by Di Morrissey
A meeting was arranged in the School of Arts hall in Yamboola. Cindy and Joanna helped set up the hall and arranged for tea and coffee to be served afterwards. As several graziers wanted to speak, it was agreed that Donald should introduce them and run a question time after that. Murray had declined to do this job out of loyalty to his father. He knew Lawrence was very unhappy about the whole meeting idea.
‘It could be a bit awkward for you to be there, Dad,’ Murray had explained. ‘Seeing as you’re a member of the Wool Corp Board.’
‘Why am I suddenly the bad guy?’ demanded Lawrence. ‘Everyone has made a damned lot of money from their wool because of the Corporation’s guaranteed price.’
‘Agreed. But it’s gone on too long; it can’t last. And the board isn’t making any effort to sort things out sensibly. There’s too much greed, arrogance, ignorance and duplicity. You watch, the blame game will start soon enough, human nature being what it is.’
‘Cynthia should never have butted into this. It’s men’s business,’ Lawrence exploded. ‘I’d better come and set the record straight.’
Lawrence was as good as his word, and attended the overflowing meeting. He arrived after everyone else and strode to the front row, where a seat was hastily made available for him.
Brett Jones, the young reporter from the local paper, asked Donald if he could read a short statement on the research he’d done on the wool industry, which he thought people might find interesting.
To the crackling noise of the sound system, Donald stepped forward, welcomed everyone and thanked them for coming.
‘This meeting has been called tonight because many of us believe we’re not being listened to by the Wool Corporation. We question its tactics and believe it’s heading in the wrong direction and that if it keeps to its present path, the future of wool in this country could be severely damaged.’
This brought a smattering of angry mutters, some in agreement, some not.
‘We are all in this together,’ Donald added. ‘So we want to hear your views and ideas. But first we’ll hear from our guest speakers. First up is Brett Jones, who, as some of you might know, is a journalist with The Regional Times.’
Brett moved to the podium, opened his notebook, tapped the microphone and began speaking.
‘Good evening, everyone. I’ve been covering local news in this area for five years, but I am also a grazier’s son. I approached Mrs Parnell to say that I was prepared to look into the Wool Corporation and their proposals for the future direction of our wool industry and present my findings this evening. I think some of you may find these facts surprising.’
Brett baldly detailed the growing wool stockpile, the lack of buyers and the rising costs being sheeted back to the woolgrower. ‘It’s calculated that the Wool Corp’s borrowings to cover this have passed two billion dollars.’
There was a gasp and murmurs at this outrageous sum. Brett continued, ‘It appears the Wool Corp thinks the world will be forced to buy our wool and the stockpile will fall and everything will be all right.’
He paused to take a sip of water. Cindy looked around the packed hall. There was barely a sound as the audience took in what he was saying.
‘To my way of thinking, the Wool Corporation is just digging itself into an ever-deepening black hole. It assumes that the government and the Australian taxpayer will continue to pay for their folly of maintaining a high wool price. But what will happen when the government is forced to pull the plug?’
Brett raised his voice in his dramatic conclusion. ‘It is my belief that when the government no longer supports the Wool Corp, the entire wool industry will go into freefall.’
There was a loud reaction to this remark from the audience.
Brett continued, ‘There is a plan, I’m told off the record, to reduce wool production by up to 350 million kilos. Farmers will be paid to shoot old or surplus sheep and taxpayers will foot the compensation bill.’
As shouts of, ‘No way! Outrageous!’ rumbled around the room, Brett raised his voice one more time.
‘I have interviewed a lot of local woolgrowers who are placing the blame at the feet of the politicians. But in light of my investigations, I believe the leaders of the wool industry should be held accountable. And the question remains: what next for woolgrowers? Thank you.’
Cindy was shocked by what Brett had said and she stared at Lawrence. She could tell he was livid.
