FOLLOW THE MORNING STAR

by Di Morrissey

  Sarah watched Queenie pack up her clothes and sighed, ‘Oh, Queenie, it’s such a shame you have to leave now. Things are really happening. This is the exciting stage.’

  ‘I’ll be keeping very close tabs on you all, and all the samples are coming up to me, but I have to solve the Colin problem and check on Tingulla and Cricklewood.’ Queenie looked momentarily depressed. ‘I certainly don’t need this hassle with Colin right now. It’s as if he knew this was a really vulnerable time for me. But I’m not letting him get in the way of Tingulla Fashions.’

  ‘Dina would love to get her claws into this business,’ warned Sarah. ‘I’m sure she fancies herself as a fashion plate.’

  The thought of Dina as a fashion plate amused Queenie and the shadow on her face lifted. ‘Anyway, thinking down the track, we aren’t just going to concentrate on high fashion, Sarah. Tingulla Fashions is going to produce ordinary things too — blankets, pillows, eiderdowns and mattress covers. And do you know what our biggest range will be?’

  Sarah shook her head, trying to keep up with Queenie’s ideas.

  ‘This big splashy launch collection is to get us noticed and it will continue to be a classy line. But I want us to set a trend for inexpensive wool items like jumpers, underwear, socks, baby and kids’ clothes, as well as skeins of wool. All Australians should live in wool all year round and be able to buy it at a reasonable cost. I mean, this is the home of wool, for goodness sake!’

  ‘You’d better get a broader fibre wool supplier lined up,’ said Sarah, ‘with your plans you’ll be running through the local district’s wool clip in no time!’

  Raylene had been determined not to be nervous just because she was meeting some fancy white lady. She was unsure what a countess was, but gathered it meant someone rich and snobby. Raylene’s ambivalence about life and the limited opportunities offered a girl who’d been living in a squat in a rough inner city neighbourhood all her life had done a radical turnaround. By luck she’d been in the right place and met the right people and discovered she had a talent. Suddenly she saw a track from the streets to security and she chose to follow it.

  An hour before the meeting she was still trying to decide what to wear and having a limited wardrobe didn’t help. Auntie Maud was swift with advice. ‘Listen, luv, don’t you try ’n’ be like them. You be you. You got yer own style, stick with it. I can’t explain it, but you got a look, or sumthin’ ‘bout you that makes you stand out. Even with no money you always look real good. Sorta different too.’

  ‘I guess I ain’t got no choice but to stick with me own look, ‘cause I can’t buy nothin,’ shrugged Raylene. She’d have been surprised to learn that Magda was just as confused and worried about how to present herself as she was.

  The meeting took place at Magda’s office in Surry Hills and Raylene forgot her nerves as curiosity took over. She followed the secretary through the workroom, her large dark eyes darting about, taking in as much as they could. The secretary left her in Magda’s small private office and said the countess would be with her soon. The woman looked slightly disdainful, wondering what business Madame could possibly have with this slip of a girl in the rather bizarre outfit. Raylene stared back at her, thinking that the silk suit and chiffon shirt was frumpy and old-fashioned.

  Magda swept into the office, talking and gesticulating, wearing a flowing printed silk shift over tight emerald silk pants, with lots of gold jewellery clinking.

  Raylene rose with a shy smile and said nothing as Magda prattled on. ‘Have I kept you? I lose track of time when I’m messing around with fabrics. Do you find that? I get so absorbed in something creative and I forget where I am or what else is going on. Now, did you bring your portfolio? Queenie was so excited about your work.’ She moved behind the desk, her own nervousness making her talk quicker than normal.

  ‘You mean me designs?’ asked Raylene.

  ‘Yes, dear.’ Magda stopped, took a deep breath and looked fully at Raylene for the first time. The girl was very dark, tall and skinny, with large hands and feet. She wore a long tunic top over a short skirt which was worn over a long skirt that fell to her ankles. The long bottom layer was sheer, the others of pale sepia cotton hand-painted in earthy colours and depicting animals formed from dots. She had a long matching sheer scarf wound around her wild frizz of hair and wore carved wooden earrings and bangles that one of the boys at Kui House had whittled for her. She wore simple leather sandals over her bare feet and carried a string dilly bag on a long leather strap over her shoulder. Magda was enchanted with the entire outfit but waited before saying anything.

