A Distant Journey

by Di Morrissey

  ‘Excuse me,’ said Lawrence coldly, ‘did you come in here only for this nonsensical discussion?’

  ‘No. I came in here to tell you that you are not to discipline my son. Don’t you dare lay a hand on him ever again,’ snapped Cindy.

  Lawrence remained impassive. ‘You spoil those children. You are a frivolous mother. My grandsons have to be strong, not the spoiled brats that you want them to be.’

  Cindy was incensed. She narrowed her eyes at Lawrence. ‘How dare you! They’re my sons. I will raise them as I see fit. You have no right to criticise me.’

  ‘I have every right. Now, I’m busy.’ He looked away, picking up a paper from his desk.

  Cindy put both palms on Lawrence’s desk and leaned towards him. ‘Lawrence, you are a rude and arrogant man and I will not have you bullying my children.’

  ‘They will live by my rules in my house if they know what’s best for them,’ he snapped back. ‘Kingsley Downs is their inheritance, but only if they do as I say.’

  ‘Is that what you tell Murray? How can you threaten your own son?’ Cindy was shouting now. ‘I will not have you intimidating my children.’

  ‘You have NO say!’ thundered Lawrence and he stood up, towering over Cindy. ‘Who do you think you are? Seducing your way into my son’s affections, rushing him into marriage and then you have the audacity to think you can fit in here with us? You never will. Those children will do what I know is best for them and you will have no say in it. Hear me? No say. No say at all!’

  Cindy was so furious she couldn’t speak for a moment, but then she found she knew exactly what she wanted to say. ‘I am their mother. I will not have you interfering with their upbringing. You are a horrible old man,’ she shouted, no longer able to contain her anger.

  They both heard footsteps in the corridor before Murray rushed into the study.

  ‘What the hell is going on? I could hear you all over the house,’ he said. ‘What’s this all about?’

  ‘I am telling your father that he is not, I repeat, NOT to interfere in the raising of our children.’ Cindy turned to Murray, her voice shaking with fury.

  ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘Why don’t you ask your father what I mean, Murray?’ said Cindy angrily. ‘Your father shook Russell and berated him for “running away”. He didn’t run away, he wandered off and got lost. Your father has no right to discipline our son that way, especially as he’s a little boy who is a bit of a dreamer, and only four years old.’

  Murray stood as if frozen to the spot, and said nothing.

  ‘Say something, Murray!’ yelled Cindy. ‘Your father shook our child!’

  Finally Murray took Cindy’s hand. ‘Cin, calm down. I just want to hear what Dad has to say.’ He looked at his father.

  Lawrence stared hard at Murray. ‘Son, those children have to learn to obey rules. She’s too soft with them. They need to toughen up and listen to me.’

  ‘Murray, these are our children, not your father’s.’ Cindy was close to tears.

  Murray put his arm around Cindy and spoke to Lawrence.

  ‘Dad, you must understand how Cindy feels. Please leave any child-rearing to us. They’re good kids. This was a one-off incident.’ He looked pointedly at his father, who glared back at him. ‘Cindy is a great mother. I’m proud of her.’

  ‘If those children want to inherit and run Kingsley Downs one day, they will do so on my terms,’ Lawrence said, his voice icy.

  Murray stared at his father, and Cindy saw something pass between them. To her surprise, it was Lawrence who first dropped his gaze.

  ‘You will regret giving in to her,’ Lawrence murmured. ‘You’re supposed to be the boss, son. Please yourself and do it your way. You’ve made your point, Cynthia.’ He opened a folder, dismissing them.

  Murray squeezed Cindy’s hand and nudged her towards the door.

  Cindy went ahead of Murray.

  ‘I’ll see you in our bedroom,’ she said, watching as his face dissolved into relief. Murray walked down the hall in the direction of their bedroom.

  Cindy went into the kitchen and poured herself a glass of wine. It had certainly been a momentous day. She sat quietly and raised her glass and whispered, ‘Here’s to you, Alice. Thanks for your blunt advice. I certainly took it and there’s no looking back now.’

