So she had allowed it to finish, lying still and unmoving on the blanket, flat on her back with her legs pushed wide apart. She remembered, as if a bird, watching, with a sense of sad perplexity, as his body rose and fell and he groaned as he pushed in and out of her. For her there had been a small amount of pleasure mixed with the pain but it was not much. It did not override the sense of loss.

  Then, when it was done, he had removed himself from her with a shuddering moan, leaving that part wet and bleeding. She had felt a sense of strong remorse.

  But it was done, even if disappointing. It had given her little pleasure then and, even now, she felt short-changed. Soon after he had dressed and left, suggesting they meet again soon.

  She had not responded. She had known she would not do this with him again. For the next few days she had thanked him for invitations to do more things with her but declined. Then he was gone. She had not heard from him over the three years since. On that day, when it was done, she remembered she had also felt relief that no one else knew.

  Since that time she had little inclination to repeat it with another man, religious beliefs aside. She still held to those religious beliefs but they were not so strong now. She knew that almost everyone else her age, married or unmarried, did these things without second thoughts. They did not seem to feel any guilt. Now she wondered was it really guilt and remorse? Or was it just that she had done it with the wrong man at the wrong time and, with another man, it would be different?

  As she wondered of other men she found the face of this man, Mark, come into her mind. Now he was doing this thing with another girl and not with her. So, even though she sensed a raw sexuality with this man, Mark, that made her tingle, she did her best to ignore it and push it away.

  She expected that Mark would leave on the same day as his girlfriend. Instead he stayed on another night; she saw his name again in the guest list. In the afternoon and evening she glimpsed him walking in the distance and felt a strange thrill despite trying not to notice. That night she was rostered to serve in the backpacker bar. She took along her guitar; she had not played for over a week and felt a need to make music.

  At first there was another girl behind the bar with her and while she served Isabelle played with her guitar and sang her bracket of Piaf songs. As she started to play she could see that Mark was sitting at a table at the back. She had not noticed him come in and had not served him a drink. But he had a drink in his hand and was talking to another man a few years younger, explaining something with his hands.

  When her song began she saw him turn towards her and put down his drink. She sensed his attention had locked onto her. A couple times as she looked up she connected with his eyes and sensed admiration.

  When the songs were finished there was strong applause and a steady stream of tips which she split with her co-worker. Soon after that most people drifted off and now there were only half a dozen people remaining. She told the other girl she was happy to be the one to lock up, so her friend went off to bed.

  At the end, before she closed the bar, it was only him and another couple left. This couple were only interested in each other. So she fell into a conversation with Mark, discovering small fragments of his life, though he was guarded in what he said. But she listened with interest as he told her of having worked in French Africa for a period.

  She found that, notwithstanding his guarded way, she liked him and enjoyed his company. When the other couple left he made his excuses, though it seemed that he would have stayed on if they did. She would have liked to talk with him for longer

  The following day he was gone and she did not expect to see him again, such was the traveller’s way. She felt regret as she watched his broad back walk away down the street.

  A month passed and she decided to move on. It was now the end of July. She decided she wanted to see the desert and booked a flight from Cairns to Uluru, thinking that, after she saw the sights there, she would go on to Alice Springs and look for another job for a month or two before she travelled on again.

  When she came to Yulara she saw a “Positions Vacant” sign at the Desert Sails Motel. After a short interview she gained a position on the strength of the reference from Cairns and her multilingual skills. Again the living was cheap with a room provided and her days off gave her the chance to explore. After a fortnight of work she had four days off. She caught a bus to Alice Springs.

  As she left the bus and walked down the main street of Alice Springs toward the mall, she looked across the street. Her heart skipped a beat. There was that man, Mark, walking down the street, another girl on his arm, again very friendly. She felt regret that he was always with someone else, usually a girl prettier than her.

  But then he looked her way, saw her and gave her a huge grin. He brought his friend across the road and introduced this girl to her.

  “This is one of my best friends from Alice Springs, Martha, who is a nurse in the hospital. I have not seen her for almost a year, even though I am often in Alice Springs, and here she is walking down the street.”

  Then he addressed them both, “So, as I start walking along to have a coffee with Martha, what do you know? I discover another friend, Isabelle who I met over a couple nights when I stayed at a backpacker lodge in Cairns. She was the delightful bar maid who served me drinks late in the night and listened to my drunken stories when most other people would have told me to go off to bed. Plus she plays the guitar, sings like an angel and talks with the most delightful French accent.

  Martha held out her hand in welcome. Now they all walked along down the street together before stopping at a cafe for a coffee and snack.

  Isabelle found something nice about meeting a person she already knew, and she liked his friendly friend. They all chatted freely, exchanging tales of the road and them talking of the goings on in this bush town. The picnic races were coming up the next weekend. Martha asked Isabelle and Mark if either would be able to come.

  Isabelle replied, “Regretfully I cannot, I must catch a bus back to my job in Yulara in three days’ time. Then I must work for another ten days before I get my next break.”

