by DIMORRISSEY
He put off revealing these details to Queenie until he had showered, rested and made love to her. She was distracted and uncommunicative so he took her in his arms. ‘Queenie, love, don’t fret about things. I know you’ve been worried about the money situation. But I’ve taken care of it. We’re going to be fine,’ he said soothingly.
‘How’s that, Warwick?’
‘I had some business meetings in Sydney and we’ve found some investors willing to put money into Tingulla to tide us over.’
‘What sort of investors? What did you put up as collateral? People don’t give you money without getting something in return.’
‘It’s more of a profit sharing arrangement. Besides, I haven’t actually done anything about it. It’s there if we need it.’
‘There won’t be any profits to share at the rate we’re going. How did you find these people? Not through Colin, I hope.’
‘Not exactly. Alfredo introduced me to a few people. Wealthy men who have tax problems. They need to shuffle money around, to appear to make a loss. Creative accounting deals.’
Queenie sat upright, swinging her feet over the edge of the bed. ‘Warwick, I can’t believe what you’re saying. You’d allow cronies of Camboni to put money into Tingulla? They’re probably laundering Mafia money!’
Warwick laughed. ‘Don’t be melodramatic. Just because they’re Italian …’
‘They’re Calabrian! And frankly, I’ve been nervous of where Cambonis’ money comes from. Sarah and John told me he has a very unsavoury reputation.’
‘Rubbish! Look, Queenie, it’s just like taking out a loan to see us over the rough patches. But if you feel like that I’ll tell Alfredo to forget it.’
They got dressed in angry silence. Warwick watched Queenie furiously pulling the hairbrush through her long hair. He sighed and wrapped an arm about her shoulders. ‘Maybe it will rain and we won’t have to worry.’ He smiled at her reflection in the cedar-framed mirror.
Queenie stared at him, put down the brush and walked silently from the room.
The days ran together like blue and gold elastic stretched to the point where any minute it must surely snap. But no rain came. Nervous tension simmered behind tense faces, tempers sizzled, arguments flared over small issues, energies were sapped, and the animals began to suffer and die.
As food became scarce with the withering of the bush, creatures from the wild began to move in closer to the homestead, much to Saskia’s delight. But this soon changed to something more dramatic. She had been building a doll’s house under the cool shade of the water tank by the kitchen. When she returned from lunch she found a large brown snake coiled in her makeshift house.
Her shouts had brought Millie running. ‘It’s a brown snake, Millie. That’s poisonous.’
‘You bet. Go get your Mummy — I’ll stay here and watch it. Remember, never take your eyes off a snake, Sas … they move off real quick, then it’s big trouble if you don’t know where it’s gone.’
Her short little legs churned up the dust as Saskia streaked for the house shouting, ‘Mummy, Mummy, come quick! A big snake!’
Queenie bolted down the stairs heading for the kitchen. ‘Where is it, Sas? It didn’t bite you, did it?’
‘No. But it’s a big brown one on my dolly’s house. Millie is guarding it.’ The little girl was breathless but her eyes sparked with excitement.
Queenie grabbed the rifle from the kitchen wall, saying, ‘Maybe the axe would be better.’
Saskia hurried at her heels. ‘Oh no, Mummy, you might break my house.’
They came round the side of the house to find Millie walking backwards, her eyes wide in horror.
‘What’s up Millie … where is it?’ Queenie strained towards the doll’s house.
‘I thought I heard one of the men coming and I turned around to call out and the bugger slipped out … he was so quick.’
‘Saskia, don’t move,’ commanded Queenie. Millie leaned down and lifted the child into her arms, fearfully searching the ground. ‘I think he went under the house, Queenie.’
‘Damn — we’ll never find him.’ She crouched and peered into the shadows.
‘I have an idea, Queenie. There’s a dead rat in the trap by the pantry. I heard the trap go off not long ago, so it’d still be pretty fresh. It might lure him out if he’s hungry.’
‘Worth a try, Millie.’
Holding the still-warm rat by the tail and at arm’s length, Millie placed it in a patch of sun in the dust by the tank stand.
