The Last Rose of Summer

by Di Morrissey

  Odette bashed out a second article late that night. It was now on the news pages and she gleefully noted that a bright sub-editor had headed the story, IS THE GARDEN OF EDEN A CON JOB?

  It was only hours later when she was in bed and unable to sleep that she felt sorry that she had reported the ‘con job’ interjections.

  As soon as he saw the story, Eden picked up the phone and called Odette, accusing her of biased reporting, but before he could go any further, Odette cut in. ‘Just how sure are you about Hacienda? There’s a loophole there you could shoot a cannon through.’

  ‘Okay, the possibility is there, but that’s not to say Hacienda are going to renege on their undertaking. They have reaffirmed they definitely want to go with my plans.’

  ‘Well they’re not going to say anything else, are they? You don’t think they might be using you?’

  ‘My God, you really are the cynical journalist, aren’t you. All I can say is wait and see, you might be writing a different story at the end of the day.’

  ‘You mean an apology?’ snapped Odette. ‘I don’t think so. I think you are miffed at the negative public reaction.’

  Eden was silent for a moment. ‘Look, Odette, I don’t see why we are arguing. I was given a job to do and I think I’ve created something that is harmonious and works for the people, Zanana and the developers. They could have just as easily gone with a less friendly plan. I sold them on my concept and I think people should be glad it’s not going to be ugly brick boxes cheek by jowl.’

  ‘I don’t deny that. Personally I don’t want anything built at Zanana, but I suppose if it has to happen, I’d rather yours than the awful alternative you suggest. It just seems dangerous for the council to give approval and then find it all backfires.’

  Eden sighed. ‘I have to agree. But I don’t see any way round that. It’s the system that’s faulty. I’ve done what I can. It’s up to others now.’

  ‘That’s exactly right, Eden. And others are trying to come up with some answers, believe me. There’s more to all this than you imagine.’

  ‘I think you’re beating up a story that isn’t there, Odette.’ He paused, then changed his tone and added with feeling, ‘I’m sorry this has to come between us’.

  The words hit her with an impact that was almost physical. It was Odette’s turn to be silent. She didn’t agree with his involvement with Hacienda, and the more she saw of him, the more she saw a genuine and sincere man who was quite possibly being used as a pawn. It was frustrating that he refused to see this. But she couldn’t put down the phone without reaching out to him.

  ‘Eden, do you want to call a truce? I’d like to show you something. Maybe then you’ll look at the issue differently.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Sydney 1972

  Zanana began to haunt Odette’s dreams. It wasn’t just the story of the fight between the developer and the community. She felt a pull, a personal commitment that went far beyond her role as reporter.

  She dreamed of the rose garden and woke to the perfume of roses. She dreamed of the Indian House, and awakened with a start as if someone had softly called her name.

  She felt confused and overwhelmed and when Mrs Bramble telephoned early one morning soon after the council meeting to tell her about the protest rally, Odette rubbed her hand against her forehead, trying to massage away the confusion.

  ‘We have the whole community with us now,’ Mrs Bramble boasted. ‘It’s more than just the issue of Zanana, there are moral and philosophical issues now,’ she added in an almost oratorical voice. ‘If those councillors aren’t hearing us, we will have to speak louder . . . and the rally outside Zanana is going to do just that.’

  She went on without pause, detailing arrangements for a big mobile stage on a semitrailer, Save Zanana balloons for the children, bands and marching girls, until it all began to sound to Odette like a carnival, folk festival, and political rally all rolled into one. Her massaging hand froze on her forehead as she tried to come to terms with a Mrs Bramble she hardly recognised.

  ‘It sounds like it’s going to be bigger than Ben Hur, Mrs Bramble. It will certainly have impact, but will it change the minds of the councillors?’

  ‘If it doesn’t then they are on notice that they won’t be voted back in at the next election.’

  ‘Some of them might be glad of that after this battle is over. Why don’t you consider running for council?’ asked Odette lightheartedly, but Mrs Bramble came right back on a serious note.

