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  "There you are," he said. He looked me over and his expression altered a little. I could see he was relieved and pleased that I now looked presentable. "That's a good cabin, eh? Have you found everything you want?"

  "It's fine," I said. The smell of the frying onions was driving me half crazy. "And this too. You've certainly got a place here, Mr. Jenson."

  He nodded, but the beaming pride wasn't there. I could see he was still bothered about the argument he had been having with his wife.

  "Yeah, it's pretty good." He rubbed his jaw, his eyes shifting away from me. "I guess you must be hungry. I'll see what I can rustic up for you."

  "Don't worry about me, Mr. Jenson. You tell me what I'm to have and I'll fix it."

  "You stick around. I'll talk to my wife."

  He was so embarrassed I felt sorry for him. He was starting back to the kitchen when a dusty Packard pulled up by the gas pumps and the driver honked on his horn.

  "Shall I take care of him?" I said.

  "It's okay. I'll do it. Time enough for you to start work when you've had something to eat."

  He went out and I watched him through the open window as he began to service the car.

  I heard a sound behind me and I looked over my shoulder, then I turned right around.

  A woman was standing in the doorway. She was staring curiously at me.

  She had Titian red hair: a lot of it, piled to the top of her head, rather sloppily. She was a beauty although her mouth was too big and her lips too thick. There was a sensual quality about her that would attract any man: it attracted me.

  She was wearing a crisp white overall, pulled tight around her, and as she moved through the doorway, I could see she hadn't a stitch on under the overall. She was about thirty. She had cold green eyes and her skin was the colour of old ivory.

  She didn't say anything. We just stood there, looking at each other. Then Jenson came in, grinning nervously and introduced me.

  She nodded at me, still saying nothing: her green eyes hostile.

  Jenson stood awkwardly, rubbing his jaw, grinning fatuously at us.

  "I guess he could use some food. I know I could," he said finally. "How about it, Lola?"

  Her face was expressionless as she said, "I'll get you something."

  She turned and walked back into the kitchen.

  I could see the outline of her heavy hips under the overall. They rolled sensually as she walked.

  I picked up a paper napkin and wiped my face. Sweat was running off me.

  "Pretty hot, huh?" Jenson said, his grin widening.

  "If s hot all right," I said.

  My face felt stiff as I tried to match his grin.

  II

  It was while Jenson and I were unloading the scrap off the truck that he began to talk about his wife.

  I had eaten one of the best meals in my life. She had come out of the kitchen carrying two plates loaded with spaghetti and big veal steaks, and had planked them down on the counter and then had gone back into the kitchen without a word.

  While we were eating and to ease Jenson's obvious embarrassment I asked him what he wanted me to do now I was going to work for him.

  He said he would like me to take care of the garage and the gas pumps so that he and Lola could concentrate on the lunch room. He would like me to do three night shifts every other week and two the alternate week. Any breakdown jobs that came in he expected me to handle, and it would be my job to keep the outside clean and tidy.

  "You'll be busy, Jack," he said, "but in this heat and with nothing else to do, it's a good thing to be busy."

  I said that was okay with me. I couldn't be busy enough. I meant that. I knew if I started sitting around doing nothing in this place, my mind wouldn't be anywhere else except in the kitchen where she was. She would have that effect on any man.

  After we had finished the meal we went outside and he showed me how the gas pumps worked, explained what I had to do when a customer arrived and showed me the tariff of charges for oil and gas.

  He then asked me to give him a hand unloading the scrap.

  By now the sun was sinking behind the hills and it was cooler. I was glad of the chance to exercise my muscles after being cooped up for so long in the freight truck.

  As we worked, he talked.

  "You don't have to worry about Lola," he said. "She hates to be crossed. I told you: she's always been against anyone working here. I don't know why. It's just one of those fool ideas women get into their heads." He looked at me anxiously. "You don't want to take it to heart. Maybe for a couple of days she will sulk, but she'll get over it."

  I didn't say anything: there didn't seem anything to say.

  We hauled a rusty rotary cultivator off the truck. I was impressed by Jenson's strength. He handled the machine as if it were a toy.

  As we dragged the machine into the shed, he said, "Don't you think she's a fine looking woman?"

  "Yes."

