Return to Moondilla

by Tony Parsons

  He knew his mother wasn’t on board with these plans. She would always love to cook, but in recent years a new obsession had developed: grandchildren. Everything depended on her only child, so she did everything she could to hasten his progress. Baxter couldn’t have been more aware of this, as he’d told Julie.

  What he hadn’t told Julie was that his mother had ‘unearthed’ several potential daughters-in-law, all of whom he’d rejected as ‘unsuitable’. This had been particularly disappointing to Frances, because the young women in question dined at her restaurant on a regular basis and were regarded as belonging to ‘the cream of the crop’.

  Despite the fact that Greg had a mind of his own, Frances never failed to let her son know that she was very proud of him. He’d presented her with most of his trophies and plaques when he moved to Moondilla, and she’d told him on the phone that these were now displayed prominently in her Killara home and shown off to guests.

  While she freely acknowledged that Greg developed peculiar ideas at times—like going off to Moondilla to write—Frances often told him that if this was the worst thing he ever did, she felt she’d never have reason to complain. She was glad he didn’t smoke, drink or take drugs, and she not-so-secretly believed that she’d raised the most handsome and charming man in the world.

  •

  Frances had been aware that her son liked Julie Rankin ever since he’d been down in the dumps when she left his class for postgraduate study in London. In turn, Baxter was aware that his mother was aware of this. Whenever he turned down one of the young ladies she’d ‘unearthed’, she would bring up Elaine and Julie as the only women he’d ever really liked—and remind him that because both were out of his reach, he might just need to settle for someone else.

  Now that Julie had surfaced in Moondilla, Frances’ tune had changed—particularly when she’d learned that Greg was seeing the doctor quite frequently. They even fished together, she’d heard from an old friend in town.

  In one of her many phone calls, the Great Woman told her son that she was quite disappointed he himself hadn’t informed her of this state of affairs. She then asked if he was serious about Julie. Baxter hadn’t known what to say.

  ‘Well, are you or are you not serious about that woman?’

  ‘It’s not me, Mum. It seems Julie has a thing about men,’ he tried to explain.

  ‘A thing? What do you mean “a thing”?’

  ‘It seems she prefers fishing to cuddling.’

  ‘Good heavens. And have you cuddled her at all?’

  ‘No, I don’t want to spoil what we have. It’s not a relationship—we’re just good friends—but it’s all right. I enjoy her company and she appears to enjoy mine.’

  Of course Baxter knew—and Frances made it plain—that this was a setback to his mother’s hopes. And it was soon after this conversation that she proposed her visit, an unmistakably optimistic tilt to her voice. Baxter was keen to see his mother, so the knowledge that she had an ulterior motive didn’t bother him too much. He also believed that one meal with Julie would be enough to show Frances, once and for all, that there was no hope of grandchildren from that corner.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Frances hugged and kissed her son, then asked him to help bring in her things from the car. It turned out she’d packed the boot and back seat with a fine range of culinary goodies and condiments, as well as a case of expertly selected wine and liquor—all items which she believed that Baxter wouldn’t be able to afford on his tight budget.

  ‘It seems you’re living largely on fish,’ she said, ‘which is fine and which I, personally, like very much. But there are many ways of preparing fish, and if you’re to serve it up to me, I would insist that it was properly presented and not suffering from lack of condiments. I’m sure a woman like Julie would feel the same.’

  As for the alcohol, Frances said she was aware that her son hardly ever touched it, but modern young women expected to have a glass with their meal, and it would reflect poorly on him if he was unable to offer it. Baxter decided not to tell her that he’d already thought of this and taken care of it—what she didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her.

  They walked together through the house to the kitchen, with Frances declaring that the place was much improved, and that she was glad after all that he hadn’t knocked it down. Then, while he stored the goodies she’d brought, she exclaimed with joy over the renovated kitchen.

  For dinner Baxter had stuffed a snapper with orange and herbs, and made up a plate from the local cheesemaker—he’d long been aware that his mother fancied a good slice of cheese. The meal was accompanied by an excellent white wine.

