Heart of the Outback

by Lynne Wilding

  Damn it, he was jealous of him being close to Francey for a prolonged period of time. The thought amazed him and at the same time depressed him as he compared himself to his competition. What did he have to offer Francey? A policeman’s income wasn’t great but he got by okay, but would “okay” be enough for her? He didn’t know. He snatched a sly glance at her profile, loving the way her nose tilted up at the tip, the strong line of her jaw, her crazily independent head of hair. God he loved her, but he wouldn’t tell her yet. He wanted to further nuture their closeness. When she came back from her overseas jaunt and if it was still the same between them, then …

  “I’m going to Sydney to see my parents for Christmas,” Francey said as she nibbled his ear lobe. “Would you, if you could get some time off, like to meet them? On Christmas Day we have a big party at my aunt’s home at Abbotsford. All the family comes: uncles, aunts, cousins, grandkids. It’s noisy and exhausting and they feed you till you burst.” She kissed him. “I’d love you to come.”

  A blank expression masked Steve’s reaction to her offer. He hadn’t been to Sydney since … He didn’t know whether he could face the city and the reminders of his shortcomings. He’d done so well here the last few years, putting it all behind him. Did he want to stir the memories up again? “I’d like to, very much. But it might be difficult. I’m a single guy so I’ll probably be rostered on Christmas Day.”

  “Couldn’t you pull a few strings?” She wanted him to meet her parents, get their approval. She’d like to show him off to all her relatives and friends too but most of all, the thought of being away from him over the festive season made her usual sunny nature spin into a mild depression.

  “Are you trying to coerce the law, Miss Spinetti?”

  She pressed her body hard against him. “Not the law in toto, just one particular lawman.”

  “I’ll see what I can organise.” He kissed her thoroughly, breathlessly, his hands moving over her torso, cupping her breasts, wandering over her round buttocks and kneading them to let her know the state of his arousal.

  Responding to his touch, the urgency of his demands, she whispered half-heartedly, “We haven’t finished cleaning up.”

  “It can wait,” he said and plunged his tongue into her mouth, sworling, delving, dominating her with the rise of passion, “but this can’t.”

  Steve sat at the desk in his pokey office in the police station, sorting through the pile of reports from last night’s watch. Two burglaries, an assault outside the Outback Motor Inn, three cars stolen and an attempted sexual assault on an Aboriginal woman behind the fire station. The usual.

  From his top drawer he took out a folder marked “Ambrose, Richard,” and slowly leafed through the contents.

  He hated to admit it but he had come to a stalemate on Richard’s murder. Exhaustive checking through the township and the outlying stations had come up with only thirteen rifles that took .25 cartridges. All thirteen rifle owners had alibis for the time of the stampede, so that line of enquiry had reached a dead end. He rummaged through more paperwork and found a three week old report on Paul Andronicus. The carpenter had been sighted at Charters Towers but when two policeman had closed in to question him, he’d slipped through their net and escaped. Unfortunate. If the guy had half a brain he’d deduce that the Queensland police had an APB out on him and he’d either lie low or disappear interstate.

  Steve clicked his tongue in disgust. The trail was going cold and he knew it. CJ was disappointed. Damn it, he was disappointed. He wanted to find the person or persons responsible for Richard Ambrose’s death badly, the senselessness of the killing outraged him. His fingers drummed on the desk top, a habit he had when he was thinking. Find a new trail, a new line of enquiry, experience told him, but what? where?

  He stared at the paperwork, hoping some inspiration would pop out at him. Billy Wontow. He wasn’t a suspect, he’d almost been killed along with Richard. But maybe he should have another talk to him. He took a deep breath. Maybe … he should interview everyone at Murrundi, see if any minute clue had been overlooked.

  His fingers stopped drumming, and he grinned. What did he have to lose other than a couple of hours of police time?

