The English Jillaroo (Heads or Hearts), page 1
The English Jillaroo
Barbara Hannay
The English Jillaroo
(A Heads or Hearts novella)
Barbara Hannay
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved. This book or any part of it may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without my express written permission except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. It may not be re-sold, copied or given away to other people. Thank you for respecting my rights and my work.
Copyright © 2024 Barbara Hannay
CHAPTER ONE
‘CHARLIE, do you know a man called Matt Lockhart?’
Charlie looked up from the postcards she was writing to find her cousin Emma regarding her with deep suspicion.
‘You do know him. You’re blushing and looking completely guilty.’
‘I’ve heard the name before,’ Charlie admitted.
‘Well, I bet he doesn’t know that your real name is Lady Charlotte Bellamy. He’s on the landline now asking for Charlie Bell.’
Charlie jumped to her feet. ‘What did you tell him?’
‘I mumbled something pathetic like – could he hold the line for one moment –and then bolted straight here to you.’
‘I can’t speak to him.’ With a pleading smile, Charlie asked, ‘Emma, would you be a sweetheart? Please tell him I’m not here and find out what he wants.’
‘I know what the man wants.’ Emma’s blue eyes narrowed and she cocked her head to one side as she crossed her arms over her chest. ‘That’s why I thought there must be some mistake.’ Her voice lowered dramatically. ‘He wants to talk to you about a job you’ve applied for.’
Nodding, Charlie ran sweaty palms down her linen slacks. ‘Yes.’
‘Yes? You mean you have applied for a job?’
Charlie nodded again.
‘Good grief.’ Emma’s mouth opened and closed. Opened once more. ‘But you’re here in Australia on a holiday.’
‘It’s a – a holiday job. I organised a working visa before I left England.’
Now Emma’s eyes rolled heavenwards. ‘Well, apart from the fact that you appear to be losing your marbles at a very young age, there’s a major problem. This Matt Lockhart fellow thinks you’re a man.’
‘Yes.’ Charlie sighed. ‘I thought he might. That’s why I can’t talk to him – why I gave him your landline rather than my mobile. He mustn’t hear my voice. Would you mind telling him I’ll take the job, but, please, don’t let him know I’m female. That would spoil everything.’
‘I’ll do no such thing.’
‘Please, Emma.’ Charlie was wringing her hands. ‘I know it sounds frightfully weird, but I promise it’s all above board. Just find out when he wants me to start.’
‘Start? You mean you really do want to work? What kind of a job is this? He doesn’t sound like someone from your usual circle.’
‘Hurry. I’ll explain later. He’ll be ringing long distance from up near the Northern Territory and he’ll hang up soon.’
‘And you want me to let him think you’re a guy?’
Charlie nodded. ‘Please.’
To her intense relief, Emma began to back out of the room, but she was still shaking her head. ‘I don’t like this, Charlie.’
‘I’m sorry to ask you to tell a white lie, but trust me, it’s fine.’
Making her reluctance clear, Emma turned, straightened her indignant back, and left the glassed-in front veranda, returning to the phone in the lounge room.
Charlie let out her breath with a noisy sigh and ran shaking fingers through her long fair hair. Emma was a good sport – she wouldn’t let her down.
She tried to block out the temptation to eavesdrop on the conversation in the next room by shifting her focus across the street to the bright blue ocean and gleaming sands of Sydney’s Bondi Beach. Her cousin’s flat provided an amazing view of bronzed surfers. At any time of day Charlie could watch them riding their boards down the glassy face of huge waves. She loved the way they made such a dangerous sport look impossibly simple.
Sun and surf. It was easy to understand why Emma had left England to spend two years living and working in Australia. She was lucky her parents had been so understanding.