  He took out a pack of cigarettes and offered me one. As we lit up, he went on, "Funny thing how we met. Two years ago she got off the Greyhound bus and walked into the lunch room. I was feeling pretty low at the time. My wife had died a couple of weeks back, and I was trying to run this place single handed. I was even trying to do the cooking, and let me tell you, the food was terrible. She asked for a hamburger. Funny how one remembers a thing like that, isn't it? I remember too she was wearing a green dress. The bus stopped for twenty minutes to collect the mail and parcels and give the passengers a chance to get something to eat. They all crowded in: all yelling for sandwiches, pies, hamburgers and so on, and I was swamped. I didn't know whether I was on my head or my heels, then suddenly there she was behind the counter instead of in front of it, serving. I saw she knew the business, and I let her handle the rush. I just showed her where everything was. Before the bus left, everyone was fed. I couldn't have done it myself, but she had done it. I had the same feeling about her as I had about you. I told her if she wanted a job, there was one here for her." He squatted down by the rotary cultivator and began to loosen the gear wire. "Like you, she didn't hesitate. The bus left without her. I gave her the cabin: like I've given it to you. Well, she worked for me for a couple of weeks, then I got thinking." He looked up, his blue eyes guileless. "I knew it wasn't right to have her here alone. People at Wentworth began to talk. When they came here for a snack or for gas, they sniggered at us. They thought things were happening that weren't. So one evening, I talked to her. I asked her if she liked it here: if it wasn't too lonely for her. She said she liked it, so I suggested we got married. That way we'd stop the sniggering and the talk. She would have security, and if anything happened to me, she'd have the place. So we got married." He got the gear wire loose and began to take off the cover of the gearbox. I stood by him, smoking and listening. "Mind you, she's twenty-three years younger than I am," he went on. "I wondered if I was doing right, but she wanted to stay and I couldn't have her here unless we were married. When a man of my age marries a woman as young as she is, he has to have a lot of patience. She'll sulk now for a couple of days, but she'll do her job. One of the great things about her is the way she works: I've never seen anyone work like her."

  A car came out of the desert in a whirl of dust and pulled up by the gas pumps. That broke up our conversation. I went out and served my first customer. I gave him gas and oil. I checked his tyres, washed his windshield, and while I worked I was aware Jenson had come to the door of the shed and was watching me.

  The guy in the car was fat and elderly. He sat picking his teeth with a match while I worked over his car. I thought I would try a little salesmanship on him.

  "Are you going to Tropica Springs, mister?" I asked as I polished his windshield.

  "Yeah."

  "It'll take you best part of three hours. You won't get in before ten. Aren't you hungry? We serve the best beef hash in the district."

  He blinked at me.

  "Beef hash?" He looked at his watch. "No, I guess I haven't t
he time. I'm in a hurry."

  "It's ready," I said. "Take you ten minutes, and we do a fruit pie that's really something. I've just had a slice: best pie I've ever tasted."

  "Is that right?" He looked interested. "Well, okay. I'll give it a try if it's ready." He got out of the car. "Where do I go?"

  I pointed to the lunch room.

  "Did you spot the tappet?" I said as he moved off. "It should be fixed. I can do it while you're eating if it's okay with you."

  "Sure. I should have had it fixed weeks ago. Thanks."

  He went into the lunch room and Jenson, grinning from ear to ear came over.

  "Nice work, Jack. That's what I call salesmanship. I'll give you a hand with the tappet."

  While we were working on the car, a black Cadillac slid up to the pumps. I left Jenson to get on with the tappet and went over to the Caddy to serve gas. There was a man and a woman in the car. They looked hot and dusty.

  "Can we get a wash here?" the man asked, getting out of the car.

  "Sure thing. Round the back to your left. If you're hungry there's veal steaks and spaghetti all ready and waiting. Italian cooking: nothing to touch it, even in Tropica Springs."

  The man cocked his eyebrows at me.

  "I bet it's old horse and rope."

  "I've just had it. I didn't notice any rope in the spaghetti," I said cheerfully. "It was just a suggestion. You won't get to Tropica Springs until past ten. I thought maybe you were hungry."

  "I'm starving," the woman said, getting out of the car. "Why not eat here, honey? It can't poison us."

  "Okay, if you want to. I could do with something myself."

  Ten minutes later, two big Buick Station wagons rolled up with a party of ten. While I was servicing the cars I suggested they might like to eat here and I gave them a lyrical description of the fried chicken. They fell for it.

  Jenson had fixed the tappet by now and he went inside to help out with the rush.

  A couple of trucks pulled in. The two truckers went into the lunch room for ham and eggs. Then a Jaguar came in with a boy and girl. I told them about the spaghetti and the veal steaks and reminded them how long it would be before they would get a meal unless they eat here. They fell for it too.

  Jenson came out, looking worried.

  "Jack, the steaks are off and we've only one chicken left," he said. "Go easy on the sales talk."

  I stared, at him.

  "You mean you've run out of food?"

  "That's a fact. We don't usually serve more than three or four dinners a night. Usually it's snacks or hamburgers: stuff like that, but with your line of high pressure salesmanship we've got fifteen dinners in there."

  "Don't you want them?"

  He tapped me on the chest.

  "You bet I want them, only I wasn't expecting someone like you to be selling my food. I'll be ready for you tomorrow. Lola and me will go into Wentworth and stock up." He grinned delightedly at me. "There's still plenty of ham and eggs left. See what you can do with those."

