Catriona waved away her doubts. ‘You’ve been like a daughter to me, Harriet. And if I want to leave you a little something, then I will.’
‘Three apartment blocks is rather more than a little something,’ she protested. ‘Just one of those properties has to be worth over a million dollars.’
Chapter Twenty-Three
Catriona tucked into the breakfast and cleared the plate. When she’d finished she drank the tea and carried the dirty dishes into the kitchen. ‘I’m off to see Billy’s wife. I need her and the other girls to help spring clean this place before the hordes descend.’ She waved away their offers of help. ‘You’re here on holiday, and as I’m not going to be doing my own housework, I don’t see why you should.’
‘But we don’t mind,’ protested Harriet.
‘Well, I do,’ retorted Catriona. ‘Go and find something nice to occupy yourselves for the rest of the day. Youth shouldn’t be spent doing chores.’
Harriet and Rosa looked at each other as Catriona slammed through the screen door. They listened to the rapid tattoo of her boot-heels on the verandah floor and heard her calling to one of the men to get on with his work and stop hanging about the homestead.
‘They broke the mould when she was made,’ murmured Harriet. ‘She’s definitely unique.’
‘She’s a pain in the rear end,’ snorted Rosa. ‘She won’t let anyone help her, and is as stubborn as a bloody mule.’ She lit a cigarette and shot a plume of smoke up to the ceiling. ‘You realise, of course, she was lying about that lover and the blackmail?’
‘Yes,’ Harriet replied. ‘She’s avoided the issue entirely, and it will be like pulling hens’ teeth to get to the bottom of what is really worrying her.’
‘What was all that about in there? Why did she want to see you?’
Harriet bit her lip – it was confidential. ‘She just wanted me to go through some of her papers,’ she said finally.
‘What were they?’
‘Just her will, and some deeds and things.’ Harriet hesitated. ‘I shouldn’t worry, Rosa. Everything’s in order.’
Rosa stubbed out her cigarette. ‘Let’s hope it’s a very long time before they have to see the light of day again,’ she said firmly. She shook her head as if to dismiss the dismal thoughts. ‘How about a cut lunch, and a ride out to our favourite picnic spot?’
They worked in companionable silence until Rosa burst out laughing. ‘No wonder Mum was so good on the stage,’ she said as she packed the sandwiches in greaseproof paper. ‘She’s a born actress.’
‘Yeah, she nearly had me fooled as well,’ muttered Harriet.
Rosa grinned as she grabbed some wine from the gas fridge and began to pack the saddle-bag. ‘I never told you this, but when I was really little I wanted to be an actress.’ She giggled at Harriet’s startled expression. ‘I even contemplated following Catriona into the opera.’
Harriet laughed. ‘You’ve got to be kidding,’ she spluttered. ‘With that voice?’
Rosa’s giggle was deep in her throat. ‘I didn’t know it was that bad, not then, anyway. I was twelve when an extremely honest singing coach told me he’d rather listen to a chorus of cane toads, and that I should set my sights on something else. Ever the realist, I accepted his judgement, and I think Mum was quite relieved.’ She shook her head. ‘It must have been hell having to listen to me practising, and I suspect she only got the coach out here to shut me up.’
Rosa’s giggle was infectious and Harriet joined in as they gathered up cheese and salad and finished packing the saddle-bag. She could just imagine Catriona’s torment at having to listen to Rosa’s singing. It certainly hadn’t improved if this morning’s effort was anything to go by. ‘The law has gained a diva of a different kind,’ she said finally. ‘You might not get the curtain calls and the bouquets, but at least you’ve found what you do best. I should stick to it, if I were you.’
*
Connor had spent the morning going through the accounts and making telephone calls to various suppliers. He’d been constantly interrupted by men coming and asking damn fool questions which they could have sorted out for themselves if only they’d given them a bit of thought. With an exasperated sigh he slammed the account books shut and dumped them on the desk.
His office was a square room which had been added to the side of the cookhouse, and although the ceiling-fan did its best to stir some life into the air, the reminder of thousands of meals still clung to the walls. He shoved back his chair and went outside to check on the men and the tasks he’d set them for the day.