Thoughts of parents brought Charlie’s gaze back to the postcards she’d been writing. She’d completed the one from Sydney which she would post this afternoon. And she hoped to find people among Emma’s contacts in the tourist industry who would be willing to send the other postcards home to Derbyshire at regular intervals. Charlie’s mum was conveniently old fashioned – she liked postcards in the mail, rather than a pic on her phone – and Charlie had selected a range of popular tourist destinations – the Gold Coast, the Great Barrier Reef and Kakadu National Park.
It was so important to keep her parents reassured she was having a wonderful holiday Down Under. Of course, deceiving them felt bad – very bad. But under the circumstances, it was a necessary evil. Eventually her mother and father would be proud of her. Surely.
Emma’s slow footsteps were returning and Charlie looked up, her heart racing. ‘How did it go?’ she asked anxiously.
Pausing in the doorway, her cousin took her time as she arranged one slim hip against the door frame. ‘You’re to start next Monday.’ Her face remained grim. ‘Saddle, swag and horse will be provided.’
Relief flowed through Charlie, warming her insides like brandy on a midwinter’s night. ‘That’s great,’ she said and she sat down suddenly as her knees threatened to give way.
But Emma showed no sympathy as she marched slowly, menacingly towards her. ‘I’m glad you think this is great, cousin. But it’ll take a lot of convincing before I’m happy.’
‘I’ll explain.’
‘You bet you will. I haven’t a clue what’s going on and I don’t like being kept in the dark. And I don’t like being a go-between for you and this Lockhart fellow. Or fighting off your parents when they demand to know where you are. You’re supposed to be in my tender care.’ Dragging out a chair, she sat down majestically. ‘Now tell me in minute detail exactly what hair-brained scheme you’ve cooked up.’
◆◆◆
Matt Lockhart grinned as he replaced the receiver. He continued to feel pleased with himself as he sauntered out onto the wide veranda of Sundown Station’s homestead, his family’s outback home for the past eighty years.
His head stockman, Arch Grainger, looked up from the paperwork spread all over a small table. ‘You’re smiling. Are we in luck, boss?’
Pulling out a chair, Matt nodded, then sat and stretched his long legs before him. ‘Problem solved. I’ve found us another ringer. He’s coming next Monday.’
‘That’s a flaming relief.’ Arch swatted at a fly with his broad brimmed Akubra.
Matt nodded in agreement. Last week, when one of their ringers had broken his leg and needed to be flown to a hospital in Townsville on the coast, they hadn’t liked their chances of finding an emergency replacement.
It was the worst possible time to lose a stockman. With the wet season behind them, the pressure was on for a full-scale muster, but their neighbours were all flat-out with their own musters and couldn’t spare anyone.
Arch leaned back in his chair and squinted at Matt. ‘I assume, by that smug grin you’re wearing, that you’ve at least got us someone who can sit on a horse. Most times when we’ve pulled in people last minute they’ve been flippin’ useless.’
Matt shrugged. ‘His name’s Charlie Bell. He has top riding credentials and he reckons he’s had plenty of experience on his parents’ properties.’
‘Where?’
Just for a moment, Matt hesitated. ‘Derbyshire,’ he mumbled.
‘Derbyshire – as in England?’ Arch didn’t try to hide his scorn.
Matt refused to let his stockman rattle him. ‘Some of the English blokes with rural backgrounds shape up OK. The bush soon knocks the polish off them.’
Chuckling, Arch shook his head. ‘He’ll lose his polish fast all right. I just hope he’s a hard worker.’ He paused. ‘Does he know how remote this property is?’
‘I told him to fly into Camooweal and I’ll send someone to meet him.’
‘You softening him up or something?’ Arch scratched stubby fingers through his crinkly grey hair.
Matt scowled. ‘We don’t want this bloke getting lost. But don’t worry, once he gets here, I won’t be making any excuses for him. I’ll make damn sure he knows he has to work as hard as the next man, or he’s out on his ear.’
Arch nodded and returned to his paperwork, frowning over his rows of figures, and Matt stood and shrugged aside niggling doubts about the faith he was pinning on this Englishman.
Of course everything would be fine.