  The week in Sydney before Christmas was a bittersweet time for Francey. Seeing old friends and braving a visit to Nicholson, Drew and Carlyle’s Christmas party, which she’d done mostly to convince herself that no residue of affection remained for Aden. None did. Being the centre of attention at her parent’s home where she was staying until the new year because she had sublet the apartment at Potts Point had had its good and bad points. Mamma fussing, Papà disappointed that things hadn’t worked out with Aden and that she was working so far away from them. She weathered it all as best she could.

  And after so many months up north she could see it all from a surprisingly new perspective. The hustle and bustle of city streets was overwhelming. She almost choked on petrol fumes as she waited to cross at the corner of Market and George Streets, and while she loved the salty smell of the sea she also began to long for the faint odour of eucalypts and the wide open spaces of the Isa.

  CJ had given her a special, secret task of which even Les was unaware. He’d been thinking of having a base in Sydney to extend his interests in the largest capital city in Australia and had asked her if she wouldn’t mind looking at some Sydney real estate on his behalf. He wasn’t fussed whether she checked out an established house or found a decent block of land where she could design a suitable residence. The only stipulation had been that it had to be on the harbour with a jetty. So, between chasing real estate agents, buying clothes for the forthcoming overseas trip, seeing to a passport and to CJ’s request, she was one busy woman.

  When she had time to think about it she found the revelatory change within her curious, but she had changed, markedly, in less than six months. The city in which she’d been bred was just another city — it would always be her favourite city — but the centre of her universe had shifted north, to Murrundi and to Steve. A wave of loneliness ran through her as she put the finishing touches to her mother’s Christmas tree, placing the angel at the apex of the pine needles. Steve had told her he couldn’t get leave for the holidays so they wouldn’t be together. However she’d convinced herself that there would be other Christmases together, dozens and dozens of them, she hoped.

  “Looks wonderful, cara.” Lucia stopped to view the tree on her way through to the kitchen from which mouthwatering aromas wafted through to the living room. “It’s good to have you home, if only for a little while.”

  Francey detected the reproach in her voice and said brightly to ward off a possible outbreak of tears. “You should be happy for me, Mamma. I’m doing what I want to do. Look at the projects I’ve designed. I’m learning so much from CJ and Les, and seeing so much.”

  “Capisco bene. All that is fine but I wish you were closer to home, to us.”

  Francey sighed. They had had this conversation before. “Mamma, I’m going to be twenty-seven in a few months time. Many women my age have been up and far away from home for quite a few years.”

  Lucia wrung her hands together then spread them wide. “I know, I know. I am being selfish. Carlo said that you had your life to live, as we had ours, and you must live it the way that is right for you.”

  “Oh, Mamma,” Francey moved close to her mother and put her arm around her. “This will always be my first home, no matter where I live. The memories here will last me a lifetime.”

  “Si. Of course.” Lucia wiped a suspicious wetness from her eyes. “You are going to see your friends the O’Connors after dinner?”

  “Yes. I’ve only seen them once since I’ve been here, I’ve been so busy. I’ll be back in time for midnight mass, I promise.”

  Lucia nodded on her way through to the kitchen. Her little girl had changed since she’d been away. More independent, if that was possible. But there was something else. A glow about her. She was in love, she was sure of it. Francey had hinted
as much, if only to keep Carlo from nagging her about settling down, but she hadn’t said with whom. Aahh, life had been so much easier when she was a youngster Lucia thought as she stirred the bolognese sauce. Then I had some control over what she did, where she went. Now that she’s an adult I have none and it is hard to let go. Now I have to wait and hope that she will not forget me. Aahh, as my Carlo would say, that’s life, so I must not worry. She disguised a sniff and blew her nose with her handkerchief.

  “Francey, tell your Papà to shut the shop or dinner will be overcooked.”

  “Yes, Mamma.” Francey smiled as she went to do her mother’s bidding, as she had done so many times over the years, knowing it was useless. If her father had last minute customers he would not shoo them out without attending to them. She knew what he’d say when Lucia tried to scold him. “Wife, a sale is a sale. If I do not make the customer happy he will go elsewhere for his produce. That is not good business.”

