Guardian Nurse (19 page)

‘Don’t be ridiculous
!’
she snapped.

‘Since when has love been ridiculous?’

‘Oh, be quiet!’ she managed before she could be overheard. She managed, too, to slip in beside Jason,
so that Jenny took the front seat beside Burn. Jason was not at all pleased about this, and his pout clearly said so. Undoubtedly Jenny had won him completely, Frances accepted ruefully.

But for all the rapport between the pair, between the therapist and the patient, Jenny
still
did not try out the pool, even though it was obvious that Jason was longing to begin to swim. For someone who had praised pool therapy so highly, Frances thought, it made no sense.

‘Such a waste of money
!’
Jenny actually said this as she looked on the pool the next morning.

‘But it’s what you recommended,’ reminded Frances.

‘Yes, but not here. I was thinking of
...’
Jenny cl
osed her lips firmly. Presently she said rather awkwardly, ‘What I really meant was it’s very expensive, and unless you’re going to use it
—
’

‘Why don’t you use it, then?’

‘I will,’ evaded Jenny. ‘But just at present Jason is at this other important stage.’

‘I can’t understand you,’ Frances dared. ‘You enthused about a pool and now you don’t want it.’

‘I didn’t want it here. I mean
—
’

Frances looked at the girl curiously and directly. ‘Jenny, what
do
you mean?’

There was a pause, then: ‘I can’t tell you. I’m sorry, Frances, but I can’t. Not yet. It was very good of Burn to erect the pool, but it was unnecessary, it was an
expense. I really mean
—
’

‘Don’t begin all that again if you’re not going to explain, Jennifer.’

‘I can’t explain.’ Jenny turned away.

Frances had started lessons again, but
still in the abbreviated form as before, not because of the importance of retaining Jason’s enthusiasm this time but
because the little boy now had his spare time taken up with therapy.

Unfortunately ... Frances supposed that Jenny would consider it that since she so obviously was against the pool, or was it
this
pool? ... the window at which Jason took his instruction overlooked the blue sparkling water. On such a perfect blue and white day as the following day proved ... too perfect? Did it mean rain as Burn had feared? ... it was too much for the little boy.

‘France,’ he said wistfully, ‘can you swim?’

‘Of course, darling. Everyone swims these days.’

‘Not me.’

‘You will.’

‘Teach me, France,’ he begged.

‘Oh, I don’t know about that, Jason.’

‘
Teach me
,
France,’ he appealed. He coaxed, probably guessing the trend of her thoughts, ‘Jenny won’t mind because she can’t swim herself.’

‘Oh yes, she would be able to swim, Jason, these days everyone sees that they can swim.’

‘If she could she would have teached me,’ said Jason. ‘Taught, dear.’

‘Then,’ said Jason, flushed with the burning desire to try the water, ‘after you finish teaching me, you can teach her. Please, France
!’

Frances said, ‘Get on with your writing, Jason,’ but she found herself gazing at the pool. She always had had a ‘thing’ about swimming. She considered it all-important for a child to learn. Why not teach the boy? she thought. Jenny, if she assured her she had no intention of trespassing into the therapist’s realm of water therapy, could have no objection. Anyway, she was an intelligent girl, she would agree with Frances how important swimming was to a child.

She decided to ask Jenny that afternoon, but, lunch over, when she looked for the physiotherapist she could not find her.

‘She’s gone out in her car’ ... Jenny too had been given a small runabout of her own ... Mrs. Campbell told Frances. ‘She said that a little rest from exercises would do Jason good.’

‘I see.’ Frances went back to Jason’s room, only needing the sight of his wistful eyes on the blue pool to decide her there and then. ‘Right, darling,’ she said, ‘Lesson One.’

She was a strong swimmer, but had had no experience at all in imparting the skill.

Keeping in view then that Jason in all probability would never take on the sport seriously, she planned to teach him in the manner she had been taught by her father. ‘If you can do what a dog does, and that is paddle,’ her father had said, ‘you won’t drown. That’s the important thing.’

