The garage was shut. There was a roughly printed sign stuck to the door. We're closed because we're not open.
Stella gasped in dismay which turned rapidly to incredulous anger.
"Oh great! Now what?"
This was too much. No clean clothes, no toothbrush, no shampoo. Maybe Doreen would loan her a floral frock circa 1954 or she could buy some of this man's cotton clothing. No, she couldn't. She had no money.
Jonathan tried the door experimentally. Dan had locked up tighter than the belt round Leo's beer belly. He hadn't meant to stop her getting at her suitcase, just asked Dan to take his time over the repairs tomorrow. He wouldn't be around to open up for her either, because Thursday was his cricket training night over in Cooper's Creek.
"Do you take credit cards?" Her voice was strained, near to breaking point.
"Not personally, no." He turned around. Her face was flushed from the heat. She looked so worried and defenseless he had an almost overwhelming desire to hug her.
"I mean for your clothing, the cotton stuff." Dimwit! His mind leapt into gear, carnal thoughts replaced immediately by business.
"Yes." Jonathan tried to keep his voice level and the excitement at a minimum. She was going to ask to wear some of his clothes, of her own volition. What would suit her? Any of the t-shirt or blouse range, the sundress, three quarter length pants, shorts, all of it would be stunning on her.
"Could you advance me some cash, please?"
The fantasy fizzled.
"Sorry. We don't carry cash at the factory. It's all mail or online order."
"Oh. Of course. Yes." Stella strode away down the street towards the pub, stumbling a little on the rough surface in her city bred sandals with the ridiculous heels. But they sure showed off her fantastic, tanned legs in those shorts. She must work out a lot.
"Bit short, are you?" Jonathan caught up to her.
"I can manage. I just didn't expect to have to pay cash at the hotel." She looked up at him, brow creased in annoyance. "It's such a . . . a . . ." She gestured vaguely at the dusty, heat baked town with its row of tall gum trees and peppercorn trees offering little relief from the intensity of the sun's rays. "There's nothing! How do you stand it?"
"I love it. It's where I was born and brought up," said Jonathan, stung by her tone and the squashing of the hope which had flared so unexpectedly. "City people don't have a clue. They have no affinity with the country at all. You people expect everything to just appear ready made and waiting for you to decide what you want. Spoilt," he finished in disgust.
"Maybe." Stella's voice rose in anger. Her eyes bored into his. "But we provide a market for your produce. You wouldn't get far if no-one bought what you grow, if we all made our own clothes. The same as I wouldn't get far if no-one . . ."
"What?" asked Jonathan. "What exactly do you do in the city?" This would be interesting.
She hesitated, looked away. "I'm between jobs at the moment."
"Maybe you'd like a job here," said Jonathan. "Then you'd see what it is we do in this backwater."
"I'm not looking for a job and if I was I'd hardly come here," she said, accompanying the words with a tense laugh and sweep of her arm.