  Over dinner his mother asked him how his writing was coming along, her eyebrows arched. He hoped he could brush her off with a simple answer and not get into their familiar argument about River of Dreams.

  ‘I’m making some progress and I’m doing what I want to do.’

  ‘Well,’ she said, sounding prim, ‘I want you to know that I still think it’s a most unsavoury subject. Must you write about such unpleasant events?’

  Here we go, Baxter thought. ‘It’s probably the greatest evil in our society, Mum,’ he said. ‘And your publisher certainly seemed interested.’

  Frances sighed. ‘You could write about a poor boy who rose to become a great chef with his own restaurant. You know a lot about food and how to cook it, and you wouldn’t have to go near street girls.’

  ‘What a good idea,’ Baxter said lightly, although she’d already told him about it over the phone. ‘Maybe that’s what I’ll do after I become a published author.’

  ‘People are very interested in food, Greg. It’s a huge industry.’

  Baxter had heard this speech before too—many times. But he was relieved to be off the topic of his book, and he enjoyed watching his mother speak so passionately about her life’s work, her eyes shining.

  ‘Almost every country in the world has its unique recipes,’ she continued, gesturing with her fork. ‘And in France every region has its specialities—Périgord is famous for its truffles, Provence for its garlic-seasoned tomatoes. There’s no end to the recipes.’ Frances paused, then leaned closer to him and asked, very seriously, ‘What about a murder to get hold of a famous recipe?’

  ‘A very inventive suggestion, mother dear.’

  •

  After Frances had complimented him on the food, they retired to sit on the front verandah so they could contemplate the serenity of the river. Chief sat between them and watched everything.

  ‘How old is Julie Rankin?’ Frances asked, seemingly out of the blue.

  ‘A few years younger than me, Mum. I thought you knew she was eighteen when she came to me to learn martial arts. Why?’

  ‘I see. A lot of today’s professional women are having their babies well into their late thirties. Even into their early forties, but that poses some risks.’

  ‘What has that got to do with anything?’ Baxter asked, shifting uncomfortably in his chair.

  ‘Don’t be obtuse, Greg. Women aren’t like men—they can’t go on forever siring children. And the older the woman is, the more chance there is of her producing children with problems.’

  Baxter thought about this for a while before venturing a response. ‘Julie tells me that with new medical developments, more women may be able to have babies into their late forties and early fifties.’

  ‘What a ghastly thought!’ Frances exclaimed. ‘How many women would want to be rearing children at that age? It’s too arduous. I wouldn’t have wanted to deliver you at forty or older, the great lump that you were.’ She smiled to show she was half-kidding.

  ‘Professional women earning big money can afford to employ nannies, Mum. You could have done that with me—you just chose not to, and I’m grateful for it. Look, I know where you’re heading. I know how much you want grandchildren, but I can’t do anything to fast-forward the process.’

  ‘Can’t or won’t?’ Frances asked sharply.
<
br />   Baxter shook his head. ‘I’d marry Julie tomorrow if she said the word. But she likes me well enough as a cobber, not a lover.’ He couldn’t help the sadness that crept into his voice, and his mother’s eyes filled with sympathy.

  ‘Have you ever told her how you feel about her? I know you liked her a lot before she went overseas.’

  ‘I still like her a lot, and I think being mates would be a good start to married life, but Julie won’t take that last step. If I push her too hard, she might give up coming out to fish with me, and I don’t want that to happen. I gave her my word that I wouldn’t try anything unless she gave me the green light.’

  ‘It’s terribly frustrating. I just don’t understand how she could resist you.’

  ‘It seems she wants to do her own thing, unencumbered by a husband. She doesn’t want to commit herself to a man. Any man. That’s what she told me.’

  Frances gave a dramatic sigh and reached out to squeeze her son’s hand. ‘It seems I’m no nearer to my grandchildren than I was five years ago.’

  ‘Sorry, Mum.’

  ‘Can you arrange for Julie to come here for a meal? I’d like to meet her again.’

  ‘Actually, I’ve already invited her—she’ll be over tomorrow night.’