‘Okay, Saskia,’ said Queenie, ‘well’ll take it in turns to stand rat watch. Be very quiet and still.’
It only took half an hour for the snake to slide out and investigate the motionless rat.
Saskia was sitting patiently on the steps, her chin in her hands resting on her knees. Keeping her eyes on the shining brown snake slowly edging closer to the dead rat, its tongue flicking in and out, Saskia calmly called, ‘He’s here …’
Silently Queenie appeared behind her small daughter and fired the rifle. The snake flipped once and lay still.
Millie edged around the door. ‘Sure its dead? They play doggo you know, and just pretend.’
‘No more snake, Millie. Mummy shot him right in the head,’ said Saskia proudly.
A car came speeding towards the house with Jim and Warwick in it, looking anxious. ‘We heard a rifle shot … everything okay?’ Warwick called, as he jumped out.
Saskia ran to him. ‘We had a big brown snake … right in my doll’s house. Mummy shot it.’
Warwick scooped her into his arms. ‘You be careful, possum. Brown snakes are deadly, you know.’
‘I know. But I’m all right. Mummy looked after us.’
Warwick let her slide to the ground, watching Queenie go back into the kitchen to put the rifle away. ‘Yes, we’re very lucky to have such a clever Mummy aren’t we,’ he murmured coldly.
Millie looked over her shoulder in surprise as she hung the snake over the garden fence.
Jim, still limping from his injured leg, leaned on the heavy stick he was carrying. ‘You’d better carry a stout stick wherever you go, Millie. You could find a snake in your washing basket one day.’
‘I can manage all right. You’re the one who’d better watch out. You can’t do any running with that bad leg.’
‘It’s taking it’s time to mend, all right. I’m damned sick of hobbling about the place, Millie. I reckon I could get on a horse though, if you gave me a hand.’
‘What for? So you can break the other leg? The doc said to take it easy.’
‘I hate seeing Queenie taking on so much. She seems real worried about the place.’
‘Hadn’t you noticed we haven’t had a drop of rain in over half a year?’
‘I know that. But there’s something else bothering her.’
‘Warwick keeps telling her everything is going to be okay.’
‘All very well to say, Millie. They’ve put a lot of money into the place and if we don’t get rain we’ll have a bad season — and I reckon Tingulla could have big troubles.’
Millie hooked a supporting arm around Jim as they turned back to the house, neither saying what they were thinking. Patrick and Rose had weathered some cruel years with careful management and Jim considered Warwick rash and foolhardy. Millie fretted at the strain showing in the set of Queenie’s mouth.
Queenie was having a quick cup of tea in the shade of the verandah, one lanky leg flung over the arm of the squatter’s chair, her hat resting on her other knee.
Millie appeared in the doorway. ‘Ernie’s at the kitchen door looking for you or Warwick. Trouble with some sheep in the western paddock.’
‘Warwick went to check on all the bores and dams. I’ll see what he wants. Thanks for the pick-me-up, Millie.’ She handed the empty teacup to Millie and went through to the kitchen, opening the squeaky flyscreen door to where Ernie waited, looking worried. ’What’s up with these sheep then, Ernie?’
‘They’re dea
d. It’s dingoes. Killed real bad.’
‘How many?’
‘Six. The little ones too.’
‘Bloody hell!’ Queenie pulled her hat on her head, and headed to where Nareedah stood in the shade of the stables. ‘Get Snowy to come with us.’
The slaughtered ewes and their young were easy to find: above them circled the crows, their black bodies gleaming against the blue sky, their harsh and mournful cries echoing across the cloudless horizon.
Flies buzzed over the carcasses as Snowy looked closely at the ground around them. ‘Dingo all right. One big fella. See, he go for the kidneys, them juicy bits.’
‘Bastard! If they want a feed, then why not take a whole sheep? This senseless killing of so many is bloody maddening.’ Queenie was angry. The loss of expensive stock was one thing, and knowing the poor animals had tried to protect their young and probably all died a gruesome and painful death didn’t help.
