by Di Morrissey
‘That will wake up the old town when it becomes public knowledge,’ said Lynn.
‘Of course. But I got the impression, just a feeling mind you, that no matter what the public reaction might be, approval was in the bag.’
‘Some people on council have been bought,’ declared Mac.
‘Wouldn’t be the first time,’ Nola said.
‘What about our green councillors?’ asked Lynn.
‘Outnumbered,’ Kimberley replied. ‘The question is, what do we do about it?’
‘Oh these things can be so tedious,’ sighed Mac.
‘You don’t know what the plan is or where it is,’ ventured Holly. ‘Maybe we should wait and see, it might be a storm in a teacup.’
‘She’s quite right, of course,’ said Nola. ‘And I will be the first to climb down from my high horse. But, ladies, it seems I have discovered a new passion in life and I’m embracing it like a lover. I’ve tossed out the young man’s proposal and I’m devoting myself to The Bay.’
Her companions broke into laughter and a scatter of applause in appreciation of Nola’s enthusiasm and personality. ‘Raise the red flag,’ quipped Lynn.
‘Order, order‚’ commanded Nola. ‘Let’s all keep asking questions around town.’
Lynn added, ‘Has anyone spoken to Billy at The Teepee recently? He hears all the gossip. In fact, maybe we should get some of the men on the case – Stolle, Eddie, Mitchell.’
Nola looked around the group with an air of satisfaction. ‘Well done. Give me a call if you find out anything and I’ll send out smoke signals.’ She rose to pay the bill, looking statuesque and formidable.
Bonnie and Amber were comfortably quiet as Amber drove past Brigalow golf course, the seed and agriculture supply store, the old Masonic Hall and the showground with a hoarding announcing, ‘Sunday Markets here next week’.
The road was dirt now, rising through small banana, macadamia and avocado plantations. Then they passed a long white fence with a large gate made from Indonesian carved wooden panels. Dangling incongruously between them was a brightly painted carousel horse and a sign: ‘Carousel Studios’.
‘What’s that, way out here?’ asked Bonnie.
‘Music recording and film editing studios. Pretty high-tech stuff,’ said Amber. ‘A lot of well-known artists record there. Couple of studios and a fantastic house, a sort of music retreat. Whole gangs of people hang out there for weeks at a time doing their thing.’
‘You mean, like making records?’
‘Yep. Even international names plan gigs in Australia so they can work at Carousel, and have a holiday in The Bay at the same time.’
‘Wow. I’ve probably passed someone famous on the beach without even noticing.’
‘I saw Eartha Kitt at Tiny Bay Beach and Bob Dylan was here. There’s a lot of movie people and pop stars who stay in The Bay. I guess they like it for the same reasons we do.’
‘Nice that they don’t get hassled,’ said Bonnie. ‘I love how everyone here does their own thing and appreciates others doing the same.’
‘Yeah, even performers. They don’t have to have a paying audience . . . buskers in the street maybe are looking for a dollar or two. But you know how you see people just sitting on the beach or in a park strumming, drumming, playing the didge, making their own music because they enjoy it. Not everyone wants to get into a million dollar recording studio.’
‘I’d like to see around that studio some time,’ Bonnie said. ‘This place is full of surprises.’
‘We can visit it. I’ve been meaning to bring Eddie out here.’
‘For his film?’
‘Yeah, when he’s ready.’
Bonnie was silent and Amber guessed she was thinking about Erica.
They turned down a smaller track and drove under giant Moreton Bay figs and huge camphor laurels shading the road.
‘How beautiful, like a green tunnel,’ said Bonnie.
‘I love those camphor laurels, the leaves have a wonderful smell. Beautiful wood for turning and furniture, but they’ve been declared a nuisance in most places. If they pulled them out of this district it would look like a disaster area,’ said Amber as she swung the car off the track. ‘This is our place.’
The fence sagged, the old timbers were dried and split from a century of weathering. The farmhouse, restored years before, was classic bush simplicity: painted weatherboard with bullnose verandah roof, swing windows with panes of coloured glass, wooden steps flanked by neglected, old-fashioned garden beds.