  •

  Baxter reckoned that the effort Frances put into preparing dinner for Julie would be more likely to scare her away from him than attract her. She’d never be able to match his mother’s expertise in the kitchen. She might feel that this was what he’d been used to and would expect from a wife, which was far from true. Baxter knew that Julie was happy to eat simple meals, and on the days she operated she ate very little.

  But Baxter’s gloomy predictions didn’t play out—Julie was full of praise for his mother’s efforts and didn’t seem at all worried.

  Bloody amazing, Baxter thought. Women can be so unpredictable.

  There was also the fact that because Frances was such a dominant personality, many people were intimidated by her. But Julie was a professional used to dealing with a wide variety of people, so she wasn’t at all intimidated. Like Frances, she could cut a person down to size very quickly, which meant she could be devastating with men.

  Julie made a great impression. One of her secrets lay in the way she carried herself—and, of course, she was lovely. If she was deficient in anything, it was overt warmth. Julie’s was a cool beauty, concealing what Baxter knew to be her fiery nature.

  •

  ‘Satisfied, Mum?’ Baxter asked, when Julie’s car had pulled out onto the Moondilla road.

  ‘Quite satisfied, Greg,’ Frances said, smiling broadly. ‘I can understand why you’re taken with her—she’s a very superior person. And remember, I’m speaking as the employer of many young women. I pride myself on being a good judge of my sex.’

  ‘Well, Chief likes Julie too, and I’m rapidly coming to believe that he’s an excellent judge of people.’ Baxter grinned at his mother. ‘I might not mind if you disapproved, but if Chief objected to Julie, I’d be in a spot of bother.’

  ‘And Julie thinks that Chief is an exceptionally clever dog,’ Frances said. ‘So the feeling is mutual.’

  ‘Not much doubt about that,’ he agreed.

  ‘I agree with Julie, Greg—you’ve done well with that dog.’ He nodded. He’d have liked to tell her about Chief alerting him to the tiger snake on the lawn, but then she would worry about him every day of her life. She’d probably want him to return to Sydney, where the only snakes were on two legs. If Frances had the vaguest notion that his life might be in danger, whether from snakes or drug riffraff, she would never let up on him. No Greg, no grandchildren: it was as simple as that.

  Baxter and his mother walked back inside the house to have a cup of coffee and some cake at the kitchen table.

  ‘Is it really true that Julie actually puts bait on a hook?’ Frances asked. ‘She has beautiful hands.’

  ‘I kid you not, Mum. That’s exactly what she does. Julie can tie on two hooks to my one. She puts a cushion under her behind and sits on my jetty for a couple of hours at a time. That’s when she’s not fishing from my boat. I think it’s her way of getting a break from the practice.’

  ‘Now that I’ve met Julie I can understand your dilemma,’ Frances said and sighed. ‘She’s not an easy fish to catch.’

  ‘I wouldn’t describe it as a dilemma. I’m simply letting things take their course and seeing what happens. If I press too hard, she’ll slip away.’ He shrugged. ‘It’s a bit taxing on the old bod, but I can live with that.’

  ‘Men and their libidos,’ Frances said scornfully.

  Baxter chuckled. ‘Don’t knock it, Mum. I’ll bet you drove Dad silly to get at you. If you hadn’t, I wouldn’t be here.’

  ‘I must say you are the most vexing person, Greg,’ she said. ‘How am I to ever have any grandchildren if you veto every worthwhile young woman you meet? There were some lovely girls back in Sydney, and you found fault with every one of them.’

  ‘In the event that Julie and I get together, I’ll do my best for you, Mum,’ Baxter said, a gleam in his eye.

  ‘I’m sure you will,’ Frances said, though it seemed she’d missed the real significance of her son’s response. ‘But if I’d had a daughter, I’m sure she would have given me grandchildren long ago.’

  ‘I’m sorry to be such a disappointment to you, Mum,’ Baxter said, not sure whether he felt like laughing or crying.

