The sea absorbed him; for hours everyday he remained motionless at the same spot on the third class deck, his arms on the rails and his body arranged languidly leaning outwards. He might have been a statue for his stillness if not for the whip of the wind disturbing his clothes. The man that she was watching was youngish, below thirty anyway, she estimated. His build was powerful - broad back, muscular arms, the thick fingers of a working man, solid trunk like- neck on shoulders so wide they made her shiver. His body tapered to slender hips that narrowed his frame and saved him from having the square bulk so familiar to her from the stocky Irish boys back home. There was something lithe and spare about his movements as if he would be a good dancer and light on his feet. All this from just his pose as unmoving as if he had been sitting for an portrait - and the young woman watched him with the benefit of her critical eye with as much insight as if she had been gifted with an artist's sensibility.

Molly had been watching him for days now and he fascinated her with the same obsessive compulsion that seemed to draw him for his own part to the sea. It had been several weeks before she had even seen his face, this mystery man of hers. Every time she had been passing by His Place, as she came to call it, he appeared always to be facing outwards, ever staring across the limitless expanse to some distant horizon. In her mind's eye she had imagined what he might look like beneath the cap he always wore jammed firmly on his head; she thought he would be strong and rugged with piercing blue eyes and a ruddy complexion, his hair a crinkly black, or perhaps gingery fair and freckle faced with a ready smile and twinkle in his lively eyes - some composite image or other of the men she had known back home.

His dress came under the same rigid scrutiny for signs they might carry as to the manner of man he was. She knew about clothes and the hidden signals that they conveyed. His were for the most part unremarkable, the typical garb of a man of the lower classes. His trousers were shapeless corduroy, his jacket, a rough tweed with leather patches on the elbows. The only item of his clothing that seemed out of place for the man he appeared to be was the rather fine pair of hand-made brown leather boots that he wore where most men would have had to make do with clumsy hobnails.

In her head, she spent many hours of the day dreaming his story with ever-increasing flights of fancy. He was a rich man's son running away from a scandal; he had killed a man in a drunken brawl; his wife and child had died in the influenza epidemic and he was leaving to start a new life in Australia to forget his melancholy.

Whatever was the truth about him, she was sure he was a sad man, for everything about his demeanour suggested as much. The intense loneliness of his solitary vigil, the rigid pride of his strong back like a mountain refusing to be breached by the weathering of the wind and rain, his unwillingness ever to allow any other passenger near him- all seemed to point to a man carrying a burden inside.

Molly Diffley was a woman with a plan and men featured only peripherally in that future. That was why her interest in the taciturn young stranger bemused her; she had seen many a handsome fella in her short life and generally had little time for them. Men were the ruination of women, in her humble opinion, and she was never letting them creep into her heart or spoil her grand design for herself.

When she thought about it, she suspected that her obsession with the stranger was probably nothing more than the consequence of his indifference to her. She wasn't used to that from men. Not that she welcomed their attentions, very much the opposite, but that she had never yet come across a man who didn't set his eyes on her and immediately begin to intrude upon her space and behave as if he alone was the answer to her maiden prayers. That was the behaviour that she had been conditioned to accept as normal.

It mattered little whether these men were gentlemen, men of the cloth, old enough to be her grandfather, young enough to be her kid brother, friends of the family, strangers that she passed by on the street or rode next to on the trolley bus - men and boys saw Molly Diffley and lost their capacity for anything but prurient thought.

Her looks had never cut much ice with her; Molly simply accepted that she was a looker and had every intention of using that gift as much as all the others that God had given her. In that she differed slightly from the rest of the Diffley brood. She came from a family of fine looking women and big strapping men - but their head turning visages had never seemed to do the Diffleys much good. They had never had two pennies to rub together, the men hard workers but fools with money, heavy drinkers and gamblers all - with fiery tempers to boot. The women were equally spirited but their weakness invariably lay in their taste for men - few of them got to the altar without a baby in their bellies. By the time they were in their 20s, their looks were fading and their bodies worn from constant hard work and breeding.

Not for Molly. She was eighteen and determined to break out of the cycle of her elder sisters' sorry lives. Since leaving school at twelve she had worked at a milliner's shop in Dublin - first as a skivvy but later impressing her employer with her eagerness to learn, until she herself had become as knowledgeable and skilful in the art of dressing the heads of the wealthy women of Dublin.

While other girls flirted and made eyes at the local boys, spent their spare time dolling themselves up for cheap local dances and ceilidhs, Molly had scrimped and saved, dressed demurely and practised speaking in the softer cultured tones of the middle classes rather than the rough brogue of her upbringing on the streets of Dublin. It was her aim to turn herself into a lady and affect that social miracle so rare in the unforgiving climate of her city.

She had learned to use the startling looks that God had kindly granted to her but had wisely kept herself chaste. Although she could toss her tumbling red curls and flash her green eyes with the best of them, Molly had no intention of stopping long enough for any of them to catch her. She had plotted her future and had spent six years of her life working towards her goal - no one was ever going to distract her with fine words, a handsome face or a devilish spring in his step.

Her plan had four steps. First she would get out of Ireland - there was nothing for anyone there but poverty and disease. The Brits would never let them go and they would always be the underdogs in their own land. Second she would become an emigrant and go to somewhere that gave everyone a second chance. Like most of the people she knew, Molly had first considered America until one day she has read an article in a newspaper about the city of Melbourne in Australia and it had made her change her mind on a whim.

This new city on the other side of the world was forging itself into a fashionable and sophisticated cultural centre - a touch of England in the southern hemisphere- but it was crying out for skilled people and craftsmen and women to sustain the appetite for luxury commodities amongst an increasingly affluent and upwardly mobile set full of the pretensions of the old world.

Molly had been inspired by this; get in before someone else does, she had thought to herself. They were all the descendants of ex-convicts and poor Irish there and they wouldn't see through her thin veneer of respectability like they would in more class conscious places. And so she had made her brave and far-thinking decision. With her carefully accrued savings, Molly was now ready to begin the third phase of her campaign to drag herself from the bogs into a decent life. She would lease a small premises as soon as she was settled, living at the back of the shop to save money, doing all the work herself at first to assure quality and keep the prices down - and make a name for herself for style and value for money. She wasn't afraid of hard work. It was harder still in a factory or bringing up a tribe of children on a pittance every week.

