"Tomorrow. I must. My ship sails for Genoa in less than a week."

"Genoa?"

"Rome, actually. For a long time, perhaps the rest of my life. I don't know."

"Don't worry, Ralph, I'll let you go without any fuss. My time is almost up, too. I'm leaving Luke, I'm going home to Drogheda."

"Oh, my dear! Not because of this, because of me?"

"No, of course not," she lied. "I'd made up my mind before you arrived. Luke doesn't want me or need me, he won't miss me in the slightest. But I need a home, somewhere of my own, and I think now that Drogheda is always going to be that place. It isn't right that poor Justine should grow up in a house where I'm the servant, though I know Anne and Luddie don't think of me like a servant. But it's how I think of myself, and how Justine will think of me when she's old enough to understand she hasn't a normal sort of home. In a way she never will enjoy that, but I must do as much for her as I can. So I'm going back to Drogheda."

"I'll write to you, Meggie."

"No, don't. Do you think I need letters, after this? I don't want anything between us which might endanger you, fall into the hands of unscrupulous people. So no letters. If you're ever in Australia it would be natural and normal of you to visit Drogheda, though I'm warning you, Ralph, to think before you do. There are only two places in the world where you belong to me ahead of God-here on Matlock, and on Drogheda."

He pulled her into his arms and held her, stroking her bright hair. "Meggie, I wish with all my heart I could marry you, never be apart from you again. I don't want to leave you.... And in a way I'll never be free of you again. I wish I hadn't come to Matlock. But we can't change what we are, and perhaps it's just as well. I know things about myself I would never have known or faced if I hadn't come. It's better to contend with the known than the unknown. I love you. I always have, and I always will. Remember it."

The next day Rob appeared for the first time since he had dropped Ralph, and waited patiently while they said their farewells. Obviously not a couple of newly-weds, for he'd come later than she and was leaving first. Not illicit lovers, either. They were married; it was written all over them. But they were fond of each other, very fond indeed. Like him and his Missus; a big difference in age, and that made for a good marriage.

"Goodbye, Meggie."

"Goodbye, Ralph. Take care of yourself."

"I will. And you."

He bent to kiss her; in spite of her resolution she clung to him, but when he plucked her hands from around his neck she put them stiffly behind her and kept them there.

He got into the car and sat while Rob reversed, then stared ahead through the windscreen without once looking back at her. It was a rare man who could do that, Rob reflected, without ever having heard of Orpheus. They drove in silence through the rain forest and came at last to the sea side of Matlock, and the long jetty. As they shook hands Rob looked into his face, wondering. He had never seen eyes so human, or so sad. The aloofness has passed from Archbishop Ralph's gaze forever.

When Meggie came back to Himmelhoch Anne knew at once she would lose her. Yes, it was the same Meggie-but so much more, somehow. Whatever Archbishop Ralph might have told himself before he went to Matlock, on Matlock things had gone Meggie's way at last, not his. About time, too.

She took Justine into her arms as if she only now understood what having Justine meant, and stood rocking the little thing while she looked around the room, smiling. Her eyes met Anne's, so alive, so shining with emotion that Anne felt her own eyes fill with reciprocal tears of that same joy.

"I can't thank you enough, Anne."

"Pish, for what?"

"For sending Ralph. You must have known it would mean I'd leave Luke, so I thank you just that much more, dear. Oh, you have no idea what it did for me! I had made up my mind I was going to stay with Luke, you know. Now I'm going back to Drogheda, and I'm never going to leave it again."

"I hate to see you go and especially I hate to see Justine go, but I'm glad for both of you, Meggie. Luke will never give you anything but unhappiness."

"Do you know where he is?"

"Back from the CSR. He's cutting near Ingham."

"I'll have to go and see him, tell him. And, much as I loathe the idea, sleep with him."

"What?"

The eyes shone. "I'm two weeks overdue, and I'm never a day overdue. The only other time I was, Justine was starting. I'm pregnant, Anne, I know I am!"

"My God!" Anne gasped at Meggie as if she had never seen her before; and perhaps she had not. She licked her lips and stammered, "It could be a false alarm."

But Meggie shook her head positively. "Oh, no. I'm pregnant. There are some things one just knows."

"A nice pickle if you are," Anne muttered.

"Oh, Anne, don't be blind! Don't you see what this means? I can never have Ralph, I've always known I could never have Ralph. But I have, I have!" She laughed, gripping Justine so hard Anne was frightened the baby would scream, but strangely she did not. "I've got the part of Ralph the Church can never have, the part of him which carries on from generation to generation. Through me he'll continue to live, because I know it's going to be a son! And that son will have sons, and they'll have sons-I'll beat God yet. I've loved Ralph since I was ten years old, and I suppose I'll still be loving him if I live to be a hundred. But he isn't mine, where his child will be. Mine, Anne, mine!"

