by DIMORRISSEY
‘I think Colin’s problem is he won’t listen to advice, he’s out of touch and he has a definite problem with a wife who doesn’t understand country life.’
‘Well, I hope Colin gets fed up and gets out before he ruin the whole place. Tingulla needs Queenie bad.’
Queenie slung the antique silk shawl around her bare shoulders, covering the strapless black dress, and headed out into the still night. Gingerly she hitched up the short tight skirt and in her black stiletto shoes climbed into the Range Rover and eased it into gear.
With a damaged muffler amplifying the exhaust, she roared into the gracious driveway of Sarah and John’s home as a smartly dressed, attractive man stepped from a sleek Jaguar. He watched in amusement as Queenie parked and slid down from the driver’s seat.
‘Someone who looks as elegant as you shouldn’t look so at home behind the wheel of a four-wheel drive,’ he remarked.
‘You obviously haven’t spent much time in the bush. We country girls consider these quite chic’
‘So I see. I must go bush if this is what I’m missing. You don’t see too many of these trundling around the city. Or have you just arrived from the wilds?’
They turned and headed for the brightly lit entrance of the house. ‘No, I’m a city girl … for the time being.’
‘I’m Anthony Tureau. I assume you are a friend of John and Sarah’s?’
‘Queenie Hanlon. How do you do.’ Queenie had gone back to using her maiden name on John’s advice in order to promote Heirloom Cottages. The Hanlon name was well known and Tingulla’s fame widespread.
They shook hands as Sarah came to the door beaming. ‘Well, how convenient — my last two guests arrive together.’ She kissed Anthony lightly and gave Queenie a meaningful look. Queenie realised this was her blind date for the evening. She pursed her lips at Sarah behind Anthony’s back.
It was a large group and dinner was a buffet so Queenie was relieved she wasn’t trapped at a sit-down dinner. Anthony was attentive and rather charming but Queenie found herself enjoying the company of a jolly woman called Judith Thomas. Judy was close to fifty, buxom with greying hair. She was lively, warm and intelligent, and the two women took an instant liking to each other. They quickly settled themselves in a corner where they talked so animatedly and were so engrossed no one wanted to interrupt them.
Judy admired Queenie’s opal necklace. ‘Those are superb opals. I know quite a bit about them even though Australian women don’t seem to favour them much … yet. All the good ones are sold overseas.’
‘Some people think they’re unlucky. I love these — they were a twenty-first birthday gift from my parents.’
‘Don’t you believe that nonsense about opals being unlucky, it was all a rumour started by the goldminers and the jewellers when opals were first found.’
Judy’s husband Eric was a stockbroker in Sydney and the Thomases were obviously well-to-do, with old money and good connections. But in the manner of those with good breeding, she made no reference to her status, didn’t name drop or give any clues.
Her interest in Queenie was so genuine and caring, Queenie was amazed to find herself telling Judy about the loss of Tingulla and the struggle she’d had to get established in Sydney.
Judy clapped her hands together when Queenie began to explain about the terrace houses. ‘Heirloom Cottages! I know them. We read about them … of course — now I realise who you are. Congratulations, you deserve everything you’ve worked for … in fact, I believe a friend of ours has bought one as a town house. I admire you tremendously, not many women would have achieved so much with such odds against them. Good on you, my dear. So, what’s next?’
‘I’m not sure. I guess developing and designing more Heirloom Cottages. I have to push myself a bit to drum up some business now the initial flush is over with the places in Glebe. I’m in partnership with John.’
Judy put down her coffee cup. ‘Why don’t we meet for lunch next week? Perhaps I can help. Besides, I’d enjoy seeing you again.’
‘I would too,’ smiled Queenie. She hadn’t been so stimulated by anyone’s company in months.
To Sarah’s dismay Queenie hadn’t given Anthony any time at all, but when she bid her good night after all the guests had left, Queenie hugged her. ‘Thanks for introducing me to a new friend. I really like Judy Thomas.’
‘She and Eric are a wonderful couple. Really special people. Well, if I couldn’t line up a lover at least you have an entrée into the best circles in town.’