From these humble beginnings she would begin her own milliners', employing a few unskilled but willing girls and teaching them the basics as she had once be taught. Her little business would grow until it was a thriving enterprise in that new metropolis and she would be the toast of the colony's new rich. All this would, of course, bring her into the world of the moneyed classes. With a well-respected clientele and a settled income she would then find herself a husband - a wealthy older man with a fortune. Her body and looks would thus be sacrificed for a life of ease and comfort, not to mention a prominent position of respectability in the community.

It was no wonder then that Molly gave short shrift to the young bucks with their handsome raw boned faces and brawny arms who hung about her in steerage class eager for some attention from the beautiful young lady travelling alone. But although she might give them a dance when the fiddle players struck up and a floor was cleared, she wouldn't let them take liberties, steal kisses or coax her outside to one of the quiet corners on deck where many young women lost their virginity in a wild haze of stout, dancing and impulsive young men.

Yet one man held her attention as no other had ever done - even if she had never even seen his face.

When she finally did bump into the man, Molly failed to recognise the object of her prurient interest. It was early one morning as she was returning from the wash room when she rounded a corner and walked straight into him - or rather into his solid chest. Only by his quick reaction and his hands reaching out to steady her did she actually save herself from falling over at his feet.

"Watch your step, love..." The man smiled shyly. He looked nothing like the mental images she had been dreaming of. His face although strong and handsome, square jawed and cleft chinned was manly rather than pretty. He needed a shave - no doubt he was off to complete his ablutions when she had walked into him- and his bristles were thick. The skin on his face was tanned, weathered by the wild sea air and the days on deck, but his brawny arms visible as they were in his combinations vest and his trousers with their braces, were pale and furred with light brown hair. But what took her surprise were two unexpected features - his pale blue-green eyes fringed by long lashes and the fleshy Cupid's bow lips that were an oddly sensuous and almost feminine contrast to the rest of his powerful virility.

Molly Diffley's voice quite deserted her at the sight. She merely blushed and ran back to her room, her cheeks flaming almost as bright as her hair. She had the sensation that his eyes followed her and that he was amused by her silly girlish panic. Safe within the room that she shared with three other women, she leaned back on the door and mentally kicked herself for her stupid behaviour.

And then wondered why it mattered in the least what her reaction to him had been.

Later that day on deck, Molly saw that the man had again taken up his regular observation spot by the rail. This time, emboldened by some desire to disprove that she was not the little mouse of the morning's encounter, she took a deep breath and joined him, leaning at his side on the rail.

"What are you looking for?"

The man spun round at the unfamiliar presence and stared, momentarily failing to recognise her. Then she saw the initial wariness give way to a shy smile, the same one she had observed earlier. "You're the girl from this morning...the one I frightened off..."

Molly felt her face colour again and damned her complexion for its inability to allow her to hide. "...You took me by surprise. I wasn't expecting you - or anyone...." she stuttered.

He grinned. "I'll whistle next time and give you time to hide - or pull a shawl on." She had chanced the bathroom trip in just her long white night gown and that had been half of the problem. It hadn't been exactly revealing but it did give the wrong impression to men and might have seemed as if she was advertising her wares. However, the effect it had had on this man was not the one she expected- he seemed to find the whole thing fairly amusing and it made her prim embarrassment seem very childlike. That was enough to fire young Miss Diffley's bravado to prove she was not a retiring little maid or some giggling ninny.

"You needn't worry, sir. I simply thought it was one of the young bucks. Had I known it was a more mature and solid citizen such as yourself then I wouldn't have startled the way I did..."

For an instant she watched the flare of challenge light up his eyes and she sensed that he did not quite like her implication that she did not consider him as a hot-headed young ladies' man. But as quick as the flicker of interest rose he damped it down again and merely gave her a wry grin. "Then no harm done, Miss..." and he turned back to contemplate the endless ocean again, apparently indicating that their conversation was at an end.

Molly felt vaguely chided at his action, as if she was an amusing but slightly irritating child. It annoyed her. Men always took notice of her. Why was this man so oddly unaffected - even worse, uninterested? Determined to engage him in conversation now, she tried again. "You haven't answered my question..."

This time he did not even turn his head. "Question?"

"I said 'What are you looking for?' Every day you stand there and stare at the sea. What holds you?"

The man shrugged but did not reply.

"There's nothing out there but water and more water...."

"That's the point," he muttered cryptically. "...Nothing out there between me and home."

"Home? Aren't you an emigrant like the rest of us?" she asked, only then remarking his different way of speaking. She had thought at first he was English, from some rural area, but perhaps she had misread the brogue?

"No. I'm an Australian. I'm going home."

Molly considered that for a while. "What's your name?"

"East Driscoll."

"Where did you get a name like that from?" she teased. "East?"

"From me Mam and Dad. Where d'ya think?" he added with a sharp glance over at her. "What about you?"

"Me name's Molly. Molly Diffley. I'm from Dublin."

"Pleased to meet you, Molly Diffley." He extended his hand and shook hers; his rough hand was warm and swamped her pale white one. The sensation of his touch sent a thrill right through her.

"I'm going to Melbourne. To open my own business. Where are you from?" Molly announced.

East Driscoll turned and looked at her, leaning his broad back against the rail, looking inwards for once instead of out to the sea. "South Australia. The Clare Valley. Place called Turalla."

"Is that near Melbourne?"

"No." He pulled a tin out of his pocket and helped himself to a cigarette, lighting it up and blowing the smoke away out to sea. She observed the way he held the cigarette pointed inwards between his thumb and forefinger, the way inveterate smokers do, staining their palm with the yellowy evidence.

"You're not much of a talker then, are you?" Molly observed.

"When I have something to say," he replied. But this time he continued watching her as he smoked slowly and his scrutiny made her nervous. Nervousness made her loquacious. "Why don't you join us tonight? There's a bit of a dance on. You do dance, don't you?"

"Not much," he mumbled.

"But you know how to, don't you?" Molly tossed her red curls and gave him that look that invariably made the boys do anything she wanted. It seemed to cut very little ice with East Driscoll.

