by Margaret Way
He clicked his tongue, his brilliant dark gaze brushing over her. “Bella, one can’t go anywhere in the Outback without water. I have a full canteen.”
“My hero!” she said.
The horses were easily led, grateful, like their riders, for the blissful shade. They tethered them loosely to some low-lying coolabah limbs and then walking a short distance down the slope sown with constellations of tiny lilac into purple wildflowers.
“The air is so sweet!” Isabelle slowly drew in a breath. She had the feeling of never having been so happy in her life.
“It’s a bit like lavender,” Bruno said, inhaling the fragrance. “Would you just look at those waterlilies?”
“Glorious, aren’t they? A handful would cost a fortune at a city florist. I know I’ve bought them, but here there are masses and masses of them, white through to creamy yellow.” A thick canopy of waterlilies adorned the still-deep waters at the far end of the lagoon. Tiny long-legged birds were skipping from one green pad to another.
“Like kids playing hopscotch,” Bruno remarked with a laugh.
Flights of birds were circling the tops of the trees, flying in and out, up and down, playing their own games. Their calls, ringing, trilling, echoed all over the wilderness.
“There are always birds and birdsong even when you can’t see them,” Isabelle said. “This is just beautiful, isn’t it? Everything turns on nature, its beauty, its majesty, its awesome power.”
“I agree.” Bruno quickly rid himself of his hard hat, running a quick hand over his tousled dark hair. “No aches and pains?” he asked, watching her every movement with a deep running pleasure. Their journey out had been wonderfully companionable, lifting all the dark shadows of the morning. He bent to pluck a purple flower.
“I’m fine,” Isabelle said. “I’ll be a bit stiff tomorrow, but it’s worth it.” Hands at her waist, she began swaying her willowy body in a limber up.
“You’re a good rider, a natural.” Bruno walked over to her. Every nerve in his body was jumping with a kind of fierce exhilaration. He pushed the short stalk of the wildflower into her red-gold hair, positioning it. Their faces were mere inches apart.
She flushed, making a business of finding a hair pin to fasten the little flower. “Thank you for the flower and the compliment. My friend, Emma, used to tell me I was a natural too. She was a good teacher. Who taught you, or did you simply jump on a horse and ride?”
“I tried and landed on my backside.” He gave a remembering grin. “If you must know, I learned at Phil Faraday’s Blue Mountains estate. Phil has a very serious love of horses. He has a string of winning racehorses and lives to win the Melbourne Cup. He’s a fine rider himself, only he’s allowing himself to put on too much weight. He’s a great host. Actually, it was an old guy over seventy, Terry Bailey, who taught me the ropes. Irish. A fine jockey in his heyday. He used to ride for Phil’s late father. Phil kept him on. Phil has good qualities as well as a couple of dodgy ones.”
“Terry taught you well.” Isabelle sat herself down on the carpet of springy little wildflowers so prolific hundreds of tiny blooms were crushed beneath the leaves. Bruno stayed on his feet, pouring her water from the canteen.
“Don’t spill it. Each drop is precious.”
“I’m well aware of that, thank you.”
Isabelle took the beaker from him, tilting her head to take a long draught. “That was good!” she pronounced. “There’s nothing better than cold, clean water.” Running down her throat, it had been wonderfully refreshing. She handed the container back, watching him pour himself water before putting his lips to where hers had been.
Isabelle had to shake herself to break the little spell. “I don’t think I can go back and face those people,” she said, pulling the remaining pins out of her hair and dropping them safely inside her hard hat. That done, she shook her glistening copper and gold hair free, enjoying the light breeze on her nape. “Miss Marple would have her work cut out, finding the culprit with that lot. They just kept on coming. Abigail Hartmann, born and bred in the Outback, probably sat her first pony at three. Living out here, she would have known how to handle a gun. Probably a crack shot. The mysterious Piers Osbourne we’ve never heard of, alleged lover of Myra, Helena’s piano teacher and part-time tutor. He would have been no more than nine or ten years older. Very handsome. A cultured young man. Then there’s Mrs. Saunders, who has to be one of the scariest women on the planet; Erik’s longtime mistress, who might—I emphasize might—be his half sister. Can you believe these people? And to think we’ve gone eyeball-to-eyeball with Orani. She could easily be a close relative of a Kadaitcha Man.”