‘That’s not the reason at all. I like her as a friend. I found I could share things with her that, apart from you, I haven’t told anyone. I like a woman’s company. There’s always sexual games and a competitiveness with men.’
‘Shall I leave you two?’ asked John.
Queenie and Sarah laughed. ‘Good night … and thanks for inviting Anthony, Sarah. I’m sure he’s a lovely man, but I’m not interested.’
‘Anthony’s loss I’m afraid,’ murmured John as Queenie headed down their drive. ‘He was most smitten.’
‘It seems such a waste. I just hope she doesn’t fall for some loser,’ sighed Sarah. ‘I’m glad she and Judy got on so well, though, even if there is such an age gap. But come to think of it, she has some of those gracious qualities of Queenie’s mother, Rose.’
The next week Queenie met Judy in a small coffee shop and later took her back to show her the house in Glebe.
‘Queenie, it’s exquisite. You have superb taste, a real talent for this. You must do more.’
‘I only want to do things that appeal to me. Now I have a bit of money I can afford to be choosy. Frankly, as I told you, I want to make a lot of money.’
‘So you can buy back your Tingulla?’
Queenie nodded.
‘Right then. First I’m going to hold a series of small soirees … my “famous little dinners” as Eric calls them. I get roped in for all kinds of charity work which is boring because the women are generally such pains. But I have a certain clout on committees and such, so everyone who is anyone turns up when I ask them to dinner. I can introduce you into a circle of wealthy clientele who will outdo each other in demanding your services. But you have to play the game too, my dear.’
‘Judy … you are wonderful … what do I do?’
‘You are a rare flower who is naturally beautiful, but we have to gild the lily a bit. These women only respect what they recognise — the labels and the trappings. So we’re going shopping. And to the hair stylist, and to Arabella.’
‘Oh no, must I? Who’s Arabella?’
‘She runs a very exclusive boutique. She will happily outfit you in her designs. It will be good publicity for her, trust me.’
Sarah was thrilled when Queenie told her Judy’s plans. ‘Queenie, I think that’s wonderful. You have to play them at their own game. It’s infuriating how you look glamorous in old moleskins, but here you have to outclass the social set. The more expensive you look, the more snooty you are, the more exclusive you seem, the more they’ll want you.’
‘My lord, between you and Judy doing an Eliza Doolittle on me, poor Saskia won’t know her own mother when she gets back from holidays.’
While Queenie reluctantly submitted herself to the hands of hair stylists, beauticians and fashion consultants, Saskia was knee-deep in horse dung and loving it.
Old Bobby had taken her under his wing and talked about horses for hours on end as they tended the foals and pregnant mares. Saskia was allowed to ride several of the quiet horses and Bobby and TR taught her some finer points of horse riding. In the evenings with Millie and Jim, she recounted her day with great enthusiasm before her eyes drooped and she fell into bed. She was up at sunrise and out watching TR and Tango, the new jackaroo, train the horses.
Mick, the young Aboriginal jockey came several mornings a week to ride Bill, but for the rest of the time Tango helped with the training.
‘Why is he called Tango?’ Saskia asked Bobby.
‘There was a bush dance t
he first week he was here and although he’s a shy young kid he’s a good dancer, so they nicknamed him Tango.’
‘What’s a tango?’
‘A sexy dance, luv. One of them foreign Latin numbers.’
‘I don’t like dancing. Riding is better.’
Bobby grinned at the lanky young girl. ‘You’ll change your mind in a couple of years.’
Saskia didn’t answer but continued to watch Tango put a skittish young thoroughbred through its paces.
Tango was nearly seventeen, shy and good-looking. He was tall, of slim wiry build, with still a lot of growing to do despite being almost six feet in height. He had bright blue eyes and sun-bronzed hair. His voice was soft, not the harsh nasal twang of most country boys. He tolerated Saskia dogging his footsteps with good humour, recognising her love of horses. ‘You like horses better than people, I think,’ he once teased her.
She had considered this remark with deep concentration before smiling back at him. ‘Just some people.’