  Her father’s simple business creed was a good one, she thought, a pity more businesspeople didn’t feel the same way. She must remember to mention it to CJ.

  Steve Parrish stood indecisively at the front gate of the two-storey blonde brick Abbotsford home on Christmas Day. He had interfered and reorganised the rosters at the police station to get two precious days off, time to spend with Francey in the city he’d once sworn never to set eyes on again.

  Music and conversation noise, laughter and children squealing could be heard coming from the rear of the house. He grinned. This must be the place — Francey had described it to a T. He walked up the tiled path to the front door and pushed the button. Eventually someone came, a middle-aged woman with grey hair and wearing a lime green slacks suit.

  “I’m looking for Francey Spinetti.” He tried to ignore his discomfort at the way the woman stared at him. Sharp black eyes gave him a swift, thorough onceover, assessing him, though for what he wasn’t sure.

  Then she smiled and gestured effusively with her hands. “Come in, come in. I’m Francey’s Aunt Josephine, people call me Josie. You’re just in time for lunch. And Buon Natale!”

  She led him down a wide, tiled hall, across a large living room furnished with dark-timbered pieces of furniture, through the kitchen and out to the backyard. The backyard was long and wide and led down to Hen and Chicken Bay and further along, the Parramatta River. A swimming pool was getting plenty of use and the huge quarry-tiled patio had a pergola overhead. Laden with grape vines it offered shade from the sun. A long table covered in a white tablecloth almost groaned with the weight of the food on coloured plates and platters.

  Steve’s eyebrows lifted as his gaze moved to the crowd of people standing and sitting around in groups. There were adults and teenagers and children running, laughing and playing with their new Christmas toys. Nostalgia overcame him for a moment as he remembered the Christmases of his own childhood. Family and friends crowded into their small semi in Redfern, hot turkey and roast pork dinners, plum pudding and Christmas cake.

  “Steve!”

  Francey saw him and almost dropped the small child she’d been nursing on her hip. She hastily gave the toddler to her mother and rushed over to him.

  “I can’t believe you’re here.” She gave him a spontaneous hug, no matter who saw or who raised their eyebrows. All morning she had been trying to contain her depression because she wouldn’t see him on this very special day and here he was. She shook her head in disbelief, glad that her prayers had been answered.

  “I can’t believe it either.” He laughed and swung her around, her happiness was contagious. “God, it’s good to see you.”

  She smiled up at him. “I want you to meet everyone. Come on, we’d better start with my parents.”

  Lucia was impressed with Steve’s height and natural manner, and instinctively knew he was a strong man who would be a good match for her independent daughter. Carlo decided instantaneously that somewhere in Steve’s genes he had Italian forebears and he liked the policeman’s straight, upfront personality. Aunt Josie, Daniella’s mother, whispered to Francey that he was a “hunk”, and one of her cousins, Rocco Biviano, gave him an approving nod as they talked about, of all things, fishing. She watched Steve enthusiastically munch his way through servings of prawns and calamari, pasta, plates of cold meat and salads washed down with glasses of Frascati, and then he polished off several slices of panettone before he admitted to being — in his words — stuffed.

  “Don’t you have relatives to visit?” Francey asked quietly as she handed him a cup of coffee. She looked around the backyard and saw that the children had quietened down, the first excitement of Christmas day over, and some of the men were lying on the lawn, snoozing in the shade. The women, cousins and second cousins, aunts and great-aunts, were talking animatedly in small groups.

  “I have a sister, Michelle, she lives in Randwick. She and her husband, Mike, and their three boys have gone away for the holidays.”

  “Where are you staying?”

  “I managed to get a room at the Cross, the Boulevarde Hotel.”

  “When do you have to go back?” It was a question she hated to ask but she wanted to know.

