Heart of the Dreaming

by DIMORRISSEY

  Bill powered past the other horses, taking the lead as the watching crowd went berserk. Above the pounding hooves behind him, Mick heard the cheers and knew they were for them.

  TR had tears running down his face as he held the transistor radio close to Bobby’s head.

  In the quiet hospital room, the race commentator’s voice echoed incongruously, but Bobby gave no indication of hearing anything as he lay unmoving, his breathing shallow and irregular.

  The commentator’s voice was strident with delight and disbelief. ‘He’s won it! Sweet William, number seventeen, has romped home in an unbelievable victory against incredible odds … this is one for the history books, ladies and gentlemen. The horse is fantastic. He’s won by lengths. A bolter from the bush, that’s for sure.’

  The voice raged on, but TR wasn’t listening. He smoothed Bobby’s forehead and lifted his thin hand. ‘Did you hear that, Bobby? Bill has won. Your Bill has won the Cup, mate … Bobby?’

  There was the slightest pressure against TR’s fingers and Bobby’s eyelashes fluttered, the corners of his lips lifted and he whispered, ‘You bloody beauty’.

  ‘And it’s all because of you, mate …’

  But Bobby had heard all he needed to hear and TR felt the old man’s hand relax and his fingers fall away from his as the last breath whistled from his body.

  TR sat holding his hand and wept. The radio continued to fill the room with cheering and Mick’s emotion-filled voice … ‘at the end I was just hanging on. Bobby Fenton, his trainer, said give him his head, Bill would know when to go. And he did … Bill won the cup for Bobby … his mate.’

  Colin and Dina closed down Tingulla. They had their possessions packed and sent to Sydney. Ruthie stayed on in Millie and Jim’s old quarters as caretaker.

  The station hands had all been let go, save for Snowy who remained on the property sharing the caretaking duties with Ruthie. Ernie took a droving job, promising Ruthie he’d be back and would ‘look her up’.

  The sheep were auctioned. Colin said nothing to anyone local, but rumours spread quickly and it was soon known Tingulla was being wound up. No one knew what its future was or if it would be sold.

  Alfredo Camboni had arranged for the sale of Tingulla to be conducted discreetly by private tender. Colin insisted that there be no publicity. At the same time he easily sold one of the flats in his block at Double Bay and he and Dina made arrangements to move to Europe.

  ‘Dina, it’s just for a six months trial,’ Colin had insisted.

  ‘Of course, caro,’ she replied reassuringly, but had every intention of settling in Europe and had already planned to buy a villa in Porto Ercole. ‘Daddy has arranged for you to look after his business dealings in Europe. You’ll find this suits you much better than being a farmer,’ she murmured, winding her arms about him.

  Colin let the remark pass. He felt he had failed with Tingulla and blamed Queenie for his own inadequacies. But he was damned if he was going to let her get back there and prove he hadn’t been able to manage. As he signed the transfer papers he realised this would be the end of the Hanlon line owning Tingulla. If he heard any misgivings from the graves of his great-grandfather, grandfather and father, he ignored them and held the pen firmly.

  Two weeks later Colin flew to Rome with Dina without any family farewells.

  The Kurrajong was almost finished and Queenie moved back to Sydney to work on publicity for her launch and party.

  She planned to open the hotel after Christmas with a gala weekend extravaganza for a hundred and twenty influential guests from the media, the travel and tourism industry, the social scene and heads of large corporations. She also wanted her friends to share the occasion and she invited Dingo, Millie and Jim, Snowy, Sarah’s parents, old Alf from Neptune Island and Judy and Eric Thomas. John and Sarah would be on hand to help out if she needed any assistance.

  She hesitated about asking TR. She was saddened at the death of his trainer, Bobby, and impressed about what she had heard of Guneda from Millie and Saskia. Sarah had shown her several articles about TR and the stud in magazines, and she agreed it looked a spectacular set up. But Queenie still found being near him unsettling. Also, unaware Martine had returned to America, the thought of him bringing his girlfriend along disturbed her. She decided to spare herself the anguish and his name never appeared on the guest list.