Now there was an efficient killer on her land that would strike again and again. She didn’t like the idea of the wild dogs coming in so close. The house pets, the chooks, the ducks … with a shudder she recalled how a dingo had attacked a baby sleeping in its pram or so the story went.
‘We’ll have to hunt it. There’s probably a pack of them around the place, but the one that is coming in to kill … I want its scalp.’
Snowy was studying the tracks in the dust. Ernie looked thoughtful. ‘Jim told me he used to be a dogger in his early days. He got paid a bounty for wild dog scalps.’
‘Hard to know where their lair might be. I reckon he’s coming in from miles. He run through the night,’ said Snowy.
‘I’ll talk to Jim.’ Queenie turned her horse around and cantered away.
‘No good, eh, Snowy?’ remarked Ernie.
‘No, mate. Dingo is a smart fella. Run quick, kill and run away. We have to set him a trap.’
The next day Jim concocted a foul-smelling brew in an old kerosene tin.
‘Excuse my language, Jim, but that smells like shit,’ remarked Queenie, wrinkling her nose.
‘No, piss,’ grinned Jim. ‘Got sheep’s urine in it. Among other things.’
Queenie gazed at the reddish goo swilling in the tin. ‘Well, I hope the hell it works. Are you sure you don’t want me to come with you?’
‘I’ll be right. Snowy and me’ll take the four-wheel drive in close and I’ll set me trap using this. We’ll build a bit of a hide and sit it out for a few nights. If the bastard is around, he’ll come in sniffing round, then one of us will shoot him.’
‘I don’t want any strychnine baits left about in case the dogs pick them up.’
‘Don’t worry, Queenie, this stuff hasn’t failed me yet.’
Queenie refilled Warwick’s coffee cup after dinner, two nights later. ‘I wonder how Snowy and Jim are doing with their trap out there.’
‘Hope they get the bastard. Once they get a taste for easy kills, a couple of dingoes can do a hell of a lot of damage.’
‘We can’t afford too many losses, either.’
Warwick sipped his coffee. ‘Alfredo Camboni contacted me a few days ago. Said he had an interesting proposal for us.’
‘Warwick! I thought we’d decided we didn’t want them investing in Tingulla.’
‘This is something entirely different. A way Tingulla could make some money for a couple of months. He has some Americans coming out on a project and Tingulla would be perfect for them.’
‘For what? Are we going into the bed and breakfast business?’
‘No, Queenie — they’re interested in using the property as a movie location.’
‘A what?’
Warwick shrugged. ‘I told him I’d discuss it with you. They’re making a film set in the outback and need a glamorous homestead, horses, horsemen, and a base location for accommodation and stuff. They’d pay a hefty whack for our setup each week.’
‘You’ve got to be joking, Warwick! And what are we supposed to do? Go and live in a tent in the scrub and leave them and the stock to it?’
‘No. They’d pay us — a large location fee each week and money to any men we could spare. They need horse wranglers, stunt riders and people to help with the logistics of filming and getting around, stuff like that — people we could help them contact. And I figured we could accommodate them in the shearers’ quarters and hire Stan to feed them all. They’d pay bloody well for that.’
‘You’ve thought it all out, then, have you?’
Warwick shifted uncomfortably at the icy tone in Queenie’s voice. ‘Of course not. They were just a few ideas that came immediately to mind. Queenie, this is a big American movie outfit. We’re talking several thousand dollars a week.’
Queenie pushed back her chair. ‘If they’re prepared to pay that sort of money it must mean they cause a lot of trouble and expect a lot.’
‘Sounds like money for jam to me, just the same,’ retorted Warwick to Queenie’s retreating back.
The next day Queenie rode Nareedah across the patchy brown paddocks where tree branches sagged in the heat, their leaves already shrivelled and curled. The stockpile of feed for the sheep was diminishing rapidly and soon they would have to start buying it in. The drought had sent stock feed prices soaring. Their cash flow was almost non-existent, and this would have to be added to their already huge debt.
