Irene was ill at ease in the knowledge her disgust had been so clear to this attractive man. ‘You must find it very difficult,’ she said as she topped up his drink with ice. ‘Socially, I mean.’
He shrugged. ‘Our friends have known Sal since she was born. We’ve never had a problem.’
Irene’s face was stiff from the effort of maintaining a smile. ‘You are to be commended,’ she said.
Their conversation was interrupted by a screech followed by a terrible, shattering clatter. Sally had upended one of the side–tables and was now sitting amongst the debris of broken china and spilled food, her mouth wide as she screamed. Half–eaten food was smeared down her dress and in her hair, the mess compounded by a runny nose and tears. Irene thought she would throw up.
‘We’d better get her home,’ said Bob. ‘She gets over–excited when she meets new people.’ He helped his wife clear the mess, and with Sally squirming in his arms, turned once more to Irene. ‘I hope we’ll see you again before the wedding? Izzy and I are in the city for a couple of weeks yet.’
She nodded and shook his hand, impatient for them to leave.
They said goodbye, leaving Sarah on the couch with Justin. The two of them were deep in conversation, making plans for the future. ‘It’ll all be so lovely,’ Mrs Stanford,’ she sighed. ‘And once we’re settled, we can think about starting a family. I thought two boys and two girls would be nice, don’t you?’
Irene gritted her teeth. The day had been a disaster and her nerves were so tight she could almost feel them twang. Here they were, sitting in the middle of a God–awful mess created by her idiot sister and all she could think about was bringing more just like her into the world. ‘Is idiocy inbred in your family?’ she asked with icy demand.
‘Mother! How dare you?’ Justin shouted.
Irene looked at him. He was taller than his father, and towered over her, yet she was unafraid of him. ‘I don’t want any morons born into this family,’ she said coldly. ‘Better to ask these questions now before it’s too late.’
Sarah’s myopic eyes blinked behind the glasses and she got to her feet. ‘Justin?’ she said softly.
‘It’s no use whining to him,’ snapped Irene who was now thoroughly out of control. ‘If there’s the slightest chance of you dropping something like that, then the wedding’s off.’
Justin put his arms around Sarah and held her close as the tears began to run down her face and soak his shirt. He glared at Irene over Sarah’s head. ‘That was unforgivable,’ he breathed. ‘Apologise, now.’
Irene tossed her head. ‘I will not,’ she snapped. ‘I have every right to ask, considering you’re foolish enough to want to marry this weak, ugly little mouse with a halfwit sister. I don’t care how wealthy she is – nothing can make up for mental instability.’
Justin steered Sarah across the room and opened the door. He glared in silence back at Irene and slammed the door behind them.
Irene stood there in the silence, the debris of the drinks party all around her, the anger ebbing away in the cold light of realism. She’d done it again. She’d spoken out of turn and alienated someone she loved.
The crystal decanter was still half full of sherry, and she threw it hard against the wall where it smashed into a million pieces. Panting, she watched the sherry trickle down the paint and seep into the carpet. She’d had every right to ask – every right to express her doubts, her fears. If her son was too stupid to realise what he was getting into then it was his lookout.
She lit a cigarette and reached for the telephone. Sydney had suddenly palled. She would fly home tonight and continue with her plans for moving out of Deloraine. Justin was old enough to make his own mistakes, and if he and his father were so clever they didn’t need her – then they could clear up any ensuing mess themselves.
15
The heat was intense, the humidity so high it wrapped itself around everything like a hot, damp blanket. It drained energy and sapped the spirit, and the pace of life slowed to a crawl. Every breath of air was welcomed as the inhabitants of Trinity looked to the skies for some sign that rain would fall, or that wind would come off the sea and blow the threatening storm away.
Yet the clouds were gathering, layer upon layer in tiers of grey and black that gave the impression they were solid enough to be sliced through with a knife. Lightning shimmered in this looming mass; great sheets of it flickering on and off like a faulty bulb. And now and again the forks of electricity snapped and crackled in the breathless atmosphere, searching for somewhere to strike.