"Well...I used to, but it's been a long time since I did any dancing, love. Or tried to..." At that he seemed to close down on her again, leaning back over the rail to finish his cigarette and then flick the butt out from the ship to watch it whirl round and round in the strong breeze down to the broiling foam below. Then he stood back and shook his head. "I'll be off then. See you around, Molly Diffley..."

"What about the dance?" she snapped back, and immediately regretted letting him so obviously know that she wished he would come.

"I don't think so. I'm...not much of a one for mixing...but thanks for asking. Much obliged, Miss..."

"But....but....we're all just trying to pass the time here....make friends, get to know people, just be sociable, you know?" She still could not stop herself from trying to keep him with her for a moment more, keep him talking even though she suspected she was making a show of herself.

"What for? We get to Sydney, you'll never see any of these people again. Why bother?" East added before turning away and strolling down the deck away from her.

"...It's what people do, Mr. Driscoll. It's just what people do..." but she was unsure if he had actually heard her.

East wandered away from the source of temptation and took himself off to the cabin he shared with three other men, none of whom he had engaged more than to grunt a 'G'day' to. They respected his lack of interest in them and it suited them all. He was rarely in his cabin for anything more than sleeping anyway, hating the closed confines of the airless box, crammed with other men, deep in the claustrophobic bowels of the ship. It reminded him too much of the hospital ward, the army barracks or the troop ship when he longed for open spaces and the sky above him, his impatience to be home increasing with every sea mile they covered. That is what had drawn him to his lonely lookout, day after boring day - but it now seemed like his only place of refuge had been taken from him and the solitary distance he had attempted to put between him and others had been breached in one fell swoop by this woman who had approached him.

It wasn't as though he had never seen her before. He had noticed the beautiful red haired girl weeks ago, much as all the other men, and had enjoyed watching her surreptitiously when she was not aware of his presence, for the sheer pleasure of such a shape and form, so easy on the eye. He might have been uninterested in socialising but he was still a man and the same urges beset him as any other, especially when faced with such a ripe specimen of young womanhood. But he had never intended so much as to pass the time of day with her, let alone find himself embroiled in a conversation that had taken a personal turn within minutes.

East was not looking for friendship or complications or relationships. He had a plan for his future and it would be difficult enough trying to pick up the pieces of his lost way of life as it was - women played no part in his designs for the time being. First, he intended to go back to Turalla and see a few old friends - he knew the debts he owed and the apologies that were due. There was also the matter of his bit of land and the ruined cottage to see to, for one day he knew he would be back for good and that would once again be his home. But he also knew that he could not simply return to the life he had known as if nothing had happened in the years between. For one thing he had no money, or precious little anyway, and would need to get a few seasons in as a drover or even a bit of shearing to build up enough capital to buy a few horses and start again. It would take a couple of years to develop a stud and regain his reputation at the local fairs. That was if his land was still left unclaimed. Who knew whether or not squatters had helped themselves to his property- surely no one could have imagined he would ever be back ? He must be either considered dead or ruined for life and not likely ever to reappear again.

There was no time for the ladies or for thinking of settling down for a very long time to come. Maybe one day in the future when he had fixed up the place and had a decent living, he might find some woman prepared to marry him and give him a few children. By then he would be forty if he were a day and far from the young boyo whom all the women had wanted. Those years had gone for good - and perhaps that was as well. East lay back in his bunk and remembered the time when he had been a wild young rover with women panting for him wherever he went and all he had to do was take his pick, smile his lazy smile, curl a finger in their direction for them to come running. By the time he would be in the market for a wife, he estimated he would be ten years older and his chances somewhat reduced. The irony of it all was not lost on him. Until then he would have to rely on a willing body at some fair or a woman he could pay for her charms. He would have to do what most men do and set aside the easy promiscuity of his glory days of youth. What good had they ever done him anyway?

With his head rested back on his folded arms, he let himself enjoy the memory of the fair Miss Diffley and allowed himself a rare moment of self indulgence, thankful for the fact that none of his roommates were around. If a man cannot have a woman, he can still dream, he thought to himself. It was months since he had touched female flesh or had even had much desire to do so. Marianne's death had drained him of a part of himself and he had begun to wonder if his body would ever respond to the sight of a pretty girl again. But at least he no longer had to worry about that. Miss Diffley had proved that he was still functioning, awaking all the usual lusts normal to a man in his prime - and here on this ship there was no other outdoor or physical activity into which he could pour the energy that threatened to engulf him.

Unable to stand the throbbing need in his groin where the blood pulsed thick and heaty, he unbuttoned his trousers and ran his hand down to grasp himself, the comforting sensation of his own familiar engorged flesh giving him a fleeting sense of ease and safety. But it was only for a moment. He needed further images to stimulate his passion, memories of the women he had loved before- and into his brain came passing recollections, none of which helped. The women who most aroused him also reminded himself of his failings as a man - the naive arrogance that had ruined Grace's life and damn near his own, his failure to protect Marianne when she had most needed him and the many women whose bodies he had enjoyed but whose hearts he had rejected. With a grunt, he sat up and fastened up his trousers, burying his head in hands and striving to forget, where once he had struggled to remember. The irony was not lost on him.

A picture of Molly floated across his feverish thoughts. What had she been offering him today? Those Irish girls knew more than their prayers and she had openly asked him to dance with her - to be sociable - to pass the time. She had mentioned 'opening a business' in Melbourne. A beautiful woman traveling alone could only imply one thing - she was off to Australia to sell her wares.

It was obvious really - except he had been too stupid to realise it when she had been making her bid. The woman was a high class whore and he had been offered her services for free- she was just enjoying herself with a man of her own choosing to wile away the journey. What had she said to him? Join her at the dance tonight? Why not? Who would blame him? Perhaps in her arms he could forget the mistakes he had made and simply take a little bit of pleasure without responsibility?

The small meeting room had been cleared of furniture except for chairs laid out around the walls. At one end the small band was sitting: Brady on the fiddle, Jimmy O'Riordan on the tin whistle and Mickey Ryan on the Uileann pipes. At the other end there was a table with a stack of glasses and on the floor beneath a keg of stout. The floor was thick with bodies, young men and women, mostly single but a few married couples, dancing with gusto to the Siege of Ennis.