  Henri Barnard had decided to stay on a few months in Australia and was included among the guests. He was in Adelaide for two weeks and Queenie was surprised and flattered when he sent her a bouquet of native flowers and a note saying he was thinking of her. He hoped all was progressing smoothly and asked if she would dine with him again.

  Because of the hotel launch, Queenie made no grand plans for Christmas. As Sarah, John and young Tim were taking a break on Neptune Island, she accepted an invitation from Judy and Eric Thomas to have Christmas lunch with them.

  ‘We’re going out … I’m not cooking this year,’ said Judy. ‘It’s going to be seafood, outdoors in a dear little restaurant on the water.’

  Millie would be with Jim and TR at Guneda, and Saskia said she too would rather be there, than sitting in a restaurant. Queenie was reluctant, and finally promised her she could spend the last two weeks of her school holidays there after the launch of the Kurrajong.

  ‘You don’t want to miss my opening do you, Sas? Besides, I need you to act as co-hostess.’

  ‘You think I can do that all right? It all makes me feel nervous.’

  Queenie regarded her daughter fondly. ‘Have you looked in the mirror lately, my sweet girl?’ Queenie turned Saskia around to face the oval mirror on the wall. With arms about each other, mother and daughter stared at their reflection. ‘See, you’re nearly as tall as me … and how pretty you are, Sas. You’re going to look wonderful in your new evening dress.’

  ‘If I don’t trip over.’

  Queenie laughed, then paused, her eyes misty.

  ‘What are you thinking, Mum?’ asked Saskia gently.

  ‘I was thinking of my twenty-first birthday … when I ruined my dress and my mother took me to a mirror to show me how pretty I looked … and you know, she also told me not to fall over in my silver sandals.’

  ‘I bet you were more at home in riding boots!’

  Queenie hugged her daughter. ‘You’re right. I was, Sas. Come on, we still have Christmas shopping to do.’

  This Christmas seemed a bit of an anticlimax — the year had gone so swiftly. Queenie shopped for gifts in a rush and really didn’t feel at all festive while she had so much on her mind.

  Henri returned to town and they had lunch or dinner together at least twice a week. Queenie was grateful for his knowledge, advice and calm manner. It was reassuring to be with him and to listen to his comments about the details of the hotel. He had warned her with a twinkle in his eye, that inevitably something disastrous happened. Whenever you opened a hotel, he said, there was a drama — ranging from the chef running away or getting drunk, food or last minute equipment not arriving, or a major piece of equipment breaking down.

  Queenie was determined to cover any and every eventuality to prevent such a nightmare happening at the opening of the Kurrajong. Her planned safeguards and carefully prepared check lists amused and impressed him.

  She enjoyed Henri’s company too. He was charming and witty and they shared a professional interest. She knew he was interested in her romantically, but he never pushed himself forward. He kissed her on the cheek in greeting and when saying goodbye. He was well aware of her vulnerability and while he had never questioned her directly about her past loves or her marriage, he realised he should deal gently with her emotionally. Queenie began to relax in his company, feeling safe without the need to be on the defensive all the time.

  He courted her nonetheless. Small, thoughtful, silly or sweet gifts turned up at Queenie’s door with little notes that simply said, ‘I thought this might make you smile’, or, ‘I saw this and thought of you’.

 
Several times they included Saskia in their outings. On one occasion Henri hired a cruiser and took Saskia and Queenie for a day trip on the Hawkesbury River. They spent one Sunday at Taronga Park Zoo finishing up at Luna Park funfair where Saskia squealed her way through every wild ride. Another day he took them both ice skating for the first time. While towing Saskia around the ice he asked her, ‘Would you like to visit America? I could take you snow skiing over there.’

  ‘Not on your life,’ retorted Saskia. ‘I like the bush, even if it does get hot.’

  ‘Like mother, like daughter,’ smiled Henri easily.

  But Saskia was generally busy with her own activities and school work and only occasionally did she long for life at Tingulla. Mostly Henri and Queenie spent time alone together. Queenie found she was enjoying the company of this urbane and sophisticated man more and more; and his talk of Europe and America made her think for the first time in years of travelling abroad.

