FOLLOW THE MORNING STAR

by Di Morrissey

  ‘He’s doing brilliantly according to Tango,’ said Queenie. ‘Says he’s a whizz at figures and has taken to book-keeping like a duck to water.’

  ‘That’s great if he learns a new skill. The poor kid will never ride again.’ TR twisted his fork into his fettucine. ‘I wonder if I will. I don’t have any desire to go near a horse again, unless it can put me back together again.’

  ‘TR!’ Queenie nearly spilt her glass of claret in surprise. ‘You can’t say that. You mustn’t! You’re only feeling like that while you’re still a bit insecure. You’ll get over it and come good.’ A note of fear crept into her voice. This was so unlike TR.

  TR nodded but looked unconvinced. ‘Maybe.’

  ‘TR, do you know how good you were . . . are . . . on a horse? There was none better. You’re more at home in the saddle than behind the wheel of a car. You stormed through the American rodeo circuit as well as being the best here at home. There’s never been anyone as good as you. Every morning we ride before breakfast while the morning star is still out. You love being on a horse!’

  ‘Not if this is what it does to you,’ he said tersely, ending the conversation abruptly.

  Queenie changed the subject, telling him about Saskia and Toffee, Harmony Hill and her distrust of Colin. She was animated and, as she talked, her eyes sparkled and her hands danced and gesticulated expressively. TR found himself relaxing in her company and realised what a sexy and delightful woman his wife was. At one point she made him laugh and as she grinned at him, he impulsively leaned forward and kissed her on the tip of her nose. ‘I like you,’ he said softly.

  Queenie’s eyes filled with tears. ‘Oh TR,’ she whispered, her face glowing with love and hope.

  Immediately TR regretted the spontaneous gesture. Each time he showed some small indication of affection, Queenie grasped at it like a drowning person reaching for a lifeline. Seeing his involuntary withdrawal Queenie was swamped once more with hurt and frustration.

  The rest of the meal was spent in strained silence, TR afraid to let down his defences again and Queenie trying to keep her emotions in check. Finally they gave up and paid the bill then headed for the community hall.

  The meeting was well attended and Queenie explained at length what was involved and how her project would affect the district’s wool growers. A member of the shire council who worked in the local stock and station agency stood up and asked TR what he thought of the idea and how he was involved.

  TR glanced questioningly at Queenie, the quick look asking did he know this man. Queenie nodded and whispered, ‘Doug Jenkins’.

  Leaning on his walking stick, TR rose to his feet and where once he would have spoken with assurance and quiet authority, now he hesitated nervously, glancing round the room full of friends and acquaintances who were strangers to him. ‘This is Queenie’s concept and she has been overseeing its execution . . . However, she has explained it in detail to me and I can’t pick any flaws in the plan . . . Like any enterprise there is an element of risk, but if we never took risks we’d never make the gains either. I don’t want to influence you too strongly as I . . . am not quite myself yet. My advice to you would be that as well as voting this evening for the idea, you also vote on your belief in Queenie’s abilities. Put the two together and see what your decision is then.’ TR sat down awkwardly as the audience burst into a round of spontaneous applause.

  After brief discussion a vote was taken on whether the local community would support the idea of establishing a tannery and fellmongery at the old meatworks, and Tingulla Wool and Leather Enterprises — and Queenie — were given an overwhelming vote of confidence.

  ‘Now you’ve just got to fix up the money,’ whispered TR to Queenie.

  Queenie grinned at him. ‘I have that under control, don’t worry. And Sarah has insisted on investing her money in this too.’

  After the meeting broke up, there was general milling about in the hall and many people came up to greet Queenie and shake TR’s hand, wishing him well.

  TR found himself apologising for not knowing names or faces, but his apologies were brushed aside. ‘All in good time, TR. It’s just great to see you getting about’, was people’s response.

  ‘I seem to be a pretty popular sort of a bloke,’ said TR to Queenie as he laboriously made his way from the hall after everyone had left. ‘Or is this like seeing a dead man walk?’

  Queenie laughed. ‘You are popular, TR. All over the country as a matter of fact. But especially here.’