Billy Birdsong was squatting in the shade of the machine shed, his deft fingers neatly rolling a smoke. ‘G’day, boss,’ he drawled, his bloodshot eyes peering at Connor through the tangle of greying ochre hair.
Connor looked down at the Aborigine. No one knew how old he was, and he suspected even Billy had no idea. Billy Birdsong was a mainstay of Belvedere. He had taught him all he knew, and was Connor’s mentor and best friend. ‘G’day, mate. You finished with the ute?’
‘Yeah, boss.’ The Aborigine lit his smoke. ‘Reckon she’ll be right. But the gearbox is crook – soon have to change it.’
Connor nodded. It was what he’d suspected. The ute was old with so many kilometres on the clock it was a miracle it still went at all. If it hadn’t been for Billy’s wizardry in mechanics it would have died years ago. He was about to move away when Billy’s voice stopped him. ‘What’s with the missus, boss? She crook?’
Connor shook his head. ‘Not that I’ve noticed,’ he muttered. Nothing much went on out here without everyone knowing about it, but he was surprised to hear Catriona might not be well. She’d seemed okay last night, a bit tired, maybe, but that was to be expected with all the plans she’d been making for her party. ‘Why, Bill? What’ve you noticed?’
‘Nutting,’ he said through the cigarette smoke. ‘Bit tired, alonga me this sun-up, is all.’
‘Everyone’s tired at that time of the morning, mate.’
Billy nodded, then he grinned. ‘Good see Rosa again,’ he said. ‘Fair grown up, now. Like my boys.’ He sighed. ‘Time goes fast, boss. Reckon soon be right for Billy Birdsong go last walkabout, make peace with totem spirits.’
Connor was startled by this pronouncement from the man he’d admired since boyhood. Surely Billy wasn’t that old? ‘Plenty of life in you yet, you old bludger,’ he said fondly. ‘What the hell would the boss lady do without you around to mend all the machinery and tell tall tales? If it’s a few days off you’re wanting, then take them. But I need you here for a while yet, so don’t go getting any ideas of disappearing.’
The Aborigine slowly shook his head, his eyes thoughtful as the cigarette smoke drifted over his face. ‘If spirits sing Billy then he have to go,’ he said softly. ‘Reckon boss lady know what I mean.’
Connor eyed him carefully. He’d learned the stories of the Dreamtime from this man. Had sat for hours listening to his singsong voice as he’d explained about the importance of walkabout, and the traditions of the corroboree, but there were other, stronger, more mysterious forces at work in the tribal culture of the Aborigines that no white man, even Connor, could logically explain. ‘What are you trying to tell me, Billy?’ he asked.
Billy stared into the distance. ‘Spirits sing,’ he said. ‘We have to follow.’ The amber eyes held centuries of ancient knowledge as they looked back at him. ‘Same for missus. Only she hear different song to black-fella.’
Connor rammed his hands into the pockets of his jeans. ‘Don’t let her hear you talk like that, mate,’ he said gruffly. ‘She’ll fair have your guts for garters.’
Billy grinned, exposing yellow tombstone teeth. ‘Reckon she put up a fight, boss. No worries. She ain’t ready yet, still work to be done here.’
Connor frowned and would have questioned Billy more closely, but the Aborigine stood and ambled away, bringing the conversation to an end. Connor turned and headed for the homestead. All this talk of singing spirits and death
was unsettling, and he wanted to know just what the hell was going on.
He’d reached the bottom step when Rosa opened the screen door and stepped out onto the verandah. She was closely followed by Harriet, both of them laughing and looking cheerful. ‘How ya goin’?’ he asked.
Rosa grinned and gave him a hug. ‘Good,’ she replied as she ran her fingers through her hair. ‘We’re off for a picnic.’
Connor realised he was probably over-reacting to one of Billy’s dark, mysterious flights of fancy. If there was anything wrong with Ma, Rosa would know about it, and by the look of things, he had nothing to worry about. He grinned down at her, still trying to equate this sophisticated young woman with the larrikin his sister had always been.
She squinted up at him. ‘Got any decent horses on this place?’ she asked. ‘I feel the need for speed.’
