The Last Rose of Summer

by Di Morrissey

  Mrs Butterworth nodded. She had been well aware of Hector’s proposal as his father, on a visit to Zanana, had urged Mrs Butterworth to try and talk some sense into Kate.

  Mrs Butterworth answered simply, ‘There’s no mistaking what love is all about. It might not be sudden and breathtaking, but to my mind it’s wanting to be with that someone who makes you happy, all the time. You can’t make it happen. Two people love each other or they don’t.’

  ‘Well I certainly don’t love Hector and I wish he hadn’t proposed to me. It’s made me feel Kate shrugged and fluttered her arms with an expression of confusion.

  Mrs Butterworth hugged her and smiled. ‘There, there, you’re like a chook with ruffled feathers. Hector will get over this soon enough, you’ll see. That arrogance of his will see to that. But careful, Kate, don’t make an enemy of him.’

  Kate went about her work with the war veterans, assisting the nurses, and when the new wheelchairs arrived, she spent many hours pushing the maimed men through the peaceful gardens.

  The rose arbour was in bloom and it was here she took the blind, pausing beneath the metal Victorian archway so they could smell the fragrance while she described the massed colours of the old roses climbing in profusion above them.

  The one place which was out of bounds to staff and patients was the Indian House. Kate kept it locked and went there on occasions when she wanted to be alone, to think, to ponder about her own future and that of Zanana. As always, after time spent meditating in its cool and perfumed interior she came away with a feeling of tranquillity and resolve.

  The weeks slid past and although she often saw Ben and chatted to him, they were both busy and didn’t spend any time alone together. Then one morning he came to the house looking for her. He wore a new shirt and he looked scrubbed and wholesome, a wide smile splitting his face.

  ‘Can you spare me a few minutes, Kate?’

  ‘Of course.’ She smiled up at him, a sylphlike figure in the straight, silky, new-style dress of the twenties, with a sash around her trim hips.

  They chatted amiably as he led her through the gardens. They stopped at the stables. ‘We have a new foal; would you like to see him?’

  They went into the spacious stables where the new horse stood, legs akimbo, testing his balance as his proud mother gave him an affectionate lick.

  ‘He’s beautiful. Look at his spindly legs,’ Kate laughed softly.

  They watched the foal and the mare for a few more moments, then Ben said, ‘This isn’t what I wanted to show you. Come with me.’

  He led her through the grounds, past the sunken garden where Kate paused to look at the sundial, splashing fountain and the colourful spiky bowls of the waterlilies.

  Ben caught her shift of mood. ‘Peaceful place, isn’t it?’

  ‘I always feel close to my dad when I’m here.’ Her voice was wistful.

  ‘I remember the painting you sent him of this. He really liked that. I did too, he showed it to me.’

  ‘He was the only father I knew. Sometimes it feels strange knowing I had another set of parents. But they’re mysteries to me.’

  ‘Maybe when you have your own family, you won’t feel such a sense of loss. I guess you must feel like you’re in the middle of two worlds at present.’

  ‘I think you’re right.’ She felt less confused about it all. Talking to Ben always made her feel . . . secure. She smiled at him. ‘So, where are we off to then?’

  ‘Follow me.’

  Down to the river’s edge they went, past the pool and into the lush thicket.

  ‘Close your eyes.’

  Obediently she squeezed them shut. Ben took her hand and guided her a few more steps, then stood behind her, resting his hands on her shoulders.

  ‘Open!’

  Kate gasped. Facing her was the entrance of the completed grotto. It was an exquisite labyrinth of caves and cool stone caverns just big enough to enter, covered in soft green mosses and ferns, with orchids bursting from crevices. The stonework, though man-made, looked like wet grey sand which had been dribbled from some giant hand and frozen in place. A small path wound through the grotto, twisting and hiding the secret chambers, all sculptured by Ben.

  His hands were still resting on her shoulders and she reached up and touched them as she stared about her in wonder.

  ‘Do you like your birthday present?’ he asked shyly.