"Oh, Meggie!" Anne said helplessly.

The passion died, the exhilaration; she became once more familiar Meggie, quiet and sweet but with the faint thread of iron, the capacity to bear much. Only now Anne trod carefully, wondering just what she had done in sending Ralph de Bricassart to Matlock Island. Was it possible for anyone to change this much? Anne didn't think so. It must have been there all the time, so well hidden its presence was rarely suspected. There was far more than a faint thread of iron in Meggie; she was solid steel.

"Meggie, if you love me at all, please remember something for me?"

The grey eyes crinkled at the corners. "I'll try!"

"I've picked up most of Luddie's tomes over the years, when I've run out of my own books. Especially the ones with the ancient Greek stories, because they fascinate me. They say the Greeks have a word for everything, and that there's no human situation the Greeks didn't describe."

"I know. I've read some of Luddie's books, too."

"Then don't you remember? The Greeks say it's a sin against the gods to love something beyond all reason. And do you remember that they say when someone is loved so, the Gods become jealous, and strike the object down in the very fullness of its flower? There's a lesson in it, Meggie. It's profane to love too much."

"Profane, Anne, that's the key word! I shan't love Ralph's baby profanely, but with the purity of the Blessed Mother herself."

Anne's brown eyes were very sad. "Ah, but did she love purely? The object of her love was struck down in the very fullness of His flower, wasn't He?"

Meggie put Justine in her cot. "What must be, must be. Ralph I can't have, his baby I can. I feel...oh, as if there's a purpose to my life after all! That's been the worst thing about these three and a half years, Anne. I was beginning to think there was no purpose to my life." She smiled briskly, decisively. "I'm going to protect this child in every way I can, no matter what the cost to myself. And the first thing is that no one, including Luke, shall ever imply it has no right to the only name I'm at liberty to give it. The very thought of sleeping with Luke makes me ill, but I'll do it. I'd sleep with the Devil himself if it could help this baby's future. Then I'm going home to Drogheda, and I hope I never see Luke again." She turned from the cot. "Will you and Luddie come to see us? Drogheda always has room for friends."

"Once a year, for as many years as you'll have us. Luddie and I want to see Justine grow up."

Only the thought of Ralph's baby kept Meggie's sagging courage up as the little rail motor rocked and jolted the long miles to Ingham. Had it not been for the new life she was sure was growing in her, getting into a bed with Luke ever again would have been the ultimate sin against herself; but for Ralph's baby she would indeed have entered into a contract with the Devil.

From a practical viewpoint it wasn't going to be easy either, she knew that. But she had laid her plans with what foresight she could, and with Luddie's aid, oddly enough. It hadn't been possible to conceal much from him; he was too shrewd, and too deeply in Anne's confidence. He had looked at Meggie sadly, shaken his head, and then proceeded to give her some excellent advice. The actual aim of her mission hadn't been mentioned, of course, but Luddie was as adept at adding two and two as most people who read massive tomes.

"You won't want to have to tell Luke you're leaving him when he's worn out after the cane," said Luddie delicately. "Much better if you catch him in a good mood, isn't it? Best thing is, see him on a Saturday night or a Sunday after it's been his week cooking. The grapevine says Luke's the best cook on the cutting circuit-learned to cook when he was low man on the shearing totem pole, and shearers are much fussier eaters than cutters. Means cooking doesn't upset him, you know. Probably finds it as easy as falling off a log. That's the speed, then, Meggie. You slap the news on him when he's feeling real good after a week in the barracks kitchen."

It seemed to Meggie lately that she had gone a long way from blushing days; she looked at Luddie steadily without going the least bit pink.

"Could you find out which week Luke cooks, Luddie? Or is there any way I could find out, if you can't?"

"Oh, she's apples," he said cheerfully. "I've got my branches on the old grapevine. I'll find out."

It was mid Saturday afternoon when Meggie checked into the Ingham pub that looked the most respectable. All North Queensland towns were famous for one thing: they had pubs on all four corners of every block. She put her small case in her room, then made her way back to the unlovely foyer to find a telephone. There was a Rugby League football team in town for a pre-season training match, and the corridors were full of half-naked, wholly drunk players who greeted her appearance with cheers and affectionate pats on the back and behind. By the time she got the use of the phone she was shaking with fright; everything about this venture seemed to be an ordeal. But through the din and the looming drunken faces she managed to call Braun's, the farm where Luke's gang was cutting, and ask that a message be relayed to him that his wife was in Ingham, wanting to see him. Seeing her fear, the publican walked back to her room with her, and waited until he heard her turn the key.