“You believe in that stuff?” Bruno asked. “There are more things in heaven and earth, etc.?” He sat down beside her, stretching his long legs.
“Outback cops believe in that stuff,” Isabelle said. “I swear, I’ve never seen a face so full of hate as on Eaglehawk’s housekeeper.”
“And lust,” Bruno added.
“Lust, yes,” Isabelle agreed. “Sex is very dangerous,” she said solemnly. “People get murdered all the time over sex gone woefully wrong.”
“Is that going to stop you?” Bruno glanced sidelong at her. He had an idea Isabella was still a virgin. He knew she was a very fastidious and serious-minded young woman.
“It hasn’t stopped you,” she retorted. “I was very surprised young Mani called Mrs. Saunders by her aboriginal name.”
“Orani.”
“Shouldn’t he have been more respectful? After all, she is Eaglehawk’s longtime housekeeper.”
“How do we know they’re not related?”
Isabelle shrugged. “Wouldn’t surprise me. Am I the one ordained to set a match to the Hartmann bonfire?” she asked. “If we hadn’t turned up, Mrs. Saunders might have taken her secret to the grave. You could see how thrilled the family would be to take her into the fold. Even in this day and age it would create a scandal.”
“They’re scandal prone, Bella,” Bruno said. “The old guy, Konrad, charmed my dad completely. Dad thought him a fine man, a gentleman.”
“Having sex with a consenting adult isn’t a crime. It doesn’t make you a villain. It might have been in-between wives.”
“I suppose nothing passes all understanding. It’s not as though would-be mistresses are thick on the ground out here.”
“I’ve never actually believed in people like the Hartmanns, which is pretty naïve. Well, not here in the down-to-earth Outback. More like Transylvania. Twenty years ago, someone had plenty to worry about. They’ve got plenty to worry about now. One of them is an A-list villain.”
Bruno nodded. “I won’t argue with that. Our first task is to collect samples for DNA testing. You included.”
“Of course. Do you think the family is going to enter into the spirit of it?” Isabelle asked with real worry.
“We could turn our findings over to the Australian Federal Police.”
“Meaning?”
“The National Missing Persons Coordination Centre. A lot has happened in the past twenty years. DNA samples now confirm relationships where all else fail. We’re sure of Stefan and probably Mrs. Saunders. It doesn’t really matter about the rest. You wouldn’t have any cotton tips with you?”
“Not with me, but there’s an unopened packet of them in the bathroom cabinet. I suppose you could use unopened small plastic bags as containers. I don’t mind telling you, I want to take my leave of this family. They’re the classic definition of weird.” She waved an expansive arm. “Yet Eaglehawk is such an extraordinary place.”
“As beautiful as it’s savage.”
“I only wish the Hartmann family members were ordinary, hard-working station owners, but there’s nothing vaguely ordinary about them. I admit at the beginning I felt a surge of elation that we might be on track to find Helena. Now I want to beat it out of here just like her. She might have formed the terrifying idea someone was trying to kill her.”
“More likely tha
t someone had killed her mother. Christian’s premature death might have been an accident. Maybe Dad had found out something and decided to check it out.”
“Only he too was put out of the picture.”
Bruno stared at her, highly responsive to what she was saying. “Dad’s briefcase full of papers was never found.”
“So no one knew what was in it.”
“No.”
“You carry a heavy burden.”
“It hasn’t been easy, I admit. I had quite a few nightmares after it happened.”
“I bet. It must be the worst kind of pain for the families of victims, not being able to find out the truth. No little grace notes like closure.”
“DNA is solving a lot of cold cases thirty and more years on.”
“And that’s where we’re heading.”