◆◆◆
‘YOU want it all off?’
‘Yep. As short as a boy’s.’ Charlie spoke firmly as she sat in front of Emma’s dressing table mirror and stared stonily at her reflection.
Behind her, Emma hovered, shaking her head. ‘No way! I can’t cut this!’ Lifting Charlie’s long, silken strands, she allowed them to run through her fingers. ‘It would be a crime against nature to cut this off. I simply won’t do it. You’ll have to go to a salon.’
&nb
‘Why would you want to turn this long, lustrous, golden hair brown?’ exclaimed Emma.
‘You make me sound like a shampoo advertisement.’
‘You could model for a shampoo advertisement.’
‘Too bad,’ snapped Charlie. ‘I want to look like a boy.’
And Emma fell about laughing.
Charlie sighed. Perhaps she was asking the impossible of her body.
‘Look at you,’ Emma gasped, when she eventually gathered her mirth under control. ‘You’re an English Rose. You have a peaches and cream complexion, delicate features, big green eyes. Lashes so long I’m sure they’re illegal. And all this lovely hair.’
‘And I also have hair dye, scissors and tanning lotion.’ Charlie held out her hands in front of her, inspecting her long, manicured fingernails. She pulled a face. ‘I’ll be cutting my nails really short, as well.’
Emma frowned, hands on hips. ‘Even if we did deal with the hair, the skin and the nails, there’s no way you can disguise your chest.’
Charlie looked down at her offending breasts. ‘I’m sure there are ways to flatten them.’
‘My dear Charlie,’ Emma sighed, leaning back against the dressing table and looking down at her cousin with the air of an exasperated elder. ‘Do you have any idea what life is like on an outback mustering camp?’
‘No,’ Charlie admitted. ‘That’s why I’m going there. I want a taste of something completely different. I want a heightened perspective on life. I want –’ She paused. This burning desire for an adventure as different as possible from her staid and safe life in England was much more than a simple want. ‘I need to get into the outback. I have to face danger and hardship.’
‘Oh, you’ll get that all right,’ Emma assured her. ‘And heat and dust and flies – not to mention thousands of noisy, nasty, smelly cattle. And the men!’
‘They’re noisy, nasty and smelly too?’
‘Some of them. You’ll find living in the outback is like visiting another planet. Believe me, you’ll have enough to deal with, without trying to pretend you’re a man at the same time.’
‘But they might send me packing as soon as they see I’m a woman.’
‘They might,’ Emma agreed. ‘Then again, Matt Lockhart sounded pretty desperate on the phone. And there are plenty of women who work in the outback – Australian women, that is.’
‘If you won’t cut my hair, at least help me to dye it brown and get the tanning stuff on,’ Charlie pleaded. ‘Then I might look more like an Australian girl.’
Emma’s eyebrows rose sceptically and she let out a sigh. She picked up the box of hair colour and began to read the instructions. ‘I can’t believe I’m doing this.’
Charlie’s hand closed over hers and squeezed gently. ‘Thanks so much, Emma. You’ve no idea how much this means to me.’
‘I must say I’m puzzled. And curious.’ Emma’s blue gaze met Charlie’s green. ‘How on earth did a girl with your background get obsessed with such a crazy idea?’
Charlie looked back at her cousin’s reflection with a bemused smile. She’d often asked herself where this desire for an outback adventure had started. The yearning to escape her restricted lifestyle had been with her ever since she was young. Had it begun with the book in her grandfather’s library? A huge, heavy book with full-page, glowing pictures of a vast red and mysterious, sun-drenched landscape, enormous mobs of cattle and tanned, fit men on beautiful horses. Those pictures had completely captivated her.
And then there’d been her Uncle Bertie’s stories of adventure when he’d come home from sailing around the world in a little boat single-handed. From then on, Charlie had craved an adventure of her own – not a hammed up TV reality show, but an experience that was authentically real.
‘If I’d been the boy Daddy wanted so badly, he would have been keen for me to prove myself as a man and have an adventure.’