Meggie leaned against the door, limp with relief; if it meant she didn't eat again until she was back in Dunny, she wasn't venturing to the dining room. Luckily the publican had put her right next to the women's bathroom, so she ought to be able to make that journey when necessary. The moment she thought her legs would hold her up she wobbled to the bed and sat on it, her head bowed, looking at her quivering hands.

All the way down she had thought about the best way of going about it, and everything in her cried, Quickly, quickly! Until coming to live at Himmelhoch she had never read a description of a seduction, and even now, armed with several such recountings, she wasn't confident of her ability to go about one herself. But that was what she had to do, for she knew once she started to talk to Luke it would be all over. Her tongue itched to tell him what she really thought of him. But more than that, the desire to be back on Drogheda with Ralph's baby made safe consumed her.

Shivering in the sultry sugary air she took off her clothes and lay down on the bed, eyes closed, willing herself not to think beyond the expediency of making Ralph's baby safe.

The footballers didn't worry Luke at all when he entered the pub alone at nine o'clock; by then most of them were insensible, and the few still on their feet were too far gone to notice anything farther away than their beer glasses.

Luddie had been exactly right; at the end of his week's stint as cook Luke was rested, eager for a change and oozing goodwill. When Braun's young son had brought Meggie's message down to the barracks he was just washing the last of the supper dishes and planning to cycle into Ingham, join Arne and the blokes on their customary Saturday-night binge. The prospect of Meggie was a very agreeable alternative; ever since that holiday on the Atherton he had found himself wanting her occasionally in spite of his physical exhaustion. Only his horror of starting her off on the let's-settle-down-in-our-own-home cry had kept him away from Himmelhoch whenever he was near Dunny. But now she had come to him, and he was not at all averse to a night in bed. So he finished the dishes in a hurry, and was lucky enough to be picked up by a truck after he had pedaled a scant half mile. But as he walked his bike the three blocks from where his ride had dropped him to the pub where Meggie was staying, some of his anticipation flattened. All the chemist shops were closed, and he didn't have any French letters. He stopped, stared in a window full of moth-eaten, heat-stippled chocolates and dead blowflies, then shrugged. Well, he'd just have to take his chances. It would only be tonight, and if there was a baby, with any luck it would be a boy this time.

Meggie jumped nervously when she heard his knock, got off the bed and padded over to the door.

"Who is it?" she called.

"Luke," came his voice.

She turned the key, opened the door a tiny way, and stepped behind it as Luke pushed it wider. The moment he was inside she slammed it shut, and stood looking at him. He looked at her; at the breasts which were bigger, rounder, more enticing than ever, the nipples no longer pale pink but a rich dark red from the baby. If he had been in need of stimuli they were more than adequate; he reached out to pick her up, and carried her to the bed.

By daylight she still hadn't spoken a word, though her touch had welcomed him to a pitch of fevered want he had never before experienced. Now she lay moved away from him, and curiously divorced from him.

He stretched luxuriously, yawned, cleared his throat. "What brings you down to Ingham, Meg?" he asked.

Her head turned; she regarded him with wide, contemptuous eyes.

"Well, what brings you here?" he repeated, nettled.

No reply, only the same steady, stinging gaze, as if she couldn't be bothered answering. Which was ridiculous, after the night.

Her lips opened; she smiled. "I came to tell you I'm going home to Drogheda," she said.

For a moment he didn't believe her, then he looked at her face more closely and saw she meant it, all right. "Why?" he asked.

"I told you what would happen if you didn't take me to Sydney," she said.

His astonishment was absolutely genuine. "But, Meg! That's flaming eighteen months ago! And I gave you a holiday! Four bloody expensive weeks on the Atherton! I couldn't afford to take you to Sydney on top of that!"

"You've been to Sydney twice since then, both times without me," she said stubbornly. "I can understand the first time, since I was expecting Justine, but heaven knows I could have done with a holiday away from The Wet this last January."

"Oh, Christ!"

"What a skinflint you are, Luke," she went on gently. "Twenty thousand pounds you've had from me, money that's rightfully mine, and yet you begrudge the few measly pounds it would have cost you to take me to Sydney. You and your money! You make me sick."

"I haven't touched it," he said feebly. "It's there, every penny of it, and more besides."

"Yes, that's right. Sitting in the bank, where it always will. You haven't any intention of spending it, have you? You want to adore it, like a golden calf. Admit it, Luke, you're a miser. And what an unforgivable idiot you are into the bargain! To treat your wife and daughter the way you wouldn't dream of treating a pair of dogs, to ignore their existences, let alone their needs! You complacent, conceited, self-centered bastard!"