  ‘It’s simply beautiful.’

  She ran forward to explore and Ben slowly followed, smiling at her delight.

  ‘If you look in some of the caves you’ll see I’ve carved little animals and funny faces — mythical creatures.’

  ‘Like gargoyles?’

  ‘Nothing so ugly. I don’t want to frighten you away from here!’

  ‘Oh, Ben.’ She ran back to him. ‘This will always be my most favourite place of all. The Indian House is special, but this is magical!’

  Ben looked into her dancing eyes. His smile faded and was replaced by a look of tenderness and love, and this time he didn’t hesitate. He lowered his face to hers and kissed her soft trembling mouth.

  ‘Ben. Oh, Ben,’ she whispered, lifting her arms about his neck to bring his lips to hers again. His arms were around her, drawing her close. As she felt the warmth of his mouth, the strength of his embrace, Kate knew they loved each other. And it was like a gift.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Sydney 1965

  Odette gazed around the boisterous, jovial group gathered in The Greasy Spoon. It was a celebration for Odette, who had collected the newspaper industry’s award for the year’s best feature story. These were the equivalent of Hollywood’s Academy Awards and already there had been offers to lure her away from the Gazette.

  How the last years of her cadetship had sped! Odette had slipped into the role of a graded journalist with dizzying success. It had been a dream run of stories. Odette put it down to a few lucky breaks but her editors and mentors at the Gazelle knew better. She had a way of getting people on side, making them confide in her, baring their souls and stories. She had a keen eye, and her descriptive writing could bring tears or a wry smile. She cut through pomposity and superficiality and went straight to the heart of the story.

  Odette had travelled overseas covering major events from Wimbledon to a maharajah’s wedding in Kashmir. She had profiled celebrities and unknowns alike, but was happiest observing the patterns of people’s lives around her. A few exclusives and scoops guaranteed her a large by-line but she still listened to and respected advice and counsel from Nancy Corrigan and Kay Metcalf, who continued to rule the roost at the magazine.

  Occasionally Odette considered settling down and buying a really nice flat, but at other times she thought she might take off and wander around Europe. She still shared the flat with Elaine and when Aunt Harriet came to visit, Odette bunked down on the lounge.

  Her relationship with Aunt Harriet had entered a new and easier phase. Her success and independence put Odette in control and her aunt was happily guided by Odette when it came to discovering Sydney’s sights, shops and smart places to eat.

  Without saying too much. Aunt Harriet made it plain she was rather impressed with the people Odette interviewed, and could name drop heavily in Amberville. To hear Aunt Harriet tell it, she always knew Odette would make a fine writer, she’d been a clever girl destined for the bright lights and had been supported and advised in her career by her aunt. Odette listened and said nothing, pushing to one side the uncharitable thought that if Harriet had had her way Odette would be behind the teller’s cage at the local Bank of New South Wales.

  Odette loved her freedom, the stimulation of her job and the friends with whom she worked and socialised. She went out to dinners and parties with young men she met through work. She had a few romantic flings that waned in a week or so and the once or twice she had been tempted to get into bed with a particularly handsome and charming escort, the memory of Zac had held her back. In her heart she felt she was being unfaithful to him,
even though there was no commitment between them. She also felt that no lover would ever be as special as Zac. She knew one day she would have to let go of his memory, but for now, life was full, busy and stimulating.

  Tony James from the Clarion had also made it to the big city, working on an afternoon tabloid, and they saw each other for a drink every few weeks. They frequented the King’s Crown tavern, the pub favoured by the Australian Incorporated Newspapers crowd. In the various bars the different sections of the paper held sway — the journos, the photographers, the print men, the advertising and the editorial staff. Other news organisations had their own locals in Surry Hills and on Broadway, and if there was a big story breaking, or some particularly juicy gossip, small bands would venture into foreign pubs to glean what they could from the opposition.

