Contents

1. Title

2. Copyright

3. Acknowledgements

4. Chapter One

5. Chapter Two

6. Chapter Three

7. Chapter Four

8. Chapter Five

9. Chapter Six

10. Chapter Seven

11. Chapter Eight

12. Chapter Nine

13. Chapter Ten

14. Chapter Eleven

15. Chapter Twelve

16. Chapter Thirteen

17. Chapter Fourteen

18. Chapter Fifteen

19. Chapter Sixteen

20. Chapter Seventeen

21. Chapter Eighteen

22. Chapter Nineteen

23. Chapter Twenty

24. Chapter Twenty-One

25. Chapter Twenty-Two

26. Chapter Twenty-Three

27. Chapter Twenty-Four

28. Chapter Twenty-Five

29. Chapter Twenty-Six

30. Chapter Twenty-Seven

31. Chapter Twenty-Eight

32. Chapter Twenty-Nine

33. Chapter Thirty

34. Chapter Thirty-One

35. Chapter Thirty-Two

36. Chapter Thirty-Three

37. Chapter Thirty-Four

38. Chapter Thirty-Five

39. Chapter Thirty-Six

40. Chapter Thirty-Seven

41. Chapter Thirty-Eight

42. Chapter Thirty-Nine

43. Chapter Forty

44. Chapter Forty-One

45. Chapter Forty-Two

Di Morrissey is Australia’s most popular woman novelist. Her first book, Heart of the Dreaming, launched her bestselling career and paved the way for The Last Rose of Summer, Follow the Morning Star, The Last Mile Home, Tears of the Moon, When the Singing Stops, The Songmaster and her latest novel, Scatter the Stars.

Well known as a TV presenter on the original ‘Good Morning Australia’, Di has always written – working as a journalist, advertising copywriter and screenwriter.

Di has two children and lives in Byron Bay, NSW, where she devotes herself to writing, in between travelling to research her novels.

Di Morrissey can be visited at her website:

http://www.dimorrissey.com

Also by Di Morrissey

Heart of the Dreaming
The Last Rose of Summer
Follow the Morning Star
The Last Mile Home
Tears of the Moon
When the Singing Stops
The Songmaster
Scatter the Stars
Blaze
The Bay
Kimberley Sun
Barra Creek
The Reef

First published 1993 in Pan by Pan Macmillan Publishers Australia
This edition published 1995 by Pan Macmillan Australia Pty Limited St Martins Tower, 31 Market Street, Sydney

Reprinted 1993, 1995 (twice), 1996 (twice), 1997, 1998, 1999 (twice), 2000, 2001, 2002 2003, 2004 (twice), 2005

Copyright © Di Morrissey 1993

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without prior permission in writing from the publisher.

National Library of Australia
cataloguing-in-publication data:

Morrissey, Di.
Follow the morning star.
ISBN 0 330 27403 1.
I. Title.
A823.3

Typeset in 11/13 pt Andover by Post Typesetters Printed in Australia by McPherson’s Printing Group

This novel is a work of fiction. Names and characters are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

These electronic editions published in 2007 by Pan Macmillan Australia Pty Ltd 1 Market Street, Sydney 2000

The moral right of the author has been asserted.

All rights reserved. This publication (or any part of it) may not be reproduced or transmitted, copied, stored, distributed or otherwise made available by any person or entity (including Google, Amazon or similar organisations), in any form (electronic, digital, optical, mechanical) or by any means (photocopying, recording, scanning or otherwise) without prior written permission from the publisher.

Follow the Morning Star

Di Morrissey

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978-1-74197-045-6

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978-1-74197-246-7

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978-1-74197-447-8

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978-1-74197-648-9

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Visit www.panmacmillan.com.au to read more about all our books and to buy both print and ebooks online. You will also find features, author interviews and news of any author events.

For my mother
always with love

Acknowledgements

For my beautiful daughter Gabrielle as she sets out on her own journey in life, and for my darling son Nick, for his love, support and humour.

For Jim and Rosemary Revitt for your loving advice.

For Tom Knapp, a good friend and an honourable lawyer.

For Julia Stiles for your sensitive editing and patience

For all those friends who love the land and stopped to yarn, answer questions and share your feelings.

And, as always, for my guiding star who lights up my life.

The Morning Star paled slowly, the Cross hung low to the sea.

And down the shadowy reaches the tide came swirling free.

The lustrous purple blackness of the soft Australian night

Waned in the grey awakening that heralded the light . . .

JAMES LISTER CUTHBERTSON

Chapter One

TR rolled over in bed and reached for Queenie. Discovering cool empty sheets, he opened his eyes. Dawn was breaking. With a jolt he remembered, Queenie was down in Sydney. Probably shopping her socks off, he thought, grinning as he swung out of bed. He fumbled about in their walk-in dressing room for the moleskin pants he’d dropped the night before and looked over to where Queenie’s clothes hung neatly. Impulsively he grabbed a handful of silk and cotton and buried his face in the softness, smelling the faint but familiar citrous tang of Queenie’s perfume.

As he dressed he thought how Queenie’s spirit and beauty hadn’t faded since the first time he’d met her at her twenty-first birthday party here at Tingulla. She had climbed out of her bedroom window onto the roof to pick jasmine blooms from the vine entwined in the old peppercorn tree. Her startled emerald eyes staring down at him, a face like an angel framed in waves of golden-brown hair, was an image forever burned onto his memory.

TR walked downstairs into the kitchen, lifted his well-worn Akubra off the peg where it hung beside Queenie’s at the back door, and stepped into the dawn.

He had debated about going alone for their regular ride, savouring the knowledge that soon he and Queenie would be together for what she called their morning star ride. However, the horse needed exercise and he wanted to think through a few mundane business problems.

At the stables he handed Queenie’s horse, Honey, a handful of oats to appease her for being left behind, and saddled his stallion, Star. The horse’s full name was Starlight Sky but it had been shortened because of the small star-shaped patch of white on its forehead.

Deep in thought, TR rode out of the corral, past the stables and away from the homestead. Star automatically followed their regular track with Spike, TR’s blue heeler, leading the way. The dog zigzagged to and fro, stopping to sniff bits of grass and clumps of red soil, running twice the distance the horse travelled.

Without Queenie riding at his side, TR didn’t pay as much attention to the beauty of the early morning bush: the blush sweeping across the pale sky, the chorus of the birds, the clear light turning the red gumtips translucent ruby. The morning star had paled then disappeared in the brightening sunrise by the time TR reined in his horse at the top of the first rise and looked out over the view which never ceased to lift his spirits.

The Blue Hills followed the rolling acres of Tingulla’s country — 250,000 acres of classic merino stud that had survived times of hardship over three generations to become one of the top wool producers in the country. Nestled in the heart of this land that Queenie’s family, the Hanlons, had carved out stood Tingulla homestead, a magnificent landmark. The double-storied mansion with its upper and lower verandahs and imposing front entrance faced the circle of the drive which embraced the dancing brolga fountain. A giant peppercorn and a white cedar, planted by great-grandfather Ned Hanlon, shaded the house and side garden. The driveway wound down through landscaped lawns and gardens to the imposing logs that formed the front gate archway two kilometres from the house.

Star was fidgety. TR leant forward and scratched behind the horse’s ear, speaking softly. As he straightened up he heard what was bothering his mount — steady hoofbeats. TR turned and stood in the stirrups, looking back down through the trees. Who was following him and why?

In a minute he had his answer. Honey trotted into view, riderless and unharnessed. TR realised that in his distracted and sleepy state he hadn’t latched the gate properly and Honey, wily beast that she was, had followed them.

‘Damn you, Honey,’ he sighed.

The horse eyed him balefully and stopped a few metres away. TR whistled Spike, turned Star around, and began walking him back down the hillside. Honey didn’t move: this was not their normal pattern, there was still some distance to the crest of the hill, and she did not want to turn for home yet.

TR knew she could be a temperamental horse who often only obeyed Queenie. He broke into a trot but the mare stood her ground, forcing TR to ride back to her. He unlooped the rope tied to his saddle, made a lasso and slipped it over Honey’s head.

‘Sorry to lead you this way, Honey, but I don’t trust you and I haven’t got the time to chase you all over the hills,’ TR said firmly.

He moved off but Honey yanked her head back in alarm as she felt the rope tighten. TR spoke soothingly, giving a gentle tug, and the horse followed.

Star was fretful and kept glancing back at the mare as they edged down the hillside. TR suddenly realised Honey was in season. So he decided to let her go now they were heading home. He began fumbling with the rope then saw it was tied around the pommel of his saddle. But before he could unknot it Honey reared and bolted for home. The sudden surge as she sped past caught TR off guard. Star was pulled by the lead rope and took off after Honey, both racing to get ahead of the other. The knot tightened with the strain and TR began frantically working to undo it, cursing himself for tying the rope to the pommel, something he knew he should never have done.

He didn’t look up in time to see Honey swerve to round an old blue gum, pulling Star towards it. In the split second before colliding against the tree, TR swung hard across in the saddle. The horses went either side of the trunk but with the rope restricting space between them, there was little room. The right side of TR’s body slammed hard against the tree and he crashed to the ground, still and broken.

Snowy, the wizened old Aborigine acknowledged as Tingulla’s spiritual guardian, was repairing a fence when a shiver ran through him. Puzzled, he stopped what he was doing and returned to the truck. Suddenly he heard the sound of horses galloping and within seconds two riderless horses sped past in the direction of the homestead. Snowy dropped his tools and hurried into the truck.

Seeing the usually sedate Aboriginal elder roaring his old Toyota towards him, Ernie rushed over to see what was wrong.

‘What’s up, Snowy? Is somethin’ bad?’

‘The boss’s horse come back. Honey too. Bad accident, I reckon.’

Ernie, faster and stronger than his tribal elder, raced for the stables where both horses now stood, stained with sweat and breathing heavily. Ernie tried to grab Honey but the horse swerved away from him, her eyes wide and nervous. Ernie grabbed the nearest unsaddled horse and swung onto its bare back. Snowy caught the foaming but quieter Star and climbed into the saddle, taking off after Ernie.

They both knew Queenie and TR’s habit of an early morning ride and they set out towards the Blue Hills, dreading what they might find there.

Half an hour later, they found TR lying unconscious where he had fallen, his blue heeler licking his face and whimpering. TR’s leg and hip were mangled and crushed, his right arm and collarbone looked broken, and a nasty gash was bleeding at the side of his head. Snowy and Ernie glanced fearfully at each other, both afraid to voice the same terrible thought.

‘Best not move ’im,’ said Snowy. ‘Go back and git the Flying Doc.’

Ernie nodded and clung to his horse, his heart beating with alarm. As he galloped back to the homestead he muttered frantic pleas for help from his tribal spirits.

Snowy crouched beside TR whose body looked like a broken toy flung to one side. Head bowed, his face creased in pain, Snowy rocked gently back and forth on his heels as tears ran unchecked down the furrows of his sad old face.

‘Don’t die, TR. Hang on, mate. Hang on.’

Chapter Two

The twin engine Piper Cherokee banked over Tingulla, the pilot admiring the scope and sheer beauty of the magnificent station. He’d flown over it countless times in the years he’d been in the district but he never ceased to marvel at it. Tingulla had survived flood and drought; good management had brought it through the hard times, and in the flush of the wool boom in the fifties its merino clip had earned princely sums.

He glanced over at his passenger, the mistress of Tingulla. What a beautiful woman she was: slim and shapely, her thick long brown hair shot with burnished lights. She was a natural beauty with a gorgeous smile and when she turned her green eyes on them, men went weak at the knees. But it was also her strength, resilience and extraordinary bush skills that they respected. Privately, even tough men wondered if they could have coped so well with the hand fate had dealt Queenie in the past.

The pilot smiled at her. ‘How’re things going, Queenie?’

‘Good thanks, Tom. Tingulla and Cricklewood are going great guns and Guneda, TR’s horse stud, is starting to make a real name for itself in the race world.’

‘Well there’s not much TR doesn’t know about horses.’

Queenie smiled and nodded. How she longed to see and touch TR again. They had only been apart for a week, and she’d enjoyed the break, but now it seemed as if she’d been away too long. She missed TR. He was a part of her. He was her soul mate and her best friend. This fierce love of theirs had been hard won, but that was all behind them now. They were blissfully happy and the future stretched ahead of them, each day one of joy. TR felt as she did, and they both appreciated every moment together for they knew what a precious gift they had been given.