Molly had danced with almost every man there; her face flushed with the effort and her thick hair was spilling out over her shoulders as her latest partner spun her round wildly in a swing yelping all the while as he tossed her slender body in his hands. The atmosphere in the crowded cabin was thick with sweat, testosterone and cheap perfume - the dizzying music making the already frenzied dancers lose what little decorum they had left; men and women held each other close, the boys flaunting their muscles, strength and bravado while the girls played up their tender delicacy with squeals of excitement and fear, but secretly spurring on the men to force them to hand their fragile bodies over to the rough manhandling that they so desired. It was an acceptable way of offering what their society, religion and custom would not approve.

"May I?" Molly's head spun round at the familiar drawl of the man who was cutting in.

"Mr. Driscoll! You changed your mind?" she smiled, nodded her thanks to her previous partner who stepped back and gave East a hostile glower. East showed little sign of response other than a flicker of a half smile, little more than a passing twitch of a muscle. It may have been a long time since East had exercised that competitive trait but it was still latent within him. Molly had not failed to observe the interaction between the two men. East Driscoll was not used to taking second place with other men. Somehow his casual arrogance excited her.

The music changed to the melodic lilt of the waltz and East scooped her gracefully into his arms, his left hand light but possessive on her lower back, his right swamping hers in a surprisingly tight grip. Molly slipped her arm over his shoulder and felt him ease her closer against his body. His head was lowered to her ear and she breathed in his smell; soap, hair cream, the trace of tobacco fumes from his jacket and the whisky on his breath. She wondered if he had been drinking to bolster up his courage about tonight's dance. Was he a little nervous as he tried to romance her? That thought endeared him even more to her; she was tired of forward young boys and their pushy talk. This reticence from such an impressive man struck her as most appealing with an adorable touch of innocence.

His fragrance was one that registered 'man' on her brain and sensitized some instinct quite different from her normal responses. Molly was grateful that he appeared to be looking over her shoulder out at the other couples on the floor, for she knew that the high colour on her white cheeks was betraying her lack of composure at his touch.

East drank in her scent, lavender mixed with other sweet flowers as if she were a posy. The red gold halo of her frothy curls framed her pert beautiful features and he could feel stray hairs tickling his cheek as they whirled across the floor. She was such a little slip of a thing, too thin, tiny boned, exquisitely formed like a fragile doll in his big hands; she made him feel strong and virile again, reminded him of a time when he had strode around his world like a giant among his peers. Even if for only one dance, it restored some sense of power to him that the events of the past years had eroded and chipped away.

As they danced he smiled down at her and she glanced back with a knowing flutter of her downcast eyes, throwing back her head playfully and grinning provocatively. From then on they both relaxed into the pleasure of the dance, letting their natural rhythm and sensuality take them over.

When the music ended, the couples clapped as the band took a break. East suddenly seemed a little awkward at his proximity and dropped his hands, stepping back. "You want a glass of something? A lemonade?" he asked hesitantly.

Molly laughed prettily, waving her hand before her face like a fan. "I'll have a glass of that stout if you don't mind, sir...I have such a thirst on me after that dance!"

With a glass in each hand, he led her to a quiet corner and an empty table. As she flounced before him, he noticed her greeting all and sundry, throwing quips at young men and smiles all round. Nor did he miss the reciprocal frowns from the plainer and dumpier women who whispered from behind their hands at each other and scowled once she had passed them by. The knives were clearly out for the winsome Miss Diffley and no doubt her reputation was being stripped to pieces by them all.

"So what made you come tonight after all?" Molly asked bluntly after they had raised their glasses and taken a much needed drink. East hunched his shoulders and wiped the froth from his upper lip with the back of his meaty hand.

"I heard the music. I just thought that I might as well see what was going on..." he offered vaguely.

Molly smiled at his unwillingness to admit the real reason. She knew he had come for her.

"Well, I'm glad you did, Mr. Driscoll. You're one fine dancer and no mistake but I don't think you've endeared yourself to any of the other young fellas in here...' she indicated the way some young men were eyeing the two of them up from over at the bar.

East grinned broadly, the first time she had ever seen him smile properly; it made him look like a little boy and she adored him all the more. "Reckon you're not much of a favourite with the ladies here tonight either. We make quite a pair- well-matched, eh?" He raised his glass and gave her a cryptic look; their eyes met and she read something that unsettled her slightly in his glance. It was intense and hungry as if he could read her soul. She had thought them quite a match indeed but that was on account of her beauty and his manly good looks. But this was something else. What was he extending to her? A request? A challenge? An acknowledgment?

But before they could explore the subtext of his line of thinking, a new session was beginning. East asked Molly back on the floor and she eagerly accepted. Dance after dance they took together, waltzes, sets and some wild swings until his forehead was beaded with sweat and her dress felt damp in the stifling atmosphere. She pulled out a handkerchief and dabbed at her neck and décolletage, then on a whim she handed the cloth to him. "You look hot, too!"

"I am."

"Then use my handkerchief!" He unfolded the little fine cotton square edged in lace and pressed it to his temple. He could smell the lavender water she had sprinkled on it.

"D'ya want some air?" he mumbled. She nodded and he steered her forward with a hand again placed on her back; she did not see that he tucked the handkerchief into his back pocket as he followed her up the narrow stairs to the deck.

Out in the cool night air, they walked side-by-side in silence and breathed the welcome bracing breeze. It was a fine night with a clear sky but still chill after the sweaty heat of the dance. Molly shivered as her body cooled down.

East observed her and took off his jacket, draping it around her slender shoulders. It radiated his body heat and the thought of his warm flesh and the thick strong blood pulsing through his muscular torso raised her temperature as much as his jacket had done. They strolled on like that in companiable ease, his hands thrust deep into his pockets and her fingers clutching the jacket to her.

"How long till we reach Sydney Cove?" Molly asked him, suddenly aware that each night brought the end of this voyage closer and the day when she would have to say goodbye to him forever. East shrugged.

"Not sure. Few weeks. Too long. Three months at sea is a bloody long time. Like a prison sentence," he muttered softly.

"And you would know?" she teased but East took her comment literally.

"I've never been to prison but I've done time in other ways..."

At that Molly pricked up her ears; she wondered if he was about to reveal something personal about himself. "What does that mean?" she asked.

"I was in the war," was his direct reply and after that he fell silent again. Molly knew enough to understand what he meant. Was this the source of his unhappiness?