  Odette was constantly on the move, zipping from one job to the next, chasing after stories and people. The only time she came to rest was when writing up an interview. Always on a deadline, always down to the wire, her energy would be focused on the sheet of paper in the old Remington and she would be oblivious to the noise, chatter and activity about her. She was the only person in her section who didn’t smoke, but instead drank endless cups of tea. At one point she’d thought it would be rather sophisticated to wave about pastel-coloured Sobranie cigarettes in their smart black and gold box, but they were expensive. Then she’d taken to dragging on unfiltered pungent Gauloise, but decided the foul taste in her mouth, stained teeth and headaches weren’t worth it, so she tossed away the blue packet and declared her vices were claret and Greek food.

  But no matter how many stories Odette covered, each assignment gave her a new challenge and a sense of excitement. And this latest story was no exception.

  Odette had been dozing for the past hour, her head leaning against the car window, her arms wrapped about her body, while Max, the photographer, drove up the mountain road.

  Max, chubby, redhaired and known as Eveready, rolled down his window, taking a deep breath of the fresh mountain air. The shrill call of a whipbird suddenly cracked from the trees by the road, causing Odette to stir and stretch.

  ‘How much longer?’ she yawned.

  ‘Two hours, about. You’re missing the view.’

  As the station wagon turned a hairpin bend Odette looked out of her window and gasped. They were on the edge of a precipice looking down a steep hillside that disappeared in a thicket of rainforest. Massive tree ferns and subtropical growth clung to the mountainside. In the distance, stretching to the horizon, rolled lush green valleys and rugged ridges.

  Odette pulled out her notebook and began scribbling.

  ‘Started to write your story already?’

  ‘Nope. Just making notes, thinking of questions.’

  Max nodded. ‘Yeah, you’re not like some of them. Start writing their intros on the way to the story. Know what they’re going to write before they get there.’

  ‘I hope I’m never that one-eyed, Max.’ Odette chewed her pencil and stared out of the window. ‘It’s beautiful. No wonder people throw away their jobs in the city to come here.’

  And that, in a nutshell, was the story they were chasing.

  The chief of staff, Nancy Corrigan, had called in her star reporter and told Odette she was sending her out of town for a few days.

  ‘Outback? Oh good,’ said Odette.

  ‘It’s not quite the outback . . . more the tropical north of New South Wales. The actual place is called Peace Valley, I believe.’

  ‘Never heard of it. What’s it like?’

  ‘I gather it’s a valley of old dairy farms which have been taken over by city runaways.’

  ‘Kids on the lam?’

  ‘More like adults opting out.’

  ‘You mean like the hippies, flower people smoking hash, indulging in free love and folk songs?’

  ‘Those sorts are up there . . . in fact, in the hills around the valley there are supposed to be all kinds of people. But the story I’m interested in is a group of families, some of them middle-class professionals, who have settled there. They’re starting new and different lives.’

  ‘Umm, sounds interesting, if they are thinking people and not the fruitcake variety.’

  Nancy Corrigan’s lips twitched in faint amusement. ‘From what I’ve heard they are quite coherent and cognisant of their actions.’

  ‘How did you hear about them?’

  ‘My dentist left town to go up there. He told me about it. It sounds like it could be a good picture story. I can’t give you any more information, go and see what you get.’

  And so Max and Odette packed camera gear and clothes in the back of the company station wagon and drove from Sydney, north along the Pacific Highway. As they’d made a late start they stopped overnight and continued on the next day, arriving at midday. They checked into a country pub at Lismore and asked directions to Peace Valley.

  ‘Never heard of it,’ said the lady supervising the cleaning of the public bar and balancing the cash register.

  They had little luck anywhere else until Max suggested they find the local feed and grain store. ‘They’re bound to have come into a big centre for supplies, I reckon.’

  The local merchant was vague and shook his head. ‘The name doesn’t ring any bells with me. I thought I knew most places out this way.

  Course there are a lot of farms being sold and new people moving in, maybe it got divided up and called something new.’

  ‘What sort of people are moving in?’ asked Odette.

  ‘Pitt Street farmers, I guess. Been a few city people in and out. Said they’d sold up in the city.’

