Dreamscapes

by Tamara McKinley

  Catriona smiled. ‘You should get out of Sydney more often,’ she chided softly.

  ‘Mmm.’ Clemmie stirred the slice of lemon in her drink. ‘I don’t think I’d last very long out here,’ she said finally. ‘It’s so …’

  ‘Isolated?’ Catriona smiled as her friend nodded. ‘But that’s the beauty of the place, don’t you see? No hustle or bustle, no light pollution or loud pop music, no directors yelling and singers screeching at one another; just the wind in the trees, the click of crickets and the scent of eucalyptus and dust.’

  Clemmie brushed her black skirt and grimaced. ‘There’s certainly enough dust,’ she muttered. ‘This skirt is filthy and I just know my hair is full of it. Lord knows what it’s doing to my complexion.’

  Catriona’s smile was wan as she looked back at her friend. Clemmie was sixty-three and looked at least fifteen years younger after having been on a strict diet. Her complexion was flawless, as was her make-up. Her hair had been tinted light brown and was swept back in a chignon which showed off her long, elegant neck. Her dress was a simple black sheath that had cost a fortune and her snakeskin shoes were handmade. ‘I don’t think you need worry,’ she said.

  ‘I can’t imagine living out here,’ said Clemmie, obviously determined to keep this conversation going. ‘You only have to look at the women to see what the place does to them.’ She fell silent for a moment. ‘Even the young ones are weather-beaten and lined from the sun, and none of them seem to care what they look like. I mean,’ she said in exasperation. ‘Those ghastly cotton frocks, and those awful shoes – any normal woman would rather die than wear such horrors.’

  Catriona laughed. ‘Don’t be so disparaging,’ she said. ‘People here work in the kind of heat that would have you flat on your back for weeks. It doesn’t matter what they wear or what they look like, as long as they’re cool and the clothes are practical. They are hardworking, honest people who would give you their last dollar.’ She toned down the defensive quality in her voice as she realised she was letting the stress of the last twenty-four hours get the better of her. ‘Life isn’t a fashion parade here,’ she said quietly. ‘No one cares a hoot.’

  Clemmie’s expression was enigmatic as she looked back at her. ‘That’s why you wore a Chanel dress and high-heels, is it?’

  ‘They were a mistake,’ she admitted. ‘But I left in such a hurry, I didn’t think.’

  ‘Mmmm.’

  Despite their long years of friendship, she was beginning to get on Catriona’s nerves. ‘Something’s obviously niggling you, Clemmie, so for goodness sake spit it out.’

  Clemmie’s narrow eyebrows lifted momentarily, then she sighed and began to fiddle with her charm bracelet. ‘I was trying to imagine you living here,’ she said finally. ‘And, frankly, Kitty, I can’t.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because you’ve become a city woman,’ replied her friend. ‘Because your adult life has been spent travelling the world, living in the best hotels and apartments, fêted and adored every time you step on stage. You shop at Chanel and Givenchy, you attend functions at embassies and palaces, and are escorted by some of the most eligible men in the world.’ She turned, her gaze direct. ‘In short, Kitty,’ she said, ‘you are a star, with a lifestyle to match. Can you really imagine settling here amongst these rough country types?’

  Catriona was silent. She couldn’t be cross with Clemmie, she was, after all, only voicing some of the doubts that had gone through her own mind the day before. She decided to change the subject. ‘I wrote to my daughter,’ she said in the silence.

  ‘Oh, no.’ Clemmie stared back at her.

  ‘You were right,’ she admitted, her voice soft. ‘She didn’t want to know. She sent back my letter without even a note of explanation.’

  ‘I did warn you, darling,’ said Clemmie. ‘Perhaps it’s best to leave things as they are. At least she knows who and where you are, and if she changes her mind, she can always write.’

  ‘I doubt she ever will,’ she murmured. She fell silent. Clemmie didn’t need to know she would carry on writing to her daughter until all hope was lost. As they sat there and watched the stars she thought of her daughter and wondered what had gone through her mind when she’d read the letter.

  Clemmie interrupted her thoughts. ‘What will you do now, Kitty?’

  Catriona frowned. ‘I’ll spend a few days here, then fly back to Brisbane. I’ve got an opera to sing, remember?’