Maybe the money from the movie people would be useful. The thought of a stack of tourists, actors, city trendies and film phonies clambering over the place made her shudder. But then it would probably only be for a few weeks, and the money would certainly pay for the feed.
She cautiously raised the matter with Warwick. ‘I’m certainly not agreeing to this mad idea, but just suppose we did say yes. I was thinking if they do pay well, it would cover the cost of feed for a couple of months.’
‘For sure it would. Queenie, I’ll look into it in more detail and find out exactly what’s involved. It was just an idea. Camboni said they had some advance man out here scouting around for possible locations.’
The chartered Cessna trundled along the dirt strip at Tingulla raising an orange dust cloud. Warwick fanned the choking dust from his face with his hat and watched the pilot, dressed in blue shorts and casual shirt, unlatch the door and help the expensive-looking American businessman from the aircraft, taking out his smart luggage as Warwick stepped forward.
Warwick had spoken to Alfredo Camboni who had put him in touch with Roger Ambrose, the location manager for Mountain Pictures of Sunset Boulevard, Los Angeles. It had seemed logical to invite Mr Ambrose to visit Tingulla to see the homestead and surrounding countryside for himself.
The film executive was in his thirties, his hair cropped unfashionably short, very tanned, and dressed casually in cotton pants, a light golfing-style T-shirt and canvas loafers on his feet.
The three men climbed into the Land Rover and headed to the house. As they approached the imposing double-storey homestead Ambrose caught his breath. ‘My God! It’s beautiful! It’s like a mansion in the South. Only more … relaxed, I guess. It suits the setting. Very impressive. I had no idea …’
Warwick smiled and looked again at the gracious facade that welcomed visitors to Tingulla. Drought or not, Millie still managed to recycle water onto the flowers and the brolga fountain splashed and sparkled in the sunlight. It was a magnificent home. No wonder Queenie was devoted to it.
‘Built by my wife’s great-grandfather. It’s part of the country’s history.’
‘It certainly is lovely. It would be wonderful to share this with people around the world by putting it in our film. You could never build a set to create this sort of magic,’ enthused Roger.
Warwick turned to Roger Ambrose. ‘I should alert you to the fact that my wife isn’t overly enthused about this idea. She’s out with the horses right now, but we can drive over later on and I’ll introduce you. I’m sure once you explain what it entails …’
‘That’s what I’m here for,’ smiled the American smoothly. ‘I’m
certainly looking forward to seeing over the house.’
Millie served cool drinks, tea and sandwiches on the verandah, and afterwards the interested pilot tagged along as Warwick showed the American over the interior of the homestead.
Roger Ambrose had a soft accent and a gentle manner, and exuded enthusiasm without gushing. ‘The rooms are spacious with so much natural light. Perfect for shooting interior scenes. What’s the noise level like outside? Obviously there’s no traffic. Many planes go over?’
‘Not unless you ask for them or someone is lost,’ said the pilot.
‘Perfect, perfect.’
‘Birds make a bit of a racket.’
‘Indigenous sound effects. We can live with that. It’s all looking very good, Warwick. I’d like to meet your wife and see if I can convince her to allow us to shoot here. From what I saw from the plane as we flew in, the surrounding area looks like it will fit the bill as well.’
They drove the pilot back to his plane and watched him take off. ‘I’ll take you for a tour around the property and outer paddocks. And you can meet Queenie at the same time.’
Roger Ambrose made notes as they spent the next two hours driving about the property.
‘It’s not looking its best because of the drought. Hasn’t been this dry for years.’
‘These red and orange earth tones are wonderful. If we wanted lush green we’d film in Ireland. How many sheep did you say you had?’
‘We run fifty thousand on two hundred thousand acres. We have a smaller property a couple of hundred miles to the northeast called Cricklewood which we’re still developing. Queenie is experimenting with breeding up a new strain of cattle over there.’
‘Man, you’re talking Texas figures! You don’t have oil on this place by any chance?’
‘Who knows? No one’s ever bothered to look.’
