mostly to blame.'
'I'll begin toughening tomorrow,' Cindie promised with as much of a willing air as she could muster.
In the morning Cindie remembered crying in her sleep, with all the sorrow of one who was alone in a strange world. But why she cried, she could not think. Awake, she didn't mind being alone in this world of a great road-building project. Secretly, she liked being Cindie Brown: someone new.
She was alone in the little house, getting her own breakfast in the spotless kitchen, as she had done the morning before, when Myrtle came running across the hardened red earth from the canteen.
'Cindie!' she cried, bursting in. 'Mummy said hurry up and have your breakfast and come across quick. She asked Nick to give you a job, and what do you think? He said yes.'
Myrtle paused for breath. Cindie stopped in the act of whipping up powdered milk for her cereal to stare at the child, half in wonder, half in delight.
'You do really look pretty, Cindie.' The little girl put her head on one side as she stared at the visitor. 'I said you did, and you do. Your hair looks nicest when it's a bit damp. But come on quick. Miss Erica's over there with Nick, looking at the new freezer in the canteen. You can see her! She's beautiful too, but I like you best. I'm going to tell Nick, next time he puts ice in her drink and forgets to put it in for Jinx and me—'
'Oh, no, Myrtle, no,' Cindie pleaded quickly. 'Don't say anything like that to Nick ever. Promise me. You don't want to hurt his feelings, do you?'
Myrtle drew in a long breath, and thought.
'Well, maybe not,' she said at last. 'But you come and see Miss Erica for yourself. Then you'll know what I mean ' She broke off.
'Even if Nick doesn't know what you mean?' Cindie finished for her.
'Well—well—maybe he mightn't. He does like her a lot, I suppose.'
Cindie thought of only one thing: Now I'm about to see the Queen of the Spinifex I
She didn't allow herself to finish the thought: I wonder what Miss Erica will think of me?
There were half a dozen men sitting on the chairs near Mary's table, all waiting for attention. Cindie noticed them; and the children with their heads down at work on the opposite side of the room. All in one glance. What riveted her attention, however, was a young woman leaning back in her chair in a relaxed way, skin-tight slacks covering legs that were crossed, one foot resting on an upturned carton at the side of her. Somehow this posture was striking, though faintly arrogant. Very like models pictured in the fashion papers—making their hit.
Yet this wasn't any model. Not out here, a thousand miles from the north coast and several hundred from the west coast.
Those skin-tight slacks and that smooth polished shirt-blouse of bronze brown had the weird effect of looking internationally smart yet exactly appropriate for this semi-desert construction site.
Very clever, Cindie thought. She regretted her own part-worn check slacks. Her blouse, though fresh white and clean, was beginning to feel elderly in her own opinion. She was certain it would look that way in Erica's eyes—for this was surely Erica.
Cindie could not help a tiny pang of envy. How, she wondered sorely, do some people come to look so svelte in such a place, in so effortless a way?
Erica's hair was a lovely chestnut brown, not blonde, as Cindie had imagined. It was brushed sleekly back to one side of her head. Her face was tanned a smooth outback
CHAPTER VII
to see their exact colour. Black or brown? All she knew at the moment was that though Erica had not moved her head or altered her lazy yet elegant posture, the dark eyes had looked at Cindie with that summing-up expression that can so often be disconcerting.
Well, why not? Cindie thought. After all, I'm just the waif washed up by the river when it was down. She is somebody. She's called the Queen of the Spinifex.
Cindie came down the length of the floor towards Mary. As she neared Erica she glanced sideways and smiled
'I'll begin toughening tomorrow,' Cindie promised with as much of a willing air as she could muster.
In the morning Cindie remembered crying in her sleep, with all the sorrow of one who was alone in a strange world. But why she cried, she could not think. Awake, she didn't mind being alone in this world of a great road-building project. Secretly, she liked being Cindie Brown: someone new.
She was alone in the little house, getting her own breakfast in the spotless kitchen, as she had done the morning before, when Myrtle came running across the hardened red earth from the canteen.
'Cindie!' she cried, bursting in. 'Mummy said hurry up and have your breakfast and come across quick. She asked Nick to give you a job, and what do you think? He said yes.'
Myrtle paused for breath. Cindie stopped in the act of whipping up powdered milk for her cereal to stare at the child, half in wonder, half in delight.
'You do really look pretty, Cindie.' The little girl put her head on one side as she stared at the visitor. 'I said you did, and you do. Your hair looks nicest when it's a bit damp. But come on quick. Miss Erica's over there with Nick, looking at the new freezer in the canteen. You can see her! She's beautiful too, but I like you best. I'm going to tell Nick, next time he puts ice in her drink and forgets to put it in for Jinx and me—'
'Oh, no, Myrtle, no,' Cindie pleaded quickly. 'Don't say anything like that to Nick ever. Promise me. You don't want to hurt his feelings, do you?'
Myrtle drew in a long breath, and thought.
'Well, maybe not,' she said at last. 'But you come and see Miss Erica for yourself. Then you'll know what I mean ' She broke off.
'Even if Nick doesn't know what you mean?' Cindie finished for her.
'Well—well—maybe he mightn't. He does like her a lot, I suppose.'
Cindie thought of only one thing: Now I'm about to see the Queen of the Spinifex I
She didn't allow herself to finish the thought: I wonder what Miss Erica will think of me?
There were half a dozen men sitting on the chairs near Mary's table, all waiting for attention. Cindie noticed them; and the children with their heads down at work on the opposite side of the room. All in one glance. What riveted her attention, however, was a young woman leaning back in her chair in a relaxed way, skin-tight slacks covering legs that were crossed, one foot resting on an upturned carton at the side of her. Somehow this posture was striking, though faintly arrogant. Very like models pictured in the fashion papers—making their hit.
Yet this wasn't any model. Not out here, a thousand miles from the north coast and several hundred from the west coast.
Those skin-tight slacks and that smooth polished shirt-blouse of bronze brown had the weird effect of looking internationally smart yet exactly appropriate for this semi-desert construction site.
Very clever, Cindie thought. She regretted her own part-worn check slacks. Her blouse, though fresh white and clean, was beginning to feel elderly in her own opinion. She was certain it would look that way in Erica's eyes—for this was surely Erica.
Cindie could not help a tiny pang of envy. How, she wondered sorely, do some people come to look so svelte in such a place, in so effortless a way?
Erica's hair was a lovely chestnut brown, not blonde, as Cindie had imagined. It was brushed sleekly back to one side of her head. Her face was tanned a smooth outback
CHAPTER VII
to see their exact colour. Black or brown? All she knew at the moment was that though Erica had not moved her head or altered her lazy yet elegant posture, the dark eyes had looked at Cindie with that summing-up expression that can so often be disconcerting.
Well, why not? Cindie thought. After all, I'm just the waif washed up by the river when it was down. She is somebody. She's called the Queen of the Spinifex.
Cindie came down the length of the floor towards Mary. As she neared Erica she glanced sideways and smiled
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