As they began their descent Queenie tightened her seat belt and drew a deep breath. She was glad to be home, anxious to share her experiences with TR.

As they approached the dirt strip she sat forward and peered out of the window. There was no mistaking the tall athletic frame of Tango standing at the edge of the runway. What had brought her son up from Guneda? She smiled to herself, how handsome he was, just like his father. At twenty-five he was tall and slim with deep blue eyes and burnished gold hair, yet he seemed completely unaware of his charm and looks.

The plane landed with a bump, jolting Queenie out of her pleasant reverie. As the aircraft’s door was opened, she saw Tango hurrying towards her and she knew straightaway that something was dreadfully wrong.

‘Tango darling, what is it?’ demanded Queenie the second the pilot dropped down the small step.

‘It’s TR. He’s had an accident. He’s in hospital. I think we should turn around and go back to Brisbane.’

She gripped his arm. ‘Brisbane? Why is he over there? God, Tango, what’s happened?’

Tango took her in his arms and held her tightly. ‘Dad fell from his horse, banged into a tree. He’s pretty badly smashed up.’

Queenie’s knees buckled and a searing pain exploded in her chest then spread like a burn through her flesh. The blood drained from her face. ‘Oh no! How bad is it, Tango? Is he going to be all right? Tango? Tell me.’

‘Yes, Mum. Don’t worry,’ said Tango trying to disguise his own pain and fear. He turned to the pilot. ‘How soon can we leave?’

‘Now. I was going straight back anyway. I have clearance and fuel.’

‘Millie packed a bag for you and I’m coming too.’ Tango picked up the two small bags by his feet.

Queenie nodded and climbed back into the plane, her face pale, her legs trembling.

‘Millie has everything under control. She and Jim send their love. We couldn’t reach you any sooner.’

‘How is he, exactly?’ she asked in a tiny voice, terrified of what the answer might be.

‘I don’t know. They won’t give out any more information till we get there. Until then, we’ll just have to hope . . . and pray.’

Colin Hanlon could feel the surge of blood, power and passion rising to its delicious peak and he sucked in his breath and thrust feverishly, awaiting the glorious moment of release.

The girl beneath him stirred and strained against him, pushing her hands against his shoulders in a feeble attempt to still him. ‘Colin, stop . . . wait . . .’

He ignored her, grunting as he shoved at her. Then, with a groan, he stiffened as he flooded into her, unaware her frantically swivelling hips were trying to move from under him, not with him. He fell on top of her, panting slightly, then rolled off her onto his back, satiated.

‘Fan-bloody-tastic.’ He turned to her with a grin, looking for the agreement and acknowledgement of mutual pleasure. But the girl lay rigid on her back, hands over her face, a tear trickling from under her fingers.

‘Was it that good?’ He pulled her hands away, then seeing her distraught face, flopped back on his pillow. ‘Oh struth, what’s up now?’

The girl rolled on her side, breaking into noisy sobs.

‘Oh Christ!’ Colin sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. ‘Antonia, what’s the problem? Stop the bawling and talk to me. I’ll get you some water.’

Colin went into the bathroom, splashed water on his face, swilling some in his mouth and spitting out the taste of stale red wine. He filled a glass with water and returned to the bed, where the slim dark-haired young woman was sitting up, dabbing at her face with the edge of the sheet.

He sat beside her as she sipped the water, choking a little. He took the glass from her. ‘Now, why are you crying? You always bounce around and laugh after our sessions, what’s got into you?

‘You, caro mio,’ she answered in a tiny voice.

‘Now listen, petal, I told you at the start not to get involved with me. This is just for fun.’

She shook her head. ‘No longer. Not for me. I love you, Colin.’

‘No, you don’t,’ he answered, covering his annoyance at the familiar scene about to be played out. It was a shame, but as soon as they got heavy, the fun was over and he had to move on to new sport. Damned nuisance too. Colin was impatient with the discreet and dangerous courting that was necessary. He liked it as it had been these few months. Swift and sexy liaisons on the understanding it was mutual fun and pleasure. He hated this bit, when they got clingy and demanding.

He smoothed her hair. ‘You know we went into this with our eyes open, I don’t want to hurt you, baby. You’re so special to me . . .’

She struck his hand away. ‘Don’t touch me! Tell me what you’re going to do!’ she demanded, her eyes blazing.

What a little Italian firecracker she was. Colin felt himself getting aroused again as she glared at him. ‘Do? About what? I know what I’d like to do.’ He grinned and reached for one of her large brown nipples.

‘No! I mean what are you, me, us, going to do? About the baby I’m going to have?’

‘Oh shit!’ He glared back at her. ‘You stupid bitch, how did this happen? You told me you were on the pill.’

She looked away and Colin grabbed her shoulders and swung her round to face him. ‘You lied, didn’t you? Didn’t you? All this time we’ve been taking risks?’

He shook her and she nodded dumbly, murmuring, ‘I was careful . . . You knew there were times I couldn’t see you . . .’

‘Oh you dumb little bitch. I don’t need this. Listen, get dressed. We’re going to make a few phone calls right now.’

‘What do you mean?’ she asked fearfully as Colin began to pull on his clothes.

‘I mean, we’re going to find a doctor and get this sorted out. I think I know someone who will . . .’

‘No! I cannot!’ She jumped up, holding the sheet protectively in front of her naked body. ‘I am Catholic. What if my family find out? I cannot do it!’

‘Don’t be bloody stupid! You can’t have it. I’m married, I can’t support you or it, and I don’t have the slightest intention of doing so anyway. And if your family do find out, you’ll be struck off the eligible bride list, honey bun.’

At this the girl broke into wild sobs again and rushed into the bathroom, slamming the door and locking it. Colin waited, then went into the kitchen of the small apartment and made two cups of espresso. He went back and rapped on the door. ‘I’ve made coffee. Come out here and we’ll talk this through properly.’

There was a muffled but negative response from behind the door. Colin shrugged and sat and sipped his coffee. After ten minutes he lost his temper. ‘Listen, Antonia, you come out here or I’m walking out the door and not coming back!’

‘I’ll tell your wife!’ she shouted at him.

Angrily Colin tried to open the door. ‘You do that, and I’ll inform your father. And tell him I’m not the first and you have VD and it’s not my child because I’m sterile. Now get out here.’ He rattled the doorknob.

‘It is your baby. I was a virgin. You know that.’

‘Your word against mine, Antonia. Now get out here.’

‘No.’

‘Then you deal with it.’ Colin kicked the door and turned on his heel. He left the apartment, slamming the front door, and hurried down the stairs. In the bright sunlight of the piazza he put on his dark glasses and headed for his car, pulling some loose lire from his pocket and tossing the coins at the scrawny boy hanging by the car door.

He roared out of the square, scattering pigeons and pedestrians. What a mess. She’d come round and get matters taken care of, though he supposed he’d have to foot the bill. Could be tricky. He doubted she’d call Dina, but it was a threat that worried him. Still, he’d been damned lucky with his numerous other liaisons that this hadn’t happened before. There was a moment of male pride that he’d fathered a child. Too bad Dina didn’t want children.

He’d better play it cool for a while once he’d sorted Antonia out. Oh well, it had been nice while it lasted.

At the door to TR’s hospital room, Queenie turned to Tango. ‘Let me see him first, alone,’ she said. Tango hesitated then nodded, holding open the door for her.

Queenie caught her breath at the sight of the man she loved, so immobilised. His leg was hooked up to a complicated arrangement of pulleys and wires; a drip fed into one arm, the other was in plaster. His head was bandaged and his face pale. Queenie stood by his bed, listening to his shallow breathing, afraid to touch him.

In a small frightened voice choked with tears, she whispered, ‘Oh my darling, please don’t leave me. I can’t go on without you. After everything we’ve been through . . . We are so happy. I love you so much. I can’t bear to see you like this . . .’ Tears gushed down her face.

Drawing a breath she went on fiercely, ‘I promise you, my darling, you’ll be all right. You must be.’ Swallowing hard, she rubbed her eyes and went to the door, struggling to regain her composure. Opening the door she stood to one side, saying, ‘Come in, Tango’.

‘Oh my god!’ Tango gasped when he saw his father. He hurried over to the bedside and pulled out a chair for his mother.

Queenie sat close to TR and leaned towards his sickly wan face on the pillow. ‘TR darling, it’s Queenie. Can you hear me?’

Not a flicker of movement or change of expression came from the figure in the bed.

Tango glanced questioningly at the ward sister who had followed him into the room. ‘He’s not in a coma, is he? He will come out of this?’

‘He regained consciousness briefly. He is heavily sedated, but he is suffering bad concussion in addition to his other injuries.’

‘How bad are his injuries?’ asked Queenie in a small voice, not taking her eyes from TR’s face.

‘That’s for Doctor McConnell to say. He’s on his way. I’ll be back soon. Don’t try too hard to get a response from him. Often they know you’re here even if they don’t show it,’ said the starched sister kindly.

For a long time Tango stood in silence by Queenie’s chair, his hand resting on her shoulder as she stroked TR’s hand. After a while the door opened softly and a doctor in a navy jacket, grey slacks and expensive French loafers came into the room. He was wearing a club tie and his silver moustache was neatly trimmed. He radiated expensive school, good background and specialist.

‘Hello, Mrs Hamilton. I’m Doctor McConnell.’ He shook hands with Queenie and Tango. ‘Let me fill you in. We don’t know as yet the full extent of your husband’s injuries.’ Seeing Queenie’s arched eyebrows, he hastened to add, ‘We do know the immediate physical damage — what bones are broken and that there are no serious internal injuries. He might need surgery — his knee is badly crushed; but the longer-term effects are more worrying.’

‘What do you mean? He will be fully mobile eventually, won’t he?’ Queenie couldn’t keep the note of fear from her voice.

‘We hope so. The spinal tests are still a bit inconclusive. Fortunately there is no severing of the spinal cord, but the nerves and tendons to his right leg and arm are damaged. Then there is the possibility of slight brain damage.’

Tango’s grip tightened on Queenie’s shoulder. ‘Slight?’

‘Yes. In cases like this there could be some speech loss, some memory loss or some impairment of another brain-related function. We won’t know for a little while. Be grateful he is alive and doesn’t look like being a paraplegic.’

‘Is there any good news?’ asked Tango tersely.

‘We’ll know more in a day or so. We’re still doing tests. But we have to wait for him to regain consciousness fully before we can complete them. I assume you’ll be staying on here in Brisbane?’

‘Of course.’

‘Then I’ll speak to you tomorrow.’ He gave a brief smile. ‘I’ll try and hurry the test results.’ The doctor nodded to them and left the room.

A nurse entered on his heels with a clipboard. ‘I need some personal details if you wouldn’t mind, Mrs Hamilton.’

‘How about I find you a cup of tea,’ suggested Tango to Queenie.

‘There’s an urn by the nurses’ station at the end of the hall. Turn right,’ said the nurse, snapping her pen from its clip.

Later, when the nurse had left, Tango looked at his mother. ‘Do you want to call Saskia or shall I do it?’

‘I’ll call.’ Queenie slowly got to her feet, looking once more at her beloved TR in the hospital bed, and wondered how she was going to find the words to tell her daughter that her adored stepfather was in hospital, clinging to life.

Queenie tried to sound hopeful and positive, but Saskia was distraught when she heard the news.

‘I’ll come right away,’ she said, trying to hold back the tears.

‘Sas, I know you want to be here, but he’s being well taken care of. TR wouldn’t want you to miss any classes, not so close to your exams. I’m renting a unit for a few weeks, or however long I have to; as soon as you have a longish break from classes, come in to Brisbane. As soon as I have a phone number and address I’ll let you know. Tango is with me.’

Queenie and Tango spent the night at Lennons Hotel where Queenie rang Millie and asked her to send in more clothes and personal items. ‘Put them on the train, Millie. Tango can pick them up from the station here. Is everything okay at Tingulla?’

‘Don’t you fret about anything here, luv. Jim and me got everything under control. Snowy and Ernie and Ruthie all send their best to the boss. How is he?’

‘He looks dreadful. But we won’t know about long-term effects for a while. It’s so frustrating.’