“Yes.” Bruno stared across at her. Her face and hair was caught in a filtered shaft of golden sunlight. He had never seen such bright, beautiful hair. He had never even dated a redhead. It was becoming increasingly difficult being alone with her. Cracks were appearing in his armour. He could almost hear them.
“Questions, questions, questions and no answers,” Isabelle was saying. “Let’s go back.” She began twirling her long hair into a roll and securing it with pins. “Under different circumstances, our trip could have been an adventure, but now? My every thought is of mayhem. How do we know we won’t get targeted?”
“One would have to be a lunatic to try,” said Bruno, diamond glints in his eyes. He sprang to his feet in one lithe movement, extending a helping hand. “This was a dead-end case for my dad. It’s open again. I’m here with you, Bella. I’ll keep you safe.”
“That’s a promise?” She looked up at him, wanting to suspend the moment in her memory.
“With my life.” He struck a fist to his breast.
She smiled at his gesture, putting out a hand to rub the exact spot. “I welcome that and your presence. What sort of riding accident was it that killed Myra?” she asked. “I haven’t seen anything obvious, like crumbling walls here and there. Lots of fallen branches blocking trails. On the other hand, someone could have jumped out from behind a tree, startling Myra and spooking her horse to the extent it reared and then threw her heavily.”
Bruno’s answer was grim. “Breaking her neck.”
“God, what a thud! What were the circumstances leading up to it? I wonder. The Kadaitcha Man was available to do the dirty work.”
Bruno’s handsome mouth compressed. “The police checked all avenues. There was no one near her when she died.”
“Sez who? Myra had enemies. A few people would have been happy to see her gone. Helena grew up knowing all this. No wonder she cleared out,” Isabelle said.
“To head for England? Hilary knows so much, only it will have to be dragged out of her. Still, the lies are all over. It’s coming up Judgement Day.”
Isabelle slowly exhaled. “It’s taken years and years.”
“Sadly many, many cases do that,” Bruno reminded her.
* * *
On the opposite bank came such a rush of spectacular wings, the air echoed with the sound. “Brolgas!” Bruno cried, his eyes fixed there. “Is this a good omen or what?”
“The day has turned magical!” Isabelle moved down farther towards the emerald waters.
A pair of silver-grey cranes with bright red heads alighted at a skipping run on the golden sand of the opposite bank.
“Do you think they’ll dance for us?” She turned to Bruno excitedly.
“We’ll be privileged if they do. They can just as easily take off again.”
“Let’s wait and see. We could easily have missed this, Bruno.”
“Maybe it was meant for us,” he said.
The elegant waterbirds, the most treasured in all the land, were famous for their legendary dancing.
“Not even the aboriginal people know the secret of their dance,” Bruno said, joining her. “Long ago, in the Dreamtime, there was a beautiful young girl called Brolga. Brolga’s dancing was so graceful, so elegant the swooshing of her arms, tribes from near and far would come to see her dance. She always chose the banks of billabongs where her favourite tree, the coolabah, grew.”
“Like here.” Isabelle reached out to take his hand, locking her fingers through his. “Sit by me, Bruno. They’re going to dance. I’m sure of it.” Fascination was in her voice.
Neither spoke again. They were the audience. The brolgas bowed low to each other, the introduction to their famous pas de deux. Upright, their two-metre wingspan outstretched, the brolgas went slowly into their polished performance. Their movements were extraordinarily balletic. Their long, dark-grey legs lifted into the air in splendid jetés. Bruno and Isabelle watched almost without breathing. The cranes continued their dance, back and forth, back and forth, up and down, up and down without lull, until finally they bowed once again to each other, signalling the end of the dance. The performance ended as it began, with a deep bow, thought to be a symbol of their love and lifetime commitment.
Almost three silent minutes passed.
Isabelle found her voice. “I’ll never forget that. I don’t think I’ve ever felt so close to nature.”
“My first time as well.” Bruno too felt they were honoured.
“A precious memory.”
