FOLLOW THE MORNING STAR

by Di Morrissey

  ‘Great idea!’ exclaimed Queenie. ‘And don’t forget my old reporter pal, Kim Cameron. He’s now a senior feature writer for the Australian, let’s give him an exclusive to get the ball rolling.’

  ‘Is this enterprise going to stay an upmarket, high fashion one?’ asked Sarah looking thoughtful. ‘I don’t think we should neglect the big middle market out there.’

  ‘Oh I agree and I’ve been thinking about that,’ said Queenie. ‘But we need something dramatic and splashy to get us launched. It won’t be all fine merino wool products. I want to be able to use good standard wool too — for things like blankets, pillows, eiderdowns and sheepskin bed-liners. The brand name will start with clothes then spin off into other products. The designs will follow through — at least some of them will.’

  The phone rang and John called out, ‘It’s for you Queenie. It’s TR.’

  Sarah sighed at the way Queenie’s face lit up as she hurried to the phone. John sat beside Sarah and draped his arm over her shoulder, allowing Queenie to talk in private.

  Sarah leaned her head on her husband’s shoulder. ‘I hope things work out for them. Queenie’s been through so much. I’m so glad she has this wool thing to keep her occupied.’

  ‘It sounds good but it seems as though she is trying to set the whole wool industry up on a completely new tack. I hate to sound sceptical, but it’s very ambitious doing it from the ground up like this.’

  Sarah smiled. ‘Queenie doesn’t think small. She never has. And she does see this as a way of helping the whole wool industry, giving all woolgrowers another outlet. And she is thorough. Remember, you were worried about Heirloom Cottages and the Kurrajong Hotel. She pulled off both those ventures, despite the odds.’

  ‘True,’ conceded John. ‘It seems when Queenie has a personal crisis in her life she turns around and heads into some fantastic business scheme.’

  Queenie came back into the room, an expression on her face that was hard to read.

  Sarah sat up. ‘What does that look mean? What did TR have to say?’

  Queenie sprawled in the deep lounge chair opposite. ‘I don’t know what went on after I left, but TR is leaving Tingulla and going over to stay with Dingo for a bit. He’s asked Tango to go with him if he can.’

  ‘That sounds like a reasonable idea.’ said John cautiously.

  ‘What’s happened to Miss Jenni?’ asked Sarah with a raised eyebrow.

  ‘He’s trying to get her a job at Harmony Hill with Saskia.’ Queenie pulled a face. ‘He wants to make sure she has a good job and is happy.’

  ‘How long is he going to be out west?’ asked John.

  ‘He doesn’t know.’ Queenie had a sudden awful thought. ‘Oh Sarah, he will come back, won’t he?’

  ‘Now, now, stop jumping to conclusions.’ said John soothingly.

  ‘Queenie, take this as a positive sign,’ added Sarah. ‘He hasn’t run off with Jenni, for heaven’s sake. You left them alone and look what’s happened — they’ve gone to opposite sides of the country! Why do you think he’s taken off, John? Give us the male perspective.’

  John paused and looked a trifle sheepish. ‘Frankly, if I were TR and starting to get more mobile, I’d yearn for a little male company and go bush too. Sounds like he’s been cosseted by females too much: this Jenni, Millie, you.’

  ‘There you are, Queenie, straight from the horse’s mouth. I think it will be good for TR. I reckon there’s two men who could sort TR out right now,’ said Sarah, ‘and that’s either old Alf on Neptune Island or Dingo.’

  ‘Or Tango,’ said Queenie softly. ‘I’m going to call him and make sure he goes with him. I think this is a time TR needs his son.’

  Wrapped in a voluminous plastic cape, Dina sat in the beauty salon, a manicurist buffing the acrylic talons that curled over her fingertips. The hairdresser used what appeared to be a large pastry brush to sweep the black dye through Dina’s hair, covering any hint of grey.

  As they chatted about a new movie, a lady client was ushered to the washbasins. She stopped beside Dina. ‘Hello there, Dina! Such a coincidence seeing you today of all days!’ gushed the red-haired former nightclub dancer.

  ‘Really? Why is that, Bettina?’ asked Dina, looking up from her nails.

  ‘Our boys are lunching together today.’

  ‘Colin and Fredrico?’

  ‘Yes, darling. Doesn’t Colin tell you who he’s having lunch with?’ she smirked.