  He went back into the lunch room.

  The truckers started to come in for gas now and the private car trade fell off. I didn't have to sell the truckers food. They knew what they wanted.

  Finally, around ten o'clock, the traffic quieted down, and after waiting around for twenty minutes and seeing no headlights coming out of the desert, I went into the lunch room.

  There were a couple of truckers eating pie at the counter. Jenson was clearing up and stacking dishes. Someone had fed a coin in the juke-box which was blaring swing.

  There was no sign of Lola, but I could hear her clattering dishes in the kitchen.

  "Anything I can do?"

  Jenson shook his head.

  "It's okay. We can manage. You get off to bed. It's my shift tonight. Yours tomorrow." He jerked his head towards the kitchen door and grimaced. "She's still sulking, but she'll get over it. You start tomorrow at eight o'clock. Okay?"

  "Sure," I said.

  "Come in here for breakfast. And say, Jack, I hope you're as pleased with the job as I am with you."

  "I like it a lot," I said, "and I'm glad you're pleased. Well, if I can't do anything, I guess I'll hit the hay."

  I went across to the cabin, stripped off and got into bed. I was pretty tired, but my mind was too active for sleep. I kept thinking of Jenson's wife, knowing I shouldn't, but finding it impossible to keep her out of my mind.

  The bed was right by the window, and from where I lay, I could look directly across the highway at the bungalow.

  I was still trying to sleep an hour later when I saw a light go up in one of the bungalow windows.

  I saw her standing in the middle of the room. She was smoking a cigarette, and for some moments she just stood there, letting smoke drift from between her lips. Then moving languidly, she stubbed out the cigarette, dropping the butt on the floor. She pulled out a hairpin and the thick mass of red hair came tumbling down to her waist.

  By now I was sitting up, leaning forward and staring; my heart thumping and my breathing was fast. She wasn't more than thirty yards from me.

  She sat on a chair in front of the dressing table mirror and began to brush her hair. She spent nearly five minutes stroking the red mass with the brush, then putting the brush down, she crossed over to the bed and turned down the cover.

  She moved to the window and began to unfasten her overall. As the overall swung open, she reached out and pulled down the blind. With the light behind her, her shadow was sharp etched against the blind.

  She took off the overall, letting it drop to the floor. Her naked silhouette against the blind turned my mouth dry.

  Long after she had turned off the light, I still sat at the window, looking across at the bungalow.

  It was only when a truck pulled up at the pumps and I saw Jenson come out of the bungalow that I lay down on the bed.

  I didn't sleep much that night.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  I

  When I walked into the lunch room at six forty-five the next morning, Lola, clad only in a yellow halter and a pair of scarlet shorts, was scrubbing down the counter.

  In that getup, she looked really something. The combination of her red hair, her green eyes and that creamy skin that goes with that colouring, plus her shape the halter and shorts scarcely concealed, had me staring.

  She paused in her work to look sulkily at me, then continued | to scrub.

  "Good morning, Mrs. Jenson," I said. "Can I do that for you?"

  Again she paused, her green eyes hostile.

  "When I want you to do anything for me I'll tell you," she snapped.

  "Why, sure," I said. "I didn't mean any offence."

  "If you want breakfast, get it in the kitchen."

  She bent over the counter, using the scrub brush. I could see the deep hollow between her breasts.

  She looked up.

  "What are you staring at?"

  "I didn't know I was staring," I lied, and moved around the counter and into the kitchen.

  Jenson was sitting at the table. There was a pile of money in bills and small change in front of him. By his side was a cup of coffee, a used plate and a knife and fork. He looked up, nodding at me.

  "Come on in, Jack. Do you want ham and eggs?"

  "Just coffee," I said, and went over to the pot standing on the hot plate.

  "As soon as we've cleared up, Lola and me are going into Wentworth," he said. "We've had the best day for years here. Those fifteen dinners put us right in front. You keep that up, Jack, and I'll be retiring. Just to make it interesting for you, I'm going to give you five per cent on all the restaurant checks. How's that?"

  "Why, that's fine, Mr. Jenson. Thanks."

  "When I'm in Wentworth, I'll get you an overall to work in. Is there anything else you want?"

  "I need some clothes, but I guess I'd better get them myself."

  "Yeah. You can take the car to Wentworth tomorrow and fit yourself out. I'll give you an advance on your restaurant cu
t. How about a hundred bucks?"

  "That would do fine. Thanks a lot."

  He pushed five twenties over to me.

  "So tomorrow you go to Wentworth." He leaned back in his chair. "Do you think you could do something with that rotary cultivator? I bought it for scrap, but I have an idea it would still work with a little persuasion."

  '"I'll take a look at it."