by Di Morrissey
‘Say goodnight to Billy for me,’ she said softly. Jamie got out of the car, opened the back and returned with a parcel.
‘I will. This is by way of a souvenir of your time in Darwin. I hope you like it, it’s one of Auntie Nellie’s paintings. Let me know your plans.’ He leaned over and kissed her cheek. She didn’t move but her eyes closed in pleasure and he brushed her lips with his. ‘Thank you, Jamie. Thank you for everything.’
In the morning she called Andy. ‘Well, the Crossing was a bit of a dud. Beautiful, serene, empty. The Crossing’s a sort of weir, a wall with no sides. Tricky with water running over it. But who knows what went on. Maybe Topov fell off it, maybe he walked too near the bank.’
‘And on the other side of the Crossing?’
‘Interesting country but who’s to say what Topov did or even if he was there. I took a heap of photos. It has a kind of distinctive landscape. Perhaps I’m getting my eye in. It all looks so different from when I first arrived. Jamie has really opened my eyes.’
‘Is that so?’
She could hear the amused tone in Andy’s voice. ‘So is he planning a trip to Sydney anytime soon?’
‘I don’t know, Andy! I hope so but it’s unlikely. He’s such a dish. But more, a lovely man with integrity and intelligence and he’s so interesting to talk to. I mean, not just about Aboriginal culture, but everything. And most importantly, he makes me laugh. Not belly laughs, but he has a gentle humour.’
‘And a son and a family.’
‘Yes,’ sighed Veronica. ‘No wife though, she died. So, I think he’s lonely even though he has hundreds of relatives. But Andy, it makes me seriously wonder what I ever saw in Eddie. He is such a selfish egotist. What was I thinking when I hooked up with him? I don’t think that I ever had an intelligent conversation with him and now we can’t even work together.’
‘Well, unless you’re planning to move to Darwin, that’s unlikely to happen.’
‘Hey, enough of me,’ said Veronica. ‘Tell me, what news on Marta?’
‘Ah, yes. I almost forgot in the machinations of your love life …’
‘I wish. Go on.’
‘We have her current address and phone number.’
‘Yay! Where is she? Is she still in LA? Should we go and knock on her door?’
‘We’ve tried ringing, but all we get is a woman saying she doesn’t know Marta Johanssen. But I’ll keep trying. I’d hate to send you all the way to Lake Como for nothing.’
‘Lake Como! Italy?’
Andy chuckled. ‘How about that? She must have retired there.’
‘That’s a pretty upmarket place to live, isn’t it? She must have done very well in the film industry to afford a place like that, although I’ve never heard of her. Well, it’s all very confusing.’
‘I’ve couriered her a package, tapes of our show and a long letter detailing what we know and why we want to pursue this story and assuring her that you are a person of the highest integrity.’
‘Are you serious? About me going over there, I mean?’
‘We have the budget now, if you recall.’
Veronica was stunned. ‘I won’t say no. Gosh, Darwin to Lake Como. Bit of a jump. Now we just need to find Madame Olga.’
‘She’ll be long gone, I imagine. She must have been pushing fifty when the expedition set out,’ said Andy.
‘Yes, you’re right. Still, it’d be interesting to find out how she ended her days,’ said Veronica. ‘Colin said that she had a couple of daughters. Perhaps you could find them.’
‘I think it’s going to be hard to find out about anyone unless they kept in touch with Marta.’
‘Or John Cardwell.’
‘Somehow I don’t think that would’ve happened,’ mused Andy. ‘As you say, the whole project came to an ugly and tragic end so I suppose they all went their own ways after that.’
‘So the final scenes of the story rest with Marta. I hope we can get her to talk to us,’ said Veronica. ‘I wonder what she remembers of the last night at Wild Man Crossing.’
11
CLOUD OBSCURED VERONICA’S VIEW as the plane began to descend. When it broke through the cloud cover, mist swirled through soft rain and mauve haze above the grey industrial city beneath. The scene looked utterly bleak and she realised that her eyes were still used to the bold, bright, strong colours of the Northern Territory. What a change this was from the warmth and openness of the outback.