  Henri, however, planned to be around Sydney for some time. He had found a location for his hotel, in the historic Rocks area which was being redeveloped in line with the preservation of the remaining buildings of Sydney’s first settlement.

  Queenie heard from TR for the first time since their last unhappy meeting, when he sent her a formal note asking if it would be all right if he gave Saskia a horse for Christmas.

  She seems to enjoy her times here and we certainly like having her cheerful company about the place. The horse is a steady animal — though I have discovered Saskia can handle almost any horse, like her mother — and it is not an expensive thoroughbred, so she would be doing us a favour to take it on. I hasten to add this is Tango’s idea and I think it a good one. So, if it’s all right with you, we’ll let her know what we have in store.

  This gesture surprised, touched and troubled Queenie. TR had hurt her terribly, yet she couldn’t deny the deep feelings she still held for him. For her own tranquillity these had to be pushed aside as she got on with her life. But she realised she was dealing with her own problems and depriving Saskia of the joy of owning a horse. Queenie knew her daughter missed the bush and the country life style, so she sent TR a brief card thanking him and Tango, and agreeing to the gift.

  Saskia solved her problem of what to give Tango for Christmas when she found a beautiful old wooden box in a junk store. She decorated it with a hot poker, burning a design of horses, birds and his initials into the lid. Inside she put, ‘December 1984, your friend, Saskia’. Beneath her name, she burned a design of a small butterfly.

  The Christmas meal at the Cottage Point Restaurant proved a huge success. A converted boat shed, with its own wharf and small deck over the water, the owners specialised in local seafood.

  Saskia and Queenie ordered the seafood platter between them and were overcome by the huge plate of fish, crabs, crayfish, mussels, calamari, octopus and oysters. ‘And what’s this?’ asked Saskia, lifting a brown shellfish from the bottom of the dish.

  ‘A Balmain bug … surely you’ve tried one before! You lived at Balmain.’

  ‘If you like lobster and crab you’ll like that … it’s very tender and sweet,’ said Eric.

  Traditional pudding was served despite the brilliant sunshine glittering on the water.

  Judy handed each person a small package which turned out to be a three pence or sixpence minted in the year of their birth. ‘I haven’t put coins in the pudding since Eric broke a tooth on one years ago, but I thought it might be a nice memento of this Christmas. I bought them from a coin dealer. The equivalent in decimal currency just doesn’t seem the same …’

  Queenie looked at the small shiny coin. ‘My mother and Millie always put threepennies and sixpences in the Christmas pudding. What a lovely idea, Judy.’

  Queenie gave hers to Saskia who was born after the change to decimal currency. Saskia put it carefully in her pocket. ‘I’m going to give it to Tango. I’ll put it in the box I made him.’

  Queenie looked at Saskia. There was obviously a very close bond between the two of them and it hit her for the first time that perhaps Saskia had a crush on Tango. Her heart lurched, partly from the knowledge of how swiftly time was passing, of the loneliness in her own heart, and the memory of her own first — and only love. She prayed Saskia would never suffer the same agony she had over her love for TR.

  Queenie and Saskia drove home in comfortable and happy silence after the long Christmas meal.

  Saskia leaned her head against the back of the seat and Queenie thought she was asleep. Then she sighed. ‘You know what I want for next Christmas? I want to have Christmas at home … at Tingulla.’

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Snowy was sitting under the shade of a tree, making a stock whip from long strips of leather, when he heard a car approaching Tingulla homestead. By the time he got to the house, three men were at the front door jangling a bunch of keys as they tried to fit the right key in the lock.

  ‘Can I help you fellas?’ asked Snowy.

  ‘It’s all right, mate … you work here?’

  ‘I’m lookin’ after Tingulla. I’m Snowy.’

  ‘I’m Dick Brighton. We’re from Sydney, and these gentlemen are just going to have a look through the house,’ said the man doing all the talking. ‘Just seeing what they’re getting for their money.’

  ‘Tingulla’s being sold?’

  ‘Maybe,’ said the man evasively.

  ‘Who’s gonna buy Tingulla?’