Along with their mutual love of horses, Saskia and Tango shared a deep respect and affection for TR. As did Bobby. The old man considered him the son he never had, and each day thanked whatever lucky star had sent TR to his daughter’s house in Brisbane to rescue him from turning into a cabbage. He complained to TR that his daughter and her family either ignored him or treated him like a ‘wobbly old man’.
‘You’ve given me a new lease of life, TR,’ he would add.
‘And I couldn’t do this without you,’ rejoined TR. ‘We’re partners, you silly old coot.’
Queenie felt strangely nervous as she presented herself early at Judy’s for the first dinner party for Heirloom Cottages. She kept glancing at herself in mirrors, marvelling at the ultra chic woman who looked back in surprise.
Judy circled Queenie, studying her, and stepped back. ‘You’re perfect,’ she announced.
Queenie’s hair gleamed in a series of coils and braids glittering with jewelled combs. Her emerald eyes were heavily made up to look more dramatic than ever, and her high cheek bones and sensuous mouth were a fashion photographer’s delight. Her slender figure was swathed in deep turquoise bands of chiffon with a length floating like a sari from one shoulder. It was strapless and long and she wore very high heeled sandals that were mere wisps of leather created by an Italian craftsman. Queenie had been appalled at paying so much for so little.
Her nails were painted a clear coral. A magnificent and unusual silver and turquoise necklace with matching long earrings gave a stunning finish to the outfit.
‘I feel so … conspicuous … and I’m certain I’m going to fall on my face in these heels,’ muttered Queenie.
‘Take tiny steps. And yes, you do stand out … gorgeously, so — that’s the whole idea. The other women are going to be beside themselves,’ grinned Judy with satisfaction.
Queenie found the evening long and tiring, as if she were on stage performing the whole time, aware she was being scrutinised by the ladies, and covertly leered at by the men.
At first the women wanted to know about Heirloom Cottage’s decor and furnishings and chatted about buying antiques.
‘They sound quite divine, what a clever idea,’ said one of the lady guests.
One of the husbands chimed in, ‘Yes, indeed. Just whose concept was it? Exactly?’
Queenie lowered her wine glass before answering in a firm but gentle voice, smiling steadily across the table. ‘It was my concept, my development, my hard work and my gamble that paid off. Exactly.’
There was a brief silence, then one of the other men leaned back in his chair. ‘So, who’s the big money behind that pretty face? Surely you are just a figurehead, my dear. Prospective investors might want a little reassurance they are dealing with someone more … ah, experienced in business.’
‘My track record speaks for itself. I planned and fought for a project and brought it to fruition under budget — and it has exceeded expectations in record time. I have more ideas which I know will also be successful. Frankly, city business is a piece of cake compared to not only surviving, but making a success of a large outback station. I think that sort of experience makes me a pretty strong investment.’
The men around the table broke into a spontaneous round of applause. ‘I’ll drink to that! Here’s to Queenie’s Heirloom Cottages,’ grinned the man who had baited her initially.
‘Touché. Well done, Queenie,’ thought Judy as she rang the bell for the maid to bring the next course.
By the time they had finished the liqueurs and coffee, most of the guests had picked up one of Queenie’s small engraved business cards from the sideboard.
When everyone had left, Queenie and Judy sank onto a sofa kicking off their shoes. ‘You were magnificent, Queenie. A few more of these and you’ll feel more comfortable, and you’ll have more business than you need. Most of them will call, you’ll see.’
‘Judy … I’m exhausted, but it was great. How can I ever thank you?’
‘Don’t ever get too busy to see a friend.’
‘Never.’
They called indeed. Suddenly every socialite in the eastern suburbs, followed by those from the North Shore, was on a nostalgia kick, wanting a heritage inspired theme, or room, or house, or country cottage done by Queenie. People started to simply call them Queenie’s houses and she was booked solid for months.
John found a street of grand old Victorian homes in Randwick which had been turned into flats and bedsitters. These were added to the agenda to be restored and sold as ‘Gentleman’s Residences; close to the city and the racecourse’ said John, trying out his advertising skills.