‘He’ll pull through, Queenie luv. You stick by him and don’t worry ‘bout anything here.’ To Queenie these supportive words meant a lot. Millie, the Aboriginal housekeeper who had been a mother figure to her, ran Tingulla like a steamtrain. Jim Nicholson, her white husband, the mechanic and general hand at Tingulla, was a staunch ally too, and had helped Queenie through some rough times. Jim and Millie had been her family ever since she was a young woman and both her parents had died.

Millie hung up the phone and shook a fist at the kitchen ceiling. ‘Listen big fella up there, you fix TR up.’ Fiercely she rubbed her fists in her teary eyes; after all they’d been through no god could put Queenie and TR through any more hell.

Hour after hour Queenie sat by TR’s bedside, talking to him, stroking his face, holding his hand, pouring all her love into his broken body as he slipped in and out of consciousness. While she was desperately concerned about his physical injuries, her greatest dread was that TR might have suffered some brain damage. She kept comforting him, talking to him, willing him to hear her in the hope her words might trigger some response.

On the evening of the second day she stood by the bedroom window, gazing out over the hospital gardens as the sun sank low on the horizon.

‘And do you remember, darling, the brumby round-up? And the storm? We lost the brumbies but found each other, didn’t we? That was the first time you made love to me. My first time ever and never for one moment since then have I stopped loving you, TR. You are my life . . .’ Tears ran down her cheeks and her voice choked so she could no longer speak. She brushed them quickly away, drew a deep breath and continued talking.

She didn’t hear the nurse come in behind her. The nurse, hearing her words, started crying too, and silently left the room, putting down the tray with thermometer and blood pressure belt on it to search quickly for a tissue to blow her nose.

There had been little change in TR’s condition and despite the outpouring of support from friends, Queenie felt utterly alone. A small article had appeared in the Brisbane Courier Mail stating that ‘Former rodeo star turned successful horse breeder TR Hamilton has suffered a bad riding accident and is in a critical condition in Brisbane’s Royal Hospital. The extent of his injuries is unknown . . .’

As the news spread, a flood of well-wishers and old friends had contacted Queenie. Dingo McPherson rang from Perth and Queenie quickly filled him in.

‘You got the best doctors looking after him?’ demanded Dingo.

‘I think so. McConnell is supposed to be one of the best. The problem is we can do so little. TR has to rally somehow. It’s dreadful to see him just lying there . . . so out of it.’

‘Keep talking to him. You have to get through to him somehow. You want me to come over?’

‘Not yet, Dingo. Thank you. I’ll let you know if there’s anything you can do.’

‘Anything. Promise?’

‘I know I can always count on you, Dingo. You’re a darling. Take care.’

Queenie knew whatever she asked Dingo he’d do without question. Elderly as he was, Dingo was still a formidable ball of energy and drive. Over the years he’d helped her in all sorts of ways with advice and moral support. Theirs was a friendship that was a blend of youth and age, of respect for each other’s skills and their love of horses and the bush. How well she remembered the night they’d ridden in the McPherson Endurance Ride the year Dingo had won it, with Queenie and TR hot on his heels. That had been the last year of the race. Dingo had moved back to the west and started a series of new projects.

Old Alf, who still ran his laid-back resort on Neptune Island in the Whitsunday Passage, had rung. ‘So what do you need, Queenie?’

‘Just your prayers at this stage, thanks, Alf. Maybe later we’ll come and recuperate on Neptune.’

Queenie’s oldest friend, Sarah, whose family the Quinns had the property next door to Tingulla, had called from Sydney where she lived with her husband John Maxwell and children Tim and Pauline. ‘Queenie . . . I hope you’re not blaming yourself in any way for TR’s accident. I know you, and just because you were down here with me at the time is no reason to start thinking you shouldn’t have left Tingulla.’

‘Oh, Sarah, I can’t help it.’ Queenie was grateful to be able to share her feelings of guilt and unhappiness with her best friend. ‘I just can’t stop wondering . . . if I hadn’t been away this might never have happened. Sarah, I just can’t bear it . . . seeing him like this. What if . . .’

‘Stop it, Queenie!’ retorted Sarah sharply. ‘No “what ifs”. Don’t even think such thoughts. Just keep willing him well. It’s probably going to be a long haul, but you’ll both get there. Never stop thinking that, Queenie.’

To everyone who knew Queenie and TR this tragedy was heartbreaking. Their love was a rare and beautiful thing. If two people deserved to be happy, they did; surely fate couldn’t conspire against them again.

But it had, and Queenie knew that despite all the kind wishes, no one could help her now. No one, not even Tango who had sat with her through the long hours, could ease the pain she was feeling. A wave of intense helplessness overcame her. Queenie was used to being in control of a situation, of taking action to solve a crisis. Here she could do nothing but wait. Suddenly she gave in to her despair and frustration, desperate racking sobs shaking her body as she rested her head on the edge of TR’s bed where he lay motionless, heedless of her tears.

Saskia arrived the next day in a flurry of nervous activity. Devastated by the news of the accident, she had rushed to Brisbane as quickly as her exams would allow.

Her initial shock at seeing TR had turned into frustration at his unchanging condition. As she made her way down the hospital corridor to his room, she tried to get her anger under control. But when she entered to find Tango standing by a silent and still unmoving TR, she could bear it no longer.

‘Now listen to me, TR, this isn’t fair. You can’t do this to us. Come back to us and get better; stop hanging around like some wet rag. Come on, TR, damn you, come back.’ Angry tears sparked in her eyes and Tango reached over and took her hand.

‘Take it easy, Sas. Getting mad won’t help,’ he said gently.

‘Why not? What else can we do?’

Tango shrugged and said quietly, ‘I’d give him my legs if it’d help him’.

Saskia melted and rushed to embrace Tango — she knew he idolised TR as much as she did. ‘Oh, you poor thing, Tango, I know how much you love him. I’m sorry. I just wish we could help both of them through this.’

Queenie came softly into the room and reached out to put her arms around her children. ‘You are, my darlings, you are.’

The three of them clung together and Saskia was first to straighten up and glance at the bed. She let out a gasp. ‘Ooh, look.’

TR’s eyes were open. He looked slightly dazed. He blinked and looked at the three adoring faces bending over him.

He licked his lips. ‘Hello,’ he managed, then looked from one to the other and asked, ‘Who are you?’

Chapter Three

In a sun-soaked square south of Florence Colin Hanlon lowered the airmail edition of the Herald Tribune and reached for his glass of Pellegrino. He had a sudden desire for a strong draught beer and a meat pie. An old woman in a long black dress swept a shadowy doorway; two young men in smart suits and dark glasses watched the movement of a young woman’s hips as she crossed the narrow cobblestone street.

Colin turned his eyes away from the woman. He was in enough trouble already. He had been thinking about his current predicament. Flight seemed the only answer. If he had his way he’d just jump on a plane and flee. But there was the problem of his wife Dina. She held the purse strings. He had to persuade her to leave Italy before she got wind of the mess with this girl. Returning to Australia until it all blew over was the obvious answer. Colin began to plot the psychological ploys he’d use to introduce his plan. For the first time in years he’d begin to talk about his childhood home. Soon he was oblivious to the sights, sounds and smells around him. He was remembering the song of a magpie in a gum tree, the feel of a strong fast horse under him, and the sight of Tingulla homestead from the grand front entrance.

He sighed. Queenie was ruling the roost these days — as she’d always wanted and their father had always intended. Colin still felt bitter. The more he began to compare his present life to that of his sister, the more a burning resentment began to build in his belly. Queenie always came up smelling like a rose no matter what blow fate dealt her. Colin didn’t like to admit it but he’d had chances and muffed them. If he’d shown more interest in the property and at least paid lip service to his father it might have been left to him instead of his sister.

He had succeeded in getting Tingulla away from Queenie once, yet had failed to make a go of it. Once the property was in his hands, it had begun to lose money rapidly. For this Colin blamed a string of bad luck, but most especially his wife Dina. It was still a taboo subject between them, each blaming the other for a failure made more bitter because Queenie had returned to Tingulla after they had left and pulled it back from the brink of ruin. For Colin, Dina’s demands were impossible to keep up with — she had no idea of what life on a huge station was about. She’d seen Tingulla as another prize possession to be acquired, a place to show off to friends, for parties, to be written about in women’s magazines with her posing prettily in the drawing room or on the verandah. Dina blamed Colin for failing to keep the place running smoothly while at the same time being at her beck and call to join her on trips to Surfers Paradise, to social events in Sydney and Melbourne, as well as on jaunts abroad. It was all thanks to her father anyway — Alfredo Camboni’s money was paying most of the bills — so Dina had called the shots.

Dina and her father’s money dominated and dictated Colin’s life. He had been involved in a string of Camboni’s failed or illegal enterprises. His personal life had sunk to debauched and squalid depths. Colin was tired and bored with la dolce vita, it was no longer a sweet life. He would tell Dina how he yearned for the healthy Australian lifestyle of his youth when everything was an adventure and opportunity beckoned. Then, in an apparent surge of homesickness, Colin would suggest they go back to Australia and start afresh.

Perhaps he would somehow make a claim on the family heritage. Why should Queenie have it all? Sure he’d been left a large sum of money and city real estate, but what was that compared to one of the biggest and best merino studs in the country? The more Colin thought about this idea the better he liked it. As well as needing to escape his current problems, Colin wanted his independence; first off, financially — he was sick of being treated like Dina’s lapdog. Then with financial independence would come personal freedom. The idea was immensely appealing.

‘Look out, Queenie!’ he said to himself. And, smirking inwardly, thought, ‘And look out, Dina’.

At that moment his wife appeared in the square with a lady friend. They carried the inevitable boutique bags. He eyed Dina critically from behind his sunglasses. She was more than voluptuous these days: the luscious dark fruit of her beauty was overripe, bursting with years of indulgence. The thick dark hair was dyed raven now to cover the bands of silver. The make-up was heavy but did little to disguise the wrinkles caused by hours beside villa pools and Riviera beaches.

She waved at Colin and joined him at the table, dropping the bags and introducing her new friend, Sylvie. ‘Order us a Campari, darling, we are so weary and hot.’

‘Shopping is such hard work, isn’t it?’ said Colin without smiling.

Dina took off her designer sunshades and her dark eyes were cold.

‘Are you being facetious, darling?’

‘Who me? Never.’ Colin signalled the handsome young waiter whose surly manner towards Colin and lazy smile at the two women made it obvious he was very aware of his sex appeal. Dina and Sylvie fluttered at him as he placed the tall glasses of ruby liquid before them with the bottles of soda and thin slices of lemon.

‘So what have you been doing, Colin?’ asked Sylvie in an attempt to thaw the frost hanging between husband and wife.

‘I’ve been mustering, racing through the outback and surfing on the Gold Coast.’

‘Scuse?’ Sylvie looked blankly towards Dina. Dina shrugged and sipped her drink.

Colin explained. ‘I was thinking about life back in Australia.’

‘You’re not homesick for that primitive place, surely. I hear it is very uncultured,’ remarked Sylvie.

‘I wonder where you heard that,’ said Colin looking at Dina, who ignored him and put her dark glasses on again. ‘Depends on what you call culture.’

‘What we have here is culture. The art in the Uffizi goes back centuries. It is magnificent,’ said Sylvie.

‘Our art goes back at least forty thousand years and is magnificent also,’ said Colin.

‘Depends on what you consider magnificent. I wouldn’t compare the clay daubings in some cave in the same class as the paintings of Botticelli,’ sniffed Dina.

‘Depends on what you call art, doesn’t it,’ grinned Colin.

‘Oh pleeze. This is too boring. Let’s decide where we’re going for lunch,’ declared Sylvie.

‘Right. Let’s not get our priorities out of order.’

‘Colin!’ snapped Dina in annoyance. ‘What is the matter with you?’

‘He’s homesick,’ joked Sylvie.

Dina peered intently at Colin. ‘This is true?’

‘Where’s home? I don’t know, Dina. I was just thinking about Australia. Maybe we should take a trip back. Your father is getting on and now he’s retired to the Gold Coast we could visit him and I could have my surf.’

‘Would that make you feel better, hey?’ She leaned over and tweaked his nose. He brushed her hand away in irritation.

‘What about your family, Colin? Where are they?’ asked Sylvie.

‘They’re dead,’ he answered shortly.