  “The twenty-seventh, 6.30 a.m. flight,” he told her with a grimace.

  As soon as they could decently get away, without raising too many eyebrows, they did. Francey insisted that they were going to visit Meredith, Mitchell and Brett — which they would, on Boxing Day — but in reality they wanted to be alone. Steve’s room at the Boulevarde was perfect.

  CJ stood by the window of the dining room looking out beyond the verandah and the pool where a heat haze shimmered and blurred the angles of the half finished mini conference centre. In the background, Shellie and Barry were playing a Christmas carol CD with songs about white Christmases, snow and more snow — completely out of place in an outback Christmas.

  If he concentrated, which he didn’t care to do, he could hear the conversation at the table. Natalie and Trish were debating some political matter with Les who was vigorously arguing the government’s case. On the table lay the remains of their sumptuous cold Christmas dinner.

  Something was missing. More than one something, two.

  It was their first Christmas without Richard. He swallowed the lump in his throat as he thought of his son. Richard had dearly loved the feel and the celebration of Christmas time. His eyes would light up like a child when he knew it was close and he always decorated the tree and house with streamers and tinsel. He gave out the presents from under the tree, he even played appropriate songs on his guitar, not very well, but no-one cared. Thinking, remembering, CJ lifted the champagne glass to his lips and after a silent salute to Richard’s memory took a long swallow.

  It hurt, remembering. Remembering what had been and what could never be the same again.

  And he missed her. Francey. The realisation came as no surprise. Her zest for life and her infectious brightness had lifted the household out of the doldrums since Richard’s passing. She was a true breath of fresh air. Suddenly, and the thought took him by surprise, he couldn’t imagine her not being a part of life at Murrundi.

  Shellie came up and stood beside him. “Are you all right?”

  No, he wasn’t all right. He felt miserable. He very nearly said so in his gruff way but stopped himself. It wasn’t his sister’s fault that this melancholy had overtaken him. Damn it, he should appreciate her more. And he would. He’d make it a New Year’s resolution, be kind to old Shell. After all, she’d turned the corner with her drinking problem and even a blind man could see what she thought of her doctor. And another thing was true: Shellie was the glue that bound Murrundi together. Funny that. It was usually the outback women who did it better than the men. The man went out and wrestled with the land, tried to bend it to his will, but the woman somehow and often quite miraculously kept everything at home running smoothly.

  “Yes, I’m fine,” he lied stoically.

  Shellie heard the words, the forced inflection. She knew CJ
too well and knew when he was telling the truth and otherwise. Richard. She brushed back a tear. She missed him too.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Francey and Meredith O’Connor sat on outdoor plastic chairs on the back verandah of the O’Connor’s Bronte home while Meredith breastfed baby Mitchell who was almost four months old.

  “Well, at least I had the chance to meet your man,” Meredith said. “I liked Steve. Brett liked him too, I could tell.”

  “He’s a man’s man but he socialises well. We’re very simpatici.”

  Meredith’s eyebrow lifted as she stared at her friend. Wearing cut-off blue jeans and a red singlet Francey looked relaxed and happy. “So, it’s the real thing? The ghosts from the past have gone?”

  “You bet,” Francey said with a grin, using the phrase Steve was fond of. The two days of Steve’s leave in Sydney had passed in a whirl. They’d spent as much time as they could together. Played tourist, gone to the beach, and he’d even come home for dinner the night before he left, much to the raised eyebrows of her mother and the delight of her father. Carlo had shamelessly sounded him out on his prospects, his assets and if he liked children.

  Remembering, her cheeks warmed becomingly. Later, Steve had laughed at her embarrassment, accepting it all in good grace. Parting at the airport the next morning had been a real wrench for both of them. It would be several weeks before she returned to Murrundi because CJ had sent a fax asking her to choose his Sydney property. She expected to do lots of hoofing around before she found suitable real estate. That he was showing sufficient trust in her to handle such an important and expensive transaction boosted her confidence enormously.