She knew there were planned preparatory exercises that could be practised, a scientific approach, but after pressing home to Jason the elementary example of a dog retrieving a stick, taking him down to the river to watch it being done, she decided, Jason helping the decision by wanting to emulate Rough at once, to go straight ahead. The pool water was deliciously warm, and it was no hardship to lower oneself into the sparkling depths.

‘
It
’
s not blue when you take a fistful, France,’ puzzled Jason.

She let him play round for a while, then she explained how water brought you to the surface if you were under it, not drew you down as you might think, so there was nothing at all to frighten you. When Jason said of course he wasn’t frightened, she took him up and challenged him to put his head right under and keep it there for a while. He came up spluttering but laughing, and after several more attempts he managed to open his eyes when he submerged. Frances, diving under, grinned at him, and he grinned back.

Jenny arrived home in the middle of the lessons, and Frances, drawing herself up to the side of the pool, said at once, ‘I’m sorry, Jenny.’

‘But you’re right, of course. Just as well you did begin or Burn would have wanted to know why I hadn’t.’

‘You still won’t tell me your reason?’

‘There’s nothing to tell, really. It’s just that the pool looked so pretty and—and—well, so permanent. You see I intended ... I meant
to ...’ Her
voice trailed off.

‘Time’s up, Jason!’ called Frances when it was obvious that Jenny was not going to explain any more, and she got the protesting little boy on to land again.

Now that he had tasted the pool there was no stopping him, not even his beloved Jenny. Anyway, Jenny was too commonsense a person to try to stop as important an achievement as swimming. When Frances came at the end of a therapy session with Jason’s little trunks ready to slip into Jenny raised no objection.

‘I’m not entirely pigheaded,’ she said once, ‘and I intend to try pool exercises in time. But just now you have the right idea, Frances, swimming
is
the first essential.’

—How much so neither of them then could know.

Jason learned very quickly. Frances, recalling his eagerness to ride, decided he had a definite athletic slant. He surprised her one day by actually dog-paddling the entire length of the pool. She was so pleased she looked around for someone else to join in Jason s thrill, but
Burn
was still away on the wheat harvest that was almost complete now, and ever since Frances had taken over Jason for swimming lessons, Jenny had gone out, while he was taught, in her small car. Frances sometimes wondered where Jenny went so busily each day.

Now was the time, she decided, to initiate Jason into the skill of the crawl. He was delighted with it because it was quicker than the dog paddle.

‘But don’t forget the paddle either,’ Frances advised. ‘If you get tired it can help you a lot if you pretend you’re Rough again.’

The first day of the rain that had threatened brought rain to Jason, but only until Frances pointed out that they could still swim; once they were wet what could more wet matter? They had fun in the warm pool, the cool drops splashing down on them.

But the next day the rain was sharper, the pool less inviting. Jason did not have to be persuaded to give up his swim. Jenny at once took over with some occupational therapy, which she told Frances was another part of her trade. Frances left the two of them making an elephant and went out to the verandah to watch the rain, still coming down in fairly steady showers.

She saw that a car had drawn up at the bottom of the steps, and was pleased to find that the driver was Susan McKinney from Seven Fields. Susan got out, pleased herself as only women on homesteads can be pleased for woman company, and for a while they just sat and talked.

‘
I
’
ve come to borrow,’ Susan confessed presently.
‘
Since Hugh’s been on the wheat I haven’t had a chance to go into town. I’ve completely run out of...’ She took a list from her pocket. ‘I’ll be glad when the
Great Rock folk move in officially, it will be nearer to scrounge a pound of tea.’

‘Is it leased, then?’

‘Old Matt Gibson has moved out at last. He’s wanted to for months. These are young people, I believe. But it’s a wonder you don’t know about all that. Your therapist is over there every day.’

‘Jennifer.’

‘Is that her name? She must be acquainted with the new lessees. Tell you what, Frances, come back with me now and I’ll drive you home later. Since the wheat’s been on I haven’t seen Hugh for weeks, had any human contact. I’m not counting the kids.’