  ‘Don’t think I haven’t thought about it. Golly, I was just a housewife like most of the others in the neighbourhood until this blew up. I always thought other people should run things like councils. But I don’t think so now. And after listening to some of those men talk the other night, I think that council needs an injection of some good old-fashioned common sense. A few women on council would do them the world of good. In the meantime, we’ve got to show them that we’ve got the numbers.’

  Aunt Harriet was fascinated to hear the latest developments when Odette made her weekly phone call to her. ‘It sounds like the transformation of Flora Bramble from expert cake mixer to political pot stirrer is complete,’ she joked. ‘I must say I’m in full agreement. I’ve had my run-ins with the council here from time to time. You have to keep an eye on them, but I’m getting too old to get too riled about such things any more.’

  Odette doubted that. Aunt Harriet had mellowed, but she was still a fighter and never slow to give a piece of her mind on almost every issue of consequence. Odette now looked back with fresh appreciation of the influence Aunt Harriet’s ever-questioning and challenging attitude to everything must have had on her own development during those important formative teenage years in Amberville. She had a sudden surge of nostalgia for the old town.

  ‘I was thinking I might come up for a couple of days to relax and try and get my thoughts in order,’ said Odette on the spur of the moment. Suddenly a break away seemed like a good idea. She also liked the thought of a quiet beer with Fitz, her old editor.

  ‘That would be lovely, Odette dear. Just let me know when and I’ll get some nice cuts from Frank the butcher.’

  ‘Well, I’ve got some time off due to me. I’ll talk to the editor. How about next week? Might see you Saturday.’

  Amberville hadn’t changed. While she could never be sentimentally attached to the country town where she had spent half her youth, Odette had become more tolerant of the small-town way of life and the feeling of remoteness from the real world where all the action was.

  She still felt most at home in the cluttered office of the Clarion. Fitz gave her a hug and was quick to show off the latest evidence of technological progress — a small fridge in his office to keep the beer cold.

  She commented on the sameness of the town while Fitz opened a bottle of beer and rummaged around the untidy office trying to find a couple of glasses. He chuckled. ‘You’d be the first to complain if you came back and found someone had modernised the place. As it is, we’ve got a motel now.’

  ‘Well, I wish the improvement enthusiasts would keep out of the rainforest at the end of the main street. It’s not a patch on what it used to be when I was a kid. When are we going to learn how precious such places are? It’s the same with Zanana, Fitz, it won’t be truly appreciated until it’s gone.’

  ‘You sound pessimistic. I thought you were ready to chain yourself to the gates like Mrs Pankhurst.’

  ‘It might come to that if Mrs Bramble has anything to do with it. She’s organised a big rally to try and sway the councillors before the next vote. It might work, but in my bones I sense something fishy is going on.’

  Fitz applauded the feeling by topping up Odette’s beer. ‘That’s what I like to hear — bones sensing something. You got to listen to bones . . . and gut feelings. It’s what sorts out the successful reporters from the run of the mill. Tell me about it.’

  Odette went over the whole story, including her confusion over Eden Davenport, a
part of the narrative that caused him to give her a penetrating look over the top of his glasses. But he said little and sipped his beer.

  ‘I must say I like the coming-out of Mrs Bramble. She’s sort of become a political debutante,’ he joked. ‘Now I would say that while you’re up here enjoying the bucolic delights of Amberville, the wheelers and dealers in the big smoke are setting it all up behind the scenes. The dirty deal is no doubt being worked on right now. They usually are between meetings.’

  Odette grinned. ‘You’re trying to spoil my holiday. I take your point. But I have moles at work in council, as well as Mrs Bramble’s task force.’

  ‘Moles, indeed. Well, you certainly are growing up. I’ll drink to that.’

  They raised their glasses.

  Two days later, distanced emotionally as well as geographically from the Zanana story, Odette found her mind clearing. She looked at the jigsaw pieces of the puzzle and began to see the missing pieces.

  She was deep in thought as she walked along the edge of the river and decided to stretch out on the grass in the late afternoon sun. She folded her hands behind her head and closed her eyes.