‘John, I can’t do all these myself!’
‘Hire people, start training them. But you oversee what goes into every house, every room.’
Queenie dropped her head into her hands, groaning aloud. ‘It all seems too much. It’s getting out of control.’
‘You were the one who wanted to make money,’ teased Sarah.
Queenie lifted her head. ‘You’re right. I’m not quite there but it’s looking good.’
‘Having the money is one thing. How are you going to get Colin to sell to you when you have enough?’ asked Sarah.
‘I don’t know. Except he mustn’t know I want to buy Tingulla or he definitely won’t let it go. I might have to be a bit devious and get John to work something out for me.’
‘Queenie, how you’ve changed,’ laughed Sarah. ‘Normally you would have charged up to Tingulla with a fistful of money, kicked the door open with your boot and demanded Colin sell.’
‘I’m learning to play their game,’ said Queenie. ‘And I intend to win …’
Chapter Twenty-Eight
The tepid air blew in from the night sea, lifting the gold-flecked drapes in the penthouse of Paradise Gardens. Colin walked onto the broad balcony on the twentieth floor and gazed into the warm Queensland night. Below, floodlights shone onto the sand, illuminating the white foamy crests of the surf as it rolled sleepily to shore. Colin wondered what lurked in the dark water beyond the beam of the spotlights.
Dina’s laughter floated ahead of her as she joined him. ‘Colin, come on, a pile of us are getting into the jacuzzi with a couple of bottles of Bollinger.’
‘Not me. I don’t like communal bathing.’
‘Don’t be such a drag, it’s just for fun.’ She leaned her head against his shoulder. ‘I just adore it here. I love the sea breeze and there’s always something going on. Why don’t we buy one of these units?’
‘Because I’m not made of money, Dina. If you want a place in Surfers Paradise, we’d have to sell Tingulla.’
‘Maybe that wouldn’t be such a bad idea. It’s not making us any money and it has turned you into a real misery, caro mio. Perhaps we should go back to my idea about Italy … a nice villa on the Riviera, you can zip to Roma or Milano in your convertible and look after business for Daddy.’
Colin drained his champagne glass. He said nothing but at this moment th
e idea had great appeal. He was tired. Running Tingulla was a strain and he knew he wasn’t managing well, though he kept telling himself he’d had a run of bad luck. But in his heart he knew that surmounting such obstacles was all part of running a big station. Maybe he should get out rather than slowly go under or wait for a really good season to pull up the finances. The run of bad seasons could last for years. It annoyed him that Queenie had run the place so successfully for so long before Warwick dragged her down.
He turned back to the party. ‘Let’s get another drink and think about it.’
Dina did more than think. Rather than return to Tingulla after the weekend festivities at the coast, she flew to Sydney to do some shopping and spend time with her father.
‘Colin isn’t happy. And why should he work so hard? For what? I’m bored, he’s tired and neglects me. He loves Europe. I have family and friends there. Surely you could find something for him to do, Pappa?’
Dina hadn’t called her father that in years and Alfredo Camboni knew he was being manipulated. Nevertheless, he was pleased at the loving attentions of his daughter. ‘If Tingulla is sold, a goodly portion of the proceeds are due to me, but there would be enough for you two to set yourselves up in Italy … if your plans are not too grand … a villa, not a palazzo, Dina. And si, there are small business matters Colin could look after for me, but he will not make his fortune.’
‘If we need money, Colin can sell one of his flats in Double Bay. That’s a good investment he has sitting there. Going back to Europe will be wonderful. Tingulla is beautiful, but so far away from everything.’ Dina leaned forward taking her father’s hand. ‘Colin would not want Queenie to know about this, of course.’
Camboni nodded. ‘Tell him I will arrange matters discreetly. There is much jealousy between that boy and his sister. Does he know how successful Queenie has become in Sydney?’
Dina flicked her hair in annoyance. She was none too pleased at Queenie — ‘the hick horsewoman’, as she called her — now being one of the most sought after women in Sydney, socially and professionally.