‘Not his sister. His beloved sister Queenie. He doesn’t speak to her,’ added Dina with a small smirk at Sylvie.

‘Oh?’ Sylvie was immediately interested, sensing gossip.

‘Give it a rest, Dina.’ Colin stood. ‘You girls go off to lunch. I’ll meet you back at the villa.’

‘Going for an early siesta, sweetheart?’

‘No, Dina. I have some work to do.’

‘Work? How boreeeng,’ said Sylvie.

‘He calls it work. He pushes some papers around, makes telephone calls and zips up the autostrada for meetings. I think he makes meetings just to get away from me sometimes.’ Dina pouted childishly at her younger husband who looked trim and fit beside her plump softening, though the effect Colin achieved was more by expensive tailoring than physical activity.

Looking from one to the other Sylvie began to suspect Dina felt a little insecure. She eyed Colin thoughtfully. Dina had said he was very good in bed. She wondered if there might be the opportunity to find out for herself. She knew Colin would never flagrantly cheat on Dina — it was common knowledge she held the purse strings. But judging from the subtle swift glances Colin was giving her, if they were very discreet she could find out for herself just how good a lover Dina’s husband really was.

Queenie paced one more time around the shady hospital gardens. Poinciana trees bloomed like orange and green floral-patterned parasols about the lawns. Splashed onto the green carpet were neat flowerbeds where rainbows of flowers were imprisoned behind a barricade of white painted stones. It was just too much to bear, to have TR alert and conscious yet totally unaware of who he was, where he was or who his family was.

The doctor on duty, who’d been hastily summoned when TR had regained consciousness, had peered into his eyes with a small torch and done a superficial examination, but even without the brain scan and other tests it was obvious the concussion had affected his memory. For how long was still the unanswerable question. Doctor McConnell already had him booked in with a neurosurgeon for comprehensive tests and possible exploratory surgery.

Gently they had explained to TR what had happened. They told him his name and who they all were. He had smiled politely at these strangers, but then, weary and uncomprehending, had asked to be left alone. Now that he was fully conscious he was aware of the pain from his shattered hip and leg and had a constant aching head. He was given painkillers and he slept in long dreamless spans of time. Each time he awoke it was to the same blank unknowingness.

While the hurt, frustration and fear haunted Queenie and Tango and Saskia, it was as if TR wasn’t curious or didn’t care. The physical pain and the knowledge of not being able to move at will were so overwhelming they consumed his attention.

‘This is quite normal, even with patients with no memory loss,’ the sister had said. ‘As his body starts to mend, his mind might heal too. You must be patient.’

Patience. Give it time. Only time can tell. That was all the experts could offer. Queenie hated the vagueness, the cautious doling out of information, the cloaking of the stark fact that the medical profession didn’t have a clue as to when, or even if, TR’s mind and memory might function properly again.

As she paced, Queenie tried to think laterally. What should she do? She tried to break down the giant and claustrophobic picture of the whole situation into smaller fragments and to deal with them one by one. First there was TR’s physical wellbeing. His injuries were still major and the prognosis unclear. Doctor McConnell wanted to see how well the bones knitted before considering the possibility of replacement of a bone in the hip or knee. TR’s muscles and tendons were so badly ripped that full mobility was a long way off. He would be in hospital for some time. That meant she would have to take over his work. That would be all right, he would have to explain to her where he was at with the . . . then the realisation slammed into her again. TR couldn’t tell her anything. They couldn’t talk over business matters at all. He remembered nothing.

Queenie drew a deep breath. Tango. He’d have to take over Guneda completely. She would have her hands full with Tingulla and Cricklewood. Cricklewood was their second property, further out west. Her father had acquired it and now it was a profitable prime beef producer. It carried stud bulls and Queenie had introduced new breeds, artificial insemination and an embryo implant programme.

Saskia. Saskia had to go back to university and concentrate on her veterinary studies. Queenie suspected her devoted but determined daughter would want to stay and help her, but she had to forestall that at all costs. Saskia was so impetuous. She’d insist on taking leave or deferring the university term somehow so she could help. And the irritating fact was both she and her mother knew her help would be invaluable.

Queenie brushed a hand across her eyes. She was tired and the heartache of TR’s accident lived inside her like a constant pain. She drew a deep breath and tried to focus her thoughts.

TR’s longer-term care. She had to get him out of the hospital as soon as she safely could. Queenie had been told it would be several months at least before he could be moved. She tried not to think about that. And as for the amnesia, Queenie was convinced it was only temporary. It had to be.

So that left her. She would have to divide her time between running two properties and TR in hospital hundreds of kilometres away. She knew she would have to keep well and look after her own health — she could not afford to cave in under any circumstances.

She thanked her lucky stars for the loyal and efficient workers they had on all three places. Tango and TR had trained the staff at Guneda well. Mick, their head jockey who helped train the thoroughbreds, had two strappers and two other young riders and stablehands under his wing. The slightly built Aboriginal jockey who looked like he’d blow away in a faint wind had a powerful reputation having won the Melbourne Cup on their star stallion, Sweet William. From the shy young bush jockey the legendary trainer Bobby Fenton had brought along to be a winning rider, Mick had developed into a gentle but iron-willed taskmaster.

Millie and Ruthie in the house and Jim, Snowy and Ernie on the property were invaluable at Tingulla. Ernie spent a lot of time at Cricklewood and had graduated from stockman to stock manager. The handsome Aborigine still loved the hands-on dealing with stock at Tingulla but had done a few courses and now spent several hours a week doing the paperwork.

Queenie decided, however, that she’d better send another hand over to Cricklewood. Too many beasts were about to give birth and a muster was looming. Feed had been good, the steers had gained weight and were nearly ready for sale. The surrogate mothers carrying the valuable implanted embryos were also near to birthing.

And then there would be shearing at Tingulla. They’d been so busy, TR had given her a quick hug and said they’d have to sit down and discuss future projections for all three properties very soon. Queenie sighed. When would that be now? And when his memory came back would it be complete or would there be gaps?

So many fears and questions crammed into her mind. Again she addressed these. The doctors here were concerned with dealing with TR’s condition; they told her as much as they thought she needed to know, reluctant to admit they simply didn’t have all the answers. Queenie decided she would find the best neurosurgeon in the country and talk through her situation with him so that she had some inkling of what to expect.

Queenie sighed and looked around her. She had wandered to the very bottom section of the beautiful grounds of the old hospital. The Brisbane River, even though an unattractive sludge colour, shone in the sunlight; magnificent old trees lined its bank and a team of school oarsmen sculled swiftly past, the knife-thin craft barely leaving a wake.

Having sorted through the pieces of the dreadful picture of her life, Queenie felt no better, but she felt a little more in control. Slowly she was gathering the reins and somehow she would steer them all through this nightmare until TR was well and himself once more. She ignored the swift thought — would he ever be totally himself again? — and squared her shoulders, lifted her chin and turned away from the river back towards the hospital buildings. Despite the determination in the set of her body and her purposeful strides, her heart ached and she felt deeply lonely.

Queenie had stood on her own two feet since she was a young woman when, after the death of her parents, she had taken over the running of the family properties; but with TR at her side these past years, she had felt comforted and, while not dependent, it was a joy to know she had someone she could turn to in times of confusion and doubt. Queenie knew she had the greatest support from Millie and Jim and the love of Saskia and Tango, but she always felt she had to be strong for them, and it was difficult to lean on them and appear vulnerable. It was at rare moments like this that she longed for her family. The gentleness and caring understanding of her loving mother Rose, and the wisdom and humour of her father Patrick had left their mark, but oh, how she missed them.

Alone in the shuttered bedroom of their rented villa, yet another in a succession of European homes, Colin slumped into a chair moderno picked out by Dina. It might be an example of avant-garde Italian design, but it was damned uncomfortable, he thought crossly.

Colin ran his fingers through his hair. Where the hell had his life gone so wrong? He had no money of his own — he was dependent on his wife for everything, and she never let him forget it. Now he had a pregnant girl on his hands. How different things might have been had he become the master of Tingulla.

Colin had always taken it for granted that as the only son he would inherit the family properties — during the fifties daughters didn’t figure in the division of property. But then most girls weren’t like Queenie. Her tie with Tingulla was forged in steel, bred into her veins from birth. When they were quite young she’d talked about Tingulla in a way he never truly understood or shared. His father had recognised this and broken with tradition. Recalling the letter Patrick had left to him in his will, Colin realised that his father had also known Tingulla was not in Colin’s blood as it was in Queenie’s.

Colin had a jealous and possessive nature and his anger and resentment of Queenie’s bond with their father had seethed within him for years, made worse after the death of their mother when he was away at college and Queenie had supported their father physically and emotionally. When it became public knowledge that Queenie could outride, outshoot and outwit most men in the country, he’d been teased endlessly and had found the Hanlon name impossible to live up to.

Colin swore to himself and leapt angrily to his feet. He didn’t know how, or how long it would take, but he was determined to get even with his sister and get back what was his. Queenie had had it too easy for too long, now his time had come.

Chapter Four

Queenie sat in a deep leather armchair in the darkly panelled room where floor-to-ceiling windows were shrouded in tasselled drapes and serious medical tomes lined three walls. An antique glass-fronted cabinet held a skull, the vertebrae of a human spine and a plastic replica of the human brain. There was unidentifiable matter in glass jars of what she assumed to be formaldehyde, but she swiftly averted her gaze from these. The room was a movie-set version of Sigmund Freud’s office.

Doctor Kleindorf was short and balding with a silver goatee, rimless round glasses, fleshy red lips and watery eyes. He was dressed in a pinstriped suit, polka dot bow tie, and his main accessory was a fob watch on a heavy gold chain. A small circular gold pin with a dot of sapphire in its centre signified he had been awarded the Order of Australia. Queenie had no doubt braces held up suit pants that were creased knife-sharp.

The room was claustrophobic and depressing. She wondered how patients suffering from depression must feel in here. She almost wished she hadn’t made the appointment and flown to Melbourne to see the man considered to be Australia’s most eminent neurosurgeon and neuropsychologist.

As if sensing her feelings of disquiet, Kleindorf began speaking softly and it took a few minutes for Queenie’s ear to adjust to his voice. ‘I have studied your husband’s X-rays and medical report. It does seem a somewhat straightforward matter . . .’

‘Straightforward! I wouldn’t say . . .’

‘I was referring to his physical injuries, my dear. I understand how distressing the effects of it all must be. But frankly, post-traumatic amnesia is quite common as a result of the sort of head trauma your husband has suffered. So, we can consider this aspect as being a positive one, yes?’ He gave a strange chuckle, which Queenie soon realised was a form of punctuation to his speech and had the curious effect of seeming to minimise the seriousness of the words he spoke. It occurred to her it was rather like a judge sentencing you to forty years behind bars. The words, delivered in a friendly tone with this chuckle, made you feel positively warm and glow with pleasure. After all, it could have been life. A clever psychological ploy no doubt, thought Queenie, trying to concentrate on what the doctor was saying.

‘Two brain areas are most vulnerable to injury with closed-head trauma — the inferior-medial and anterior segments of the temporal lobes, and the inferior and polar areas of the frontal lobes bilaterally.’

‘Doctor, please, speak English. Tell me in plain words what I want to know . . . namely, how bad is my husband’s problem, will he recover and if so, when, and what can I expect during this process?’

‘Not even God can give you a time and a date or a full and accurate prognosis, my dear.’ He held up a pudgy white hand. ‘Please allow me to continue and explain a few things to you. A little more understanding will help you come to terms with his disorder.’

Queenie relaxed and let his whispery accent lecture her.

‘Be glad that in recent years the study of memory problems has surged due to our increasing interest in dementia. We have an ageing population that is living longer than in any previous time. We have come a long way in these studies since the Russian physician Korsakow made his findings and Ebbinghaus started a new era of investigation into memory. Today we have fields such as cognitive psychology.’ He chuckled. ‘We all possess a collection of individually acquired, learned and stored information particular to each of us. Our ability to retrieve at will selective portions of this reservoir of personal and formal knowledge is an unique human attribute. I won’t go into the types of memory function — such as repression and immediate recall, learning and retrieval — but let me say that with closed-head injury a variable degree of improvement occurs with the passage of time. Rest assured the memories and knowledge stored by your husband remain intact. It is his ability to retrieve these that is impaired. Long-standing social habits, motor skills, language and so on are undamaged — they are virtually automatic skills.’