The beach houses were deserted as the graziers returned to their isolated properties. With the lightning and the threatening storm there was a very real risk of fire. Shearers, ringers and jackaroos packed up their swags and returned to the hot, dusty world of these properties, knowing that every hand would be needed if such a disaster struck. The hotel emptied as the week drew to a close, and Trinity soon took on a deserted air.
Despite the heat, the ominous clouds and the draining humidity, Olivia was pleased she’d stayed. With the hotel being so deserted it had given her and Maggie a chance to talk, and to get to know one another. It had also given her the chance to catch up on her letters to England and to begin making plans for the future – plans she kept to herself until she was ready to share them.
Another week was drawing to a close and still the storm hadn’t broken. Olivia shook hands with Bob Kealeigh and walked down the neat path and through the gate. The satisfactory conclusion to their business made her smile and she turned and waved to him before hurrying back to the hotel.
Sam had made iced coffee and they were seated on the verandah in the hope of catching the slightest breeze. ‘Here she is,’ he said. ‘The mystery lady. Where’ve you been disappearing to, Olivia?’ His eyes twinkled with mischief. ‘Reckon there must be some bloke on the go.’
She grinned and took her place at the table. The coffee was loaded with ice cream and dark, sweet rum, and was utterly delicious. She picked up a spoon and scooped some of this wonderful concoction into her mouth.
‘So,’ said Giles in his usual fashion. ‘Are you going to tell us what you’ve been up to – or are you determined to fuel the gossip?’
She laughed. ‘I didn’t realise my comings and goings were that interesting,’ she said.
Maggie grinned. ‘This is a small town,’ she said. ‘Everything’s interesting, especially now there are so few people to talk about.’
Olivia drank some more, then leaned back in the cane chair and lifted her hair from her neck. ‘God, it’s hot,’ she groaned. ‘I’d forgotten about these dry storms.’
‘Olivia!’ It was a chorus from the other three.
She held up her hands. ‘I give in. Come on. Come and see what I’ve been doing.’
They followed her back down the street, and Olivia found it hard to stop smiling. ‘There,’ she said as they came to a halt. ‘What do you think?’
The other three stood on the dusty road, their surprise and puzzlement clear, and Olivia hugged her secret close, waiting for the right moment to enlighten them.
The shack had once been the home of the widow, Mrs Parker. Now it was abandoned and had been left to moulder for almost ten years. The grass was thigh high behind the rotting picket fence and the weeds had taken over flowerbeds and paths. There was no glass in the windows, the fly screens had disintegrated and the stone chimney looked as if it might come crashing down any minute.
‘It’s Ma Parker’s old place,’ muttered Sam. ‘Should have been pulled down years ago.’
‘Good grief, Olivia,’ spluttered Giles. ‘Please don’t tell me you’ve bought this wreck.’
Olivia grinned. ‘It has great potential,’ she said firmly.
‘For what?’ breathed Sam. ‘Firewood?’
She decided not to enlighten him yet. ‘I agree it would probably be best to tear
it down and start again, but that’s half the fun, surely?’
Maggie’s eyes were round with astonishment. ‘Why didn’t you tell me you were planning to stay in Trinity?’ she asked. ‘I’d have found you something much better than this dump.’
‘It’s not for me – not really,’ she admitted.
The silence was profound as they looked at her in confusion. She giggled and reached in to her handbag. ‘Here are the deeds to Trinity’s new community health centre,’ she said.
‘Health hazard, more like,’ muttered Giles.
‘Bloody hell, she’s serious,’ breathed Sam.
Olivia turned to Maggie. ‘I took the liberty of making you joint freeholder,’ she said. ‘I hope you don’t mind.’
‘Mind!’ Maggie’s face was wreathed in smiles. ‘Of course I don’t mind. But I haven’t got the sort of money that will turn this place into anything, let alone a health centre.’