  8

  The change of seasons came softly, sneaking in during the night, so that when Cindy woke, the air had a different smell and the dawn colours were newly bright, a melting pot of splashed paint. Watching the streaming light, she wondered again at the miraculous melange of hues. In all the years she’d been at Kingsley Downs, the unveiling of the morning always awed her.

  Cindy stepped outside with her cup of coffee, claiming a moment of calm before the children’s calls and the routine of the day began. Looking at the vista, familiar now but never dull, she had an inkling of what people meant when they told her about feeling at one with a place. She wondered if it was this feeling that had made the original settlers choose this place to put down roots, to stay, battling through hard times and giving meaning to all their work, both their struggles and their joys.

  She had seen the quiet pleasure and satisfied exhaustion of Murray and the other landowners when a drought broke, or floods receded, when the feed was lush and the wool clip fine and bountiful. Theirs was no nine-to-five, walk-away-at-sunset job, but a life chosen, and bequeathed, lived moment to moment, day after day, year after year, and the knowledge that this life of obligation would be inherited by her children gave Cindy a sense of belonging she had never known or ever anticipated.

  But, while Kingsley Downs gave her a feeling of permanence, there was nonetheless a feeling of disruption that haunted her, just below the surface of her daily life, almost as though she were living on an earthquake fault line or beneath a dormant volcano: the ever-present Lawrence.

  After the terrible row she’d had with him over Russell’s disappearance, more than eight months ago now, he’d kept his distance by simply ignoring her. When conversation could not be avoided, his obvious coolness, which bordered on disdain, irked her. Cindy knew that there was now an even higher fence between them and, although Alice had given her the strength to stand up to her father-in-law, she felt that often the best way to deal with him was simply to turn away from his challenging stare. Long-term peace was doubtful.

  Murray was supportive and loving and made it clear to his father that, although he would work with Lawrence on the property, Cindy was his wife and the mother of his children and it was to her that he owed his first loyalties. Cindy was touched by his outspokenness on the subject. Sometimes she glimpsed a swift, sad expression, close to pain, in Murray’s eyes, which was never acknowledged and quickly extinguished if he realised she was looking. Occasionally she thought it might be better if they moved away and started from scratch somewhere else, but she never raised the idea with Murray as she knew it would be a difficult thing to do. She sipped the last drop of her coffee and then sighed. These peaceful moments were few and far between. She took a deep breath of morning air, raised her mug in salute to the rising sun, and turned back into the house.

  *

  Later that day, as Cindy walked from the Deniliquin post office after mailing her regular letter to Babs, a woman touched her arm.

  ‘Hello, Cindy, how lovely to see you,’ came a clipped but friendly voice.

  ‘Ngaire,’ Cindy exclaimed as she turned to greet Alistair Campbell’s secretary, who was dressed as usual in a tailored skirt and jacket with a brooch on the lapel, her hair neatly coiffured. ‘It’s lovely to see you, too. I’m just running a few errands. Are you working today? How is Alistair? When you see him, please pass on my regards.’

  Ngaire nodded, her perfect hair not moving an inch. ‘I’m heading back to the office in a minute, and of course I’ll tell Alistair you were asking after
him. It has been a while since I’ve seen you. You must come over to Stonycroft again soon. The garden is looking a treat at the moment, I think you would enjoy it. Perhaps lunch next week? I don’t work on Wednesdays.’

  Cindy accepted the invitation quickly. ‘I’d love to come. I love your garden, especially your roses. I’ve tried to keep the roses at Kingsley Downs going, although it isn’t always easy when water is scarce.’

  ‘I know,’ Ngaire said sympathetically. ‘The stock and land come first. How about midday, then?’

  ‘Yes, of course.’

  ‘Then I look forward to seeing you.’

  *

  On the following Wednesday, Cindy drove up the tree-lined driveway to Ngaire’s Federation-style house, Stonycroft, which was surrounded by lawns and garden beds. To Cindy, the place always had a gracious old-world charm that seemed to suit Ngaire Seymour perfectly. She remembered the first time she had been introduced to her. Cindy had liked her at once. Ngaire had had a firm handshake and sharp blue eyes. Later, Murray had told her that Alistair Campbell trusted Ngaire with all the firm’s most sensitive business.