  Frances frowned. ‘Don’t be absurd. Generally speaking, I’m very pleased with you. You disappoint me occasionally, but that doesn’t mean I’m disappointed with you overall. Far from it. Every time I look at you, I feel well pleased that I produced you. You’re what women call a hunk.’

  Baxter stood, picked his mother up in his arms as if she weighed no more than a feather, and kissed her on the cheek. ‘I’ve never been disappointed having you as my mother—and I can’t think of any mother I’d prefer to have. In fact, I’d rate you as one of the best mothers going around.’ He put her back on her feet and noted that she seemed genuinely pleased by what he’d said.

  ‘If I were a young woman I should think it would be very exciting being married to you, Greg. Taxing, but exciting.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Baxter had a lovely time with his mother and some of her old friends around town.

  The night before she was due to head back to Sydney, Frances surprised her son with a question. ‘Aren’t you going to take me out in your boat?’

  Baxter looked at her in amazement. His mother had always professed not to like being out on the water: she’d told him that it made her ill. ‘Sorry, Mum, I didn’t think of doing that—I thought you hated boats.’

  ‘Well, since you’ve got one, I might as well have a go. I’m not a coward, you know, and I don’t like the thought that there’s anything I can’t do.’

  ‘All right, but don’t you want to be on the road before noon?’ She’d told him that on Friday afternoon she needed to prepare for a group of VIPS, who were famous and wealthy enough to require her personal attention.

  ‘Greg, you know I’m used to getting up at the crack of dawn.’

  ‘Yes, but you’re on holiday. Look, I’ll organise everything, then come get you from the house around seven-thirty.’

  •

  It was a cool, bright morning, and Chief showed his usual pleasure at walking towards the water and his enemies, the ducks. However, as they drew closer to the river, for once the shepherd didn’t stay close to Baxter but instead ran about in wide circles and constantly sniffed the air.

  Finally he ran down to the jetty, pointed his nose at Flora Jane—and growled.

  Baxter ran over to stand beside his dog. ‘What is it, mate?’

  The shepherd kept growling, clearly disturbed. Baxter looked down at the river, where Flora was bobbing gently on the run-in tide. She didn’t look any different, and as far as Baxter knew, nothing out of the ordinary had happened to her. After the trip to the Islands,
Steve Lewis had run her home and Jane had gone to Riverview and picked him up. Flora had been at her mooring for the few days since then.

  But if Chief thought something was amiss, then as sure as blazes it was.

  Had the boat been tampered with, or had something incriminating been planted on her? Baxter decided to contact Ian Latham as soon as he could. In the meantime, he certainly wasn’t taking his mother anywhere near Flora, but he didn’t want to worry her—or to explain everything. As he hurried back, he came up with a white lie.

  ‘Sorry, Mum, I can’t oblige you this trip,’ he told her, sitting down across from her at the kitchen table. ‘Something’s gone funny with poor Flora’s engine. Must’ve happened when I took that fishing trip to the Islands over the weekend—she had a bit of a cough by the time I got back. I’ll have to get my mate Steve to take a look.’

  Baxter knew his mother wouldn’t ask any questions, because she was even more hopeless with mechanical things than him.

  ‘What a pity,’ she said, ‘I was looking forward to a nice cruise on the river. It’s such a lovely, tranquil stretch of water.’ She was putting on a good show, but he could tell she was secretly relieved—a white lie to answer a white lie! ‘Oh well.’ She yawned and got up to make a cup of tea. ‘It’s quite old, isn’t it?’ she asked over her shoulder.

  ‘Do you mean the river or my Flora?’

  ‘The boat, Greg,’ she said, raising her eyes heavenward.

  ‘She’s not young, but she’s a decent enough runabout.’

  ‘Well, the boat obviously has a problem, and Julie says it’s a bit small for ocean fishing. Will you allow me to buy you a bigger one?’

  Baxter’s eyebrows lifted—his mother’s generosity never failed to surprise him. Of course, he had his fingers crossed that his boat wasn’t permanently damaged, and he didn’t want her to waste her money. ‘What’s with this sudden interest you have for boats? I really thought you hated them.’