There was nothing for her to do at West, so Frances accepted the invitation gladly. She enjoyed the few hours at Seven Fields, drinking tea, talking with Susan. Reluctantly at last Susan agreed with Frances that it was time she drove her home.

Coming out of the Seven Fields’ gate, Susan said casually, ‘There’s our new neighbour now,’ and
Frances glanced around.

The car had almost passed, so the glimpse she had of the man behind the wheel was a quick one. But it was sufficient.

‘I haven’t met him officially yet, but I know he got the lease,’ Susan was saying. ‘I only hope his wife is nice. So much depends on a pleasant next-door neighbour. It’s not like town when you can try another street if you’re out of luck.’

Frances heard yet did not hear her. Her mind was elsewhere. Susan might not have met the man,
but she had
.
He was the charming ... but false ... person who had allowed her to think he was Trevor Trent. T. he man she had seen in Sydney waiting underneath the apartment for Jenny.

She got out and opened the homestead gate automatically, shut it automatically again.

‘You said, didn’t you,’ she asked casually, getting into Susan’s car once more, ‘that Jennifer seems to know him?’

‘Your therapist?’ Susan curved around the pine drive. ‘Yes.’

Well, she would have to speak to
Burn
now. Frances realised this as she entered the house. But when Burn was still absent on the wheat, absent again the following morning, she was aware of an immense relief. He had given her a very grave ... if to her a rather incomprehensible ... responsibility in the care of his young son, and she had failed him, she had failed him in not reporting what obviously she should have reported as soon as it had occurred. Later, like the tangled web that one lie can begin, her failure again to speak out when the
real
Trevor Trent had been presented to her had built up a situation that would now, and rightly, bring Burn’s wrath descending down on her. She gave a little grimace of distaste.

And yet, she thought reasonably, put in bare words the whole thing sounded so innocuous. For instance she might say: ‘There was a man I assumed to be your old friend, only, as it happened, he wasn’t.’ Then: ‘He is now leasing your late brother’s estate, Great Rock, or so Susan McKinney has told me. She has also told me that Jennifer, Jason’s therapist, is a regular visitor there.’

She glanced at Jennifer at this, Jennifer as absorbed as Jason was in the felt elephant that was nearing triumphant completion, thus taking precedence over morning lessons. She saw the soft curve of the pretty face, the nimble fingers guiding Jason’s clumsy little
ones, guiding them tenderly.

She’s sweet. Frances almost said it aloud. I can’t couple Jenny with anything that isn’t absolutely right and good. She remembered she
had
not finished all her mental admission to Burn, and added the third silent
:
‘There is also a fair young woman I’ve seen several times in the district but never reported to you.’—No. That made no sense. Unless she explained that the young woman had always seemed to be watching

somehow, waiting ..
.

Oh, what is all this? Frances asked herself desperately. I know I have to go to Burn with something, but actually with
what
? There’s nothing else for it but to probe, she realised, in spite of the way Burn taunted me, in spite of what I vowed. But unless I
know,
how can I
tell
?

Yet who to ask? Susan? No, Susan is comparatively a newcomer, she said so yesterday. Bill, the jackeroos, Jim, the girls ... mentally Frances ticked off the members of the household, but knowing all the time that only
one
could tell her what she wanted to know. The personal things. The pertinent things. Like: What had happened to Jason to make Burn so cautious as he was? Like: Where was Jason’s mother
—
and Burn West’s wife?

Mrs. Campbell, of course. Only where to begin? How to ask her?

Frances sat wondering, and then it came to her. She was recalling how the old housekeeper had once remarked that Burn’s brother Gareth had liked the sweet things compared to
Burn
’s preference for the savoury. Perhaps she could make her opening gambit: ‘Mrs. Campbell, I’ve been studying Jason’s dietary likes and dislikes and wondering how it fits in with family preferences. Could you tell me
..
.’