  ‘Yeah, there’s a great feeling of warmth and friendship. Makes me feel good. I’m glad I came.’

  Queenie took his arm to help him as he limped. ‘That’s one of the nice things about small communities and country people,’ she said, ‘we mightn’t see each other for months, but we all help each other when needed.’

  Queenie was smiling as they got into the car; despite the shaky start to the evening, she felt convinced that they’d bridged a chasm in their relationship. She turned the car radio on and tuned in to a country music station. After hearing the first chorus of a song, TR picked it up and sang along. Queenie hummed too, remembering the times they’d sung songs together and how TR always had his small silver harmonica in his pocket.

  ‘You serenaded me on my twenty-first birthday,’ Queenie reminded him.

  ‘Singing? Or do I play the piano?’

  ‘Harmonica. You used to serenade the cattle when out mustering too.’

  They both laughed for no special reason as they turned off the main road and bumped through the bush, the headlights spotlighting the dirt track and scattered gum trees. When they arrived at the house, lights were shining on the verandah. Silhouetted against the sitting room windows was Jenni.

  Queenie opened her door as TR leaned out of the window and called, ‘You’re up late’.

  Jenni walked over to the car.

  ‘You didn’t have to wait up for us,’ said Queenie sweetly, taking her bag from the back seat.

  ‘I’ve been sitting out here talking to Millie. She’s gone to bed and I was enjoying the evening. How was the meeting?’ asked Jenni.

  ‘It was great. I really enjoyed the drive.’

  ‘You drove?’ said Jenni in delighted surprise. ‘That’s fantastic. I was about to suggest it as our next move.’

  ‘No, no. I didn’t . . . Do you think I could drive?’

  Queenie turned at the verandah steps as TR hung out of the car door, grinning at Jenni like an excited kid.

  ‘Sure. Let’s go for it now! Just around the driveway. Move over.’ Jenni opened the door and watched TR struggle over to the driver’s side.

  ‘Are you sure about this, Jenni? Don’t want to do any damage,’ said TR a little apprehensively.

  ‘It’s your right leg that’s crook, not your clutch side. Just take it slow and easy. It will hurt a bit, it’s an unfamiliar movement.’

  Queenie stood on the verandah as the engine burbled to life and, with slightly unsteady acceleration, the LandCruiser headed down the drive, its red taillights glowing in the dark. Queenie walked inside, went upstairs to the master bedroom and kicked the door shut, her earlier euphoria evaporating.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Tango walked out of the office and stood watching George Bannerman and his sidekick get out of the chauffeured black Mercedes.

  ‘G’day, are you Tango? I’m Georgy. Come t’check on our horse.’ He didn’t bother introducing his companion. ‘You was away when my associate brought Ambrosia in, he saw that Abo jockey you got here. Everything in order?’

  Tango took an instant dislike to George, from his flashy clothes to his phoney smile. ‘Yes, everything is fine with the horse, if that’s what you mean by “in order”,’ replied Tango.

  ‘Great, great,’ said George, adjusting his testicles to a more comfortable position. ‘We’re going to give him a little bit of a run on Saturday. Nothin’ too adventurous just a quiet little qualifying race.’

  ‘Listen, er, George, that’s
a fast horse, you could run him in a really big race right now and he’d stand a decent chance.’

  Bannerman shook his head vehemently. ‘Ah, we don’t wanna do that. Our connections wanna bring him on slow and easy.’ He didn’t add that they didn’t want it known they had a hot horse. They wanted the odds long on the day of the Gold Coast Cup.

  Tango shrugged. ‘Have it your own way. The horse could start winning races any day. But that’s your business. Do you want to clock him round the distance? Mick — my assistant manager as well as training jockey,’ said Tango pointedly, ‘is doing a bit of track work with him now.’

  The three stood at the railing and watched Ambrosia gallop along the course. Bannerman peered through binoculars and Tango timed it with his stopwatch. As the horse stormed past the post, Tango passed the stopwatch to Bannerman. ‘Pretty impressive, wouldn’t you say?’