  Raylene reached down and picked up a folder containing her designs. Magda flipped through them and saw what had captured Queenie’s attention. The designs were bold, colourful, simple yet stunningly stylish, and very Australian.

  ‘There’s a sort of a story behind them all,’ said Raylene quietly. ‘They ain’t just pictures.’

  ‘Yes, there’s a theme, I can see that,’ murmured Magda. ‘I suppose each has a title.’

  ‘Yeah, I give ’em names.’

  Magda smiled at her. ‘And did you make the outfit you’re wearing? Tell me about it.’

  ‘What’s to tell? It’s just an old sheet and a curtain I dyed in tea and painted.’

  Magda clapped her hands together. ‘I love it! Do you know the first dress I ever made was cut from a bedspread.’ The countess knew straightaway that the girl had a gift. It would be fun polishing her up. Her instincts told her the girl was honest, probably a perfectionist and no doubt they’d have some fiery arguments. She was deferential but not subservient and suddenly Magda decided she was going to take this girl under her wing.

  Raylene gave her a wide mischievous grin. ‘So whaddya think?’

  ‘Your designs are terrific . . .’ began Magda.

  ‘No, whaddya think of me?’ asked Raylene bluntly. ‘I know I got a lot to learn.’

  Magda chuckled. ‘I think you’re talented, good-hearted, a nice girl who wants to go places, and if you don’t argue with me too much, I’ll help you get there.’

  ‘You offerin’ me a job then?’

  ‘Yes, Ray, I am. Do you want to work with me? What do you think of me?’ Magda shook her head, this was the strangest job interview she’d ever participated in.

  ‘I reckon you’re orright. We’ll get on. I wanna learn technical stuff, as well as do me designs. Can I have a look at the materials now?’

  The countess rose. ‘Follow me.’ She headed back into the workroom where bolts of fabric were stacked on a table. Together they fingered the fabrics, Raylene asking about different types of luxury materials. They discussed ideas, likes and dislikes, how fabrics fell and moved. Raylene was like a sponge soaking it all up and Magda was excited as she talked. The girl had a feel for textiles and prints. She unravelled a length of shiny blue taffeta printed with swans. ‘Ray, this buy was a bit of a mistake. Don’t quite know what to do with it. What would you make with this?’

  ‘Shower curtains,’ said Raylene promptly. ‘Posh tablecloths.’

  ‘Taffeta shower curtains?’ screeched the countess. ‘This fabric costs a fortune.’

  ‘Put plastic under it and charge a bleedin’ fortune,’ declared Raylene. ‘Tell them lah-didah rich ladies it’s the latest thing. They won’t buy it unless it costs an arm and a leg, if you ask me.’

  The countess looked thoughtful, then patted Raylene on the back. ‘Ray, you and I are going to get along just fine. Come and have some Russian tea.’

  ‘Er no thanks. You got any Coke?’

  Queenie flew home to Tingulla and felt the familiar rush of affection and peace steal over her as she swept under the wooden archway entrance.

  Millie gave her a hug and suddenly the kitchen was overflowing with Jim and Ruthie and Ernie and Snowy. The talk was about the wedding plans and fixing up one of the old cottages for the newlyweds.

  ‘Ruthie understands nothin’ will change here in the big house with her work just ‘cause she’s
married,’ said Millie with a glance at Ruthie who was holding onto Ernie’s hand.

  Ernie’s face-splitting grin seemed permanently in place and he nodded too. ‘Same here, Tingulla comes first, like always. Nuthin’ changes.’

  ‘Cept you don’ go chasin’ other ladies,’ teased Ruthie.

  ‘You neither,’ he retorted

  Snowy smiled benignly and caught Queenie’s eye. Later she went down to the stables and spent a little time with Honey and Star then headed towards the old willow by the creek. She knew she’d find Snowy there, leaning against the twisted trunk of the tree whose delicate branches hung gracefully in a soft curtain over the creek bank.

  She sat on the grass and hugged her knees and finally Snowy asked, ‘How’s it goin’, Queenie?’

  ‘Not so good, Snowy. I miss TR. I’m trying to bury myself in work and get on with things, and now Colin is trying to take Cricklewood away from me.’