A well-known grazier rose, obviously upset by Brett’s report, and began to speak. ‘Even if only half of what this young bloke has to say is true, it spells disaster for us,’ he said. ‘It sounds like we need to get our industry out of the hands of those greedy mugs on the Wool Board. We need our industry to be unencumbered by debt and self-indulgence, so we can operate in a free market environment. But first, I call for a Royal Commission into how we bloody got to this state of affairs!’ He shook his fist as applause and a few ‘hear, hears’ broke out.
Donald asked the other official speakers to make further comments, and it quickly became evident that they, too, queried the direction in which the Wool Corp was taking the industry. When they had finished having their say, Donald called for comments from the floor.
Lawrence rose to his feet. The room hushed, waiting to hear what the well-regarded grazier, a member of the Wool Corp Board, had to say. Lawrence began to speak in his usual calm, polite way, determined to allay the worries of the audience.
‘The people who question the wool industry and where it’s going are doom and gloom merchants with no real knowledge of the workings of the wool industry. Don’t believe the alarm bells you’ve heard from this young man from the press. Wool’s always been Australia’s golden fleece. The world wants it. Remember, in World War I we sold the entire wool clip to Britain, and in World War II, it was the same thing. The fifties were a boom time, too, when wool sold for a pound a pound during the Korean War. Wool has made us rich. Wool has been the backbone of the Australian economy for two hundred years. Nothing will ever replace wool, not cotton, not synthetics, nothing.’
He paused and looked around the room. Some of the audience, people who had known Lawrence for years, seemed calmed by his positive words, but others looked hostile and one or two muttered angry remarks under their breath. Lawrence glared at them, and to Cindy’s shock and dismay, he suddenly lost his temper.
‘Some of you people in the room are ingrates, questioning the actions of the Wool Board,’ he roared. ‘We know what we’re doing. There is nothing that you need to panic about, take my word for that.’ Lawrence looked around the room, as though defying anyone to contradict him. ‘Wool will always be king,’ he thundered, and turned and strode from the hall.
After Lawrence’s speech, it was impossible for Donald to bring the room to order, as everyone broke into conversation with their neighbours, so Donald closed the meeting. Many of the audience left right away, but others stayed for a cup of tea and concerned conversation.
Brett was surrounded and the photographer was busy recording it all as Joanna hugged Cindy.
‘Look what we’ve started,’ Jo whispered. ‘Poor Lawrence, he was furious.’
‘Do you really believe it will get to the stage of shooting our sheep, like Brett said they were doing in Western Australia?’ asked Cindy.
‘I really don’t know. Let’s hope not,’ sighed Joanna. ‘But I think we’re facing dire straits.’
As Cindy sipped her tea, she cursed Lawrence’s extravagances and worried about just what would become of Kingsley Downs if Brett’s dramatic predictions came true.
*
The day after the hostile meeting, Lawrence flew his plane to Melbourne. Both Cindy and Murray thought he was getting too old to fly, and had tried to dissuade him, but he took little notice.
Shortly after lunch, the phone rang. Cindy thought it would be Joanna, calling to discuss the extraordinary meeting the
night before. But as the caller identified himself, she realised it was the call she had long hoped for, though she’d almost given up thinking anyone from the police would ever contact her.
‘It’s Senior Constable Fielding here, Mrs Parnell. We’re very sorry, but our inquiries regarding the information you gave us about that missing person have drawn a total blank. We went through Mrs Parnell’s address book, but we could find no one at all who was mentioned in it. We did manage to make contact with the children of one or two of the entries, but they could tell us nothing. I’m afraid they’d never heard of Mrs Rose Parnell. We’ve checked all possible databases and her name never comes up.’
Cindy sighed. ‘I see. That is disappointing, of course. But it was a long time ago and so it was a long shot to believe that you’d get a result,’ she said. ‘Well, thank you for your help. I’ll call in to collect the purse in a day or so, if that’s all right.’
Cindy was disappointed but not surprised. When she told Murray, he agreed with her. It was, after all, a long time ago.
*
Lawrence returned safely from Melbourne and a meeting of the Wool Corp Board, still angry over what he saw as Murray and Cindy’s disloyalty in arranging the community meeting.