They had reached the bows of the ship and the full force of the wind almost bowled them over as they rounded the corner. Molly felt herself pushed back into him; he held her by the waist and steadied her, pulling her into the lee of his body. His hands on her loosened the remaining shreds of her self control and before she quite knew what had happened, he had pushed her against a wall and covered her with his body, his hands on either side of her. She raised her lips as he lowered his; she felt the soft touch of his mouth as he kissed her. An involuntary sigh issued from her mouth and he took it as a sign of invitation, pushing his tongue between her lips and gathering up her full skirts in one hand, running his fingers up her slim legs to her knickers beyond. Molly gasped with shock at his unexpected and crude intrusion. She tried to push him forcefully away. "East....NO!"

He buried his head against her neck, sucking on the tender flesh, struggling to yank down her underwear while he took his spare hand and used it to pull hers down to cup his swelling erection. "You know you want me, Molly...unbutton me...I swear I'll make it good for you...come on...won't be the first time, now will it?"

Molly raised her foot to try and kick him but he had her body pinned back and she could do no more than wriggle in his grasp - he seemed to take that for some sort of encouragement. Twisting her face away from his, she thumped against his chest and cried out for him to stop. He laughed and grabbed her hands, holding them above her head as he pulled open the buttons at the front of her dress and fumbled to touch her breasts. He was breathing heavily and moaning to himself almost as if he was in a world of his own, oblivious to her protests.

"Please....STOP....I said NO! LET ME GO, you...you...ANIMAL!"

It was a few moments before East realised that the woman in his arms was not writhing with pleasure but squirming in panic and fear. With a sudden shock, he saw through the clouded reality of his own desire and the mist of the whisky he had consumed before he had even dared to approach her to understand that Molly was crying and trying to fight him off so that she could escape.

Springing back, confused and ashamed, he let her go and Molly took her chance, slapping him hard across his face. "HOW DARE YOU! HOW DARE YOU! YOU FECKIN' BASTARD!" she creamed, reverting to the crude language of her childhood streets.

Panting heavily, he held up his hands as she tried to pull her skirts back and fasten up her dress. "I'm sorry, Molly, I'm sorry...I thought that was what you were offering. Jesus Christ...what was I to think? You came on to me....you asked me to dance with you...to have a good time while we were here...what are you....a cock teaser? You think this is funny?" He was harsh in his language, a natural reaction from his youth to cover up his own sense of shame. He had read this so wrong and didn't know how to excuse his appalling behaviour - and so he did as many men have done before him, he blamed the woman for leading him on.

Molly gasped in shock at his words. "Came on to you? I ask a lonely man to join us all for a dance? I spend a pleasant and respectable evening with him? I accept one drink of stout? I go for a walk in the moonlight? Does that somehow give you the right to take me up against a wall like a common hoor? What do you think I am - a dirty little prossie?" Her cheeks were blazing with bright red spots of anger and her eyes gleaming with rage. East fell silent and said nothing, just tilting his jaw defiantly in response.

"Well, say something! Is this your idea of romancing a girl? Forcing yourself upon her? What kind of man are you? I thought you were different from the rest - but you're not. You men are all the same. You only want one thing from a woman and then you toss her casually aside. No man has ever touched me - and no man ever will. Not unless I can be assured that I will receive my worth for what I give. And you can't afford me, East Driscoll - make no mistake about that!"

"Yeah? Highest bidder, is it? That not a whore? Just because you only open your legs for men with money doesn't change it, love. Once a slut always a slut..." At that insult, Molly slapped him again, a hard slap which stung and made his eye water, the stone of the dress ring on her finger nicking his cheek from where a thin trickle of blood began to ooze down. But she had already thrown his jacket back at him and taken to her heels by then, running back towards the cabins, crying as she went.

Passing by the open door of the dance room, she was seen by a few of the young men who were standing there to get a breath of cooler air. "Hey, Molly...what's the matter?" Paddy Dougan called out as she ran by. But Molly shrugged away his hands and pelted frantically down the corridor.

"What's that all about?" Noel Rafferty wondered out loud. "Didn't she go outside with the Aussie fella? Driscoll? The quiet one?"

Big Mick Gallagher folded his arms and stared after her. "She did and all. I think the bastard's given her one. Come on. Let's go and show the fuckin' cunt what Irish boys do to men who touch their women..." the other two laughed and Rafferty helped himself to a broken chair leg lying in a corner. They strode up the staircase to the deck in a mood for a fight.

As Molly dashed away, East flung himself back against the wall and groaned, running through the conversation he had had with Miss Diffley. He couldn't believe how wrong he had got it. Lighting up a cigarette, he closed his eyes and shook the unpleasant memory from him. That girl was giving out all the wrong signals whether she realised it or not and he wouldn't take all the responsibility for his mistake. He knew her type; no better than she ought to be but with airs and graces, enjoying having men to dance to her tune but holding out on decent blokes for some old bugger with a wallet stuffed with notes. Well, she better watch out where she was going. Australian men had little patience with her type and she might not get off so lightly the next time.

But he knew he had done wrong. He had never been one for forcing women - never needed to be- but tonight he had lost his wits in her arms. He'd been drinking before he went out, but even a couple of stiff Scotches should not have got him in that state. He hadn't had a woman in many months and he knew he was frustrated - but it wasn't the first time that he had gone without and it didn't usually make him act like a horned goat. Shaking his head, he dragged deeply on the cigarette and wondered quite why Molly Diffley had possessed him in the way she had even as his body felt the dull ache of unrequited passion.

"Had a good night, boyo?" The harsh brogue cut into his thoughts; he opened his eyes to find himself surrounded by three raw looking men. He recognised them as having been at the dance. He knew straight away what this was about - he had been many a time in such a place where wild young buckos take offence at something after a night drinking. Slowly he leaned off the wall and assessed his chances; they were not good. These men were big blokes and one had a wooden club, thumping it threateningly against the palm of his hand. He groaned at the further mess this night had become and wished he had stuck to his original plan of keeping away from people. Look what one attempt at reaching out had got him into already.

"Just taking the air. Having a smoke. What's it to you?" he replied quietly and took another drag of his cigarette before throwing it to the floor and grinding it out under his heel.

"Where's Molly?" One of the three, a curly fair haired boy, not more than eighteen or nineteen, asked.