White-faced, trembling, he searched for speech; to have Meg turn on him, especially after the night, was like being bitten to death by a butterfly. The injustice of her accusations appalled him, but there didn't seem to be any way he could make her understand the purity of his motives. Womanlike, she saw only the obvious; she just couldn't appreciate the grand design at back of it all.

So he said, "Oh, Meg!" in tones of bewilderment, despair, resignation. "I've never ill-treated you," he added. "No, I definitely haven't! There's no one could say I was cruel to you. No one! You've had enough to eat, a roof over your head, you've been warm-"

"Oh, yes," she interrupted. "That's one thing I'll grant you. I've never been warmer in my life." She shook her head, laughed. "What's the use? It's like talking to a brick wall."

"I might say the same!"

"By all means do," said Meggie icily, getting off the bed and slipping on her panties. "I'm not going to divorce you," she said. "I don't want to marry again. If you want a divorce, you know where to find me. Technically speaking, I'm the one at fault, aren't I? I'm deserting you-or at least that's the way the courts in this country will see it. You and the judge can cry on each other's shoulders about the perfidies and ingratitude of women."

"I never deserted you," he maintained.

"You can keep my twenty thousand pounds, Luke. But not another penny do you ever get from me. My future income I'm going to use to support Justine, and perhaps another child if I'm lucky."

"So that's it!" he said. "All you were after was another bloody baby, wasn't it? That's why you came down here-a swan song, a little present from me for you to take back to Drogheda with you! Another bloody baby, not me! It never was me, was it? To you I'm just a breeder! Christ, what a have!"

"That's all most men are to most women," she said maliciously. "You bring out the worst in me, Luke, in more ways than you'll ever understand. Be of good cheer! I've earned you more money in the last three and a half years than the sugar has. If there is another child, it's none of your concern. As of this minute I never want to see you again, not as long as I live."

She was into her clothes. As she picked up her handbag and the little case by the door she turned back, her hand on the knob.

"Let me give you a little word of advice, Luke. In case you ever get yourself another woman, when you're too old and too tired to give yourself to the cane any more. You can't kiss for toffee. You open your mouth too wide, you swallow a woman whole like a python. Saliva's fine, but not a deluge of it." She wiped her hand viciously across her mouth. "You make me want to be sick! Luke O'Neill, the great I-am! You're a nothing!"

After she had gone he sat on the edge of the bed staring at the closed door for a long while. Then he shrugged and started to dress. Not a long procedure, in North Queensland. Just a pair of shorts. If he hurried he could get a ride back to the barracks with Arne and the blokes. Good old Arne. Dear old mate. A man was a fool. Sex was one thing, but a man's mates were quite another.

Five.

1938a1953 Fee

14.

Not wanting anyone to know of her return, Meggie rode out to Drogheda on the mail truck with old Bluey Williams, Justine in a basket on the seat beside her. Bluey was delighted to see her and eager to know what she had been doing for the last four years, but as they neared the homestead he fell silent, divining her wish to come home in peace.

Back to brown and silver, back to dust, back to that wonderful purity and spareness North Queensland so lacked. No profligate growth here, no hastening of decay to make room for more; only a slow, wheeling inevitability like the constellations. Kangaroos, more than ever. Lovely little symmetrical wilgas, round and matronly, almost coy. Galahs, soaring in pink waves of undersides above the truck. Emus at full run. Rabbits, hopping out of the road with white powder puffs flashing cheekily. Bleached skeletons of dead trees in the grass. Mirages of timber stands on the far curving horizon as they came across the Dibban-Dibban plain, only the unsteady blue lines across their bases to indicate that the trees weren't real. The sound she had so missed but never thought to miss, crows carking desolately. Misty brown veils of dust whipped along by the dry autumn wind like dirty rain. And the grass, the silver-beige grass of the Great Northwest, stretching to the sky like a benediction.

Drogheda, Drogheda! Ghost gums and sleepy giant pepper trees a-hum with bees. Stockyards and buttery yellow sandstone buildings, alien green lawn around the big house, autumn flowers in the garden, wallflowers and zinnias, asters and dahlias, marigolds and calendulas, chrysanthemums, roses, roses. The gravel of the backyard, Mrs. Smith standing gaping, then laughing, crying, Minnie and Cat running, old stringy arms like chains around her heart. For Drogheda was home, and here was her heart, for always.

Fee came out to see what all the fuss was about.

"Hello Mum. I've come home."

The grey eyes didn't change, but in the new growth of her soul Meggie understood. Mum was glad; she just didn't know how to show it.