‘Did he tell the board what the graziers felt in this district about the way it was handling things? What did he tell you?’ asked Cindy, after Murray had spoken to his father.
Murray shrugged. ‘Total intransigence as far as the board goes. Its members are sticking to their guns.’
‘I see,’ said Cindy, annoyed. ‘I just hope they start to listen soon, before it’s too late, and that includes your father, or we’ll all be in a sinking ship.’
Needing to distract herself, Cindy glanced at the kitchen clock and calculated what time it would be in Palm Springs. Early evening, so Alice would still be up watching television. She hadn’t spoken to Alice for some time and she felt a pang of guilt. Since Spencer had died the previous year from a heart attack, she’d been checking in on Alice more regularly than she used to, but somehow the weeks had slipped by without her making contact.
After Spencer’s death, her aunt had sold the store in Palm Springs and installed a manager in the boutique in Palm Desert. Cindy hoped that Alice was still keeping close tabs on the paperwork, the way Spencer had for so many years.
The phone rang several times before Alice finally picked up. ‘It’s damned late. Who is this?’ she demanded.
‘Sorry, Alice. It’s me, Cindy. I thought you’d be watching TV. How are you?’
‘Oh it’s you, Cindy. I’m watching Andy Rooney. Apart from him and Jeopardy, I tell you, there’s nothing but rubbish on television.’
‘Why don’t you read a good book, then?’ Cindy asked.
‘I only read biographies of people I admire or I can learn something from. Not many of those left, now.’
Cindy suppressed a sigh. Alice was getting grouchier with age. ‘How is everything? I hope you’re not still having a problem with that girl, Sandra, who’s running the store?’
‘Good grief. Don’t mention that terrible woman to me. She’s caused me so much trouble. My lawyer is still dealing with it.’
‘Why on earth do you need a lawyer? What has she done?’ asked Cindy in alarm.
‘The girl set herself up as more than just a shop manager. In the beginning, she was so helpful and polite. Said she was a business expert and a former accountant and she knew her way around taxation and deductions and how to save me money. So I let her do my bookkeeping and pay my accounts and so on.’
‘Alice! I can’t believe you did that. What happened to the accountant Spencer always used for your business?’
‘He’s getting doddery. Sandra said there were better ways to do things. It all seemed fine. She’s so charming, you know. The shop had been doing well. But I suddenly got a tax demand from the IRS. I mean, how embarrassing.’
‘You owed the IRS money?’
‘Apparently. And I think she said the store is facing receivership, whatever that is.’
‘Alice! How? You own that store outright, it’s been making money … What has Sandra done?’
‘I seem to owe money to fashion houses. Sandra was buying a lot of stock, and she used the boutique as collateral for some idea she ran past me about a marketing program her friend set up. It seemed to be a good idea, and I signed some papers to get a loan for it. It didn’t come off. Cindy, I think Sandra and her friend, Clarice, are in cahoots,’ said Alice indignantly. ‘Spencer’s valuable coin collection has disappeared from his desk, too. I keep my jewellery locked away. But really, Cindy, it’s all beyond me.’
‘I can see why you’ve gone to a lawyer,’ said Cindy, shocked by what Alice was telling her. Babs had always said Alice was gullible to suggestions about easy money, but with the faithful Spencer around, Alice had been protected from avaricious so-called friends. Now, without Spencer, it was a different story.
‘Apart from going to a lawyer, are you doing anything else to get to the bottom of it all?’ asked Cindy.
‘Of course I’m trying to get someone to sort it out,’ replied Alice crossly. ‘I have two guys, two gay people, who have offered to help me. They say they want to run the shop. They said Sandra has been robbing me blind.’
‘Good lord, Alice, how well do you know these men? How do you know they won’t rob you blind as well? You must get reliable advice. Go to Spencer’s old firm, for goodness sake. You need proper legal advice. I think Sandra should be reported to the authorities. She probably makes a business out of swindling people like you.’