‘That’s all very well, but if he has no recollection of his past life it makes dealing with the present very difficult,’ said Queenie sadly.

The doctor agreed with a chuckle. ‘Now, what your husband is suffering from is known as retrograde amnesia. He may have permanent amnesia — either partial or total. There are instances where total recovery has been spontaneous, others where recovery has been gradual and sporadic. Often there is some learning loss or impaired function to a lesser or greater degree.’ Kleindorf spread his hands and lifted his shoulders. ‘That is the unfathomable quotient — the fate factor’.

‘There is no treatment, no drugs?’

‘None proven for this type of amnesia. If it had been brought on by alcoholism we could give vitamin B and proteins, but for a severe bang on the head . . .’ Kleindorf looked mournful and made a helpless gesture again.

Queenie looked down at her hands, gripping them together in her lap. ‘There is nothing I can do?’

‘I believe there is, my dear.’ He chuckled again and Queenie looked up hopefully. ‘You can prepare yourself for what may be inevitable — that your husband may never recover. So you will have to re-educate him totally. In other words, give him back his past.’

‘It would never be the same!’

‘It will make life with him more bearable for you and your family. And in the meantime, you must prepare yourself for his times of confusion and agitation. It’s not going to be easy for you, Mrs Hamilton, but I rather feel that you are not the sort of person who gives up easily.’

The doctor pulled the fob watch from his vest pocket and glanced at it. ‘Our time together is now over. If you have any further questions you want answered, do not hesitate to telephone me.’ He stood and Queenie rose also, towering over the short doctor who seemed unfazed at his reduced stature.

He led her to the door. ‘My dear,’ he said with warmth, ‘have faith and perseverance and I’m sure good will come from this.’

Queenie felt reassured. ‘Thank you, Doctor Kleindorf . . . And you’re right — I don’t give up easily.’

‘Then your husband is very fortunate. I wish you both well. Good day, Mrs Hamilton.’

Queenie held what TR always called a board meeting when there was a family matter to be discussed. In the rented unit at Riverside Terrace overlooking the Brisbane River, the three of them sat around the dining room table as Saskia dished up the takeaway Chinese meal.

‘ . . . So that’s the essence of what Kleindorf had to say, he was very clinical.’

‘Well at least we know a bit more now. But what’s the next step?’ asked Tango.

‘You two have to go back to work.’

‘No! You need us. And we can help with TR,’ exclaimed Saskia.

‘Sas, he won’t be out of hospital for months, with or without amnesia. There is little we can do for him just yet. The doctors and nurses are caring for him.’

‘But we can’t not be with him!’

‘Sas, he doesn’t know us. He’s not missing us,’ said Tango gently.

Saskia put down the plastic tub of fried rice, tears springing to her eyes. ‘We can make him know us and love us again.’

Queenie touched her arm. ‘I know how you feel, darling. And that’s what we might have to do. Give him back his past, as Doctor Kleindorf said. But for now he’s having a hard enough time dealing with the day-to-day discomfort and pain. Sweetie, he might have to learn to walk again too.’

‘Oh God!’ Tango let out his breath in anguish. ‘Oh no!’

Queenie took hold of Saskia’s and Tango’s hands on either side of her. ‘We’re going to pull him through this, kids. I swear to you, we’ll do it. We’ll get him back, no matter what,’ She spoke with fervent power, gripping their hands, her eyes burning with passionate determination. Looking at her, feeling the strength and energy flowing through her hands, Saskia and Tango believed her. In the brief silence they bowed their heads spontaneously, all thinking their own heartfelt prayer.

A calmness settled on Queenie and she gently let go of their hands. ‘Let’s eat.’

Late one afternoon before he left for Guneda, Tango was sitting by his father’s bedside. TR awoke from a long sleep and Tango fetched them both a cup of tea.

TR peered at the black tea with lemon. ‘This is how I like it, eh?’

Tango grinned. ‘You always said it was spending so much time in the bush with black billy tea and damper.’

‘Yeah, can’t carry milk around the bush. Can’t stand that powdered stuff, it . . .’

‘ . . . goes lumpy,’ they both said together.

They stared at one another.

‘Is that what I’ve said before or are we just thinking alike?’ asked TR.

‘Bit of both,’ said Tango. ‘Guess there’s a lot of stuff you know that you don’t know you know . . . for the time being anyway.’

TR closed his eyes. ‘I’m really trying not to think about . . . all that. It’s a bit hard for a bloke to take in. I feel so damned busted up.’

‘Yes, and so you are. I just wanted to let you know I’m going back to Guneda. We have the yearling sales coming up and you know . . .’ Tango paused. ‘I was going to say, you know what a busy time for us that is. Do you remember anything about the horses or Mick or Bobby Fenton . . . ?’

TR shook his head.

‘Guneda?’

TR looked blank then winced in pain and rubbed his leg encased in plaster beneath the sheet.

‘Do you want me to tell you about Guneda?’ asked Tango. ‘It means a lot to you.’

TR looked despairing. ‘Not now. I’m just not ready to take anything in. None of you, the people, places, things you talk about, mean anything. Christ, I wish it’d just come back.’ He hit his head in anger and frustration.

Tango put his hand on TR’s good arm. ‘It will. Take it easy, TR. One day at a time. I’ll phone you and come and see you when I can. Though Guneda is down near Scone so I can’t pop in and out as often as I’d like, but I’ll call you.’

‘Don’t know what we’re going to talk about,’ said TR irritably.

Tango stilled the anger that flared at his father’s attitude. He paused then spoke in a steady voice. ‘Let’s assume we’ve just met, we like each other and I’d like to share some of the stuff going on in my life with you. You just be a sounding board, and we’ll see how we get along. Okay?’

TR reached up and held out his hand. They shook hands. ‘It’s a deal.’

As Tango left the room, his heart lurching, TR said, ‘Good luck, son, with whatever it is you’re doing. You seem like a capable bloke. I don’t think you need me.’

Tango lifted a finger in a small salute and closed the door, near to tears. ‘Oh yes I do, TR. If you only knew how much . . . how much we all need you.’

TR turned his head away as the door clicked shut. These people, his family, who were they? What was this life he’d led? Behind him lay a past of memories he could not recall. Ahead lay a future that held only uncertainty. The pressure of having to appear interested, to try to make sense of what everyone told him, was becoming intolerable. All he wanted was for his body to heal, for the pain to go away; then maybe he could start to come to terms with his past — and his future. The way he felt now, if he was physically able, he’d walk out the door and go far away where he wasn’t known, where nothing was expected of him, where he could lead a life of his own choosing. At the moment he felt helpless, like a baby, a victim, an invalid.

A surge of anger swept through him and he longed to kick the metal tray away from the foot of his bed, to throw something, but he couldn’t move and he had no way of adequately expressing his frustration and anger. He rang the buzzer and asked for a pill. Oblivion was all he craved, a black dreamless state that passed in too brief a time. But always there was the hope that when he awoke, his life would be as it was.

Chapter Five

The ground temperature at Brisbane airport had edged over the thirty-two degree mark. The departing silver jets evaporated in the shimmering heat haze in a matter of seconds.

In the international terminal a crowd surged forward each time a new batch of passengers came through the doors from the customs hall.

A chauffeur in black uniform and sparkling white shirt held a small sign with Camboni-Hanlon written on it.

‘Thank heavens, there’s the driver Pappa has sent.’ Dina waved her handbag and hurried forward, leaving Colin to struggle with the baggage trolley laden with designer suitcases.

Colin had managed to convince Dina that an extended trip to Australia would be good for both of them. She hadn’t taken much persuasion — she hadn’t seen her doting father for months. Within days of making their decision, they had packed up and flown out of Italy, leaving servants to close up house and send their possessions on after them.

Colin sat in the front of the limousine as half the back seat held the last of Dina’s bags that wouldn’t fit in the boot. Dina pulled her silk blouse away from her clammy skin. ‘Colin, get him to turn up the air-conditioning, I’m still hot.’

Colin looked at the driver, who shrugged and reached to work the control lever in the dashboard.

The long dark car glided past the entrance to the domestic, private and charter aircraft terminals where taxis and cars were double-parked amidst a melee of passengers and luggage. Suddenly Colin leaned forward and turned sharply. A tall young man was getting out of a taxi, slinging a bag casually over one shoulder, an old bush hat tilted down over his face. Something about his looks, his movements, caught Colin’s attention, but in a second they’d passed him. He was a young man; the man whose image had flashed into Colin’s mind would be older now.

‘I’m seeing ghosts,’ Colin thought, leaning back in his seat. The memory of TR brought back bitter feelings, for Colin blamed TR as much as Queenie for usurping his place at Tingulla.

Tango went to the counter of the small airline and greeted the woman behind the desk with a smile and ‘G’day’. She smiled brightly back at him. ‘Hi there. You’re going to Scone, right? Won’t be long. Just waiting for one more passenger.’

Tango was excited but also nervous at taking over Guneda. It was a showplace thanks to TR’s hard work and inspiration. When Clayton Hindmarsh — TR’s former American boss and subsequent partner — had told TR to build ‘the smartest damn stud in all Australia’, the Kentucky billionaire had imagined TR would model it on Bon Vite, the grandest horse stud in the whole of the South. But TR had created a wonderful blend of the best facilities of international standards that also had a typical, unmistakable Australian character and charm. He had combined factors that were both practical and aesthetic.

He drew on the past for architectural ideas that gave the classic heritage look of pioneer buildings for sentimental reasons but also because the early bush men and women devised buildings and work areas that suited the climate and lifestyle. The main house was a gracious squatter’s homestead with cool verandahs, lots of lattice, shady trees and big fireplaces in the sitting room and kitchen. Old-fashioned English flowerbeds flourished around the house and colourful shrubs and rose bushes lined the driveway. In the paddocks mares and foals gambolled in the sunshine behind neat white fences.

The stallions were housed in immaculate state-of-the-art quarters on the other side of the property, which was broken up by a two-kilometre racetrack and large swimming dam used for exercising the horses. Some of the staff were housed in what used to be an old shearing shed. The bleached grey solid wood building had been carefully dismantled, each of the hundred-year-old slabs was numbered, and the lot moved to Guneda and reerected. But inside it was very comfortable and stylish. An open-plan communal living area had furniture made by a local craftsman out of hardwood, normally scorned by furniture makers, but the spotted gum tables and chairs were strong yet delicately shaped. Bedrooms slept four — men at one end, women at the other — though sometimes strappers chose to sleep with a horse if it was about to foal or had been unwell. There was a special bunk room attached to each of the horse’s stalls for this purpose. Old Bobby Fenton had spent nights rolled in hay beside Sweet William when they were on the road to Melbourne for the Cup and TR and Tango had never forgotten it.

In fact, many of old Bobby’s somewhat unorthodox methods had been adopted at Guneda. It was an eternal sadness to TR that the old man he’d brought back from retirement in suburbia to work with him was no longer alive to see what Guneda had become. TR also missed his advice and the knowledge acquired by someone who had worked closely with horses for over sixty years. And now Tango missed the advice, companionship and love of TR.

For a moment running Guneda seemed overwhelming. Even if TR didn’t realise how much it meant to him at the moment, he had created the place. He’d poured so much of himself into it, Tango felt the responsibility of caring for, as well as continuing it, quite daunting. But the feeling gradually passed and he began to look forward to the challenge ahead.

The limousine turned onto the Gold Coast Highway and headed south towards Coolangatta. Dina dozed in the back until they were skimming past the sun-drenched towers of Surfers Paradise when she suddenly became alert.

‘Wonderful, wonderful. It looks like Honolulu, doesn’t it, caro?’ Dina gushed with enthusiasm.

Colin shrugged. He was distracted, thinking about his reunion with his father-in-law. Alfredo had hinted there could be some interesting opportunities for him in the family business — it would be useful to earn some money while he worked out how to deal with Queenie.

At Broadwater the car turned off the Pacific Highway and drove past a park on the ocean side which faced a row of white blocks of beachside units with names like Tropicale, Oceania, Sea Breeze and Pacifica. Another turn or two and beachfront became lagoon, then man-made marina. A towering fence of flagpoles flew brightly coloured flags, each with a picture of water sports, leisure activities, flowers or dolphins.