  ‘She has the dirt on everyone in the district,’ Murray had said with a laugh. ‘But she’s very discreet.’

  As Cindy parked the car and walked across the lawn, she passed several mature trees shading well-weathered furniture. Ngaire came out onto the verandah wearing a printed cotton dress and a large straw hat, smiling in delight at her visitor.

  ‘Welcome, welcome. Come and have a cold drink and then we’ll have a stroll in the garden before our lunch.

  I made some sandwiches. I hope that suits you.’

  Cindy followed Ngaire indoors and was struck again by the difference between Stonycroft and the house at Kingsley Downs. This house was home to a woman who lived amongst the memorabilia of her well-lived life: the paraphernalia of parties and special events, photographs and personalised needlepoint cushions, doilies and crocheted throw rugs, and books and games stacked on shelves. Souvenirs and mementos such as shells collected with care on beach holidays were all on display, testimony to full and happy times. As Cindy walked through the house, sipping the iced water Ngaire had given her, she felt the echo of laughter and conversation lingering, as if her family had just left the room. Ngaire pointed out some of the photos, chatting about her parents and her memories of growing up here with her brother, who had died in a Japanese prisoner-­of-war camp.

  ‘I’m still very close to my nephew and nieces, but they all have their own careers and are full of their own ideas. I don’t think that living on the land is for them, but who knows? Maybe they’ll change their minds. Now, how about we head out here through the conservatory and look at the kitchen garden?’

  They strolled through the kitchen garden, with its beds of herbs as well as vegetables. Each time Cindy exclaimed about a particular plant, Ngaire produced a pair of secateurs from her pocket and snipped off a cutting.

  ‘We’ll put these in some water for you to take home and strike,’ she said.

  Cindy was always entranced by the creativity that Ngaire had put into the delightful gardens. What Ngaire termed the formal gardens were a riot of English cottage garden pastels, where blossoms complemented the hardy local plants so well that it all looked spontaneous and yet had been carefully orchestrated.

  ‘Ready for lunch?’ said Ngaire with a smile as they left her stunning rosebushes, which were just about to burst into bloom. ‘Those roses are my pride and joy. Some of them are quite old and they need some looking after, but they do well if they’re given tender loving care.’

  ‘You always lavish a lot of attention on them,’ said Cindy. ‘Mine are somewhat neglected.’

  ‘But you have children to raise,’ said Ngaire gently. ‘So much better to look after them. The roses can wait until you have more time.’

  The Minton tea set was laid out on a drawn thread linen tablecloth which Ngaire confessed had been a domestic science project from her school days.

  Cindy sighed contentedly as the two women sat down.

  Ngaire carefully poured the tea. ‘Now tell me, how is your Aunt Alice?’

  ‘Aunt Alice is fine. She loves talking about her visit here. My Aunt Babs says she makes it sound as though she was one of the last of the great explorers, venturing to remote “Down Under”!’

  Ngaire chuckled. ‘I’m sure she found Kingsley Downs very different from what she expected. She seems like a very forthright woman!’ she said, sipping her tea, a twinkle in her eye.

  ‘That she is!’ Cindy said with a laugh. ‘Nobody gets anything past Alice.’

  ‘I admire strong women,’ said Ngaire. ‘Tell me, are you a women’s libber?’

  Cindy smiled at the older woman, who obviously kept abreast of the times. ‘My friend Jo likes to keep me up to date on the Women’s Liberation movement. She lent me The Female Eunuch, which I’ve just finished. That gave me a lot to think about.’

  Ngaire nodded. ‘Indeed. I found it very stimulating too. Sometimes it takes a person like Germaine Greer to see things differently. When you live in a place, especially one that’s steeped in tradition and resistant to change, you stop seeing, and some things really need to be reimagined.

  I think it is quite wrong that women are seen only as appendages of their husbands, but then, I’ve never had a husband.’

  ‘How do you stay switched on?’ asked Cindy in amazement.