Connor scratched the scar on his chin and tried to look doubtful. His sister was a demon rider, perhaps a little too enthusiastic and daring for his liking, but he could trust her with any horse on the place. He eyed Harriet. ‘I suppose that’s an order for two of the fastest, and most belligerent horses we’ve got, then?’
Harriet smiled, her face lighting up with pleasure. ‘Of course,’ she replied. ‘You know me, Con. Can’t let Rosa get away with showing off on her own.’
‘Why don’t you come too, Con?’ asked Rosa, shielding her eyes from the sun. ‘Loosen your stays a bit, and relax.’
Connor shook his head. ‘Too much to do here,’ he said with regret. Then he had a flash of inspiration. ‘But what about tonight? Remember how it used to be with Billy Birdsong?’
Rosa’s smile was soft with memory, her gaze distant as she stared out towards the horizon. ‘Oh, yes,’ she breathed. ‘How could I ever forget?’
‘Might even manage to persuade Ma to come with us,’ muttered Connor. ‘Be quite like old times.’
Rosa turned to Harriet. ‘Remember you’re first time, Hat? Bonzer, wasn’t it?’
Harriet would never forget it, and the thought of going out into the night, of letting go of all earthly cares and floating up with the stars was enticing. ‘Reckon so,’ she sighed.
Connor linked arms with them as they strolled across the yard to the tack-room. Having found boots and bush-hats for them, he stood by the weathered railings and watched them tack up before trotting their mounts out of the yard. His sister had chosen the stroppy roan, just as he’d known she would, but Harriet had gone for the chestnut, a flashy gelding that stood sixteen hands and had an ego the size of Queensland.
‘Now that’s what I call a sight for sore eyes,’ murmured one of the drovers.
Connor realised he wasn’t the only one smiling in admiration at Harriet’s neat rear end which rose from the saddle as she nudged the chestnut into a gallop. She was a fair looking Sheila and no mistake. And she certainly knew how to ride. That fancy school she and his sister had attended had been good for something.
*
Tom Bradley glanced at Belinda and grinned. She wasn’t enjoying the trip. He could tell by the slight green tinge to her tanned skin, and the way her fingers were clawed around the armrest.
As if reading his thoughts, Belinda grimaced, her eyes firmly shut. ‘I don’t know why I agreed to come with you,’ she said through gritted teeth. ‘I hate flying at the best of times, but this damn thing’s likely to drop out of the sky any minute.’
‘This helicopter is perfectly safe,’ he shouted through the mouthpiece that was attached to the headphones. ‘It’s been checked over and the pilot’s an old hand at flying her. Isn’t that right, mate?’
‘Too right,’ replied the Vietnam Veteran over his shoulder, his voice almost drowned by the clatter and rattle of the aircraft. ‘This old crate and me go way back. She wouldn’t dare drop out of the sky after all the years we’ve been together.’ As if to prove it, he swung the thing back and forth, and executed a series of tight turns. He’d flown over a hundred missions in ’Nam, and still piloted his craft as if he was under enemy fire; as far as he was concerned, it was the only way to fly.
Tom grinned and patted Belinda’s hand. ‘See? No worries, mate. She’ll be right.’
‘She might,’ Belinda snapped. ‘But that’s typical of you blokes. One word from you and Biggles there, and I’m supposed to relax and believe we won’t go plummeting to our deaths. What if we’re hit by a flock of birds? What if the wind gets up? Or … Or …’ She seemed to run out of words and out of breath.
‘Trust me,’ he said.
Belinda opened a scornful eye, her expression telling him he’d said the wrong thing, again. There was just no helping some people. He left her to her fears and looked out of the window. Far beneath them the Outback of Australia was laid out like a green and red patchwork quilt, stitched together by stands of trees, salt pans and mountain ranges. The glinting waters of billabongs and lakes and the endless pastures gave way to mountains and waterfalls, and on to dusty miles of ochre interspersed with thousands of acres of wheat that rippled like a great yellow sea in the down-draught of the ‘copter’s blades. Tom experienced the overwhelming sense of pride that always came when he travelled across his country. For this was his land, his heritage, and there was nothing like it the world over.