The units gave way to pale pink luxury blocks screened by palms. The grassy verge seemed an almost unnatural green. Two large white pillars in the shape of lighthouses formed a gateway and a gold-lettered sign announced they had entered the precincts of The Waterways.

An artificial canal with speedboats and launches moored at small jetties ran parallel to the road until it opened into The Waterways marina proper. A large, mostly glass building hung over the water, housing the floating restaurant and boutiques filled with nautical gear, expensive fishing tackle and boating accessories. There were several other shops, including a gelato bar, and offices of charter fishing, boat hire, sightseeing and yachting companies. Long finger wharves jutted into the water with berths for large, expensive, high-tech motor cruisers and yachts.

‘Ooh, I like that blue and white one,’ exclaimed Dina as they drove past. Colin didn’t answer. Radiating from the Marina in neat lines were the streets of The Waterways. The chauffeur navigated along Atlantic, off Cape Horn and into Bay of Islands, passing large private homes, and swept under the portico of Bali Hai, a vaguely Balinese-inspired block of four exclusive apartments.

Alfredo Camboni, now widowed, had the penthouse and was cared for by a valet, a daily housekeeper and the occasional girlfriend, though these lady friends were rarely there to cook or clean for the ageing Lothario. They were skilled at having a good time and Alfredo, with a heavy-lidded wink, maintained that they kept him young.

Despite losing a small fortune in a housing scheme some years earlier, Alfredo, with his resourceful connections among what Colin called the Calabrian cognoscenti, appeared to have recouped enough to lead a lavish life and indulge his passion for racing and gambling. His only child, Andina, had always been the apple of his eye. His friends within the close-knit Italian community elevated their sons to share their status and power, relegating the women to domestic roles and the background of their business lives. But Alfredo and Dina were an unusual pair. Alfredo shared more about his professional and personal affairs with Dina than he did with his partners or had done with his wife when she was alive. He’d adored his pretty daughter since she was a child and had made her the most important person in his life. A strong son-in-law would not have sat well with Alfredo. And Dina was not about to let a husband come between her and her indulgent father. Alfredo tolerated Colin, but the Australian boy from the bush had always been an outsider in the clannish Italian family.

Dina and Colin ascended towards the penthouse in silence after a snippy altercation over the luggage in the lobby. As the padded leather doors slid open at the top floor, Colin braced a bag to keep the doors open as he dragged the rest from the lift. Dina sailed ahead to the double white doors with gold handles and Penthouse inscribed in gold gothic script. Chimes rang as the valet opened both doors and Dina swept in towards her father. The valet was about to close the doors when he saw Colin struggling with the bags and went to help.

‘Cara, Andina, bella mia . . .’

When Colin came in he tried not to recoil as the garlicky breath of Camboni blew on one side of his face, then the other, as he too was embraced.

‘My children. Sit. Gino has opened the champagne. A glass to toast a welcome. I miss my family. I am glad you have come back to this lonely old man.’

He hadn’t seemed so lonely in the company of a buxom blonde when he’d been in Europe last summer, thought Colin, sipping his drink. This is a pretty swish place, Alfredo,’ he commented, walking from the all white apartment out onto the balcony. The long terrace was filled with white wrought-iron furniture and plastic pot plants and palms. Why plastic? thought Colin. This is the tropics. The view was spectacular, sweeping across the marina in one direction and the hinterland in the other.

Camboni appeared behind him. ‘I like the sun. This place does. After my good wife died — may Mary, Jesus and Joseph care and protect her — I had no more heart for Sydney. And it rained a lot. I have family and friends here and I do a little business here and there.’ He shrugged and went back inside to refill his glass, topping up Dina’s as she kicked off her shoes and curled up on the white leather sofa. ‘You get more like your mama every day, cara,’ he said to her with fondness.

Christ, I hope not, thought Colin, then turned back inside. ‘What sort of business, Alfredo?’

‘I still have connections with my wine import business which I sold, but I deal with some of the clubs and restaurants here. There is another casino being mooted and I might get involved with that, and I have kept a few racing interest . . .’ He smiled a broad and insincere smile. ‘A little of this, a little of that,’ he said enigmatically. ‘This is the Gold Coast, there is gold here to be found one way or another. I might be able to put a little business your way.’

‘I understand,’ said Colin quietly, knowing what the evasive and glib comments meant.

‘So what are your plans?’ Alfredo sat heavily beside his daughter, the leather squeaking as he settled his bulk.

Colin looked down at them and nearly burst out laughing. In the all white apartment, Alfredo was wearing white slacks and a white silk shirt unbuttoned to reveal coils of matted grey hair on his deeply tanned chest where a heavy gold chain lay in the folds of skin at his neck. White shoes, white socks, a gold watch and silver hair, but his eyes were still dark and hard to read. Unwittingly Dina also wore a white silk skirt and white blouse, the coloured Gucci scarf now removed and knotted on the gold handle of her straw handbag, also by Gucci. She too wore a lot of Cartier gold and suddenly to Colin they looked like matching Christmas ornaments.

‘Yes, darling, what are they?’ asked Dina.

‘Sorry, what’s what?’ asked Colin as the Camboni father and daughter stared up at him.

‘Are you jet lagged? Plans. Pappa wants to know our plans.’

‘That’s up to you, my sweet. I thought it would be nice for you to see your father again. And I have some family matters to take care of . . . no special plans.’

Dina looked at him with arched brows. ‘Family matters? The first I have heard of this.’

‘It’s nothing important. Well, it’s financial, I’m thinking of consolidating my position.’ Colin gave a thin smile. ‘Just a bit of a cashflow situation.’ He turned to Alfredo. ‘Dina is very good at shopping.’ The flippant remark didn’t come out as light-heartedly as he’d intended.

Camboni frowned. ‘You can’t deny the ladies their little shopping trips. Keeps them happy. And if the women are happy, they keep their men happy. Isn’t that what your mother taught you, Dina?’

‘Si, Pappa.’

Give them money to go out and spend up and they don’t make waves about the mistress, thought Colin. Or they allow the old boy his monthly sexual favour.

Dina was glaring at him as if reading his thoughts. Colin smiled tightly and put down his glass. ‘Maybe I am a bit tired after the flight. I might take a shower. We’ll talk more later, there’s no rush,’ he said easily, and escaped to the guest suite.

He stretched out on the bed as the low murmur of Italian conversation drifted from the sitting room. Colin could speak Italian well now but he didn’t bother to listen. He closed his eyes. He’d been truthful, he had little money of his own and what he earned Dina spent. It was time he re-established his own currency.

Queenie sat by TR’s bedside where he lay asleep. She stared at this man she loved so deeply, knowing intimately every detail of his face and body. How she missed him. She missed his physical presence in her life but most of all she missed his company, his emotional support, his laughter. This blank wall she faced when he stared through her was more painful than if he’d hit her.

Queenie felt tears overwhelming her and she bowed her head, resting it on the bed beside TR’s shoulder. He stirred in his drug-induced sleep and slowly moved his mobile arm and gently stroked the top of Queenie’s head, running his hand down the silky length of her hair fanned around her head and shoulder and spilling onto the bed. His familiar and gentle touch was like a calming waterfall washing over her. Gradually she lifted her head, her eyes full of love, a smile hovering at her lips. TR’s eyes fluttered open and he stared at her for a second, then realising his hand was resting on her hair he snatched it away, a look of confused embarrassment sweeping over him.

The pain was almost unbearable for Queenie. She grabbed his hand. ‘TR, please, it’s me . . .Queenie.’ She gripped his fingers but he pulled away.

‘No! I’m sorry. I just can’t understand all this.’ He looked at her with shifting eddies of fear and panic in his eyes. ‘You’re a beautiful woman, I’m sure any man would love you, but 1 just don’t know you.’ He closed his eyes again and in a pained quiet voice added, ‘And I don’t know me’.

Queenie couldn’t speak for a moment, her throat constricted, and she delved in her handbag to hide her confusion. Taking a deep breath, she brought out a small parcel and unwrapped it. There were several photographs in silver frames and an envelope of loose ones.

‘This is our wedding picture.’ She put the framed picture by his bed. TR stared at the two of them looking into each other’s eyes, smiling with such an expression of love and happiness it made the viewer seem an interloper on this private and joyful moment.

‘These are pictures of Tingulla. This is Millie and Jim. Here’s Snowy . . .’ She handed him the photos, which he took with his good hand, glanced at and put to one side. It was obvious they meant nothing to him.

Queenie quickly gathered them up, anguish etched on her face. ‘I just thought . . . Never mind.’ She put them back in the envelope.

‘Leave them . . . I’ll look at them again later.’ He saw how hurt she was — her eyes were wet with tears.

‘Perhaps I should leave you alone for a little while. To give you time to adjust . . . ’

‘Yes, maybe that would be best. Go back to your station . . . Tin . . . ?’

‘Gulla. Tingulla,’ she replied. God, how could he not remember? she thought.

‘Yes. Tingulla. It’s just that I feel overwhelmed.’

Queenie stood. ‘I’ll be checking with the sister and Doctor McConnell. But I will come and see you again soon.’ She reached out and touched his arm. ‘TR, you are very loved. Never forget that and never feel alone. We are your family and we are here to help you.’

He nodded. It was an awkward and unsatisfactory farewell. Queenie quietly left the room, her heart ready to burst.

TR turned his head and stared at the photo on the small cabinet by his bed. Two people looked with love at each other, but they were strangers to him.

Queenie’s sorrow hadn’t lifted when she drove up the driveway to the homestead, but seeing the land spread around her, knowing the work to be done, filled her with resolve, and once she began thinking of the tasks ahead, her energy and spirit were renewed. TR would return to Tingulla and things would be as they were. In the meantime, it was one day at a time.

Millie was first to greet her, rushing down the steps as a smiling Ruthie hovered in the doorway. ‘Why don’ you ever tell a soul when you is coming, Queenie? Just turn up. How come you don’t fly back?’ She hugged her as she got out of the car. ‘So how is he?’

‘About the same.’ Queenie reached for her bag. ‘I flew to Longreach and decided to drive out. I needed time to think a bit. I borrowed this truck from the stock and station blokes in town. I said Jim and I’d get it back to them in a day or so.’

‘No worries, luv. Jim is at the sheds. I’ll put the kettle on, you look exhausted.’ She took Queenie’s bag from her and handed it to Ruthie. ‘Take this upstairs, luv, and go and get a message to the men that the missus is back.’

By the time Queenie had showered, put on her favourite moleskin pants and a clean shirt and avoided paying close attention to TR’s clothes and belongings, Millie had tea and pikelets set out in the kitchen. When Queenie came in, Jim rose to greet her with a warm hug and Snowy came through the screen door, scraping his hat from his head, a smile lighting up his face.

Over the steaming cups of tea Queenie tried to explain as best she could TR’s current situation and unclear prognosis. ‘So until he is physically well enough to be moved back here we’ll just have to carry on without him. Tango will manage Guneda and Sas has her nose back in her books, though being closest to the hospital she’ll visit him as often as she can.’

‘You’ve managed this place before on your own,’ said Millie firmly.

‘We didn’t have such a huge merino programme under way then, Millie, and Cricklewood wasn’t a fully functioning cattle station,’ sighed Queenie.

‘You want more men?’ asked Jim.

‘It’s not the hands so much as the brain power — keeping track of every little thing, making decisions all the time.’

‘You’ll manage, Queenie. You’ve got good people here; they’ll all be pulling extra hard, we’ll make sure of that,’ said Jim.

‘I appreciate everyone sharing the workload. I want the people that work for us to wake up in the morning and start planning their working day, not wait around for orders. TR isn’t here and I can’t be everywhere at once. It all seems such a lot to do without TR.’ Queenie’s mouth trembled.

‘It just seems a lot at the moment because you’re worried about him and you’re probably run down. I bet you haven’t been sleeping proper,’ said Millie, refilling the teapot with hot water. ‘You’ll see, tomorrow morning things will look better. You’ll sleep well tonight, now you’re home.’

‘Tingulla spirits out there keepin’ watch,’ declared Snowy, taking another pikelet smeared with butter and jam.

And that night, whether it was being back in her own bed — despite the absence of TR — or being under the stars that watched over Tingulla, Queenie fell asleep swiftly and slept soundly.