  ‘No one you know, mate. It’s a syndicate. They’ll put in a manager, he’ll see you right, I’m sure.’

  The men disappeared inside. With a worried expression Snowy drifted back to the shade.

  Millie and Jim were working in the vegetable garden that Millie had created at Guneda. Saskia and Tango were out riding and TR walked from his office studying a sheaf of papers.

  With Millie staying for the holidays, the housekeeper, Mum Ryan, had taken off for a break with her sister down the south coast.

  ‘Hey, Millie, we’re not going into the market garden business,’ exclaimed TR, looking at the rows of freshly planted vegetables.

  ‘What you don’t eat fresh, you can freeze or give to the horses.’

  ‘Good for man or beast, hey, Millie? Well, at the moment I’ll settle for a cup of tea,’ said TR.

  ‘Yeah, I reckon it’s smoko time,’ said Jim, straightening up.

  Millie put her hoe to one side. ‘I’ll go put the kettle on.’

  Ten minutes later the men washed their hands and headed to the verandah where Millie had the tea things laid out with large slabs of fruit cake.

  Jim and TR chatted quietly about moving some horses and making repairs to one of the stables. Millie was silent as she poured the tea then sat back and stared into the distance. She didn’t have more than two or three sips of her tea before she became perfectly still. She no longer heard the drone of conversation and her tea grew cold. It was as if she had become hypnotised.

  Jim noticed her distracted expression. ‘What’s up, Millie?’

  She didn’t reply for a moment and slowly her eyes refocused on Jim. ‘I think Snowy wants to reach us. There might be something happening at Tingulla. Maybe something wrong.’

  TR was about to ask how she figured that, but held his tongue. He had experienced Aboriginal telepathy — or intuition — several times before, and while he couldn’t explain how messages seemed to be transmitted between Aboriginal people over vast empty distances, he accepted that it happened. ‘What do you want to do, Millie?’ he asked gently.

  ‘No good phoning, the house is locked up,’ said Jim.

  ‘Someone should go see if everything is all right,’ said Millie.

  ‘Millie! That’s a big trip,’ said Jim, a little surprised at the suggestion, but not in a challenging way. He knew his wife.

  TR thought a moment. It might seem like a crazy idea to travel such a long way because of Millie’s sixth sense, but he didn’t like the idea that there might be trouble at Tingulla. Things hadn’t loo
ked good on his last visit. ‘I know — Tango can drive up. I’ll give him a week off,’ said TR.

  Millie nodded and, satisfied, picked up her cup of cold tea.

  Now that Henri had found a location for his Sydney Montpelier Hotel, he began the convoluted procedure of setting up an administrative infrastructure to get the project under way.

  ‘I’m bringing out some of my people from New York and an architect from Paris. I’m in the middle of the financial negotiations at the moment. The trouble with being a known international quantity, you have to negotiate downwards,’ he told Queenie.

  ‘I’m lucky, nobody has heard of the Kurrajong … yet … so I can haggle better,’ laughed Queenie.

  They were walking along the long sweep of Palm Beach after a lazy and casual lunch of fish and chips eaten out of paper on the grass by the beach. The local fish shop was famed for its fresh and tasty fish.

  ‘Let’s walk up the cliff to the lighthouse and work off those chips,’ suggested Queenie.

  Henri sighed. ‘Don’t you ever run out of energy?’

  But he strode easily behind her as Queenie picked her way along the rocky path that wound its way up to the top of Barrenjoey Headland.

  Henri stumbled and realised he had been admiring Queenie’s neat round bottom in her crisp white shorts rather than watching where he was stepping. She looked like a schoolgirl, he thought. Suntanned, streaks of sun lightening the bronze glints in her windswept hair, a cotton striped top, long shapely legs emerging from the shorts, simple, sturdy sandals and no make-up.

  Three-quarters of the way up they paused to look out over the sail-studded Broken Bay and Pittwater to the hilly green bushland of Ku-rin-gai Chase National Park. To the east they looked out over the Pacific, clear and blue, dotted with surfboard riders and swimmers, and the long stretch of sand sprinkled with multicoloured umbrellas and sunbathers.