‘Built in 1912. It has great pressed-metal ceilings, most of the original fittings. Mum modernised it twenty years ago but it could do with an update,’ sighed Amber. ‘She doesn’t have the heart for doing that sort of thing now.’
‘What happened to your father?’ asked Bonnie.
‘He had an accident and was confined to a wheelchair for several years before he died.’
‘What sort of accident?’
‘Got a bad electric shock while he was working on powerlines out in the bush.’
‘Must be hard for an active man to see out his days in a wheelchair.’
‘Yeah. It depends a lot on your attitude. He kind of gave up, felt it wasn’t much of a life. You’d ask him how he was and he’d say, “I want to die.” Mum thinks it’s her fault, nothing she could do for him, she bored him to death. Sadly, he could have had a productive life with me.’
Bonnie glanced at Amber, hearing the catch in her voice. ‘You were close to your father?’
‘Very. I was an only child. He was the one who got me interested in healing plants, bit of an amateur botanist. He’d be thrilled at what I’m doing now with my beauty products.’
They walked up the steps to the open front door where a hallway ran right through the house to the back verandah. A voice called to them, ‘Round the side, Amber. Usual spot.’
‘Coming, Mum,’ Amber replied, then added softly for Bonnie’s benefit before leading her around the corner of the verandah, ‘That means it’s morning tea time.’
Her mother sat stiffly at a small table set for tea. She glanced at her watch and gave a polite smile. ‘So here you are, I had almost given up on you. I’ll reheat the kettle.’
‘Sorry we’re a bit late, Mum. This is my friend Bonnie Bitternden, and this is my mother, Celia.’
‘Lovely to meet you. What an entrancing place you have here,’ said Bonnie.
‘Do you think so? It’s falling down around my ears, I’m afraid. I’m not able to look after things like I used to. The garden has gone, such a pity.’
‘I think it looks wonderful! A little unruly perhaps, but that’s half its charm,’ said Bonnie. ‘I miss my garden in Melbourne.’
‘Mum, I’ve said before, we can get someone to come and work in the garden whenever you want.’
‘I wouldn’t dream of having you waste your money. You’ve little enough as it is.’ She gestured to Bonnie. ‘Working for herself at her age. Can you believe it? Homemade cosmetics. Who’d be silly enough to buy them? She’s no Estée Lauder. Amber, please put the kettle back on.’
Amber hurried into the house and Bonnie sat in one of the wicker chairs. ‘If we’re late it’s my fault. Since I moved to The Bay I’ve stopped wearing a watch. I operate on Bay time like everyone else.’
‘At least you have a reason to be somewhere. I never go anywhere these days. My health isn’t up to it.’
‘Where would you like to go?’
Celia fiddled with her pearls, aware she was being put on the spot. ‘Too hard, Amber is so busy.’
‘We can take you out any time you want,’ offered Bonnie. ‘Amber has been very kind to me. And I have to tell you, her products are excellent. She’s taken over a little shop I lease in The Bay and once women, and men, try her stuff they’re back for more.’
‘Is that so?’ Celia looked genuinely pleased. ‘Her father studied plants, you know.’ She was about to say more but Amber appeared with a jug of milk. The enthusiasm in Celia’
s face disappeared and the faintly irritated tone returned to her voice. ‘Well, I still prefer proper brands of cosmetics.’
‘Mum won’t believe me when I tell her that so many of them are full of chemicals and the exorbitant price is for the packaging and marketing,’ Amber said to Bonnie.
‘I can’t afford good things any more anyway,’ said Celia, handing Amber the teapot. ‘And bring the biscuits please.’
‘Whatever you’re using, your skin looks fabulous,’ Bonnie declared and Celia blushed at the compliment.
‘Would you like to see the garden?’
When Amber returned with the pot of hot tea and a plate of biscuits she could hear her mother chatting about the garden, where she got cuttings from, what she’d struck herself, what had survived from the original flowerbeds. She listened to the warmth in her mother’s voice. Why didn’t she ever speak to her like that? There was always an underlying accusation in what she said to Amber. She took a deep breath, glad at least that Bonnie was there. Visits with her mother on her own were stressful. She leaned over the railing. ‘Tea’s ready.’