  ‘Lotta worries,’ agreed Snowy. Stiffly he settled his bony and now frail frame on the grass near her. ‘I can’t give you clever advice, like them city fellas. But I can tell ya one thing, Queenie.’

  ‘What’s that, Snow?’

  ‘Sometimes you can’t make them things happen yourself. You gotta let life go on like the river. You is tryin’ to stop a river with yer hands. Let him flow.’

  ‘It’s hard to let things go when they mean such a lot to you,’ she answered softly.

  ‘Everyting find him place in dis world. Tingulla is your place, your Dreaming place. It all starts here. And you look up and you see ’im, you see your morning star, and you follow that fella, and he see you right. You know when the time comes what to do. Snowy knows.’ He closed his eyes and nodded. ‘Yep, Snowy knows.’

  Queenie didn’t answer for she couldn’t speak. Tears welled in her eyes and her throat constricted with the love she felt for this gentle old man who’d been like a grandfather to her.

  They sat in silence as the last of the day slid behind the Blue Hills. Finally they both rose and began walking back towards the homestead. At the bottom paddock, Snowy turned to go to the small one-room cottage where he lived. Queenie reached out and took his hand and looked into the kindly face, framed in a fuzz of silver hair, white whiskers poking through the black skin that now looked almost grey with age.

  ‘I’ll miss you, Snowy,’ she said softly.

  He laid his other hand over hers cupped in his palm and shook his head. ‘No you won’t. Snowy always belong dis place.’

  Queenie bit her lip and squeezed his hand. ‘Thanks, Snowy.’ She turned away so he didn’t see the tears as they poured silently down her face.

  Two days later Queenie got in the car and headed for the coast. She checked into a motel and stretched out on the bed for an hour before showering and changing. Then she headed to Currumbin Beach, parking by the rocky outcrop next to the surf club.

  Colin’s Audi swept into the lot and parked alongside. Taking a deep breath, Queenie got out of the LandCruiser which was smeared in outback red and yellow dust and looked like an honest workhorse beside Colin’s immaculate European car.

  Colin was wearing aviator sunglasses, cream linen slacks and a pale lemon silk shirt. He locked the car and came towards where Queenie stood, her hands thrust deep in the pockets of her cotton skirt. Colin smiled a lazy smile. ‘Hi, Queenie.’

  ‘G’day.’ She was brusque. ‘Shall we walk?’ She turned and headed towards the beach.

  Colin picked his way through the soft sand, shaking his leather loafers until they reached the firm sand near the water’s edge.

  ‘I suppose this has come as a bit of a surprise to you,’ began Colin. ‘It did to me.’

  ‘Yes, it was a surprise, a nasty one,’ answered Queenie curtly. ‘I can’t believe Dad wouldn’t have told me about changing his mind.’

  Colin threw up his hands. ‘There you go again. What makes you think you were privy to every thought he had? Although you had wormed your way in pretty thoroughly in those last months while I was away at school.’

  ‘And playing around in Sydney while we worked,’ retorted Queenie bitterly. ‘It also surprises me this letter turns up right now.’

  ‘There’s a simple explanation for that,’ said Colin easily.

  Queenie cut him off. ‘Yes, so I heard. Well, how does Dina feel about moving back to the land?’

  Colin was silent and Queenie sensed she’d hit a nerve. ‘This has nothing to do with Dina,’ said Colin slowly. ‘Cricklewood has been left to me, to do with as I see fit. It’s solely my decision.’

  ‘But if she doesn’t want to live there, what will you do? Put in a manager? Stay there alone? You can’t very well commute on weekends. And how does this fit in with your job at Harmony Hill?’

  ‘Queenie, I don’t have to tell you any of my plans. In fact, I shouldn’t even be speaking to you.’

  ‘So why did you agree to see me?’

  Colin shrugged. ‘You asked.’

  They took a few steps in silence and Queenie wondered again at her brother. He was a total stranger to her, not from their lack of contact or different lifestyles, but because of his bitterness, his cunning, his greed. He was a man she didn’t like or respect. Yet, he was her brother, the same flesh and blood who’d shared her childhood. Where had it all gone wrong? With the vile murder of their mother Rose? When had Colin changed and become this stranger? If she had seen it, or been aware of some critical turning point, perhaps she could have stepped in and saved Colin from himself. But as the recriminations stabbed at her conscience, swift flash-card images flitted through her mind of Colin being spiteful, hurting her, his cruel sense of humour and his ultimate treachery in keeping her and TR apart. With a pang she realised that Colin had always been and always would be this way.

