The episode had disappointed her, half-repelled her. Luke was very aware of it as he helped her into the car and rolled a much-needed cigarette. He rather fancied himself as a lover, none of the girls so far had ever complained-but then they hadn't been ladies like Meggie. Even Dot MacPherson, the Bingelly heiress, richer by far than Meggie, was as rough as bags, no posh Sydney boarding school and all that crap. In spite of his looks Luke was about on a par with the average rural workingman when it came to sexual experience; he knew little of the mechanics beyond what he liked himself, and he knew nothing of the theory. The numerous girls he had made love to were nothing loath to assure him they liked it, but that meant he had to rely on a certain amount of personal information, not always honest, either. A girl went into any affair hoping for marriage when the man was as attractive and hardworking as Luke, so a girl was as likely as not to lie her head off to please him. And nothing pleased a man more than being told he was the best ever. Luke never dreamed how many men aside from himself had been fooled with that one. Still thinking about old Dot, who had given in and done as her father wanted after he locked her in the shearers' barracks for a week with a fly-blown carcass, Luke mentally shrugged his shoulders. Meggie was going to be a tough nut to crack and he couldn't afford to frighten or disgust her. Fun and games would have to wait, that was all. He'd woo her the way she obviously wanted, flowers and attention and not too much slap and-tickle. For a while an uncomfortable silence reigned, then Meggie sighed and slumped back in her seat.
"I'm sorry, Luke."
"I'm sorry, too. I didn't mean to offend you."
"Oh, no, you didn't offend me, truly! I suppose I'm not very used to it .... I was frightened, not offended."
"Oh, Meghann!" He took one hand off the wheel and put it over her clasped ones. "Look, don't worry about it. You're a bit of a girl and I went too fast. Let's forget it.
"Yes, let's," she said.
"Didn't he kiss you?" Luke asked curiously.
"Who?"'
Was there fear in her voice? But why should there be fear in her voice? "You said you'd been in love once, so I thought you knew the ropes. I'm sorry, Meghann. I should have realized that stuck all the way out here in a family like yours, what you meant was you had a schoolgirl crush on some bloke who never noticed you."
Yes, yes, yes! Let him think that! "You're quite right, Luke; it was just a schoolgirl crush."
Outside the house he drew her to him again and gave her a gentle, lingering kiss without any open-mouth ,tongue business. She didn't respond exactly, but clearly she liked it; he went off to his guesthouse more satisfied that he hadn't ruined his chances.
Meggie dragged herself to bed and lay looking up at the soft round halo the lamp cast on the ceiling. Well, one thing had been established: there was nothing in Luke's kisses to remind her of Ralph's. And once or twice toward the end she had felt a flicker of dismayed excitement, when he had dug his fingers into her side and, when he had kissed her neck. No use equating Luke with Ralph, and she wasn't sure anymore that she wanted to try. Better forget Ralph; he couldn't be her husband. Luke could.
The second time Luke kissed her Meggie behaved quite differently. They had been to a wonderful party on Rudna Hunish, the limit of the territorial boundary Bob had drawn around their jaunts, and the evening had gone well from its beginning. Luke was in his best form, joking so much on the way out he kept her helpless with laughter, then warmly loving and attentive toward her all through the party. And Miss Carmichael had been so determined to take him away from her! Stepping in where Alastair MacQueen and Enoch Davies feared to go, she attached herself to them and flirted with Luke blatantly, forced him for the sake of good manners to ask her to dance. It was a formal affair, the dancing ballroom style, and the dance Luke gave Miss Carmichael was a slow waltz. But he had come back to Meggie immediately it was over and said nothing, only cast his eyes toward the ceiling in a way which left her in no doubt that to him Miss Carmichael was a bore. And she loved him for it; ever since the day the lady had interfered with her pleasure at the Gilly Show, Meggie had disliked her. She had never forgotten the way Father Ralph had ignored the lady to lift a small girl over a puddle; now tonight Luke showed himself in those same colors. Oh, bravo! Luke, you're splendid!
It was a very long way home, and very cold. Luke had cajoled a packet of sandwiches and a bottle of champagne out of old Angus MacQueen, and when they were nearly two-thirds of the way home he stopped the car. Heaters in cars were extremely rare in Australia then as now, but the Rolls was equipped with a heater; that night it was very welcome, for the frost lay two inches thick on the ground.
"Oh, isn't it nice to sit without a coat on a night like this?" Meggie smiled, taking the little silver collapsible cup of champagne Luke gave her, and biting into a ham sandwich.
"Yes, it is. You look so pretty tonight, Meghann."
What was it about the color of her eyes? Grey wasn't normally a color he cared for, too anemic, but looking at her grey eyes he could have sworn they held every color in the blue end of the spectrum, violet and indigo and the sky on a rich clear day, deep mossy green, a hint of tawny yellow. And they glowed like soft, half-opaque jewels, framed by those long curling lashes which glittered as if they had been dipped in gold. He reached out and delicately brushed his finger along the lashes of one eye, then solemnly looked down at its tip.
"Why, Luke! What's the matter?"
"I couldn't resist seeing for myself that you don't have a pot of gold powder on your dressing table. Do you know you're the only girl I've ever met with real gold on her eyelashes?"
"Oh!" She touched them herself, looked at her finger, laughed. "So I have! It doesn't come off at all." The champagne was tickling her nose and fizzing in her stomach; she felt wonderful.