  Bannerman merely nodded. ‘Right then, we’ll pick him up Friday afternoon and he’ll be back in your care on Monday. And naturally our connections want his progress to remain . . . confidential.’

  ‘I understand,’ said Tango without expression. He didn’t bother asking where the horse would be racing. But the word would spread about Ambrosia soon enough, a horse as good as that wouldn’t stay hidden for long.

  Queenie tidied her desk, putting the letter from Henri with the crest of the Hotel D’Accord in New York on top. Dear Henri, what a good friend he’d been. He’d come into her life when she had made a great success of her business life, but was vulnerable and lonely after the death of Saskia’s father, Warwick. She had been cheated out of Tingulla by Colin and the Cambonis and had struggled to start a new life in the city. Henri, an internationally famous hotelier, had fallen in love with her and had asked her to marry him. Queenie couldn’t help wondering at this moment what her life would have been like had she married the urbane and charming French-Canadian and moved to New York. But Queenie knew had she done so, the pull of her Dreaming place would have called her home. She was only happy in her rightful place — at Tingulla and in TR’s arms.

  She put folders, papers and her diary into her briefcase, glanced around to make sure she hadn’t left anything behind, closed the door and went to find Millie.

  ‘Cup of tea before you go luv? Jim’s all ready,’ said Millie as Queenie walked into the kitchen.

  ‘I guess so, Millie. Now, do we need to go over anything? I don’t think any problems will come up. Snowy and Ernie should be back soon I suppose. Ruthie’s here of course, and Jim. And TR.’

  ‘Stop frettin’, Queenie. It ain’t the first time we got on without you. I want you to have a break down there in Sydney. Have a bit of fun with Sarah.’

  Queenie smiled. ‘Well, I am looking forward to seeing her. But this is work, Millie. Meetings with bank managers and so on.’

  Millie poured the tea. ‘You sad ‘bout sellin’ the Kurrajong?’

  ‘In a way I am. But it’s served its purpose,’ said Queenie. ‘And it’s passing into good hands. It won’t change dramatically. Henri can only make improvements. It will be part of the Montpelier chain now.’

  Initially Millie had been doubtful about Queenie going to Sydney at this time and asked why she couldn’t arrange the sale from Tingulla. She didn’t like the idea of Queenie leaving TR and Jenni together, but gradually Millie began to realise that Queenie wanted it that way.

  It hadn’t been an easy decision for Queenie. She had thought it through carefully. Her jealousy and resentment were poisoning her daily thoughts. She couldn’t concentrate and felt like sneaking around and spying on TR and Jenni all the time. She knew that wasn’t healthy and so she was trying to heed her son’s advice and let fate take its course. The more she tried to bind TR to her, the further away she pushed him. Her claim on him was a wedding ring and a past of forgotten shadows. She couldn’t fight the youth, energy and hope that Jenni brought him.

  Queenie’s tactic now was strategic withdrawal. She was not one to walk away from a fight, but maturity brought its own wisdom and painful as it was to remove herself from the present situation, she knew it was the right thing to do. She had to trust that the great love that had bound her and TR would survive even this.

  Queenie walked out onto the verandah as Jim started up the car. Jenni carried her briefcase and handed it to Jim, which made Queenie feel Jenni couldn’t wait to see her leave.

  Queenie kissed TR quickly on the cheek. ‘Take care, I hope everything is okay. I’ll call you in a day or so and let you know how things progress. I don’t know how long I’ll be away. Probably several weeks. I guess I’ll also go up to the Blue Mountains.’

  ‘Good luck Queenie. Though it seems luck is always on your side,’ smiled TR.

  Not always, Queenie thought to herself, giving him a quick smile before turning away to wave to Ruthie and give Millie a hug.

  As they drove away leaving Millie standing on the bottom step forlornly twisting the edge of her apron, and TR and Jenni standing in the shadows of the laden jasmine that twined around the verandah posts, Queenie remembered Snowy’s advice to her — never look back. She kept her eyes steadfastly ahead and wondered what changes would take place while she was away.