  Mark also said that he had to head out of town this afternoon and would be away for at least two weeks before he got back again, in fact he must leave very soon, he had just come to the town to get a couple things before heading out.

  After half an hour he excused himself, saying he had a long way to drive tonight as he was expected at the Granites Gold Mine, in the Tanami Desert over 500 kilometres to the north-west, tomorrow at daylight. As he left he promised Martha he would call and see her when next in town.

  Then he turned to Isabel, took her hand lightly in his own and said, “Most sincerely, I hope to meet you yet again somewhere in your travels.” He said it with such charm she felt herself blush inside.

  Then he was gone and it was just her and Martha left to finish their coffees and food.

  She found she really liked this girl, Martha. She was down to earth and good natured. She was also attractive in a well rounded way, if not classically beautiful.

  Isabelle could not help herself; she wanted to know about what was between Martha and Mark. With Gallic directness she said. “Are you and Mark very good friends, do you know him well?” Then she blushed, self conscious at her prying.

  Martha looked at her directly and laughed. “Oh, you mean, is he my boyfriend or lover? Are we shagging? God no! The girls he picks up, those girls are much classier than me, much more your type, more often girls from other countries, people who want to see the outback. He offers to show them and I am sure he offers them more than that. You know, nights out under the stars, two of them in one bed. I am sure he tells them when it is cold that he will keep them warm.” she said with a lascivious grin.

  “Every time I see him he has a different one on his arm. Not that I would mind trying it on with him, just a one night stand would be fun, I am sure he is a great lover, you can tell it by the way he looks, so intense!

  “But I have a regular boyfriend who works in the hospital laboratory. He is not as wild and exciting like Mark but he is much safer. Now he has gone away to Sydney for two weeks to see his family. That is why I am out on my own and at a bit of a loose end.

  “Perhaps if Mark stayed in town tonight and we kicked on we would have a shag at the end of the night. I am sure he would give me a wild ride and one to remember, but that would be it. You can be sure I would never tell my boyfriend. But never so far and we probably never will.

  “Mark is just a good time mate. Someone to have a drink and a laugh with, a good friend but not in the way you were thinking. It is better that way as, for mates, sometimes the sex thing gets in the way.

  “I have known him for a couple years since I treated him in hospital one time when he cut his hand pretty bad. He is as tough as an old boot and his hand got better before you could blink. But we became friends and now I see him now and then, maybe once every six months.

  “I know almost nothing about him. He seems to come to the Alice for a few days once in a while; it is like a base for him. Sometimes, when he comes to town, he rings me and invites me out for a drink. But then he is gone again and many months go by until I next see him around.

  “So it was a genuine pleasure to run into him this afternoon and an equally big one to meet you. Where are you staying in town? Perhaps we could go out for a drink together tonight instead.”

  Isabelle admitted that she had yet to find a place to stay; she had only stepped off the bus from Yulara five minutes before she met them.

  Martha said. “I have a little flat near the hospital. It has a spare room, with no one in it. Why don’t you stay there while you are here?”

  So it was agreed. Isabelle wanted to give her some money but Martha would not hear of it. “No way, it would have been empty if you had not come. Tell you what. I have been promising myself a trip to the Rock for over a year. If you can squeeze me into your room, I am happy to sleep in my sleeping bag on the floor, that will save me some money in return.”

  So it was agreed. Next weekend Martha would come to the Rock and stop with Isabelle in return for her giving Isabelle a bed in Alice Springs.

  They walked down the road to Martha’s house and, after Isabelle was settled, went out for a drink. Their friendship grew from there.

  Isabelle really liked the frank and open way that Martha talked about her life and loves. She had always kept her personal secrets much closer to her own chest.

  They got on really well over the next three days. While Martha went to work during the days she told Isabelle the places and sights to see. Each night they met up for a drink and dinner, somewhere inexpensive, often with other friends of Martha’s.

  Isabelle found herself liking this town and thinking that perhaps, in a month’s time, she would look for a job here for a couple months. It was nice to make a group of friends rather than continually meet strangers.

  When Martha came down to the Rock on her days off Isabelle juggled her shifts to get a full day off. By the end of this she felt she had made a real friend, they exchanged home addresses to keep in touch in the future and Martha promised to visit her if she came to France.

  With Martha gone Isabelle found herself strangely restless. She liked the desert but she had more or less seen what was to be seen around Uluru and the Olgas. While she could return to Alice and look for a job there she felt something beckoning her on, drawing her to go further.

  One evening she was chatting to a guest at the bar when it was quiet. He told her he lived in the town of Broome, on the opposite side of the country from Cairns but up north too. He had a hotel in Broome and was always looking for barmaids and restaurant waiters. So, if she came there, he would be happy to give her a job.

  Isabelle thought he might be sleazy to work for but it put the idea in her mind as he told her about this town with its tourist resorts and sandy beaches. She decided she would like to visit Broome.