"She went back..."

"...After you'd stuck it up her?" The taller man with the club interrupted. "You fuckin' cunt...you'll wish you hadn't taken it out by the time we've finished with ya...." The younger man suddenly stepped forward and caught East between the legs with a hard kick of his boots. East grunted and pitched forward but not before elbowing the man on his right who was taken by surprise and fell backwards. Running at the big man on his left, East tried to barge him out of the way and make his escape but he was severely winded by the blow to his groin. Big Gallagher stood his ground and brought his fist down on the back of East's neck: he crumpled and then they had him on the ground while they kicked and hammered at his back and sides. All he could do was roll into a ball and protect his face while they laid into him. A sudden fear struck him of what damage they might do and whether it might not take much to undo the work of healing his brain. It prevented him from doing much more than saving himself from the worst of their brutality. He could not stand the thought that one stray blow would reduce him back to the wreck of a man he had once been - dear God...he had not suffered all this just to sink back into that state.

After a while he lost consciousness and was unaware when they yanked him to his feet and began to haul him towards the side. "Who the fuck cares? Just a drunk who fell over..." Rafferty laughed.

"...What's going on down there?" A voice boomed out from above; one of the petty officers had heard the commotion and was running down from the upper deck with a few crew members. The three men dropped the body; East slithered to the boards. By the time the sailors had reached the scene of the fight there was no one about but the prone body of the man who had been receiving the beating. He looked in a bad way, so they carried him to the sick bay and handed him over.

"Bloody Micks. Might have done us a favour if they'd dropped him over board. One less to worry about..." mumbled the petty officer as they left him to the mercies of the orderly.

East had been lucky - or maybe it would just take more than a beating to do much damage to him. He was badly bruised and cut, had a slight concussion, but apart from feeling uncomfortable and looking a mess, he wasn't in bad shape. The next morning he woke up, threw up and then surveyed himself as he lay there naked under the thin sheet. His body was a mass of bruises, particularly savage in the kidney area but he had known worse in his time. One thing was for sure. He had learnt his lesson. No more socializing and no more women.

For a couple of weeks he kept himself to his cabin and well away from the Irish gathering places. If he had been quiet before, he became morose now, and even the men who shared his berth found it nigh on impossible to get anything out of him. They soon gave up even trying.

On those final weeks of the voyage, East had a lot of time to think and Molly featured high on his list of topics. Sober and bruised, he had realized that she had just been a sweet young girl who had fancied him and he had treated her like a slut. She had been friendly and full of confidence - but that didn't make her cheap. In all his years he had seen many a girl make up to him but he had always been careful not to take advantage of the naïve and infatuated young ladies he came into contact with. Let men like Thomas the Blacksmith use their strength and wiles to entrap innocent girls like Nellie into hitching their skirts but East Driscoll had never needed to abuse his position.

Or so he had thought. He knew he owed Molly an apology and decided that he would seek her out and give her one before the ship docked in Sydney. It would be only the second time in his life he had ever admitted to a woman that he had been wrong. The first had been to Grace, a long overdue apology. Molly Diffley would not have to wait as long for hers.

The incident with East had upset Molly but less so than he probably realized. His behaviour had scared her but she knew that a part of her had been very excited by his touch. In fact as she lay in her bed that night rolled up in a ball, she wondered whether had he took it a little slower she would have actually let him have his way. With her eyes tightly shut, she recalled his kiss, the flicker of his tongue against hers, the way he had sucked on her lips and suckled on the tender flesh of her neck as his hands had shown their mastery over her. He had known what he wanted and how to get it and that aroused her even as it angered her at her own helplessness and lack of knowledge of men.

His thick rough fingers had been surprisingly tender as they stroked the soft flesh of her inner thigh and tried to enter that secret place between her legs; she found her own hand slipping under her night gown and mimicking his movement, wondering what it had felt like to him as she trembled at her own touch and felt her fingers slick through her wetness. In her mind she remembered the hard swell of his manhood as he had forced her hand round it; it had been so big and hard, throbbing with blood and life. Her cheeks still flushed with shame at the memory of having touched it.

For all her innocence in the pleasures of the flesh, Molly was a sensual woman and understood instinctively that this man alone had aroused in her feelings that she had thought she could control. She was relieved that she had stopped him before he went too far and yet something he had said still burned in her mind. She had led him on in her flirtatious way with no real intention of ever giving him the chance of wooing her. That dubious honour was to be left to men in the future who had enough money to make her the lady of leisure that she desired to be. But what exactly was the difference between such a cold and calculating transaction with her body and that of a woman who sells herself for a few pennies on a street corner? Does the amount you sell yourself for somehow make it acceptable to barter your flesh for a life of ease?

The future she had set for herself was one where love and romance and passion had no place. Not for her a handsome and virile young East Driscoll to warm her bed and make her heart sing. She would be saddled with some ugly old fella and have to lie in his cold arms at night. It did not matter how many times she told herself that love did not last and in a few years the handsome beau would become an inattentive husband, drinking and gambling while she struggled to raise his brats. There was still enough of the romantic in the spirited and lovely Miss Diffley for her to wish that she could have tasted the joy of pleasure with a beautiful man at least once in her life.

And as the days passed she came to regret that she hadn't taken a chance that night and let him show her what he had meant by "I swear I'll make it good for you..." Better that than to die wondering?

Day after day she tried to wait for East to tell him that she was sorry that she had given him the wrong message and that perhaps he had been right. She had been very attracted to him and had let the night and the heady sensation of dancing make her lose her sense of decorum. In her fantasy he would sweep her up and kiss her and promise that this time he would go slow and not be such a brute if she would only let him love her again...

But he never turned up again and the days ticked away until they were nearer and nearer to their destination and the time that would inevitably come when he would walk out of her life forever.

On the final night before they were scheduled to dock, all the passengers, whatever class, planned to celebrate the end of the long voyage and say farewell to the friends with whom they had passed the journey. On all decks were the sounds of glasses clinking, music playing, people laughing and looking forward to reaching shore and embarking on their new lives. East wandered about on the fringes of it all keeping his eyes open for Miss Diffley; if he did not bite the bullet soon he never would and by tomorrow she would disappear from his life for good.