  Other than clothes and immediate necessities Colin hadn’t unpacked any of his effects that had come from Italy. Dina had insisted they ship to Europe all their furniture and household possessions, including the personal effects Colin had had in his bachelor apartment in Double Bay. Among these was a large box he hadn’t unpacked in Italy, which was labelled Colin — bachelor stuff. Now he wanted to get into that carton and he spent several hours rummaging in their storage bin in the basement of the pink penthouse.

  After several hours he finally found what he was looking for. He slit the box open and went through it, putting aside photo albums, old records, knick-knacks, letters and books. There was also a long metal cash box which he put to one side as he began going through the books.

  While he was occupied, Dina drove into the underground garage and pulled up in their allocated space in front of the storage facility. She got out of the car with a bemused expression. ‘What are you doing caro? You look like a monkey in a cage.’

  Colin started guiltily. He’d been deeply engrossed in a pile of letters. ‘You’re back early. What happened? You run out of money? Or buy out the shop?’

  ‘We couldn’t find anything nice to buy so we went to lunch. Why are you opening that box after all these years?’ she asked, peering through the mesh of the cage.

  ‘Just looking for a . . . legal document I seem to have misplaced,’ said Colin hurriedly.

  Dina looked at him curiously. ‘I’m going for my siesta.’ She pushed the button and disappeared into the elevator.

  Half an hour later Colin walked quietly into the penthouse, doing a brief double take as he caught sight of himself in the massive giltframed mirror Dina had just acquired to hang in the entryway. He went into the study and pulled open a drawer in the white Louis Quinze replica table which Dina used as a desk. It was filled with her personalised embossed stationery.

  Colin changed his mind and opened the leadlight doors on the wall shelves, put the book and the tin box inside and turned the little gold key. Returning to Dina’s desk he found her address book and copied out a phone number. He peered into the bedroom to make sure Dina was asleep, then shut the door and lifted the phone.

  Dina was lying on the quilted bedspread with her shoes off and a satin shade over her eyes, but she wasn’t asleep. She heard the click of the phone as Colin dialled and she reached out and lifted the phone to her ear without disturbing her eyeshade. She lay on the bed listening to the conversation and when Colin hung up she gently replaced the receiver, pushed the eye shade up on her head, and stared thoughtfully at the ceiling.

  While Colin was in the shower that evening, Dina began looking through his drawers, wardrobe and in his desk before moving into the study. It took her five minutes to find the book and tin box which was unlocked. Inside were letter
s, documents and a few small mementoes, but nothing that appeared to be of interest. She took down the book, it was an early edition of Australian poetry. It was not Colin’s usual reading matter and she flipped it open. Written in the flyleaf was the signature of Patrick Hanlon. Dina riffled through the book and found a folded sheet of paper. She read it quickly. It was a letter from Colin’s father explaining his will and the reasons why he had left Tingulla to Queenie and not to Colin. Dina shrugged and replaced the letter and book.

  With Queenie’s departure from Tingulla the energy seemed to drain away from the homestead. Queenie had been the focus of daily life and now it seemed an empty shell. There were fewer people about and TR found the solitude suffocating. He found he was becoming irritable with Jenni’s insistence on continuing his exercise regime. He drew away from her, preferring to assert himself in small ways rather than turn to her for assistance and support.

  The change in TR’s attitude was indicative of his recovery, but whereas Jenni would normally welcome this withdrawal process as a sign of independence in a patient, this time she was very disappointed. She was deeply attracted to TR; to her he represented the ideal man. She was an only child, her mother had been widowed when Jenni was very young, so she had lacked the companionship of a brother or father. To her, TR, with his strength of character, his gentle humour and good looks, was the man she’d dreamt about all her life.

  Now that he could drive for short distances before the pain in his leg became unbearable, TR began roaming around the property. He spent time looking at the giant rams with their great curled horns, blank expressions and impossibly thick blankets of fleece. He parted the snowy wool, marvelling at the superfine lanolin-soaked wool fibres. Queenie was right, this was a unique resource and Tingulla’s wool was consistently among the best in the country.