the rush?’ he inquired.

‘I—I’d thought of something I needed to jot down.’

‘Then jot it down, man.’ Roper tossed the notebook in front of him to Georgina, and followed it smartly with a pen. She was relieved that she caught both but not relieved to see that he was waiting for her to write. All her other notes were typed, intentionally typed so that her handwriting would not give her away. She scribbled something unintelligible, hoping to get out of it that way.

Now the water was running down her legs into her shoes, and Georgina knew that if she got up she would drip, and that if she bent she would squelch. She should have dried herself first with a handkerchief, or her neckerchief, or at least mopped up the surplus before she dressed. She gave a quick glance down to the floor; there was quite a pool there. So that he wouldn’t see it she put her feet over it, then wondered if that was a good move, for her feet were small rather than large, and the sides of the lake on the floor still showed.

Fortunately he was not looking. He was turning over her stepfather’s manuscript, or rather her manuscript on her stepfather’s notes. ‘An interesting thesis,’ he nodded. ‘May I ask the source?’

‘Of the author of the subject?’ she hedged.

‘Yes.’

‘His name was Iain Sutherland. He—he has passed on now.’

‘Odd, I’ve never heard of him,’ he said thoughtfully.

‘You wouldn’t unless you were a student.’

‘Of geology?’

‘Yes,’ she nodded.

‘Would a graduate do?’ he drawled idly.

Georgina was startled. ‘Are you, sir?’

‘Naturally.’

‘I’m sorry, I just thought with all your cattle that this’— she glanced at the reports she had made for him—‘might be a sideline, a hobby.’

‘The cattle is my sideline. I inherited it and I intend to preserve it, but geology is my interest. No, I don’t know your man. I’ll say this, though, you’re certainly presenting a very interesting angle of him. Why, even the layman would want to read this.’ He flicked the pages.

‘Thank you.’ Georgina hastened to correct herself. ‘Thanks, I mean, to Iain Sutherland’s inspiration. I think I’m the first one to choose him as a subject.’ She did not think, she knew. Stepfather had been so long away from university walls that no one would have remembered him.

‘Yet praise to you, too, in your interpretation of him,’ Roper awarded. ‘Do you know, Brown, your writing would even attract a woman, and women notoriously shy away from things like that. Yes, you have a definite understanding of females.’

‘Yes, sir,’ Georgina said. She was only half-listening because she had just heard a drip. It came from her crossed knees where the soaked denim formed droplets that plinked when they fell. She uncrossed her knees.

‘Met the men yet?’ Larry Roper asked next.

‘We’ve yarned over the sliprail,’ she said.

‘That won’t do, you’ll have to go over for a beer. You’ll have to have a poker game with the boys.’

‘Well, I don’t know whether I could, sir. I mean, I’m kept busy. I want to go out after more evidence for you, and then my thesis is due.’ She eyed him nervously.

‘Very admirable, I’m sure, but all work and no play makes—George’—a short laugh—‘a dull boy. We don t want you dull, do we, George Brown?’

‘No, sir.’

‘Then think about it. A healthy mind in a healthy body, and all that.’ Larry Roper’s voice stopped short, and wretchedly Georgina looked up, imagining all kinds of things, to become more wretched still. She should never have done it, but it was too late now; she had, and it was done. She had gathered a handful of Salvation Jane and put the handful into an empty jam-jar. Shrinkingly she turned her eyes from the unbelievable blue of the desert flowers to look at him. His eyes were the same blue, she saw. But not just that, they were at this moment sympathetic. The mighty Roper sympathetic? Sympathetic, anyway, when it came to flowers!

‘Keen on botany, too, Brown?’ he asked.

‘Well ’

‘Nothing to be ashamed of, it’s a poor man who can t find time in his life for a flower. You’ll see a lot more tomorrow. I’m taking you out to the Lucy to show you some indications I found that seem quite promising. That’s where you’ll really find the floral wonderland.’

‘Is the Lucy far, sir? I’ve been looking for it.’ Thankfully Georgina left the subject of flowers.

‘Then you’ve been looking in the wrong direction, for it’s only an hour’s run. At the height of the Wet it even lapped that outcrop out here.’ He pointed. ‘Probably you. were looking the other way, it’s very easy to do that out here. Now, how about letting the homestead get to know you better over dinner tonight?’

‘I already know Mrs Willmott,’ she hedged.

‘I’ll be there as well this time,' he pointed out.

‘If you don’t mind, sir, I have a few things to do.'

'I do mind,’ Roper said it sharply.

‘But it wasn’t required, was it?’ said Georgina equally sharply, before she could remember where she was and what—most importantly—what she was supposed to be. ‘It wasn’t down among the requirements to be social,’ she said more mildly.

‘No, but then lots of details aren’t included in a list of requirements—just as lots of things that the applicant has to offer are left out.’ His voice was unemotional. ‘However, please yourself.’

‘Thank you, sir.’

Georgina followed Larry Roper to the door. Curiosity made her say: ‘I didn’t hear you land, sir.’

‘Land?’

‘Mrs Willmott said you would fly up,’ she explained.

‘I landed at the Brydens’, due north of here, and wangled transport down, four-legged variety.’ He nodded to the horse.