He turned back to Belinda, wanting to share the scenery with her, but she was still rigid in her seat, eyes tightly shut, hands clawed around the armrest. She wouldn’t appreciate anything in that state, he thought. He watched her for a moment, admiring the battle she was putting up against her fear of flying. Belinda was a good officer, fun to work with and as honest as the day. He hadn’t had to persuade her to accompany him, not once he’d explained why he needed to speak to Catriona. He sighed. At least he’d distanced himself from Wolff, and that had to be a bonus.
Belinda groaned as the helicopter tilted in a long, sweeping turn west and then dipped so low it almost touched the tree-tops. ‘How much longer is this torture going to take?’
Tom eyed her. The green tinge had definitely deepened. ‘I hope you’re not about to throw a rainbow yawn?’ he asked uneasily.
‘If I do,’ she retorted through gritted teeth. ‘I’ll make sure it’s all over you.’
Tom bit his lip and tried not to laugh. ‘We should be there in about two hours,’ he said, his voice unsteady. ‘Try to concentrate on something else. It might make you feel better.’
‘I doubt it,’ she muttered. ‘And don’t you dare laugh at me, or, I swear, I’ll kill you.’
He blew his nose, hiding his smile in the handkerchief until he was sure he had the laughter under control. Poor Belinda. For all her swagger and verve, she had an Achilles heel. Life on an Outback sheep station obviously hadn’t prepared her for helicopter rides with Sam Richmond.
Tom turned away and looked once again out of the window as Sam manoeuvred the little machine through the Great Dividing Range. They were getting closer to Belvedere, and he hoped that by having Belinda with him, he could persuade Catriona Summers to talk. If she didn’t, then there would be complications. For his boss had made it plain he wanted some kind of result from this visit.
*
Harriet and Rosa had been out for hours. They slowed their horses to a walk as they neared Belvedere, almost reluctant to leave the wide open spaces they had ridden across and knew so well. The heat was intense, shimmering in a watery mirage that submerged the homestead and outbuildings and made the trees look as if they were growing in a great, restless sea. A mob of kangaroos drowsed in languid disarray in the long grass beneath a stand of eucalypt, their ears twitching at the noisome clouds of flies that hovered over them, their curiosity fleeting as they eyed the riders and returned to their sleep. The bush was alive with the sibilant chatter of a million insects, the birds’ calls muted as though they didn’t have the energy to chirp and chatter in such heat.
‘What the hell is that?’ Rosa pulled up her horse and shielded her eyes as she looked towards the sun.
‘Sounds like a helicopter,’ m
uttered Harriet as she searched the endless sky. ‘Yes. Look. Over there.’
‘Bloody hell,’ muttered Rosa, kicking her horse into a startled trot. ‘It’s heading this way. God knows what chaos it’ll cause in the pens.’
They galloped into the yard and were met by Connor and the other men who’d stopped work and come out to see what the noise was. Harriet and Rosa swung down from their saddles as the helicopter clattered above home paddock. Dust swirled in a blinding cloud as the trees bent and thrashed and the grass was flattened. The horses pulled and propped and danced on their toes, ears tight to their heads, eyes wide in terror. The breeding cows bellowed and stamped and skittered back and forth in the pens, while the native dogs barked alongside the blue-heelers. The stock horses whinnied and pawed the air before racing away to the far end of the paddocks. It was chaos.
Harriet and Rosa struggled to calm their mounts, and in the blinding fury of the dust-storm were bumped and jostled and in danger of being trampled. Harriet could see nothing, could hear nothing but the awful machine-gun rattle of the helicopter blades and the terrified screams of her horse. She had no idea where she was going in that thick red blanket of stinging dirt and blinding grit, and the gelding was pulling so hard on the reins it was only a matter of time before he broke free. Yet she had to hold on, had to find shelter however poor, for if the gelding broke loose he’d probably do himself some serious harm.
A strong arm encircled her waist and a competent hand covered hers and took the reins. She found she was being led through the fury and into the lee of the stables where she blinked the grit from her eyes and tried to catch her breath enough to thank her saviour.
‘Reckon you’ll be right now, miss,’ said Billy Birdsong as he gentled the gelding. His dark face split into a wide grin, but the amber eyes held little humour as he looked over his shoulder at the helicopter that had come to rest in the paddock. ‘Bluddy fools,’ he muttered. ‘Alonga here, make trouble.’
Dreamscapes Page 40