Olivia put her arm around her shoulder and squeezed. ‘The finances are down to me, Maggie. You don’t need to worry about anything but looking after the place should I want to go back to England for a while.’
‘But why me?’ Maggie breathed.
‘Because although you’re my niece, you’re the nearest I ever had to a sister and I wanted to share my good fortune with you.’
Maggie’s tears threatened and she sniffed them back. ‘It’s too much, Olivia. This must have knocked you back a fair bit, and I’d feel like a bludger not contributing to the cost.’
‘Nonsense,’ she said firmly. ‘You’re the only relative I have worth admitting to, and my mother left me a sizeable inheritance. I don’t see why you shouldn’t share it.’
‘But I don’t know anything about nursing – I’d be useless.’
Olivia gave her a peck on the cheek and passed her a handkerchief. ‘You don’t need to. I’ve written to some nursing friends of mine back in England. They are young, single and sick of rationing and living and working in a bombed out London. Coming out here will be an adventure hard to resist. Believe me.’
She looked around her at the astonished faces. ‘You see Trinity lacks a great many things, but young women and a decent medical centre are top of the list. Once we’ve got this place up and running, who knows where it will lead?’
‘A population explosion once the blokes out on the stations hear about an influx of sheilas,’ said Sam dryly.
They all laughed. ‘Then perhaps we’d better get a good maternity unit going, and a crèche as well as a nursery school,’ said Olivia.
Maggie put her arms around Olivia’s waist and gave her a hug. ‘You’re a dinkum sheila and no mistake,’ she said.
It was the most heart–warming compliment Olivia could hope to receive and she too was close to tears as they walked arm in arm back towards the hotel.
*
The two weeks were almost up. William would be returning in a matter of hours, and although her furniture and packing cases had already been carted over to the other house, she still had to organise the removal of her horses. The oppressive heat had grown steadily worse as the days wore on and by the look of the black thunderheads they were in for one hell of a storm.
Irene stood in the centre of the lounge, hands in the pockets of her moleskins, and took a final look at what had once been her home. The place looked bare now she’d taken her trophies and ornaments – soulless without the feminine touches of cushions and frills and soft rugs.
Her gaze drifted over to the table and the broad, brown envelope she’d placed there for William. The papers had been signed, reluctantly, but she’d realised she really had no other option. William held all the cards, and after the debacle in Sydney, she needed to maintain at least a modicum of dignity.
She gave a deep sigh as she drifted from room to room. The life had gone out of the house once Justin had left – had gone out of their marriage, too, she realised. For their son had become the focus, the lynchpin of their relationship, and as they immersed themselves in his upbringing, and the day to day running of Deloraine, it had been all too easy to drift apart.
His leaving had emphasises the rift between her and William – had made them face the unpalatable truth that they were almost strangers who just happened to share the same house. Some couples still had love to bind them, which could be rekindled once the children left home, but Irene was a realist. She and William had never been in love, and any passion they might have shared had long gone.
Emerging out of the front door, Irene stood on the verandah and looked at the sky. The clouds were piled one upon another in shades of deepening grey. A weak sun struggled in this thick blanket of menace, casting a strange sepia light over the earth. It was as if the silver grass was poised for the slightest breath of air. As if the drooping gum trees were wilting with their need for enlivening rain. The dogs lay panting in the kennels as the cattle shifted restlessly in the pens. Horses and men moved slowly in the sludge of reflected heat as if their legs were weighted. The silence was ominous.
Irene slammed the screen door behind her and strode across the yard to the stables. Jimmy had already trucked three of her horses over this morning, the fourth was proving difficult. She stood and watched him coax the mare into the horsebox and finally bolt the door. There was no doubt about it, she thought as she tacked up Pluperfect. She would miss Jimmy. He was good with horses and a godsend when it came to the heavier duties around the stables.