  Ngaire passed the sandwich plate to Cindy. ‘I’m a great reader and I tune in to the outside world through ABC radio. I’m not so fond of the television; I think it’s more for entertainment than to inform. I like to hear other people’s views. Even in Deniliquin, I’ve met a few people over the years who have quite remarkable ideas.’

  Cindy swallowed the last of her crustless cucumber sandwich. ‘I guess even in a small community like ours there are a few people thinking outside the box. Tell me, have you lived around here your whole life?’

  ‘I don’t think I’ve ever told you, but I did leave for a short time, and quickly learned that the city was not for me. After I came home and Alistair Campbell offered me the position in his office, I never felt any desire to leave again.’

  Cindy glanced out at the garden. ‘Well, I can see why you wanted to come back. There’s no place like home, as they say. And you must have missed all your friends and relations. You surely know everyone in the district.’

  ‘Not everyone, although of course I’ve known the Parnells for years,’ said Ngaire, as she topped up Cindy’s teacup. ‘The family has been a client of our office for decades and I can even remember old Mr Parnell, Lawrence’s father, and Rose of course.’

  Cindy looked at Ngaire. No one ever seemed to volunteer any knowledge of Rose Parnell, except occasionally Mrs Flowers, who was tight-lipped on the subject at the best of times. Cindy knew she couldn’t let this opportunity pass her by, no matter how nosy she sounded.

  ‘It was hard on Murray not having his mother around while he was growing up,’ said Cindy carefully. ‘Over the years I have sometimes felt quite curious about what happened, but Mr Parnell never speaks about it, and neither does Murray.’ Clasping her hands together, Cindy leaned forward. ‘Ngaire, I hope I’m not asking you to break any confidences, but can you tell me what exactly happened to Mrs Parnell? I don’t mean to pry, but she is my children’s grandmother,’ said Cindy.

  Ngaire seemed to hesitate for a moment, but then she said, ‘Yes, I can understand how you feel, and it’s certainly not breaking any confidences to say that no one really knows exactly what happened to Rose, although at the time her sudden disappearance was the subject of intense speculation.’

  ‘I’m not surprised – there must have been gossip around the town. What was Rose like?’

  Ngaire sat back in her chair. ‘Rose Parnell was a lovely woman, very quiet. I always found her to be thoughtful and considerate, although some people s
aid she was secretive and difficult to know. It certainly rocked the community when Rose left. There was a lot of sympathy for Lawrence at the time and I suppose it’s understandable that he won’t talk about it. I think there was much loss of face for him. You have to remember that the Parnells are a long-established and respected family, so her leaving entailed not just shock and despair, but a level of embarrassment as well. Not good for a man with as much pride as Lawrence Parnell to be so publicly rejected.’

  Ngaire paused for a moment to offer Cindy a piece of Madeira cake before she continued.

  ‘The Flowerses were away at a wedding and Murray was at boarding school. Lawrence had been away doing something with the war effort and on his way back, even though it was late, Lawrence decided to go to the pub in Yamboola. When he got home late that night, Rose and her car were gone. He rang the police straight away because he thought she’d been in a car accident. The police couldn’t do much till morning and that’s when they found her car on the Deniliquin road a couple of miles from the entrance to the property parked behind a clump of bushes. Lawrence wouldn’t have seen it as he drove home on the Yamboola road on the opposite side of Kingsley Downs. Overnight Lawrence realised some of Rose’s things were missing too. Since there was no sign of a struggle in the car and its keys had been left in it, the police concluded that Rose had rendezvoused with someone on the highway and had gone off with them. No one thought it was a local, or everyone would have known straight away. Many people thought that she must have gone off with an American serviceman.’

  Cindy let out a breath she hadn’t known she was holding. ‘How would she have met him?’

  ‘Rose was very involved with the Red Cross,’ Ngaire said. ‘They put on charity events and concerts for the war effort, that sort of thing, as well as the usual knitting and preparing food for passing troops. She used to go to Melbourne occasionally as part of her Red Cross work, too. I don’t know what else she did there, but a rumour circulated that when she was in the city she spent some time with a soldier.’