‘In a minute, dear.’ Her mother sounded cross at being interrupted.
They slowly returned to the verandah, Celia leaning on her stick, Bonnie offering a helping hand as Celia came up the steps. If Amber had offered to help her like that she knew she’d be brushed aside with a curt, ‘I can manage. I’m not an invalid.’
‘Your mum says I must see the old orchard and the rainforest by the creek. Really, this place is magic,’ bubbled Bonnie. ‘I think I’ll have to come back with my secateurs and steal some plant cuttings.’
Amber was about to ask where she planned on putting them as Bonnie was living in a rented unit in town where she’d moved after the fire, but she bit her tongue. She poured the tea as Bonnie and Celia continued to talk gardening. ‘I’d love to know the history of the house. Whoever planned this garden originally knew a thing or two,’ said Bonnie.
‘English, of course,’ said Celia. ‘It’s a traditional garden but we planted tropical things in the orchard. The remnant of rainforest shows you what it must have been like.’
‘It’s full of amazing ferns and orchids and stunning trees,’ said Amber. ‘It was a wonderful playground when I was a kid.’ She sat back in the old rocking chair in the sun as the two women talked. She hadn’t heard her mother talk at such length without getting breathless or complaining of feeling faint for a long time. She had colour in her face and was obviously enjoying Bonnie’s company. How good of Bonnie to come and do this, thought Amber, but then Bonnie seemed to be genuinely enjoying herself too. Perhaps for a brief time both women could forget the pain, physical and emotional, that haunted them.
Finally it was her mother who announced they really should get going. ‘But do show Bonnie the back of the property, Amber. Be sure and point out the bird’s-nests.’
As they wandered through the cool shadows of the lush two acres of rainforest, Bonnie linked her arm through Amber’s. ‘What a magic place to grow up.’
‘It was, but I just find it so depressing being here now with Mum. I know I shouldn’t feel like that. Anyway, thanks so much for making the effort, she’s really enjoyed it. I gave up bringing my friends to see her as she was so mean and cranky, or seeming to be at death’s door. She wouldn’t stay in bed, of course. Had to get up and put on a nice dress and make-up for company. In the end I decided it was putting too much of a strain on her.’
‘Nonsense. I know she isn’t easy with you. What you don’t realise is that your mother is a great actress, all the makings of a drama queen. Missed her calling. She loves to perform. I can see it, and she won’t pull with me what she does with you.’
‘Of course not, you’re company and one always has to make an effort for visitors.’
‘I was just the same. See, she won’t try it with me because she instinctively knows I won’t buy it. I see through her because we’re rather alike in that respect.’
Amber stared at Bonnie. ‘I can’t believe what you’re saying.’
‘I was a miserable bitch during my marriage, looking back. Mind you, I had good reason – a family that didn’t communicate, a cold husband not interested in me as a person. I was wife and mother, not Bonnie a person. God, I didn’t know who I was either.’ She laughed. ‘I’m still finding out. I miss Erica dreadfully and I wish she could see who I am now. I’m getting to quite like myself,’ said Bonnie. ‘No one in Melbourne would know me, or want to know me now!’ And she burst out laughing.
Amber squeezed her arm. ‘I think Erica knows very well how you’re doing. And she’d be very proud of you.’
Bonnie and Celia continued to chat while Amber washed up the tea things. Then she kissed her mother goodbye on the cheek and asked if she needed anything from town.
‘The community nurse will be out tomorrow, thank you, dear.’
‘I’ll give you a ring before I come up in case you want anything,’ Bonnie said, embracing Celia.
Amber was too shocked to say anything then wondered if Bonnie was being polite. What surprised her even more was the warmth of her mother’s response to Bonnie. As they drove away Amber asked, ‘What did you mean about visiting again? I’ll pick you up when I come up next.’
‘Oh now I know the way, I’ll drive myself. I’m going to do some gardening for her. Well, for me really. Can’t wait to get into those roses.’