She’d barely had time to adjust to being back in Sydney after her trip to the Top End when Andy had called her into his office.
‘Glad you’re back. I’m looking forward to seeing your footage.’
‘It looks good. Hard not to get great shots as everything is so scenic. I just wish I had more specific stuff that related directly to Topov’s expedition, but at least now I have a sense of how it must have been. I’d love to go back and see more of that part of the country.’
‘And more of Jamie McIntosh?’
She sighed. ‘He’s lovely. But I’m here, he’s there. Now, what news do you have? Any luck with talking to Marta?’
‘No. We still haven’t spoken to her.’
‘I’ve left that to you.’ He slipped a piece of paper across his desk. ‘We found her because she did some small roles in Hollywood so she still gets residual payments from SAG. Here’s her current address and phone number.’
Veronica glanced at the paper. ‘Lovely Lake Como. Do you think she’d know George Clooney?’
‘I’ll ignore that comment. She also has an address in Los Angeles and one in London. Let me know what she has to say. That will determine our next move. If she agrees to talk to you I’ve got an ace cameraman in the London office on standby. Give Geoff the word and he’ll zip over to the Continent.’
‘I’ll call her after I’ve checked the time difference.’ Veronica’s mind was spinning as she tried to plot what to say to Marta. Three residential addresses. That was interesting. She hoped that Marta would be willing to hear her out and not dismiss her because the Topov expedition was a distant, brief episode in her life.
When she rang the phone number, a woman’s voice, very clipped and curt, finally answered it.
‘Pronto.’
‘May I speak to Marta Johanssen, please?’
‘Scusi?’ There was a pause. ‘There is no Marta Johanssen here.’
‘Oh, I’m sorry. I don’t know her married name. She was Marta Johanssen when she was an actress. Is she available, please?’
‘Who is speaking?’
‘I am Veronica Anderson. I work for Network Eleven television in Australia.’
There was a brief pause. ‘Momento,’ and the phone was put down with a clatter.
Veronica heard voices speaking in rapid Italian and at last there was a response.
‘Hello? This is Marta Luccosa.’ The accent was difficult to pin down, European but musical. It was the voice of a mature woman but it was light and curious and sounded as though laughter came easily to it.
Veronica introduced herself and briefly explained what she was doing. ‘I know this must be a bit of a bolt out of the blue after all these years. I’ve just come back from the Northern Territory and I’ve been to Brolga Springs. It’s a stunning place,’ finished Veronica.
‘Yes. I have special memories of the scenery,’ answered Marta. ‘Tell me again, why are you interested in our little excursion all those years ago? I received a package but I haven’t looked at it thoroughly.’
Andy’s parcel probably hadn’t even been opened, thought Veronica. ‘It’s to do with the history of the Australian film and television industry. I know how little the outback featured in documentaries and films in the fifties and, when I heard the story of Topov and his brave idea, I thought it would be an interesting part of the whole story. Especially the films that didn’t get made because the landscape defeated the filmmakers. It would be wonderful if we could see some of the film Mr Topov did shoot.’
‘There wasn’t so much. But
I doubt any film exists anywhere. It was a wild idea and we were all crazy to go. Though it had its moments.’ She hesitated. ‘How did you hear about this?’
Veronica chose her words carefully. ‘Some of my professional colleagues are film and TV veterans who met Colin Peterson at a dinner and he mentioned the trip in passing. That sparked my interest.’
‘Oh, I see. Have you, yourself met Colin? How is he? We haven’t been in touch for several years.’
‘He seems well. I met him briefly but his reminiscences are sketchy. I was hoping you could perhaps tell me what you recall of the trip.’
‘Right now? I’m sorry I have no time, my dear. I am leaving for a luncheon party in my honour tomorrow. Besides, it would take days to drag through all that scenario.’
If Marta thought she’d put Veronica off, she was caught by surprise with Veronica’s response. ‘Of course. I can imagine you’ll need time to think about things. I was planning to be in Italy next week. Is it possible we could meet?’
There was a short hesitation. ‘I couldn’t say …’
‘I’ll call you again and give you my details. Or would you like me to email you my background, the company I work for …?’