  ‘That would be the people we’re after. Can you remember where they said they were, or do you have any accounts with an address or something?’

  The man scratched his head. ‘Most times they pay cash. But one of the boys delivered some equipment up in the hills to some mob recently. That’s right — said there were a bunch of families on the one property. Big place, mind you. They’d ordered some pretty good farm machinery.’

  ‘Where’s the fellow who delivered it? He could tell us where he went.’

  ‘That would’ve been Terry. He’s out delivering a load of grain. Be back first thing in the morning.’

  While Max recharged his batteries by flaking out in his room above the noisy public bar, Odette looked up the address of the local newspaper and trudged down to the Northern Star. She asked to see the chief of staff on duty and explained she was interested in finding some Sydney folk who had bought land in the area.

  The local newspaperman regarded the pretty young woman before him. ‘Doesn’t sound like much of a story,’ he remarked drily. ‘Lot of people buy land up this way. It’s cheap.’

  ‘I don’t mean as an investment or to retire up here. I mean youngish educated families who are moving into the district from the cities.’

  ‘Be a bloody mad move if you ask me. The towns in the area are dying like the dairy industry. There’s no work. Small schools and hospitals closing. We’re the main centre now. Just what are you after?’

  Odette tried to assess whether he was being cagey, not wanting to give away too much, or if indeed he did not know of the new settlers who were moving into the area. If he hadn’t heard about it, she didn’t want to alert him and give away her story. If indeed there was a story in it.

  She thought quickly. ‘Look, I’m really after just one family. A dentist and his family. They’ve apparently fled Sydney and he left a lot of unhappy patients in his wake. Ripped off the system, and left a rather large debt behind.’ Odette said a silent apology to Mrs Corrigan’s good dentist.

  ‘Who did you say you worked for again?’

  ‘I didn’t. But I’m with Australian Incorporated Newspapers.’ She didn’t specify the Women’s Gazette, knowing a beat-up story about a crooked dentist was not the sort of story they would run.

  ‘Look, I can’t help you. But I’m just a paper-pusher these days. Go and talk to Tom Ribbons our rur
al guy — he gets about.’

  ‘Thanks for your time.’ Odette shook his hand and retreated, glad she hadn’t given her name. He wouldn’t be able to track her down if he started to think about the story for the Star.

  She decided not to talk to the reporter and went back to the hotel instead. She knew Max would still be out like a light, so she walked up to the taxi parked outside the hotel and rapped on the window.

  The driver, who’d had his head back on the seat, snoring soundly, came to with a jump and leaned over and opened the front passenger door. ‘Sorry, luv. Where to?’

  ‘Anywhere. I’m a tourist. Show me the sights.’

  He grinned at her. ‘You’re pulling me leg.’

  ‘Fair dinkum. I want to see some of the local area.’ She grinned back at him.

  The driver switched on the ignition of the Holden and chuckled. ‘You mean the cathedral, the park, the river? Won’t take long.’

  ‘No, I was thinking of further out. How far can we get into the local hills and valleys before dark?’

  ‘Oh, a fair distance I s’pose. Which direction?’

  ‘The prettiest. Do you live in town?’

  ‘Yeah.’ The driver cruised down the main street, not quite sure about this lady passenger.

  ‘If you wanted to move to a really pretty rural setting, get away from it all, so to speak, start a new life, where would you go?’

  ‘Do I still have to drive a taxi? I mean, if I had to make me living, that would change things a bit.’

  ‘No, you’ve got a bit of money; maybe you and a couple of friends buy some land and decide to build a place, start life over without the hassles, or maybe retire and do what you’ve always wanted. Where’d you go?’

  The driver’s face cleared. ‘Ah, that’s easy. The valleys below the mountain. Bloody beautiful they are. All old dairy farms.’

  ‘Then that’s where we’re going.’ Odette settled back in her seat.

  The driver cast her a sidelong glance. ‘Okey-dokey. You planning on moving up here?’