  ‘Don’t be clever with me,’ muttered Clemmie. ‘You know perfectly well I meant the children.’

  ‘Rosa’s with the Sullivans. She’ll be safe there. Connor seems determined to work, so, as his birthday is only a few weeks away, I’ve given him permission to work as stand-off for Billy.’ She paused. ‘But only on the proviso he tunes into the School of the Air every morning and finishes his education.’ She smiled. ‘He didn’t like it, but it’s a compromise.’

  ‘Rosa can’t stay with the Sullivans indefinitely. This is her home; her brother’s here, and he’s all she’s got. It would be cruel to keep them apart. You’ll have to find someone to look after them.’

  Catriona sat deep in thought. Her mind was whirling with the complexities of the situation. Then, as if a light had been switched on, the whole thing became perfectly clear. Fate had made the decision for her. ‘You’re right,’ she said as she stood and leaned against the railing. ‘This is Rosa’s home, and Connor and I are the only family she has left. It’s time for me to retire.’

  Clemmie was out of her chair in an instant. ‘I wasn’t suggesting you give up your career,’ she said hastily. ‘Only that you consider what’s best for the children.’

  Catriona grinned for the first time in two days. ‘That’s exactly what I am doing,’ she said firmly. She grasped Clemmie’s hands. ‘Don’t you see, Clemmie? It’s fate.’

  ‘Fate my eye,’ snorted Clemmie. ‘You’re tired and out of sorts, still grieving for Poppy. Of course you can’t chuck it all in for the sake of a couple of kids that aren’t even your own.’

  ‘Then what exactly do you expect me to do?’ retorted Catriona. ‘Dump Rosa into boarding school and leave Connor here to fend for himself? He’s not thirteen, and Rosa’s eight. They’re still babies and I’d be letting Poppy down if I deserted them now.’

  ‘My children came to no harm in boarding school,’ snapped Clemmie.

  ‘Your children weren’t brought up in the wide open spaces of this place. Your children had parents to go home to at weekends and in the holidays.’

  ‘You can provide a home for Rosa in Sydney. Connor’s better off here. He’s got Billy and Fred to look after him, he doesn’t need pampering by you.’ Clemmie’s usually placid nature had been swept away, and her eyes were sparking dangerously as her voice rose. ‘As for chucking it all in because you think fate demands it …’ She took a deep breath and let it out in a hiss. ‘It’s a load of bloody nonsense,’ she snapped.

  Catriona realised tempers were rising. Sooner or later one of them would say something that couldn’t be taken back. This was their first serious row in over thirty years, and the last thing she wanted to do was alienate her best and most loyal friend. She grasped Clemmie’s arm. ‘I don’t want to fight with you,’ she said softly.

  ‘And I don’t want to fight with you either,’ she replied, still not mollified. ‘But you’ve worked so long and hard, I can’t bear the thought of you just walking away from it.’

  Catriona folded her arms around her waist and shivered. The breeze was cooler now, sifting over the yard, rustling the leaves in the nearby trees. The moon sailed regally across the skies, untouched by the frailty of the humans below, its pale yellow face casting light and shadow over Belvedere. ‘I’ve achieved everything I ever set out to do,’ she began, her voice quieter now. ‘I have fame and fortune and a lifestyle most other people could only dream about. I’ve been lucky.’

  ‘Luck has had very little to do with it,’ protested Clemmie. ‘You worked bloody hard, and made
some terrible sacrifices.’

  Catriona nodded. ‘Yes,’ she admitted. ‘It hasn’t all been wine and roses.’ She sighed and looked at her friend. ‘But what was it all for, Clemmie?’

  ‘A comfortable bank balance, and a portfolio of investments which would be the envy of most of us. Then there’s the satisfaction of knowing you’ll go down in history as one of the great divas of your era.’

  Catriona waved all that away with the flick of her hand. ‘Money and fame are transient things; they mean very little when you are alone,’ she said softly. ‘And I am alone, Clemmie. I have no husband, no children – but for a daughter who wants nothing to do with me.’

  ‘That wasn’t your fault,’ declared Clemmie.

  Catriona shrugged and carried on. ‘I was never given the chance to raise my own child. She grew up without me and I had no part in her life, in her sorrows or in her triumphs. Fate is giving me a second chance to be a mother and I intend to grasp that opportunity and do the best I can with Rosa and Connor.’