The next morning she rose at dawn and went down to the stables; but seeing Honey and Star rubbing their heads against the railing, frisky and fidgety, her normal pleasure waned. Conflicting emotions washed over her: pleasure at being back and with her horses, but pain at what had happened to TR. Queenie sighed, patted the velvety nose of Honey and turned away, deciding not to ride this morning. She went instead to the dogs and let Spike off his chain. TR’s blue cattle dog sniffed her carefully then looked about questioningly.

The boss isn’t here, Spike,’ she said, rubbing his speckled head.

Spike went to the horses and sniffed around the yards. Finding no trace of his master, he walked back to his place beneath a tree and lay in the dust.

After breakfast Queenie talked to the stud manager before inspecting the best of the merino rams. Queenie parted the deep fleece, fingering the white and cream blanket of ultrasoft strands. Each imperious ram with its coiled horns stood calmly, seeming to know it carried a small fortune on its back and in its loins.

‘They’re ready, I reckon,’ she said.

‘We’ve sort of been waiting for TR to get back,’ he said hesitantly.

‘That’s not going to be for some time, so let’s make next week definite. I assume the shearing team is booked?’ said Queenie briskly.

The manager nodded.

‘And everyone is happy using the wide combs? No more hassles from the Darlington mob?’

‘Nope. Everyone’s switched over now. Makes a lot more sense. They’ve settled down all right.’

‘Good. I have enough on my plate, I don’t want any more problems. If there are any, you deal with them. Okay?’

Queenie continued her tour of inspection and close to lunchtime came across Snowy inspecting an irrigation plant. ‘Problem, Snowy?’

‘Everythin’s okay. Just checkin’. Good ting we put in that big top dam — plenty water for feed now.’

‘So long as the rains come.’ Queenie stared off into the blue distance.

‘You feelin’ better, Queenie?’

Queenie nodded. The old man eyed her closely. ‘You bin through some rough times.’

‘Why is life so hard, Snowy? I thought I’d made it through the bad country and was on the smooth track.’

‘Sometime we need remindin’ dat we need rain as well as sunshine. He’ll come through, Queenie, but sometimes you gotta follow the mornin’ star.’

‘What do you mean, Snowy?’

‘Remember when you was just a little kid, ’n’ you git stranded in dat bad bad storm ’n’ lost yer horse?’

‘Pegasus. He was badly injured and I had to shoot him. I’ll never forget that night. You found me, Snowy.’

‘I found you ‘cause I followed the mornin’ star. It your totem that fella.’

‘You mean like my guiding light?’ Queenie smiled at the serious-faced old man. ‘I thought totems were animals and plants and the land.’

‘Sometimes. But for you dat little fella out there watches over you. He there every mornin’, even if you don’ see ’im.’

‘The morning star is Venus, symbol of love. I like that idea, Snowy.’

‘Keep followin’’im. Dat way you always stay on right track — go forward.’ Snowy nodded. ‘Yep. You gonna be all right, Queenie, ‘cause I’ll always be lookin’ out for you. Old Snowy never wrong.’

Queenie reached out and put a hand on his shoulder. ‘Thanks, Snowy,’ she said softly, both knowing the two words said much. In her heart she knew that he would always be watching over her, just like her morning star, and that gave her great strength and comfort.

Chapter Six

Colin stepped from his rented Audi and handed the keys to the valet outside the restaurant. If it hadn’t been for the young man’s broad Aussie accent — ‘How long d’ya reckon you’ll be, mate?’ — he felt he could have been back in Italy. La Venezia Trattoria was built as a Mediterranean villa with genuine southern Italian cooking served by waiters who looked and sounded genuine too, even if the look was Calabrian as interpreted by Hollywood.

He was ushered through the bistro to the garden at the rear where thick grape and bougainvillea vines clung to pergolas, shading the private courtyard. Alfredo Camboni was already there, dressed in white, wearing heavy-rimmed dark glasses. His companions at the table were two men and a woman. No introductions were needed as far as the giggly, busty redhead was concerned. Ex-showgirl, bimbo city, thought Colin as Camboni rose to greet him.

‘I’m sorry, am I late?’ asked Colin apologetically.

Alfredo brightly dismissed the thought. ‘No, no. We had a little business meeting before you came, now we can enjoy lunch . . . and talk a little business too. This is Signor Cuomo, Antonio Cuomo.’

‘Call me Tony,’ he said in a heavy accent. He wore a black silk turtleneck beneath a black cashmere sports jacket, both obviously from an expensive Italian designer. But the exquisite tailoring couldn’t hide his bulky muscles. This was a man who used his fists as well as his wits, thought Colin. There was a definite sense of menace behind the smooth smile.

‘And this is Georgy,’ grinned Alfredo. ‘George Bannerman, known as Georgy as in Georgy Porgy pudding and pie . . . si?’

‘Kissed the girls and made them cry, eh?’ added Colin as Alfredo expected him to do, and everyone laughed. As they shook hands there was no mistaking this man was an Australian. He had the grip of a fence-post strainer, the look of too much sun and beer, and he wore trousers by Fletcher Jones and a discreetly checked shirt by Pelaco.

‘G’day, Colin,’ he said affably.

They all settled themselves at the table once more. ‘Grappa or beer?’ asked Alfredo.

‘A cold Pilsner thanks,’ said Colin quietly to the waiter.

‘Back in the land of good beer,’ said Georgy, lifting his own beer in salute.

‘And a few other good things. I’ve been away some years. The place is getting pretty civilised,’ Colin observed, gesturing around the restaurant. You on the land?’

‘Yeah, how’d ya guess?’ Georgy roared with laughter. ‘I grow a few horses, mix around the racing circuit a bit. Got a small place out the back of Tamworth.’

Racing, that explained his connection with Camboni. Colin looked questioningly at Tony but Alfredo cut in smoothly. ‘Before we exchange the small talk, do you want to order anything speciale or do you trust me? They know me here, it will be good if we leave it to them.’

The other men folded their menus and handed them to the waiter. ‘That was easy,’ said Georgy with relief. ‘I only know spaghetti bolognaise.’

While they waited for the antipasto they talked about the Gold Coast and the promise and excitement of its rapid expansion and development.

‘There are many opportunities here, in many areas,’ said Tony, an observation clearly directed at Colin.

‘And what interests you?’ responded Colin.

‘I’m a developer. Everything interests me,’ he said with an easy smile. ‘At the moment I am involved in the new casino.’

Camboni interjected for Colin’s benefit. ‘Really, the primo casino, Tony. You can’t count that RSL palace up the road. A terrible place. Very New South Wales. No style, full of grossly dressed pensioners. But I envy the money they take. Just a small percentage would do me fine.’

The woman, who hadn’t been introduced, giggled and Camboni slapped his head in a gesture of despair. ‘Mandy! Mandy, forgive me. You didn’t meet Colin. This is Mandy, Georgy’s friend.’

‘Hi, Colin.’ She managed to pour coquettish and flirtatious innuendo into the two words.

‘Hi, Mandy,’ said Colin with a slight nod, then pressed on with the conversation, ignoring her. ‘Does it matter how they’re dressed so long as they spend money?’

‘We don’t want retired groups on bus tours. We want people who understand what a casino should truly be. We will have a lot more class,’ said Tony with proprietorial pride. ‘And we’ll have the big spenders.’

Camboni narrowed his eyes at Tony. ‘How are the . . . negotiations going in that quarter? I trust you have dropped the right word . . . or gift in the appropriate quarters?’

Tony smiled a sharklike smile. ‘It’s been taken care of. Things should start coming our way very soon.’

Colin glanced at Georgy, wondering where he fitted into the casino picture. Camboni answered before he asked. ‘Georgy isn’t connected with the casino, Colin, but we are discussing a plan that might interest you. You seemed a little bored with Europe. Dina says you’ve been a little . . . distracted, shall we say. Would you like to work back here again?’

‘Depends. Doing what? And what about Dina? I don’t know that she’s ready to settle in Australia again.’

Camboni waved a hand. ‘Women adjust. Besides, she can travel, she loves to travel. Send her back to Europe every few months.’

I hope you’re going to pay me enough for that, thought Colin as he smiled at Camboni’s easy dismissal of the problem and of women. The idea of Dina out of his hair in Europe for months at a stretch was appealing. He gave Mandy a charming smile and sly wink.

Camboni continued, lowering his voice and leaning forward conspiratorially. ‘We need another business here that is legitimate and inconspicuous which we can use for financial purposes. It doesn’t need to make money, you understand?’ Colin nodded as Alfredo explained. ‘What we are planning is to develop a resort, but we need someone to supervise it. Tony has made an offer for a place that’s been set up but is not doing so well, now he moves over to the casino project and we wondered if you would consider the challenge of this matter.’ Camboni’s false teeth flashed in a showy smile.

‘Does the Gold Coast really need another big resort? It’s already known as tombstone territory because of all the highrises which shade the beach by three every afternoon,’ said Colin carefully. ‘And I thought every decent strip of beachfront already had a development on it — units, hotels, low-rise resorts. Though I suppose you’re planning the ultra resort. Bigger than the Miami Miasma even.’

Camboni and Tony were unfazed by his cynical tone. ‘You’re right, you’re spot on,’ said Tony enthusiastically. He paused to sip his grappa, then continued. ‘The Gold Coast is pretty overdone. All you can do now is pull down old places and put up new ones. No, what we have in mind is quite different — we are attacking the hinterland.’

Colin gazed at him, pondering on the images of the territory to be ‘attacked’ — the lush rolling hills of farmlets where a few cattle grazed by small creeks that meandered through the remains of stands of rainforests. Just a matter of a few kilometres inland from the glitzy coast was another world where progress was interpreted by most of the locals as changing nothing.

Colin raised an eyebrow and leaned forward. ‘But it’s just smallish acreages, very pretty, but there’s nothing there. What would tourists do? Do you bus them in to the beach? Or give them lessons in how to contemplate their navel?’

No one smiled at what Colin had meant as a joke.

‘It’s a new wave resort,’ said Georgy triumphantly.

‘New age,’ corrected Tony. ‘A sort of health farm, bush holiday, and healing centre for the mind and body.’

Colin was surprised and kept silent for a moment. The scheme didn’t fit the image of Camboni and his friends. ‘How much? This doesn’t sound like an upscale place, how do you make money?’

‘It will cost heaps to do the place properly,’ grinned Tony. ’The very best facilities. We might even have a private wing like the Betty Ford Clinic. It will become a place for executives, high flyers in the media, the rich folk to recover from the stresses that got them there and the excesses they indulge in because they’ve made good. It will have class and style. And be useful,’ he smiled.

Colin tried to be impressed. ‘Makes sense . . . I guess. I don’t know that I know much about all this kind of stuff, I’ve been more into the old world than the new age.’

‘Don’t worry, Colin, we will have the best instructors and staff, the best of equipment and the best of facilities — the best of everything. Your role — should you accept,’ Camboni inclined his head and spread his hands, ‘we see as getting the place up and running. You have the management skills and just the right image for the project. Could be exciting, si?’

‘Alfredo I need to think about this, find out some more details and, of course, talk to Dina. And what’s this image stuff?’

Camboni smiled. ‘Colin, you’re very respectable, very . . .’ he paused, searching for the right word, ’well, one of the family. Now, move that platter of escallops, here’s the pasta.’ The matter was closed as far as Camboni was concerned. He knew Colin would do whatever he and Dina wanted him to do.

Saskia walked swiftly down the corridor towards TR’s room just as a nurse came out. She stopped and greeted Saskia a little apprehensively.

‘How is he?’ asked Saskia. The nurse shook her head slowly. ‘He’s not in a good mood. He doesn’t make my job easy, which isn’t helping him. We’re never going to get him up on his feet if his attitude doesn’t change.’

‘Still negative, huh?’

‘It’s like he’s given up. He needs to be motivated. His muscles are just melting away. He was obviously such a fit man. It’s a shame.’

‘How is he doing physically?’

‘You’ll have to ask the docs. I would just like to see him change his attitude, be more positive. He can at least do that to help himself,’ she added somewhat sharply. ‘I have to go,’ she said, glancing at her watch. ‘See you later.’

Saskia squared her shoulders, adjusted her face with a smile and pushed open the door. ‘Hi. It’s me, Saskia,’ she announced brightly.