‘I would have thought fighting your way to the top of London’s art world might have been challenge and adventure enough.’
‘That was all about trying to please my father,’ Charlie said as she bent forward over the sink to wet her hair.
‘But you’re jolly good at it. Brilliant from what I hear.’
‘Except that I also have to find someone to marry – to help the family out – someone titled preferably. I’m supposed to be catching someone disgustingly rich and exceedingly well bred.’
‘Marrying into money. How awful for you,’ Emma scoffed as she pulled on rubber gloves and squeezed hair dye into a bowl.
‘Just count your lucky stars, your father’s a second son. The pressure on Daddy to keep up the family estate is sending him into bankruptcy and an early grave.’
‘I’ve heard the place is virtually crumbling around your ears. Hold still,’ Emma added as she applied the dye to Charlie’s damp hair. ‘And I suppose you’re expected to save the day.’
‘Yes, and we all know how thin on the ground gorgeous, titled men with pots of money are. There are one or two, but most are PCBs.’
‘Pardon?’
‘Pale, chinless and boring.’
‘Poor, Charlie.’ Emma did sound sympathetic now. ‘I must say I do value my freedom. But then again,’ she added, giving her cousin a reassuring pat on the head through the rubber glove, ‘if anyone can snare one of the gorgeous variety, I’m sure you can.’
‘Glad you think so. But I definitely need one adventure before I have to go back to the dutiful daughter routine, and I can’t let Mother know what I’m planning, or she’ll have another attack. Her blood pressure –’
‘Aunt Vera’s blood pressure is conveniently unreliable,’ muttered Emma.
‘I want them to relax and think I’m having a nice holiday. Eventually, I’ll tell them what I’ve really been doing.’
Emma piled Charlie’s darkened hair on top of her head. ‘OK, I suppose we can keep them happy.’
‘And I’m going to have my once in a lifetime chance for real excitement,’ Charlie affirmed, ignoring the little ripples of doubt and panic as she thought about what might be ahead. She screwed up her face. ‘Ouch!’ That dye is getting in my eye.’
CHAPTER TWO
MATT leapt from his vehicle before the dust had time to settle, slammed the door shut and marched fiercely towards the ringers’ cottage. Angry as a maddened bull, he kicked open the rusty metal gate. ‘Where is he?’ he bellowed.
In two strides he cleared the steps, then paused at the open front door and peered down the dark central hallway of the cottage. Bedrooms lined either side. A young ringer stuck his head out the first doorway. ‘Who’re you looking for, boss?’
‘The new fellow, Bell,’ Matt barked. ‘Charlie Bell.’
The ringer’s eyes popped and his Adam’s apple slid up and down in his skinny neck as he cocked his head to indicate down the hallway. ‘End room on the left.’
‘Got it.’ With a curt nod, Matt continued his march down the hall, hands bunched into fists and swinging at his sides. He’d just wasted the best part of a day driving the dusty four hour round trip into Camooweal, while this new chum, Charlie Bell, had taken it into his thick head not to wait for him, but to hitch a ride out to Sundown on the mail truck. Matt was furious!
The flaming hide of this fellow. He’d been told to wait at the airstrip.
Reaching the end room, Matt didn’t stop to knock, but roughly shoved the door open.
Then he stopped.
All he could see was a backside – a very neat backside. A very feminine rear end inside pale cream, very expensive jodhpurs. As backsides went, it rated as the most womanly and desirable he’d ever seen.
It disappeared as its owner stopped rummaging in her backpack and swirled around to face him. Big, startled green eyes and a soft, pink mouth rounded in surprise.
Matt’s own mouth hung wide, wide open. For long seconds he stood gaping at this female. As well as the expensively cut jodhpurs, she wore gleaming, hand-tooled leather riding boots and a simple white blouse that couldn’t hide her other womanly parts. Her hair was braided into a silky brown plait that had flopped over one shoulder.