  ‘And your career?’ Clenmmie’s face was pale beneath the careful make-up, the tension evident in her stance.

  ‘I’ve reached the pinnacle, Clem. My voice isn’t what it was.’ She held up her hand to silence her friend’s denial. ‘I can hear it, and soon others will too. My time in the spotlight is almost over.’

  Clemmie stood in silence for a long moment. Then her voice became business-like as she pulled the diary out of her handbag. ‘You’ll have to do Tosca,’ she said. ‘It’s too late to pull out now.’ She turned the pages. ‘And what about New York? Then there’s London and the Royal Opera House in August.’

  ‘They will be my farewell performances,’ she said firmly.

  Clemmie winced. ‘In that case I’d better get on the phone, speak to the press and make arrangements. It’s lucky you’re singing Tosca in New York as well, because it will be the most fitting finale to your career.’ She spoke rapidly as she blinked back the tears. ‘The Royal Opera House has already fixed their programme of ballets and operas. I doubt they’ll change the programme at such a late date. You’ll have to end your career with Columbine/Nedda in I Pagliacci.’

  Catriona laughed and clapped her hands. ‘That’s perfect,’ she said. ‘My first appearance on the stage was with a troupe of players when I was only a few minutes old. I’m the quintessential child of the theatre.’

  Clemmie stared at her.

  ‘My father made me learn Shakespeare until I could recite it without any mistakes. But the Bard got it so right,’ she said with a smile. ‘“All the world’s a stage, and all the men and women merely players. They have their exits and their entrances; and one man in his time plays many parts.” I will finish as I began,’ she murmured. ‘As one of a troupe of players, making my exit so I can play another part in the next chapter of my life.’

  ‘Oh, Kitty,’ she sobbed. ‘I can’t bear to think of you stuck all the way out here.’

  ‘Don’t be sad,’ said Catriona softly. ‘I’m starting out on a new adventure. Just be happy for me, Clem. I’m finally going to get the chance to be a real mother.’

  ‘Motherhood isn’t easy,’ she sniffed. ‘They can be little buggers at times.’

  Catriona smiled. ‘I know. And I’m really looking forward to the challenge.’

  ‘I need to make some calls,’ she said as she blew her nose. ‘Where’s the phone?’

  ‘There isn’t one.’ She laughed out loud at Clemmie’s expression of horror. ‘We use the two-way radio, and that links us to the telephone exchange.’

  ‘How on earth do people survive without a phone?’ gasped Clemmie.

  ‘I don’t know,’ Catriona replied. ‘But I’m looking forward to finding out.’

  *

  Fred had taken his things to the bunkhouse, but Catriona and Clemmie went to bed in the spare room. The metal springs of the old iron bedsteads squeaked every time one of them moved, but Clemmie eventually stopped complaining and settled down and Catriona soon heard her deep, steady breathing and knew she was asleep.

  As she lay there in the sparsely furnished room and watched the moon-shadows drift across the ceiling, Catriona felt the silence close in on her. Beyond the timber walls of the house lay thousands of miles of empty land. Her nearest neighbours were in Drum Creek, but surrounding that little settlement was the vast and achingly lonely sweep of the Outback which stretched from horizon to horizon.

  She experienced a moment of panic. What if Clemmie was right and she couldn’t cope with the isolation? It would be very different from the short visits she’d made so far. What if the children didn’t want her to mother them? What if it proved she was a lousy mother and failed miserably? She turned over and buried her face in the pillow. She was desperate for sleep, but her mind seemed determined to keep her awake.

  Her decision to retire would mean a great deal of organisation. There was Tosca for a start, and the tour to London and New York that would take up much of the next eighteen months. Clemmie would no doubt organise press interviews, television appearances and more recordings. Fred would have to move out, and one of the other shacks made habitable. If she planned to live here, then changes had to be made: rooms added to accommodate the children, the kitchen updated and the whole place renovated. It might have been all right for Fred, but she was used to a bit of comfort and didn’t see why living out here should change that.