  ‘Only if it’s someone interesting,’ shot back Dina. ‘Nice to see you, Bettina.’ Dina turned her attention to the manicurist. ‘Don’t make them any shorter.’

  Despite her dismissal of the woman, Dina did find it curious that Colin would be lunching with a small-time hoodlum her other had had dealings with some time ago. Fredrico’s name had been mentioned in some hushed-up case involving fake passports that the Camboni lawyer had been called in to deal with. Colin was up to something but Dina knew he would never be able to pull off anything without her knowing. She and her father controlled the money, and her father had connections everywhere.

  Dina and Colin fought like cat and dog and maybe their marriage hadn’t turned out the way Colin had hoped, but he met Dina’s needs perfectly. He looked good, he had a high sexual appetite and having frittered away his own fortune — with her help — he was now tied to her. Colin was not about to walk away from the comfortable lifestyle and expensive trappings he’d become used to. The salary he was earning from his job out at the hick health place was only enough to keep him feeling useful. Colin’s real job in life was keeping Dina happy. And if Dina wasn’t happy she went straight to her pappa.

  Being older than Colin and more indulgent in her appetites, Dina had to struggle to keep looking glamorous. And while Colin was now less rugged and had learned some European charm, there was still the brooding sulkiness beneath the smooth exterior which hinted that he could be dangerous. It was this streak in his character that Dina found most appealing. He sometimes got rough with her during their lovemaking and, provided she was a willing accomplice, she found that wildly exciting.

  Two hours later Dina was back in the penthouse. Colin had told her he was spending the weekend at Harmony Hill. He hadn’t mentioned coming back for a lunch or business appointment. Dina looked through Colin’s clothes hanging in his closet. She checked a few jacket pockets and, finding nothing, slid the mirrored door shut and went into the study. Nothing was out of place. She checked the document box he’d left on the shelf, nothing had been added or taken. On an impulse she took out Patrick Hanlon’s poetry book and flipped through it. The letter was gone. It wasn’t in the tin box. Strange, thought Dina. Another piece of the puzzle. She filed it away with the other fragments. She’d piece them together soon enough.

  Queenie looked through her diary, found the number she was looking for and dialled it.

  ‘Hello. Kui House. Auntie Maud speaking.’

  ‘Auntie Maud, this is Queenie Hamilton.’

  ‘Well g’day, Queenie. Where are ya? I didn’t hear any pips, you in Sydney?’

  ‘I certainly am. I was wondering if I could come and visit your Kui House while I’m down.’

  ‘You bet yer boots. Hey, I got ya note. Glad to hear you got them bulls back home . . . eventually, eh?’

  ‘Yes, but it wasn’t as straightforward as I thought,’ said Queenie, shuddering at the memory of her narrow escape. ‘But all’s well now. How are the kids?’

  ‘Let’s see, I get such a mob of ’em pass through here. Lois has got a job as a nurse’s aid in an old folks’ home, the others are still around. Raylene and Zero more or less work here full time. Don’t get full-time pay of course, but keeps ’em off the streets. They’re doin’ real good. So is this joint. Need a bit more funding. But we can afford to always keep the kettle on the boil. When ya comin’ over for a cuppa?’

  ‘How about this afternoon. About three?’

  ‘Beaudy. See ya then, luv.’

  The taxi cruised slowly down the narrow Red
fern street where children played, old men sat on small verandahs of terraced houses, and women gossiped on the footpaths.

  The taxi driver glanced over at the elegant woman beside him. ‘You sure you got the right suburb, lady?’

  ‘Yes, yes. Look, there it is.’ Queenie pointed to the narrow terrace house with the black, red and gold Aboriginal flag on the front door. Above the doorway painted in red was Kui (Welcome) House.

  She paid the taxi and went into the house as the door was wide open and she could hear voices inside. Queenie stood in the hallway and called out, ‘Cooee, anyone home?’

  ‘Hey man! How goes it?’ Zero came loping down the hall and two or three heads appeared in doorways and stared at the visitor. Upstairs music was playing and a girl’s laughter drifted down the narrow staircase. As Zero shook Queenie’s hand, Auntie Maud appeared, a large smile on her face, her arms outstretched. She gave Queenie a hug, then pushed through the curious but friendly little throng now blocking the hall. ‘Move outta the way, let’s go into the common room and meet her properly.’