  She was almost asleep when a blade of grass blew across her face, tickling her nose. She brushed it away, but again it fell across her face. She waved her hand at it like an annoying fly, and suddenly found her hand grabbed in a firm grip.

  With a startled cry she opened her eyes, struggling to free her arm, and found herself staring into Zac’s twinkling eyes.

  ‘Caught you,’ he said softly and smiled.

  ‘Zac! You’re amazing. Is it really you or an apparition?’ She sat up and poked his solid chest. ‘No, it’s really you. What on earth is the international star doing in Amberville? Looking for a bit of R and R?’

  ‘Yes and no. Looking for you mainly. Elaine told me you’d come back for a few days to get away from a big story that was wearing you out.’

  ‘Oh, it’s not that big a deal, but it means a lot to me. I thought you were in Sweden.’

  ‘That was last week. I decided to come back here.’

  ‘To Australia or to Amberville?’

  ‘To you actually. I needed to see you.’

  Odette was stunned. He looked so serious that she sat up and looked deeply into his eyes. Then she laughed. ‘You needed to see me? That’s a bit rich, a bit over the top. But it really is lovely to see you again, Zac. Really lovely.’

  He reached out and embraced her and his smell and warmth and shape were comfortably familiar to her. Yet she felt no pang of longing and was profoundly glad.

  ‘I really did want to see you again . . . and Australia . . . but mainly you. I’m worried about you. I’ll tell you why, in a minute. First tell me what you’ve been doing.’

  They sat together on the river bank as they had years before, and Odette told the whole story of Zanana. At the end he looked thoughtful. ‘Of course Zanana must not be pulled down. Tell me, when you were in the Indian House, you felt some sort of presence and thought you heard a voice?’ She nodded. ‘Well, you probably did hear a voice . . . a spirit speaking to you.’

  ‘A ghost! Zac, please. This is me you’re talking to, the cynical reporter, remember.’

  He smiled at her. ‘You’re not that cynical, Odette. You have a gentle caring soul, but you try hard to cover it up. Zanana has been part of your life for a long time and I think it is part of your destiny. That voice is a voice of destiny.’

  ‘Zac, look . . .’ She searched for the right words. ‘Look, it’s a special place from my childhood and I hate to see it destroyed. That‘s all. There are a lot of people who feel the same way.’

  Zac took her hands in his and looked deeply into her eyes. Odette shivered slightly, disconcerted by the intensity of the moment and his almost hypnotic stare.

  ‘There’s more to it than that, Odette. I sense a danger of some kind. A danger associated with the house. And I can see an image of a child. I came back to warn you.’

  Odette shuddered and tried to break from the hypnotic stare. She spoke but was surprised that all she could manage was a whisper. ‘Zac, I’m a big girl now . . . I don’t want to know about that gypsy sixth sense stuff any more.’

  Zac softly stroked her face. ‘You only think you have changed, Odette. Nothing can really change the strength of our relationship for we are linked by the stars. Be careful, little one. Where there is good, there is also evil; such is the way of the world.’

  Odette’s feigned scepticism collapsed. ‘That’s a bit scary, Zac. What am I supposed to do now?’ she asked quietly.

  ‘Just be careful. The way ahead is sometimes clearly lit, but rarely. Most of the time we walk in near darkness. Just be careful.’ He sat back from her and smiled. ‘Now then, enough of this gypsy nonsense . . . what can I do to help your cause?’

  She smiled as his offer sank in. ‘You mean you will go public for us?’

  ‘Yep. How about a song? I’m not much good at speeches. I’ll write a song about Zanana. I remember you telling me about it . . . it has a rose garden, and it’s a place of great beauty and tranquillity. A city oasis you called it once. Now all that is the stuff songs are made of.’

  Odette hugged him. ‘Zac, you’re wonderful. How come you always turn up when I need you?’

  ‘The stars,’ he said with a cheeky wink. ‘Want to know something else? Your heart is ready to love again.’