She turned and looked at Amber’s stunned profile. ‘It’s good therapy. For all of us, Amber,’ she said softly. ‘I wouldn’t do it if I didn’t want to. And by the way, I used your mother’s bathroom. It’s full of your products, very well used. Don’t you believe she doesn’t like them.’
Amber didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, but as Bonnie chuckled she still felt angry. ‘Why can’t she tell me!’
‘Stop expecting her to say and do what you want, because she won’t. Just to spite you. You both spar all the time. Get out of the ring, Amber. Let her be. She’s stronger than you think, even if she is fighting a disease. She’s actually happy being miserable. So let her do things her way. Besides, you’ve got a referee now. Me.’
Holly sat on a well-worn leather sofa next to the plump and fatherly solicitor Paul Maynard. Shirt buttons strained over his portly belly, and his red polka-dot bow tie seemed too tight as flesh overflowed his collar. In his dark pants and dark shoes, a suit jacket on the back of his chair, he looked a formal and overdressed figure for The Bay. His office and desk were cluttered and messy, and she was pleased when he ushered her to the sofa and carefully arranged his files, pens, notebook and mobile phone on the coffee table. His secretary, who was also his wife – plump, friendly, a smart navy dress, grey hair that sprang free of combs – brought in two cups of coffee. They were warm and folksy people and initially Holly wondered whether her problem might be out of their league. Conveyancing and wills were probably their regular business. But Paul nodded and tutted sympathetically as he made notes on a yellow legal notepad on his lap.
‘You girls, too trusting, too nice. Cases like this have been common for years. Had my first back in the early eighties. Now, let me ask you some questions. Is the company account with the same bank as your personal accounts?’
‘I believe so. Andrew likes to deal with the same people he’s known for some time.’
‘You don’t have a separate bank of your own?’
‘Only recently. I opened an account here in The Bay for the business I’m setting up. I thought it more convenient for paying workmen and so on. It seems that account is all I have for the moment. I put my own money into the business and I’m responsible for its debts.’
‘Very wise. You are the sole recipient of the profits too, I take it?’
‘That might be a bit down the track, but I hope so,’ sighed Holly.
‘Now, did your bank in Sydney ever contact you about these documents you were signing?’
Holly shook her head. ‘Andrew deals with the bank, not me.’
‘B
ut the bank never rang or wrote to you independently to discuss the papers you were to sign?’
‘Never. Why would they speak to me? About what?’
‘To ask if you fully understood the implications of what you were being asked to sign. Or advising you to seek independent legal and financial advice.’ He shifted his weight making the leather couch creak. ‘Because, Mrs Jamieson, you could have signed a document agreeing to be guarantor of company debts, for example.’
‘My God, I hope not! But Andrew’s company is doing very well. I can’t imagine why he’s changed things.’
‘Without discussing it with you.’
Holly looked uncomfortable. ‘To tell you the truth, we never discussed financial matters in great detail. I never asked, and I guess Andrew figured I wasn’t interested or wouldn’t understand.’
‘So why are you here, my dear?’
‘I’m trying to run my own life, totally,’ she said. ‘And so before I ask Andrew why he’s done all these things and why I don’t have access to our money to help our son, I want to understand where I stand. It’s not that I don’t trust my husband, of course –’
‘You are doing exactly the right thing. The fact is, we are looking at a clear case of unconscionable conduct by the bank in their failure to advise you of the impact of what you were entering into. A case of conflict of interest on the part of the bank and your family solicitor. Grounds to sue, actually.’
‘Oh, I don’t want to do that!’ Holly exclaimed in shock.
‘Very well. But be aware that you do have grounds.’ He gave a wide smile. ‘If I may offer some friendly advice, it might be wise to acquaint your husband with this fact when you have a discussion with him. After all, you are running your life and business, just as he is, and it shouldn’t impact on your happy marital relationship.’
‘No, of course not. I’m sure there’s some explanation for what’s happened. But I feel much better having talked it over with you. Thanks so much for the advice.’
Mr and Mrs Maynard watched Holly walk outside into the bright sunshine. ‘I would say that young lady is in for a few more unpleasant surprises,’ said the solicitor.