  The common room was large — two rooms knocked into one — with Formica tables, worn easy chairs, a TV set and a small kitchen running off it. Queenie gasped in delight at the wonderful paintings covering the walls. Contrasting scenes of the outback and the city were done in a contemporary interpretation of traditional Aboriginal art.

  ‘I love the artwork, who did this?’ exclaimed Queenie.

  ‘Me,’ said Raylene, stepping forward to greet her with a shy smile.

  ‘Hi there, Raylene, I remember now, you wore a hand-painted T-shirt. With a sunflower on it. One of yours too?’

  She nodded and as some of the other girls nudged her, Raylene did the introductions. ‘This is our friend Mrs Hamilton we met in the bush up north.’

  Queenie and Auntie Maud laughed. ‘You can call me Queenie.’

  ‘You don’ look like you live in the bush,’ commented one of the girls, eyeing Queenie’s smart linen slacks and silk shirt.

  ‘The city is a nice change for me. For a short time anyway,’ said Queenie. ‘I’d love you to show me around and tell me what you’re all doing.’

  Zero went to the hot water urn and dropped a tea bag into a paper cup. ‘I’ll make you a cup of tea. No bush tucker today, eh?’

  An hour flew by. Once the shyness of some and the defensiveness of others had worn off, the young people quickly accepted that Queenie wasn’t just some rich lady calling in to patronise them. They told her their stories and how kui House was a safe haven, a meeting place, a place of learning and friendship.

  ‘The best part about comin’ here is it’s like a family,’ said one girl. ‘You don’ feel like a loser that nobody wants.’

  ‘We talk a lot about family in here,’ grinned Auntie Maud. ‘They all know my story ‘bout bein’ taken away from me mum and brothers and sisters. They’re all got busted-up mixed-up families, so I tell ’em about our ways. See the white people say “I’m not my brother’s keeper”, well we is our brothers’ ’n’ sisters’, cousins’ and uncles’ ’n’ aunties’ keeper. Our way is we all look after each other. Then they feel like they belong somewhere.’ Maud laughed. But you know all that, don’t you, Queenie?’

  Later, in the tiny cramped office, Queenie sat alone with Auntie Maud. ‘You’re a real inspiration. Not just for these youngsters but for everyone. More people should know what you’re doing and give you some practical help. Would you let my friend Sarah set up some press interviews?’

  ‘I don’t want to come across as some dogooder or interfering old busybody,’ Maud said adamantly. ‘It’s the kids that run this place; it’s a community setup; I’m just the sorta elder. I don’t want publicity, but if a few more kids find out about us, if we might get some help with fixing the place up or donations, then I’ll wear it.’

  ‘Righto, Maud, I’ll tell Sarah that’s the line to take.’ But Queenie had no doubt Auntie Maud would be able to handle the press with great aplomb, and what’s more, people were going to love her. ‘By the way,’ added Queenie, ‘Raylene is a great little artist.’

  ‘There’s a bunch of ’em. She’s got ’em designing gear and doin’ all kinds of stuff.’

  ‘Is that so?’ said Queenie thoughtfully.

  ‘Here, I got a bunch of photos of some of her gear.’ Maud took the photos from her desk drawer and handed them to Queenie. As she flipped through Raylene’s clever and original designs, Queenie had a growing sense of excitement. ‘I might ask her to come up with some ideas for knitwear. I wanted an Australian theme, this could be perfect. I’ll have a chat to her before I leave.’

  Queenie arrived back at Sarah’s house in Chinaman’s Beach, danced in the front door, calling out, ‘Sarah . . . more news . . . I’ve had a great afternoon. I’ll tell you over dinner.’

  Sarah came down the stairs with a smile. ‘Tell me over breakfast — you have a dinner date.’

  ‘What do you mean? I don’t want to go out. With whom?’

  Sarah’s smile widened and her eyebrows lifted. ‘Henri Barnard rang. He said he’ll meet you at the Regent Hotel at seven.’

  Queenie wondered why her heart did a flip. ‘I wasn’t expecting him to come out to Australia in person. We were doing the sale through the legal people.’

  Sarah laughed softly. ‘Come on, Queenie, this is the man who wanted to marry you and sweep you off to New York, and you nearly went too.’

  Queenie turned away. ‘Oh Sarah, he’s just a friend. This is strictly business.’