‘Oh, I don’t deal with such things. Dominico handles that sort of thing.’
‘Great. I’ll call back and talk to Dominico and then send him my details. I’d love to meet you Mrs Luccosa. I feel I know you.’
‘And why might that be?’ She sounded bemused rather than put out.
‘I read a reference to your visit to Brolga Springs homestead in Mrs Johns’s diary in the archives in Darwin. And do you recall the little Aboriginal girl, Doris, whom you met there? You gave her a silver bracelet.’
Marta was silent for a moment. ‘Yes. I remember her,’ she said softly.
‘She’s never forgotten you. And she still has the bracelet. It’s one of her greatest treasures,’ said Veronica.
‘That’s incredible. Is she still at that station? It was quite primitive.’
‘You couldn’t imagine – in your wildest dreams – what has become of Doris,’ said Veronica. ‘It’s good, all good. I have some photos I can show you of Doris, if you’d like. Will you be staying there at Lake Como much longer?’
‘Till the season is over and then I go to London. And I will be in California for Christmas.’
‘I was hoping to talk to you soon. And as I’ll be in Italy …’ Veronica tried to sound as though she was a frequent visitor, even though she hadn’t booked a ticket and was vague about its geography.
‘As you say. Please, call again. In a day or so. I must think about all this.’
The arrangements had fallen into place easily and here she was flying to Milan where she was staying overnight before taking the train to Varenna on Lake Como. Before leaving Australia, Veronica had emailed Jamie to ask him to tell Doris that she was going to see Marta. He rang her to say that his mother was thrilled with the news and passed on Billy’s ‘hello hug’.
‘It would be great if you can keep us all updated,’ he said. ‘Besides we all miss you, especially me.’
In Milan Veronica told the taxi driver, ‘Hotel Straf, Via San Raffaele, please.’
He nodded. ‘I know. Very trendy, nice hotel. Around the corner from the Galleria. You go take espresso there in the morning.’
‘I’ll do that,’ said Veronica.
Her hotel was charming and she quickly gathered it was the haunt of artistic, bohemian-looking guests. She decided to telephone Marta to set up a meeting as soon as possible. The brusque-sounding lady who answered the phone, seemed surprised when Veronica asked to speak to Mrs Luccosa in order to find out a time that was convenient for her to visit.
Marta came on the line, sounding slightly vague. ‘Oh, you’re here.’
Veronica could hear the pages of a diary being turned. ‘Tomorrow. Is it convenient?’
‘Ah, yes. Of course.’
‘Please come around before lunch. I will tell my staff to expect you.’
Veronica caught the train to the romantic village of Varenna on the lake, with its promenade, tiny harbour, narrow lanes and cafés beside the lakeside walk. The Hotel Olivedo conveniently faced the ferry dock and her room, with its tiny balcony, had a view of the lake and the distant snow-capped Alps. The following morning the businesslike hotel manager explained that Bellagio, where Marta lived, was just a ferry stop away.
From the water the full impact of the luxurious old mansions, now turned into exclusive hotels, the grand villas and busy villages with their squares, piazzas, fountains and boutiques confirmed that this was a place for the mega wealthy, a playground for the rich and famous.
When she arrived at Marta’s summer home, Veronica was awestruck. The house was an imposing old pink stucco villa of three storeys with high windows framed with deep aubergine shutters. It had small turrets and a balustrade with stone eagles. There were gargoyles on each end on the roof and a circular wall on one corner gave the villa the look of a magical castle. Chimney pots dotted the gabled tiled roof. Shrubs and trees scattered flowers onto an emerald lawn. There were Juliet balconies on the windows facing the lake and striped awnings shaded the side windows from the full sun. The lawns swept down to a stone wall at the water’s edge where an ivy-covered stone cottage sat beside the boat landing. Tall dark pine trees behind the villa screened it from the bald, grey rockfaces of the cliff and protected the grand old building from winter weather.