  She rolled over on to her back and stared at the ceiling. The apartment block in Sydney was probably the best investment she’d ever made. With the opening of the Opera House in the next couple of years and the regeneration of the whole quay area, it would be stupid to sell it. After Brin’s death, she’d leased the downstairs apartment to a middle-aged couple who paid their rent on time and took care of the place when she was away. The arrangement suited them all, and she decided to keep things as they were. There would no doubt come a time when she needed an escape from Belvedere, and what better place to go than Sydney? She could take Rosa to watch plays and ballets and even the opera. They could shop and go on ferry rides as well as visit the art gallery and museum.

  Catriona closed her eyes as the doubts swarmed. Rosa was still a little girl. What if she didn’t like the opera or the ballet? And what of Connor? She’d had few dealings with boys his age, and she had no idea of how to handle him. Her dream of owning Belvedere had begun when she herself was a child. Now she wondered if perhaps the reality of living here, of taking on Poppy’s grandchildren, would prove to be a mistake. Clemmie was right. Her life in the city was far removed from life in the Outback. She would have to adapt, have to compromise at every turn. She had set herself an enormous task – and she wasn’t at all certain she was up to it.

  She must have fallen asleep, for when she opened her eyes again, it was dawn and the rosellas and parakeets were making enough noise in the trees to waken the dead. She looked across at Clemmie and grinned. Her friend was sitting in bed, a cup of tea in her hand, a disgusted expression on her face.

  ‘At last,’ she grumbled. ‘What with your snoring and those damn birds, I hardly got a wink of sleep.’ She looked at the delicate gold watch on her wrist. ‘Do you realise it’s five in the bloody morning?’

  ‘I don’t snore,’ Catriona protested as she reached for the tea pot and poured out a cup for herself. She took a sip, added sugar and relaxed back into the pillows. ‘And you were asleep the minute your head hit the pillow; you’ve had at least eight hours, so don’t come the old soldier with me.’

  Clemmie was about to protest when they were both startled by the roar of a fast-moving utility outside. ‘Now what?’ she said crossly. ‘Doesn’t anyone sleep around here?’

  Catriona frowned and pulled on a silk dressing gown over the matching pyjamas. The utility had screeched to a halt outside, and she could hear voices. She hurried out of the room, down the narrow hall to the front door.

  Rosa tumbled out of the utility and flung herself into Catriona’s arms. ‘Don’t go,’ she sobbed. ‘Please
don’t leave me, Aunty Cat.’

  Catriona tried to calm the little girl’s fears as she held her. ‘I’m not going to leave you,’ she said firmly. ‘Shh, there’s a good girl, don’t cry.’ She looked over the child’s tousled head at Pat Sullivan.

  Pat’s face was pale. She’d been up most of the night and had then had to drive across country to Belvedere. ‘Rosa was OK on the journey to Derwent Hills,’ she explained as she came up the steps. ‘But she woke up screaming and was absolutely convinced she would never see you or Connor again.’ She sighed and stroked the child’s hair. ‘Poor little kid,’ she said. ‘I tried to tell her she was only with me for a holiday, but she didn’t believe me. I suppose she’s convinced that sooner or later everyone leaves – you can hardly blame her under the circumstances.’

  Catriona picked up Rosa and, sitting on the verandah chair, settled her on her knee. ‘I’m not leaving you,’ she said again. ‘I’m going to live here with you and Connor and take care of you.’

  The dark brown eyes were filled with tears, the little face pinched with fear and weariness. ‘You promise?’ she hiccupped.

  ‘I promise,’ said Catriona firmly. ‘Now, let’s dry those tears and go and find some breakfast. I bet you’re starving. I know I am.’

  ‘Where’s Connor?’ she demanded, the fear returning. ‘I want to see Connor.’

  ‘I’m here,’ said a soft voice from the steps.

  Rosa scrambled off Catriona’s lap and raced into his arms. ‘I thought I’d never see you again,’ she sobbed as she flung her arms around his neck. ‘I didn’t want to go away. Please don’t send me away again.’

  His hat fell off as he picked her up and she clung to him like a limpet. His hazel eyes met Catriona’s; they held the wisdom and care of a much older boy. ‘Are you really staying on?’ he asked quietly.

  Catriona nodded. ‘Of course.’

  ‘What about your singing?’

  ‘I have commitments, but you and Rosa will come first from now on,’ she said firmly.