And then he saw her, standing at the rail where he had used to pass his days. Now it was she that was looking outwards at the sea straining for the first signs of landfall. He stepped up softly and watched her for a long time before he plucked up the courage to speak to her. She was so dainty, perfect and beautiful with that red golden hair piled up high, her slender white neck held proudly and her shoulders straight in her pretty blue dress. He cleared his throat to warn her of his presence and then spoke. "Miss Diffley?"

At his voice she swiveled round on her heel and he saw her pale skin flush. "Don't run away...please...I just wanted to apologise for that night. I was wrong and I'm ashamed of myself. I didn't want to let you leave without saying that. So....I apologise....right...I'll say goodnight then and...good luck in Australia. I hope you find what you're looking for...." His manner betrayed his embarrassment and lack of skill at such courtesies.

East turned to walk away but she called him back. "Wait...East...It wasn't all your fault. Well, you shouldn't have done what you did but I acted rashly. I know that. I'm glad we've had this chance to put it all behind us. I wanted to try and discuss it earlier with you but I simply couldn't find you anywhere."

East shrugged. "I was in the infirmary a while..."

"You were ill?" Molly gasped.

He smiled. "I was injured. I had a bit of a disagreement with the toe cap of a fella's boot. Three fellas actually. They took exception to how I treated a lady they were fond of. Can't say I blame them..."

Her mouth fell open and her eyes widened. "You were attacked? Because of me?"

He hunched his shoulders. "I shouldn't have done it. They had a right. No harm done, hey?"

Just then the music struck up above them and they saw a firework display begin on the upper deck in first class. They both looked skyward to watch the show. "Look at them all up there! All those fancy people with their la-di-da English voices and their posh ways! I'll bet it's like a dream up on top with gorgeous women dressed in silk and lace and men in fine suits dancing to the orchestra, drinking champagne and eating French food..." Molly looked up wistfully.

"They still take a piss like we do..." East muttered and then winced at his comment. Molly merely looked at him and grinned.

"Yes, but someone else empties their chamberpots. One day I will be up there with the ladies and gentlemen and they will all be listening to what I have to say, you see if I'm not. I'm as good as any and I'll make sure that I make my mark..."

"You're as good as them now, Molly. So am I. There's nothing special to being a toff. Just money. Doesn't make you better or cleverer or braver or..."

"...But it makes life easier. Haven't you ever wanted to live in a big house and have servants to do everything for you?"

"It isn't all it's cracked up to be, love. Believe me. But...now, I have to say clean sheets and a soft mattress are not half bad...Molly, I've had an idea. You fancy a taste of life in first class?"

"What do you mean?" Molly laughed.

He pointed upwards. "Let's go up top. Everyone's at the ball. They'll never notice us...come on...let's go and nose around..." He took her hand and led her to the entrance to the upper deck. It had a chain across it and a sign. "No entry for steerage passengers." Ignoring it, he picked her up and lifted her over before vaulting nimbly over it himself and they ran on up the stairs. Just as he has said, there were none of the usual crew members about on this final night and they passed through the second class levels virtually unobserved and again on up the carpeted staircase that led to the luxury forward cabins of first class.

At the top they both hesitated, even East a little intimidated by the wainscoted corridor brightly lit and decorated with gilt edged paintings and recessed statues. They saw a door open and dodged down a side corridor, East blocking Molly from discovery with his body. Out of the suite came a beautiful woman accompanied by a sterner older man, possibly her father, but also possibly her husband or lover. "I gave Fanny the night off, Gerald. It is her last night too, don't be such a sour puss. We'll be out until the early hours and we do not need her until late. Come...let's hurry. We've already missed the fireworks...you are such a devil, you know..."she chuckled. He was clearly not her father although old enough to be so.

The couple sauntered away lost in each other and their voices soon trailed into the distance. East grabbed Molly's hand again and led her in the direction of the door the fine couple had exited. Molly pulled him back. "What are you going to do? We can't go in there...that's trespassing..."

He grinned. "They won't be back for hours. They said their maid was out for the night too. So what harm can we do? Molly Diffley...tonight you can have a taste of luxury..." He opened the door and led her into the suite beyond.

It was beyond even what either of them had expected. The room that confronted them was decorated like a drawing room, with wood paneled walls, heavy velvet hangings, richly upholstered winged chairs and ornate decorations. There was even a fire blazing in the grate.

Molly drifted round the elegant cabin, trailing her hand over the surfaces, picking up small objects and examining them, whirling round and round like a child in a confectionery shop. Her eyes were sparkling as she took in all the grandeur. "It's so beautiful! Like a parlour in a fine house...just think of living like this!" she exclaimed.

East came up behind her and slipped his arms around her waist. "People are still unhappy in fine houses. Money isn't everything..."

"It's better than being poor!" she murmured back and leaned on his chest absentmindedly as if the feel of him was part of the fantasy of the moment. His head dropped to the crook of her neck where he placed a tender kiss on the soft flesh; she sighed and his hands moved slowly to cup her small breasts.

"I once knew a woman," he began and as he spoke he closed his eyes to the memory. "...who was a fine lady with lots of money and a big house. She had traveled the world and done many things. In the end, she found her rich husband and married him and lived a cold life watching her days slip away and her beauty fade. Her life was barren just as she was. All the money in the world couldn't give her what she wanted - her youth, her passion...and the wild stormy love of a young man..." all the while, his hands caressed Molly and she bared her neck to him, this time no longer able to resist his seduction.

"Did she love you? Is that what happened to you? Did this fine lady become your lover?"

"Yes."

Molly drew in a sharp breath. "And what happened then?"

He smiled sadly. "I tried to make my dream come true and ruined us both. Molly...sometimes you can't have what you want just because you want it. Maybe some things are never meant to be. Or maybe you get what you want and then realize you spent your life chasing something that was worthless while you walked past the real chances..." he shook his head and sighed into her hair. "You're too young and don't understand what I mean. But, Molly, I want you tonight and I believe you want me, too. What if one day you look back from your big fine house and remember this night when you could have had the man you wanted instead of settling for the one who could make your life easier? What if you regret that you never even took one chance?"

She turned in his arms and looked up at him. "That other night...you said you'd make it good for me. Make it good for me, East. Show me what it should be like between a man and a woman. Give me a memory to carry me through..."