‘There’s nothing wrong with my business acumen, Cindy. I’m just too trusting,’ said Alice, bristling. ‘Anyway, as a matter of fact I have a new career.’
‘Alice, what on earth do you mean?’ Cindy’s heart sank.
Cindy could visualise Alice settling in to tell her about her latest venture, crossing her long legs, immaculately manicured feet in high-heeled sandals. In a fleeting aside, Cindy realised she had never, ever, seen Alice anything but perfectly groomed; nails, hairdo, clothes, accessories, the lot.
‘You know what a retirement haven this place is for all the movie stars and the great doyens of show business. We won’t see their like again. Hollywood, show business, Broadway, has lost the old glamour, the razzamatazz, the talent, but those who had it are all here.’
‘I agree, Alice. But they’re all old,’ said Cindy affectionately.
‘That might well be true, but real talent never dies. I’m talking show business … Ginger Rogers, Fred Astaire, the big musicals. It’s all coming back.’
‘Alice! Whatever do you mean?’ said Cindy, leaning her head on her hand in exasperation.
‘Y’know how the Plaza Theatre’s been closed for years?’
‘Yes, Joey and I loved going there to the movies.’
‘This very clever guy came up with an idea for a show, and it’s taken forever to convince the mayor to re-open the Plaza for a season each year. But he has finally agreed, and we’re going to be putting on a show there,’ said Alice proudly.
‘What sort of a show, exactly?’
‘It’s an extravaganza! It’s going to be called “The Fabulous Palm Springs Follies”! I’ll read you what we’re doing from our advertising flyer.’ She paused, cleared her throat with a theatrical cough and started to read, ‘A Legendary Line-Up of Long-Legged Lovelies, our internationally acclaimed guest stars, classic variety acts, present the music and dance of the 40s, 50s, 60s and 70s, all performed by a cast old enough to have lived it! ’
‘Ah, well, and just what is your role?’ asked Cindy cautiously.
‘I’m assisting the wonderful costume designer. We had the first lot of auditions and over four hundred turned up … all former Vegas showgirls, Radio City Music Hall Rockettes, performers from Paris’s Folies Bergère, and Broadway veterans. I couldn
’t believe it. And the rule is they must be over fifty-five!’
‘I’m a bit stunned,’ admitted Cindy. ‘I didn’t think feathers and sequins was your style.’
‘Oh, the designs are bigger and better than any show you’ve seen. I tell you, when it’s up and going it will put Palm Springs on the map just like the canyons and the tramway!’
‘It does sound amazing. I just hadn’t thought it your sort of thing. Please tell me you haven’t invested in the show?’ asked Cindy, feeling quite helpless.
‘Not a cent. I can’t spare a dime these days, anyway. This show is class, Cindy. Style, showbiz and stars. It’s an inspiration. Eighty-year-old, high-kicking glamour girls! You gotta hand it to them,’ said Alice.
‘Well, I’m pleased you’ve found something to keep you occupied,’ said Cindy, rather bemused.
‘I have so many admirers now,’ Alice boasted. ‘I think I was a bit lonely after Spencer died, but now everybody wants to be my friend. You know how popular I’ve always been, not that I ever dreamed anyone would take advantage of me. But Cindy, do you know what they said in the write-up about the Follies? They called me a legend of the desert. They’re right, of course, but it’s nice to be recognised.’
‘It certainly is, and you are a legend, Alice,’ said Cindy, laughing. ‘Send me some photos of the showgirls.’
*
Christmas was a happy time. Even Lawrence did his best to join in the festivities with the rest of the family, although Cindy knew he was still annoyed over the Yamboola graziers’ meeting.
The only thing that marred Christmas Day was the Flowerses announcement that they had decided to retire in the new year.
Cindy felt devastated. Mrs Flowers had been her ally and companion for nearly thirty years, and she wondered how she would manage without the friendship of the kind housekeeper.
‘It won’t ever really be the same again,’ said Cindy sadly when the two of them were alone in the kitchen, and Mrs Flowers shifted her feet and wrung her hands on her apron.