  ‘He hasn’t ever married,’ commented Sarah. ‘Pity, what a waste of a gorgeous man. We’ll have to find someone for him.’ She swept into the kitchen and Queenie headed to her room upstairs, desperately trying to decide what to wear.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Colin lay on the padded massage table in the small room lined with sweet smelling pine. He felt as if his whole body was melting into the sandalwood oil spread over him. Jenni finished the massage and folded one of Colin’s arms across his muscular back and leaned gently on his arm, pressing on specific points in a polarity hold. Colin felt the warmth of the energy from her hands flow into his body. Slowly she lifted her hands away from his smooth brown skin. ‘Just lie there and relax for a minute or two, then slowly get up.’ Jenni quietly left the room and went to wash the oil from her hands.

  Colin was dressed and waiting for her when she returned. He smiled disarmingly. ‘You have the job, Jenni.’

  It flashed into Jenni’s mind that giving Colin a weekly massage might be part of the job. He was a handsome and charming man, but Jenni didn’t trust him one inch. ‘I have more skills than just being a masseuse, that’s only part of my therapy treatment.’

  Colin was still smiling. ‘Sure, sure. But if you can make the guests feel as good as this, they’ll be lined up at the door. Talk to the Gadens about the nitty-gritty stuff. Now, how about I show you over the place; I don’t think you’ve had the grand tour, have you?’

  ‘Er, Saskia was going to do that when we go for a trail ride, thanks, Mr Hanlon,’ said Jenni, feeling uncomfortable.

  ‘Call me Colin, please. Okay, another time. We’ll be seeing a lot of each other — I’m here most weekdays.’

  ‘Hell,’ thought Jenni. Colin could be a problem, there was no doubting his manner was flirtatious. She decided to raise the matter as delicately as she could that afternoon with the Gadens.

  Over afternoon tea Bruce told Jenni about the job and salary, adding, ‘Any private clients you wish to bring in and work with are welcome, provided the guests here have first preference. Your references are excellent, Jenni. You have a lot of experience in areas we are incorporating into our health programme.’

  ‘I did extra courses outside the hospital while I was working there. I haven’t had a chance to use them in my everyday physio work, so this job gives me a lot more of a challenge and more opportunities.’

  As Saskia passed Ria’s home-made biscuits and Ria poured lemonade, Jenni asked, ‘I kn
ow we’ve covered most things about the job, but I do have one more question. Umm . . . Mr HanIon, what is his role here, precisely? I mean, I know he’s the big cheese, but would I be working with him closely at all?’

  ‘Why do you ask, Jenni? Has he made a play for you?’ asked Ria bluntly.

  Jenni looked embarrassed and glanced at Saskia. Saskia airily waved a hand. ‘Don’t mind me. He’s my uncle but I can see he’s a bit of a playboy — given the chance.’

  ‘I don’t intend to give him any chances,’ said Jenni. ‘I’m not looking for a partner.’

  ‘He’s a married man anyway,’ said Bruce.

  ‘Very married,’ added Ria and the three laughed, making Jenni feel uncomfortable. Surely none of them had heard any whispers about her and TR.

  Ria was frank. ‘Look, Jenni, the best way to deal with Colin is to befriend Dina, his wife. If she takes one look at you, she’ll be watching him like a hawk.’

  ‘But that could backfire, couldn’t it? She might insist he get rid of me — like threatened wives do to attractive secretaries,’ said Jenni.

  ‘Then don’t actually meet Dina. Just let it drop to Colin you’d like to meet her and maybe you’ll look her up when you go to the Coast,’ suggested Saskia.

  ‘Tell him you’ll give her a massage so she can tell her friends,’ laughed Bruce. ‘That way Colin wouldn’t dare approach you in anything other than a very proper fashion!’

  Jenni laughed, but she was glad she was only on a three-month trial. Although the job suited her and she liked the Gadens, and it was going to be fun being with Saskia, she didn’t want to be locked into anything. She wanted her plans to be flexible. She didn’t know what might happen when TR returned from his sojourn in the west.

  TR, Tango and Dingo were sprawled in canvas settler’s chairs in the screened section of the verandah of his rambling old homestead. Overhead fans slowly churned the tepid air as they watched the last of the brilliant sunset colours spill across the sky, setting the red hills on fire and changing them to an iridescent green. Bugs began to kamikaze against the mesh.