He did not reply, merely taking her face in his hands and dipping to kiss her; the last thing she saw were his long lashes drooping as he closed his eyes. His face looked almost beatific with elation as she came to him. And then she too closed her eyes and let pure sensation lead her.

Pulling her to the plumply upholstered couch, he sat down and she settled on his knee. There as they kissed and caressed, murmured sweet things to each other, he slowly stripped her dress from her until she was wearing nothing but her little petticoat. He freed her hair and watched as it frothed around her perfect features before diving in to kiss her pink lips again and again. With trembling fingers, she eased off his jacket and unbuttoned his shirt, pushing it down his broad shoulders. Down came his braces and together they helped to shrug off his vest. Molly sat back to admire his naked torso with its light smattering of hair across the swell of his muscular chest. Bathed in the flickering glow of gas lamp and flame, he appeared golden and smooth, like a statue of a perfect man come to life before her eyes.

As she smiled shyly at the sight of him, he opened her camisole and bared her breasts, his calloused hands gently massaging them as she whimpered; she placed her hands on his shoulders and leaned into him so that he could bestow a kiss on each rosy nipple and she could feel the coursing rise of desire as they hardened in his lips.

"We can't do this here!" she gasped. "Someone might come in!" But he dispelled her fears.

"They're gone for the night. I won't take you up against a wall in some dark corner down below. I want you in fine sheets on a soft bed..." came his gruff retort. At that, he carried her through to the bedroom and there in the tiny cabin was a wooden framed four-poster bed, the cover turned down and the sheets ruffled and pillows awry. It had obviously been used recently and East chuckled. "Not the first to do it here tonight," he muttered as he lowered her down gently.

Standing back up, he pulled her petticoat from where it lay about her waist and then eased down her woolen knickers until she lay before him naked as a little nymph, all white and pink with a tuft of golden hair between her legs. She was almost too beautiful for words.

Their eyes were locked as he toed off his boots and ripped away his socks, ungainly and awkward now in his urgency, a little unsure of how he would appear to this woman. Fumbling, he opened up his trousers and let them fall, aware of the thick protuberance of his erection as he stood there in his underwear. With little decorum, he shrugged those off and cupped himself to save her embarrassment but she leaned forward with a wicked gleam in her eye and knocked away his hands. He watched as her eyes widened at the sight of him. "Glory be, but you are a big man! I thought my brothers were fine lads but..."

"I don't suppose you ever saw them in this state..." he added as he lay down beside her. She giggled her agreement. 

East lay on his side and let his hand wander over her ivory loveliness. "I'll try not to hurt you, Molly. Is this really your first time?"

She nodded. He sighed. "I never had a virgin before...but...I'll go gently..."

And he came to her gently just as he had said he would, taking his time to let her feel his body as he got to know hers, no hurry, no pushing her faster than she wanted to go. They simply played love games naked together on those smooth sheets, letting their fingers discover textures and planes and sensations, following their hands with lips and tongues, whispering and sighing with the pleasure of passion free and unchecked.

And when he entered her, she writhed at the feeling of being stretched tight around his girth, cried out at the sensation of being filled, gripped his strong arms as she felt him bruise her. She could sense the moment of his hesitation when he hit the resistant barrier of her flesh and then pulled back whispering: "Relax..."

She felt tearing and pain, the gush of blood and then his manhood deep within her and there was nothing but joy. If this was love then Molly knew that all her life she would treasure this moment. She would never forget this beautiful enigmatic man and the taste he had given her of the world she dreamed of and the pleasure she was prepared to give up to attain her goal.

They lay together afterwards saying little to each other, conscious that they could not linger and that this time was fleeting, gone almost before it had been theirs. Stealing final kisses, they gathered up their clothes and helped each other dress; East found a hand towel and cleaned her up, they covered over the evidence of their lovemaking with the heavy counterpane pulled over the bright streaks of blood on the sheets smeared with his semen; then he poured her a glass of port and helped himself from a decanter of whisky. They toasted themselves and the road ahead in crystal glasses.

"To your future Molly Diffley, may you find what you're looking for!" he smiled at her. Tears filled her eyes as she realised she already had found it but he was the wrong man with the wrong fate. She had not sacrificed so much already in life and come so far simply to throw away her dreams on a handsome fella now.

"And to you, East Driscoll, whatever your story is. May you find the woman you deserve and the life you once had!"

Outside on the corridor, people were returning to their cabins and the sounds of voices brought them back to reality. Grinning, rearranging their clothes and smoothing back her hair, he led her back to the door, opened it slightly to check all was clear and then hand in hand they retraced their steps back down to the deck where they belonged.

At the entrance to the women's cabins, they kissed tenderly until he pushed her from him. If she didn't go now, he wasn't sure that he could ever let her go.

"I will not forget you, East Driscoll. In my mind, it will always be you..." she whispered before she slipped away. In her pocket, her fingers curled about the necktie he had worn and which she had hidden as they dressed. She had to have a memento to prove that this dream had once existed in her life.

Back in his bunk, he let his mind recall the time they had spent and smiled, pressing to his lips the tiny handkerchief that he had taken at their earlier meeting. The lavender scent was fading but in his mind he could still conjure up her fragrance. He wondered if his last chance at happiness with a woman had just passed him by.

The sun was warm on his back as he strolled down the gang plank under the bright blue sky of his homeland. He was one of the first to leave - there were not many citizens on board. Looking back, he watched the long queues of immigrants lining up in the hot sun, waiting for tedious hours before they would be officially granted entrance into the country. He also saw the richer passengers who joined their own queue in an office where they were given seats and cups of tea and preferential treatment. East muttered "Bosses!" to himself and slung his kit bag higher on his shoulder.

Molly leaned out on the rail as she waited for her turn to disembark and saw East Driscoll give the ship one last glance before he turned away and set off from the dockside. Her eyes followed him until he had disappeared from sight and her tears misted over her vision. Then squaring her shoulders and tossing back her curls, she shouted to an immigration officer: "Get your finger out, mate, I've got business in this country!"

The man turned his head and gave her a grin. "It's a pity they don't all look like, darlin'. Perhaps we could find a way to moving you up the line, eh?"

She grinned and gave a triumphant glance back at the other women who glowered at her effrontery. In moments she was ushered out of her place and taken through the first class gate. Molly Diffley had begun her rise and the omens were already looking good.