‘Brydens' ?'

‘They’ve leased the place from Everson, otherwise I wouldn’t have put down there, at least not if he was around, even though our own fields are all in use until the road train arrives to transport the beasts south.’

So, thought Georgina, Craig has left. If I want to see him, if I need to, it will have to be on his next run, though he has told me that if the worst comes to the worst I can stay at his old home.

‘See you, Brown.’ The big man crossed to the horse, pulled himself on and was lost at once in the cloud of dust which covered the track that led up to the house.

Georgina went back into the hut and wasted no time in changing. It was only as she was drying her hair that she remembered Roper’s conversation .., at least part of his conversation. That ‘lots of things that the applicant has to offer are left out’. Could that mean ... could he suspect...

No, she decided, he had no inkling at all.

She sat down at the table where he had sat, read what he had read. ‘You have a definite understanding of females.’ She heard it again. But he had offered it in praise, she was sure of that.

It was unfortunate
that he had arrived so soon, but she decided now she could do nothing about it. She had meant to slip quietly out the day before he came back, but to slip quietly out the day after would present some difficulties. For instance, between here and the road there was the big house to pass, and where before there only had been Mrs Willmott to show a cup of tea, now there was the mighty Roper. Showing authority.

Anyway, she wasn’t finished here yet. She did not wish to leave. Until she did, why not ... yes,
why not
stay on? In spite of that ‘lots of things are left out’ of Larry Roper’s, Georgina felt sure he hadn’t suspected, had not the smallest suspicion. He was a very self-absorbed man. What notice, what possible notice would he take of an insignificant underling like her?

Yes, I will stay, she resolved. I will stay at least until my first pay, which I will send down to Joanne as an instalment. She looked at the typewriter, looked at her typed findings, her typed manuscript. At least, she thought, he will never know about me through that. He has heard my voice, and not known, he has discussed things with me and not suspected. With ordinary luck I can keep it like that, and anyhow I’m going to have a jolly good try.

On which note Georgina opened the sherry again, and smiled as she made a toast.

‘To mighty Roper—the bigger they are the harder they fall!’ If only, she giggled, the mighty Roper had known how nearly she had fallen as she stared back one bare inch into the eye of a frog!

When Larry Roper came down the next morning in a jeep, Georgina was ready in her jeans, loose shirt and crash helmet.

‘You won’t need that,’ Roper indicated the helmet, ‘you’re travelling with me in the wagon. But bring a hat.’

‘I won’t need that either, I’m used to the sun.’

‘So it appeared by your sweat yesterday. Hat, Brown.’ His voice was stern.

Georgina said wisely: ‘Very well, sir.’

She also brought her tools, including the magnet all geologists carried, some coloured ribbons for marking, and a notebook and pencil.

‘Best throw in a towel,’ advised Roper lazily, ‘you might like to dip in the Lucy.’

‘In that case I’ll ’ But Georgina remembered in time that she could
not
include a bikini, so said instead: ‘No, I don’t think I will.’ She added lamely: ‘I have a cold.’

‘I thought you were sweating too much yesterday. I’ll take you up to the house when we come back and give you a double rum. You seem to be better now, though,’ he was estimating her, ‘your hair’s dried off. It was soaked when you came in. Do you always wear it so short? Rather a change from the fellows these days.’

She swallowed. ‘I ... yes, I do.’

‘I’m not complaining,’ he said. ‘Hop in.’

They struck out into the desert, and if there was a track, Georgina could not see it.

‘What was Windmill Junction like?’ he asked idly as they bumped along.

‘One windmill and no junction,’ she responded, ‘I thought it was frontier country until I saw this.’

‘Go north-west again and you’ll call this Piccadilly,’ he grinned. He steered the jeep through a thicket of bush comprising ironwood, gidgee, some tamarisks and actually a few tropical palms. Georgina called out in surprised delight at the palms, for she had not expected them, but when they emerged to the desert again she was silent with disbelief, for the palmy retreat, welcome as it had been, was nothing to the sudden flood of blossom that awaited them, sand gorse in shining gold, Indian daisies in purest white, and, of course, the ever-present Salvation Jane. That bluest of all blues, the Jane.

‘A garden, isn’t it?’ said Roper. He pointed to a small lagoon on their right, its stretch of sparkling water busy with insects weaving gauzy patterns above it. There was a river smell, somehow, making Georgina feel that the Lucy could not be far away.

She asked Roper, and he nodded. ‘But only an anabranch,’ he said.

‘What’s that?’

‘An anabranch is a stream that leaves the river and later re-enters it. I’m afraid that’s all the Lucy you’ll see this time, Brown, unless you travel many more kilometres, which I don’t propose to do. During the Wet this anabranch is part of the Lucy’s inland ocean, for it is almost that, with waves four feet deep.’

But the water when they reached it was waveless, very still, very limpid and very inviting.

‘Going to sample it?’ the man called.

‘No, I’ve got a cold. I told you so.’

‘I never knew a cold yet that didn’t benefit from water. Well, I’m going in.’ Stepping out of the jeep, Roper began pulling off his shirt.

Georgina was out of the wagon in a flash, but even then he was up to the stage of unbuckling his belt.