They were adding up with Bella. “Brolgas mate for life,” he said as they watched the cranes use the long, dry, sandy bank as an airstrip. A short run-up and then they gained lift-off, rising into the air, clearing the treetops, with legions of birds applauding their flight. “Maybe their dancing together confirms their lifelong bond. Who knows?”
“My thoughts exactly. Don’t we all want a lifelong bond?” she asked. “A truly meaningful lasting relationship. That’s what I want.”
“I hope that’s what you get, Isabella,” he said in a deep, sincere voice. “To be loved. Utterly loved. To feel love.”
“Is that what you want?” she asked.
He answered quietly. “What one wants and what one gets are most often two different things. I know what happens when love turns cruel.”
“Your mother’s leaving you and your father left a very deep wound.”
“Okay, you’ve solved it, but you haven’t solved me. Dad took the brunt of it. He adored her. There was a divorce of course. He never thought to remarry.”
“So you cling to your bachelorhood?”
“So I do. Above and beyond that, I’ve never met the woman I can’t live without. I’ve fallen a little in love from time to time, but at some point, for whatever reason, communication breaks down.”
“Making you afraid of taking the plunge?”
He turned his night-dark eyes on her. “I suppose I’m like you.”
She blushed. “What, pray, does that mean?”
“You give it time. Unless I’m very wrong and you’ve had a hectic love life?”
“That would have interfered with my studies, Bruno. I’m twenty-two. I’m in no kind of hurry.”
“Look before you leap?” he asked.
“You could say I’ve taken a leaf out of your book.” She hesitated a moment. “Want to know what I really think?”
“Nothing I’d like more,” he said, his eyes on her lovely profile.
“I’d say we’re a couple of incurable romantics, Bruno.”
He laughed. “Then I’d have to ask what proof have you got?” He met her green eyes with the challenge.
“I know we’d be heart-broken if our love was betrayed.”
She was coming too close to the truth. “I’d like to know how at twenty-two you’ve acquired so much understanding.”
“It’s just a question of observation, Bruno, and reading about the lives of others. Take the often tragic lives of the great composers. The sublime emotions they were still able to pour into their works despite everything that had gone terribly wrong in their lives. Beethoven’s Ninth says it all.”
“It just so happens I know it,” he sai
d with a thankful smile. He had to keep up with Bella.
“Not many people realize Beethoven wasn’t just the brooding genius of his most famous painting.”
“The one with the bold red scarf?” Bruno asked. He was familiar with that one. He supposed every music lover was.
“That’s the one. Painted around 1820 by Joseph Karl Stieler. A Jewish family, the Hinrichsens eventually came to own and treasure it. It was just one of the many paintings the Nazis stole. Henri Hinrichsen died in Auschwitz, but the family managed to get it back after the war, which was the rightful outcome. Anyway, from letters we know Beethoven was a witty man with a great sense of humour. He was said to have had a beautiful smile and exceptionally good teeth.”
“That would have been a plus in that day and age. Beethoven expressed the whole range of human emotions in his music, so he may just have had a sense of humour as well as his profoundly serious side. Marta undertook my classical music education. She gave me whole collections of classical CDs. I’ve worked through A to C. I haven’t had a chance to get to D. Remember Debussy?”
“I do.” She would never forget that night. “That was nice of her. I believe we get to know who we are through music.”
“The universal language?”
“Can I say something else?” Isabelle asked, almost haltingly.
“Sure. You can tell me anything, everything you like, Bella. I’m your friend. I will never betray you.”
“Do you know I believe you, Bruno.” She gave him a lovely smile. “I’ve never had a sexual partner, Bruno. I’m pretty sure you’ve guessed. I had plenty of male friends as a student. My life could have been very different of course. I could have taken sex as lightly as some others, but I don’t think that’s possible. Not for me anyway. I had to console a few of my girlfriends, in floods of tears, who thought they could embrace that lifestyle with no ill effects. Someone has to suffer and it’s usually the girl. I don’t believe a woman should give her body lightly.”
“So why don’t women practise that?” he shot back.
“Maybe your lot got brainwashed?” Isabelle suggested.
“I beg your pardon!”