Pluperfect was also playing up. Tossing his head and dancing on his toes, he drew back his top lip and snapped at Irene’s fingers as she forced the bit into his mouth and tightened the bridle. His ears flattened and his nostrils distended as Jimmy fired up the old truck and Irene had to use all her strength to keep him under control.
With the horsebox chugging away amidst a cloud of dust, Irene took one last look at Deloraine and gave Pluperfect his head.
The ride swept away the cobwebs of another restless night, and despite the heat and humidity, Irene felt refreshed in spirit as they approached the second homestead. She slowed Pluperfect into a trot and regarded this outpost of exile she’d been forced to accept.
The homestead was square, with a new sloping corrugated iron roof that swept down over the narrow, front verandah. The slabs of wood that made up the walls had been painted along with the window frames, the front door and fly screens. The chimney had been repaired and looked sturdy enough, the ironstone bricks mellow in the strange light of this storm laden day.
Irene rode Pluperfect into the clearing that had been made around the house. The only shade for the homestead came from a drooping pepper tree that was alive with the hum of bees. Yet, on the far side of the clearing, gum trees surrounded the new corrals where the rusting troughs had been replaced, so at least the horses had some shelter. The pastures behind the newly erected stable block were green, watered by underground streams that criss–crossed Deloraine, making this particular station one to be envied. Even in the severest drought, Deloraine had never run dry.
Irene rode towards the stables and realised Jimmy was about to leave. ‘How about coming over here to work?’ she offered.
He took off his hat and mopped the sweat from his dark brow. ‘Reckon the boss wouldn’t like it, missus,’ he said.
‘I’ll pay you the same wages,’ she said hastily. ‘And sort out a place for you to sleep.’
‘Sorry, missus,’ he mumbled as he squashed the disreputable hat back over his halo of tangled brown hair. ‘Gotta get back.’
Irene pursed her lips and watched as the Aboriginal clambered back into the truck and set off. Without a man on the place she would find the going rough, but obviously William had already had a word with his men and she wouldn’t get help there. The maids had also refused her offer of work, and so had the cook It had been too many years since she’d done her own housework and cooking, let alone the laundry – and she had no intentions of
starting again now. She would have to go into Trinity and post a notice for a stable lad and a couple of girls to help in the house – which was a damn nuisance, because she’d been avoiding Trinity – now it looked as if she had no option.
Her gaze followed the trail of dust until it disappeared. The silence closed in along with the heat. From where she stood she could see no sign of civilisation – no sign that refuted the knowledge she was alone in this vast emptiness. It was going to be tough out here – solitary too, and before she could give in to the flood of emotion that was welling inside her, she turned away.
Having settled Pluperfect in his stable, she checked the bolts on the doors, the feed bags and water buckets, and finally headed for the house. She supposed she should think of a name for this corner of Deloraine, but she didn’t really care. She wasn’t planning on staying here forever.
The wooden floors had been scraped and freshly varnished and the scent of polish greeted her as she opened the front door. The maids had done a good job, she realised, as she went from room to room inspecting their work. The bedroom overlooked the porch and was sheltered from the sun. It looked homely enough, with her pictures on the walls, the rugs on the floor and her favourite little Queen Ann chair in the corner. The new bed had been made up, the linen crisp and inviting as the ceiling fan whirred.
She wandered across the narrow hall into the sitting room. The stone fireplace looked quite imposing now it had a beam of pine set into it as a mantel. Her glass and china was put away in the delicate cabinets she’d inherited from Eva, and her trophies and bronzes were displayed on shelves that ran along one wall. The couch and chair had seen better days and she had contemplated buying new, but had decided they were comfortable enough to keep for a while longer. It wasn’t as if she was planning to socialise – so what the hell did it matter?
The kitchen and bathroom were at the back of the house, each room square and serviceable – the only luxury that of hot water which was piped directly from an underground bore. A generator gave her electricity and its soft hum was her only companion.
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