  Queenie stopped walking and turned to face him. ‘All right, Colin, let’s stop beating around the bush. You don’t want Cricklewood at all.’

  Colin stepped back. ‘Well you’re certainly wrong there, sis.’

  ‘What I mean,’ continued Queenie, ‘is you don’t want to own Cricklewood. You don’t care about it; you don’t care that I’ve slaved to get it up and running and to make it the viable proposition Dad always dreamed of. Now that it’s profitable you just want to walk in and strip it. Well I’m not going to let you, Colin.’

  ‘You can’t stop me, Queenie,’ said Colin evenly. They had turned around and were now walking back towards the surf club.

  ‘Maybe I can’t. But I can give you what you want.’

  Colin pushed his sunglasses down to the tip of his nose and peered over them at her. ‘Oh? And what’s that?’

  ‘Money.’

  He was silent and they walked a few more paces before Queenie asked softly, ‘How much, Colin?’

  ‘I know what Cricklewood is worth,’ he answered slowly, dropping all pretence.

  Queenie gave a bitter laugh. ‘I bet you do. I bet that was the first thing you checked out.’

  Colin spoke slowly and with icy calm, his hands thrust in his pockets as he looked down at the sand. ‘I want a lot more, Queenie. You can double that.’

  She stopped, staring at him in shock. ‘Well there’s no way I can raise that sort of money. Even if you want to sell Cricklewood yourself, I’ll challenge you and fight you through the courts and hold up any sale for years. Even if it does cost me every penny,’ she added. This was far worse than she’d expected.

  ‘Look, Colin, Cricklewood and its stock are worth over three million dollars. I could raise that against the property and possibly Tingulla. And in return you give me the original letter and a letter from you saying full ownership of Cricklewood reverts to me.’

  Colin shrugged. ‘And what about the rest of it? All up you’re worth more. I’m an easy man. I’m merely selling my inheritance to my sister for a bargain price.’

  ‘I can’t raise that sort of money! I’ve sunk everything into a new business. I’m responsible for other people’s money in this deal. I can’t do it! And I
won’t.’

  ‘Don’t bluff me, Queenie; you’ll do it. I don’t expect it to be handed over in a bloody briefcase.’ Queenie wasn’t going to try and bargain him down, if this was the way it had to be, she’d do it — and he knew it. ‘I want a million in cash and the rest can be transferred to my bank account in Mexico.’

  ‘Mexico?’

  Colin took his car keys from his pocket and jingled them as they crossed the carpark. ‘I’ll send you the details. I want this expedited and kept confidential.’ He unlocked the car door and slid in. He pushed the button which soundlessly lowered the car window, and gave a charming smile. For an instant Queenie saw a flash of their handsome father. ‘Believe me, Queenie, this is best — for all of us.’ The engine purred to life and the tinted window slid back up, obscuring his face. Colin backed out and drove swiftly away.

  Queenie climbed into the LandCruiser and leaned her head on her arms on the steering wheel. This was a nightmare. She was being blackmailed but she could see no way of stopping him. The letter from her father seemed genuine, the court case alone could cost her Cricklewood. Maybe this way Colin would be out of her hair for good. But it was such a lot of money. She couldn’t jeopardise the faith the townspeople had put in her, the money her best friend had invested. Why did Colin want so much? And Mexico, what on earth was he doing with money over there? How she wished she could talk this over with TR. But she knew this was something between her, her brother and the ghosts of their parents.

  She straightened up and turned on the ignition. Above the throaty gurgle of the engine she said aloud, ‘Don’t worry Dad, I won’t let Cricklewood go.’

  If only she could find out what Colin planned. She began desperately to try to think of ways of raising as much money as she could without losing Tingulla and Cricklewood, or risking the new enterprise that she was now committed to, financially and professionally. She slammed her fist on the wheel. Damn Colin, he’d forced her right back into a corner like he had years before when she’d been forced to divest herself of all that was precious to her.