Veronica walked from the boat landing up a flight of lichen-covered stone steps guarded by stone gargoyles and across a flagstone path that wound past brilliant shrubbery to another flight of stone steps leading to a carved wooden door flanked by matching topiary orange trees in ornate pots. As she walked up the steps, the massive door swung open and a severely dressed woman with a matching expression waited for her with her hands folded.
‘Good morning. I’m Veronica Anderson.’
The woman nodded and turned inside. ‘Please follow me. Signora Luccosa is waiting for you.’
Veronica followed the taut-shouldered woman who gave the impression that Veronica was tardy when in fact she was early. Veronica wished the woman would walk more slowly as she wanted to absorb the beautiful interior of the house. The pale terracotta stone floor of the ground-floor entrance hall was covered in antique rugs. Tapestries hung along the walls. She followed the woman through the main foyer and up a curved staircase to the first floor. The thick, deeply burnished wooden floor-boards were scattered with Persian rugs and portraits of dour-looking relatives in dark oils hung in ornate gold frames along the walls.
The woman opened a tall white door and gestured to Veronica to go in, announcing, ‘Signorina Anderson.’
‘Grazie, Allegra. Café e torta, per favore.’
Veronica stepped into the room and blinked at the burst of sunlight after the dim hallways. Floor to ceiling windows looked towards the lake. The room was pale lemon and white, feminine and elegant and this seemed to reflect its occupant.
Marta rose from a gold brocade wing-back chair and came towards Veronica. She was petite and dainty. Her curvy figure was neatly outlined by a fitted cashmere top. Her hair was bright auburn, curling fashionably round a face that belied her years although Veronica noticed that her jaw line was a little too sharp and her face a little too smooth. But for a woman eighty years of age, she looked twenty, even thirty, years younger and she radiated wealth and good taste.
Veronica shook her soft white hand and wished she knew the name of the alluring perfume that drifted around Marta.
Marta gave her a dazzling smile. ‘How charming, such a pretty woman you are. And to come all this way. Surely not just to see me? Take a seat. Allegra will bring coffee and a sweet cake.’ Marta sat and crossed her ankles, her feet shod in soft grey leather ballet flats with the Chanel double C silver buckle on top. Her heavily made-up blue eyes studied Veronica.
‘This is a stunning home and you don’t live here all the time?’ asked Veronica.
‘No, only in the season. Our other home is in Brent-wood in Los Angeles. We have a townhouse in London as my husband goes there on business but I tend to go there less these days. I like the sun and warmth.’
‘You had a lot of sun in Australia,’ said Veronica.
Marta gave a small musical laugh. ‘We did. I thought I would shrivel like an old prune. I hope you look after your skin, it’s a cruel climate. Do you live in the north of Australia?’
‘No. In Sydney. But I fell in love with the outback. The Territory is so special. Kakadu National Park is magic and I was lucky enough to go into Arnhem Land. And to Brolga Springs.’
‘Some of those places I remember but I haven’t thought about them for a very long time,’ she said softly. ‘You mentioned the little Aboriginal girl, Doris?’
‘She is an impressive woman now. She has a wonderful family.’
‘Of course, she would be all grown up now. It was a long time ago, but I remember her beautiful eyes, that wild curly hair and a smile to break your heart. She was shy but wild like a horse. What do you call the wild horses …?’
‘Brumbies.’
‘Yes. That time in Australia was really very short, yet I have some very vivid memories.’ Marta looked out the window and was saved from further comment by Allegra entering with a silver tray that held two glasses of steaming coffee in silver holders and a plate of sweet pastries.
‘Grazie, Allegra.’ Marta gestured to Veronica. ‘Please help yourself.’
Allegra gave Marta a questioning glance and when Marta shook her head, the woman quietly left the room. Veronica glanced at the angular woman as she closed the door behind her.
‘Allegra has been with this villa since she was a child. Her mother worked here also.’
‘How interesting. Is your husband Italian?’ asked Veronica.
‘Paolo is from an old Milanese family. We met in Hollywood. But he has nothing to do with the film business.’ She gave Veronica a smile. ‘I had just done a small role in a film and was being promised big things. But I fell in love.’
‘Did you work again?’ asked Veronica.