  ‘You reckon?’ responded Odette with curiosity. ‘You wouldn’t like to describe him just so I don’t miss him?’

  He took her hand and stared at her palm with mock intensity: ‘You will meet a tall, dark stranger.’

  She pulled her hand away. ‘Right. Like you said . . . enough of this gypsy nonsense. I don’t know what to believe with you half the time. But I’m glad you found me just the same. Where are you staying?’

  ‘I was going to check into the new motel, but I think I’ll camp down here tonight, just for old time’s sake. It’s going to be a fine night. Then I’m off to Peace Valley briefly, and then back to Sydney. Some business . . . and your rally.’

  Back in Sydney Odette found her desk cluttered with phone messages, the most urgent from Mick O’Toole at Kincaid Council. She telephoned him at once.

  He spoke in a near whisper from his office. ‘The council is still split fifty-fifty, but something’s moving. There’s a buzz round the corridors that a councillor will be switching sides to the pro-development group. Could be any of those with business interests down town. The other interesting thing is the confidence of Councillor Beck . . . and his new car.’

  ‘New car?’ Odette was puzzled.

  ‘He’s always liked big cars, but they’ve always been top of the range Holdens or Fords. Now he’s moved up into a very expensive Mercedes. It’s not like him to spend that big on wheels, so I think he has swung a very good deal lately. Just a hunch.’

  Odette said nothing. The information whirled through her brain, but no conclusions flashed into her consciousness. Her thoughts were interrupted by Mick. ‘You still there?’

  ‘Yep. Just thinking. Look, give me the names of any company you know he is associated with and I’ll get our finance reporter to look at the info. I’ve already got him looking into the ownership of Zanana for me. Thanks for the tip, Mick. Up the revolution!’

  The next call was to Mrs Bramble with the news that Zac would perform at the rally, and sing a specially composed song based on Zanana. ‘Having an international star is going to guarantee a massive turnout, Mrs B, particularly from the younger set.’

  ‘Wait till I hit the media with this piece of news. Fantastic, Odette,’ enthused an excited Mrs Bramble.

  ‘Sorry, Mrs B. I get first break on this story. Nothing out until the paper hits the streets tomorrow. Okay?’

  Mrs Bramble readily accepted. ‘Scoop, scoop!’ she shouted laughingly.

  Odette marvelled at the buoyant confidence exuded by the suburban housewife who had probably never challenged authority in her life. ‘I must say yo
u’ve done a splendid job with the campaign.’

  ‘Have a great team behind me, Odette. But I’ll tell you something, I left school at fifteen and got married very young and figured didn’t have qualifications to do anything. But years of running a home, family, organising school events and other community activities, have made me more qualified than I realised. A lot of the women on the committee are from much the same background. It is sort of liberating . . . yes . . . Zanana is liberating us and we’re trying to liberate it. Hey, see, I’m starting to talk like a politician,’ and they both laughed.

  ‘How is Mr Bramble adjusting to all this?’

  ‘It was difficult for him at first and he did grumble a bit the other night when dinner wasn’t on the table at six. But he’s on side, and would you believe it, he’s started cooking to give me a hand. Can now handle a roast leg of lamb with the works. Not bad for someone who really didn’t do much more than put Vegemite on a Sao.’

  Then came the telephone call to Eden Davenport.

  He was civil but not as friendly as he’d been previously. Not that Odette blamed him after she’d stormed out of his office.

  ‘You promised to come with me to see something and let me have one last try at getting you to help me convince Hacienda to drop their plans, or at least change them,’ she cajoled.

  ‘All right. I don’t want you accusing me of not being open-minded.’ He didn’t add, however, that he was rather looking forward to seeing her again. He wished they had met on less combative terms.

  She picked him up outside his office and as he got into the car he glanced at his watch. ‘Punctual too, I see,’ he observed.

  ‘Too?’ There was a hint of a smile as she pulled out into the traffic.

  ‘As well as being attractive, talented and very determined.’

  Odette took it as a throwaway compliment and looked serious. ‘If you really believe in something you have to give it everything, don’t you agree?’