  She had heard of guests at the Desert Sails flying on to Broome direct. So there was must be a flight from here to there. The next day she looked up fares to Broome and booked a flight at the end of her batch of shifts.

  Isabelle had the habit of sending a post card to her parents each week to keep them abreast of her travels; it was easier than ringing at the wrong time of day. So, after she made the booking, she put a postcard in the mail to tell them of her plans. She was starting to feel homesick to see her family again and said that, after Broome she may fly to Bali for a week, but then she was planning to head home. She said she was really looking forward to coming home. She knew they wanted to see her again too.

  Her last week in Yulara flew by and then she was at the airport. Here she did a quick post card to Martha telling her of her changed plans. Then she was on the plane flying across endless barren red sands before she came to a small town on a peninsula reaching into sparkling blue ocean.

  Stepping out of the plane the air was balmy and warm. She felt she had returned to the tropics though this was a much dryer place than Papeete. Its climate felt closer to the warm dry air of her home in the hills of Languedoc in the summer months, when the wiry hill grass was brown and dry and only in the river valleys was any green grass to be seen.

  As she walked around the town, luxuriating in the dry air blowing from the inland, she felt more settled than in any place since she had left her home a long time ago.

  She soon found a job in hotel in the main street of Broome town and it supplied a tiny room out the back for her to stay. It only had a fan in the ceiling, no air conditioning, but the nights were cool. She did not care for the fancier resorts that were scattered along the beaches out from the town. There was something more honest about the locals who drank in her pub than the other tourist visitors of the upmarket resorts. She found their jokes and coarse humour, which she was beginning to understand as her English got more fluent, reminded her of the worker humour of those who lived in her home village.

  It felt comfortable and good. They all called her Frenchy and mocked her foreign accent but it was good humoured banter. A week went by and then another and then a month had passed. It was now September. The weather was warming up and the drinkers were getting thirstier, telling tales of the ferocious heat of the inland and also of huge storms sweeping the coast when the wet season came.

  She found this foreign climate and its weather patterns fascinating and it continued to remind her of parts of her hillside home. Each week she sent another post card home though, as she was enjoying this place, she was now much vaguer about her return dates or plans.

  She often did the late shifts as she was more a night than morning person. So it suited her to work into the late nights, there was a peaceful solitude when it was just her and a couple last drinkers remaining and making polite banter.

  It was a Tuesday night, over a month after she came, and there were only three drinkers left in the bar talking together around a table in the corner. The time was somewhere between ten and eleven in the evening. Eleven was official closing time and, with such a small number of patrons, she said she was happy to finish the shift and lock up. So her co-worker went off to bed. She worked her way around the room; wiping down all the benches, stacking the bottles neatly and putting the glasses in the dishwasher to wash overnight.

  She was bent down stacking glasses when she heard new footsteps come into the bar Another patron for a drink, she thought. She stood up and found herself looking into Mark’s face, opposite her at the counter.

  She blushed then smiled a big smile, delighted to see him yet again.

  He returned a huge grin. “Belle, I can’t believe my luck running into you again. Wherever I go to across Australia I seem destined to meet you.”

  She felt a breathless with the delight at seeing his face again. Three times over as many months felt like real friendship. It was like a strange destiny linked their travels.

  After about ten minutes the other drinkers finished their drinks and left. Then it was only them alone. He was perched on a bar stool, directly opposite her. They fell into easy conversation.

  She asked him where he had come from and where he was going.

  He told her that, after working for a fortnight in the Granites, he had been offered work on a station south of Broome, fixing windmills. It had kept him busy for three weeks but today he had finished the last mill. He had pulled up the pump, stripped it down, fitted new seals and made other adjustments. Now it was working as good as new. He had called to the station homestead for a beer and a meal before deciding to push on to town. He had figured he could make it for a drink at his regular Broome pub before it closed for the night.

  He was now glad he had because, a couple times, feeling tired, he had almost stopped for the night and rolled out his swag, but the thought of a cold beer at the bar had kept him going.

  She refilled his beer and replied it was good he had come tonight as tomorrow was her day off and, if he had come then, he probably would have missed her.

  He said that really was a cause to celebrate. He would have hated to have missed her. He suggested she have a drink too, his buy.

  She agreed, she said it was so nice to talk to someone she had known for a while. Then they had a second drink together as their conversation flowed along.

  She asked him where he was going, he said he was heading north, he had been offered a month of work at the Argyle Diamond mine south of Kununurra, up near the Northern Territory, but had two weeks until he started. In the meantime wanted to explore a remote place further north in the Kimberley that he barely knew.

  Isabelle realised, as he paused in his story, that she had enjoyed the talking so much that she had forgot to finish locking up and shutting down.

  She looked up. The time was now a quarter to twelve.

  She stood up apologetic. “I am sorry, I must close up now. I have so much enjoyed talking to you that I forgot the time. If the police come now I will be in trouble.”