‘I remember your name. I can remember what happened last week at least,’ said TR bitterly. Then, seeing a hurt expression replace the smile, added, ‘It’s nice to have a visitor who isn’t in a uniform. All these wretched medicos, I wish they’d just leave me be.’

‘They’re only trying to help you, TR. Get you back on your feet. Or at least into a wheelchair.’

‘Wheelchairs are for cripples.’

‘That’s not true!’ Then as she pulled some books from her leather satchel Saskia added casually, ‘Well, maybe you are. The nurse says unless you start doing something positive you might well end up a cripple.’

‘Everyone’s a bloody expert,’ said TR crossly. ‘Why can’t they just fix me up, give me back my mind, and I’ll be out of here and on my way.’

‘Because you have to do some of the fixing yourself and you’re not doing that.’ TR didn’t answer and Saskia hurried on. ‘Look, I brought some of my horse books along. I was wondering if we looked at them together you could ask me some question . . . sort of test me. It’s for my anatomy and diagnosis exams next week. They’ve really crept up on me and I don’t feel all that well prepared.’

‘Having me like this hasn’t helped, I suppose,’ said TR and he grinned ruefully at the pretty girl beside the bed.

Saskia’s heart lurched at the flash of TR’s familiar lopsided grin.

‘Okay,’ said TR, taking the book with his good arm.

‘I’ll get us some tea while you skim through it,’ said Saskia, pleased to distract him from his illness for a change.

The question and answer session interested TR and at one point he showed Saskia an illustration of a horse and pointed to its chest. ‘Big chest like that with those muscles, he’s probably got a big heart and would be a good runner.’ He stopped and grinned at her again. ‘I know a bit about horses, do I?’

‘Some,’ laughed Saskia.

‘And you want to work with horses?’

‘Yes. I always wanted to be a vet, but now my interest is more in horses.’ Saskia launched into her reasons why and found she was chatting as she normally did with TR, as he listened patiently.’ . . . and so when Snowy said . . .’

‘Who’s Snowy again?’

Saskia paused as the reality hit her once more. ‘He’s our family wise man . . . he’s an Aboriginal elder as well. But to me he’s like my grandfather.’

‘Tell me about your father. What happened to him?’

‘His name was Warwick Redmond and he was very tall with dark curly hair and was a friend of Dingo’s — he’d worked for a friend of his over in the west, I think — and then he came to manage Tingulla and married Mum. I don’t remember him all that well . . . just certain special memories. He was killed in a plane crash when I was very young.’

Saskia bit her lip. ‘Apart from my mother, you’ve had the strongest influence on me, TR.’

He looked at the tall, beautiful young woman with the thick dark curls, heartshaped face so like her mother’s and large grey eyes that sometimes took on the deep green lights of Queenie’s emerald eyes. TR suddenly felt sad and depressed. The spark of interest that prompted him to question Saskia made him painfully aware of the blackness in his mind. He had tried to peer into the recesses of his memory but found it was like staring into a tunnel, a long tunnel filled with grey fog where nothing had shape or meaning; but he knew, shrouded within that impenetrable mist were pictures, feelings and the knowledge of his past life.

Saskia looked at him and could sense immediately how he felt. His lack of motivation was almost palpable. She patted his hand and leaned close to him. ‘Can I give you a kiss?’

He smiled sadly at her as she gently kissed his cheek.

‘You’ll start to feel better soon, TR. You wait.’

She spoke with calm assurance and TR thought how like her mother she was. What determined and positive women they were. He tried to imagine how he fitted into their lives and could not. Tiredly he lifted a hand in farewell. ‘Take care, kid.’

‘Dina, let’s walk.’

‘Walk? Perche, caro? We have three cars here.’ Dina looked up from her magazine at Colin standing in the doorway.

Colin glanced around Alfredo’s pristine apartment which managed to set his teeth on edge. ‘I don’t want your father walking in on us. I want to be alone with you.’

Dina rubbed her hand across his groin. ‘Ooh, now that’s the man I married!’

Colin pushed her hand away. ‘Dina, right now I just want to talk. Come on, let’s wander down to the marina.’

She pouted, collected her sunglasses, a scarf and touched up her lipstick. ‘All right. Vieni.’

They strolled down the manicured street to the marina. Dina wanted to look in the shops and Colin bought them each a Cornetto. They walked down one of the long wharves looking at the luxury cruisers and yachts as they ate. Dina’s ice cream was soon smeared with red lipstick. Colin brushed a fleck of chocolate from her lip.

‘You’re being very attentive. What are you going to say to me?’

‘It just looked messy . . . the bit of chocolate.’ he explained. He then proceeded to outline her father’s plan for the health resort and his role in it. Dina said nothing and showed no response and appeared to be more concerned with getting the last bit of ice cream from the bottom of the cone. Colin had a sneaking suspicion she already knew about the plan but he went on anyway. ‘What do you think? Would you be willing to live back in Australia? I’ve given it a lot of thought but I’d like a bit longer before I give your father my decision. I reckon I could do the job. The idea is not a bad one.’

Colin spoke nonchalantly but he was trying to conceal his growing excitement. The more he thought about this job the more he realised it was ideal. It would allow him to conceal his real motives for being in Australia — to strip his sister of her assets, to avoid having to face up to his paternal responsibilities and to carve out for himself a financially comfortable life without Dina.

‘We could take that pink penthouse.’

Colin stopped and stared at her. ‘What are you talking about?’

‘Somewhere to live. The building next door to Pappa has the penthouse for rent.’

‘Dina! Let’s think of the job first. I was thinking of living in the hinterland near to the project. It’s only twenty-five minutes away from the coast. And I can’t afford any fancy penthouse. And I’m not living in some pink place called the Flamingo for Chrissake!’

‘Is that what it’s called? How cute.’

‘Dina . . . Look, I’ll make it easy. Just answer yes or no. Do you want to live in Australia again?’

‘If I can live at the coast, in . . .’

‘Yes or no.’

‘Urn . . . si.’

‘Will you live with me in the hinterland in a nice house with beautiful views?’

‘No.’

‘No?’

‘No. I want to live in that penthouse. I’ll ask my father to fix it for us. You can drive half an hour to work each day. That’s nothing at all.’

‘Dina, we are not living in that bloody monstrosity.’

‘But, darling — ’

‘No, Dina,’ said Colin in a menacing tone.

She knew better than to argue with him further. It could wait. Dina knew she only had to lure Colin into bed wearing her jewellery and G-string panties, spend a long time licking between his toes and working her way up his body, and she would be able to get him to agree to anything. She licked her sticky fingers as they listened to the hearty talk and laughter above the clink of glasses where several long lunches were still in progress on the decks of boats tied to the finger wharves.

‘We could get a boat.’

Colin gave her a slow, sexy smile. ‘Maybe.’ But not with my money, he thought. ‘Come on, let’s go back.’ He followed Dina as she picked her way along the wharf making sure her high-heeled gold sandals didn’t get caught in any cracks in the timber decking, the cheeks of her rounded buttocks swivelling provocatively. She was a sexy bitch. Colin felt the familiar surge of lust for his sexually skilled wife. Their marriage was a potent mix of easy money, kinky sex and the occasional dangerous liaison. Until he got what he wanted from Queenie, he could live with that.

Chapter Seven

Queenie couldn’t sleep. Dawn would soon be breaking. She rolled on her side and swung her legs over the bed. She sat for a moment, gripping the edge of the mattress, staring unseeing at the sheepskin rug on the floor. Was TR asleep? Was he in pain? Was he lying there staring at the hospital wall trying to recapture the memories of his past life? Each morning when she awoke she hoped these past weeks had been a dreadful dream, but the empty bed beside her, the silence of the house and the ache in her heart, reminded her of the painful reality.

She ran her fingers through the thick mane of her hair, stood and stretched. She had taken to wearing TR’s clothes occasionally: a shirt, a sweater in the cool of evening, and, like now, one of his white cotton T-shirts to bed. She felt by doing this she kept him close to her and she imagined she could feel and smell the lingering essence of him. Queenie pushed open the French doors of the bedroom and walked out onto the upstairs verandah.

Dew shone on the lawns and a faint wisp of mist threaded itself around the trees and shrubs as the temperature began to change from the crispness of the night to the warmth of the day. She could feel tears welling in her eyes and sadness engulfing her, but she glanced up and saw the beacon of the morning star and drew a deep breath, turning indoors and heading for the shower.

Dressed and feeling more energetic and positive, she headed along the hallway and paused outside Tango’s old room then went downstairs to the kitchen. What comfort and strength she drew from her son, this symbol of the love she and TR shared. How like TR he was, but still very much a man in his own right. He looked like TR, those same brilliant blue eyes, broad shoulders and tapering slim body, the same lopsided grin and sun-tinged hair; but she also saw herself in her son — the way he moved, flashes of her stubbornness and humour, and from both of them he’d inherited a love of, and gift with, horses.

Queenie ate her toast and finished her tea and made a fresh pot just as Millie appeared in the kitchen finishing buttoning up the front of her floral house dress.

‘Tea’s made, Millie. Second pot, I’m one ahead of you.’

‘My, my. You’re up and at ’em early. Going for a ride?’

‘Maybe later. I’m going to catch up on some paperwork in the office.’

‘I’ll go feed the chooks in a minute,’ said Millie, slicing some bread for toast as Queenie headed for her office.

Millie went to the rusty forty-four gallon drum used for the chook feed and slid the sheet of tin from the top, only to discover it was empty. Sighing, she tossed the bucket of food scraps at the hysterical chooks who flew about her ankles in hunger and furious infighting.

Rather than bother the men who had enough to do about the place at present, Millie went to the small tool shed where the grain was stored. Stepping into the shadowy dimness she went to where the sacks of wheat and mixed grain were stacked in a pile. She couldn’t quite reach the top bag, so she dragged a small wooden crate over and stood on it.

Sneezing from the chaff and dust as she tugged at the sack, the flimsy box she was standing on gave way. Millie hung onto the sack trying to keep her balance but fell backwards, bringing several sacks of feed down with her. Her head hit the cement floor and she passed out.

When she opened her eyes, her head was throbbing, and for a moment she couldn’t focus properly. She tried to move, only to find her legs were pinned by the bags of feed. But as she became aware of her surroundings and her position, the full horror slowly dawned on her.

Her hair was moving. It was being pulled and burrowed into. She could feel small scratching movements all over her body and then something slipped from under her neck, and across her face ran a huge brown rat.

Millie went hot then cold and broke into a horrified sweat. The physical pain she felt was immaterial to the overwhelming terror that engulfed her as she felt more furry creatures scrabbling beneath her clothes.

She opened and shut her mouth but no sound came out. Fearful one of the rats would try to enter her mouth, she clamped her lips shut. But it was too much to remain silent and Millie opened her mouth and began to scream Long and loud and hysterically she screamed, but her voice was hoarse with fright and scarcely any sound could be heard.

Queenie tidied up her desk, closed the analysis book and went into the kitchen. Millie’s bread dough was sitting in a bowl on the edge of the Aga stove covered with a tea towel. Queenie made herself a fresh mug of tea and a thick slab of bread and marmalade and went into the office to phone Tango, wondering where Millie had gone.

‘Morning, Mum, how are things?’ said Tango when Queenie got through to him.

‘So, so,’ sighed Queenie. ‘I can’t stop worrying about your father.’

‘I know it’s tough right now, Mum, but he’ll come good.’

‘I just wish I could do more for him. He’s like a limp rag, it’s as if all the fire has gone out of him.’

‘He tries not to show it, but he’s in terrible pain.’

‘I know, darling, I know. Dingo is flying over to see him this week. How are you managing at Guneda?’

‘I’m keeping tabs on everything, it’s all under control.’

‘You know, Tango, it’s time we started getting on with life. TR wouldn’t want anything neglected, you know how much he’s poured into Guneda and those horses. We can’t afford to put everything on hold. Between Tingulla, Cricklewood and Guneda we’re running a major corporation. We must give it our full attention, we owe that to TR.’

‘That’s what I’m doing, Mum, so don’t worry about me. Hey, one of Bill’s mares is about to foal — it should be a good one too.’

‘Sweet William the Second?’

‘There’ll only ever be one Bill. They say you shouldn’t get attached to the horses, but Bill started it all for us really by winning the Melbourne Cup. He and old Bobby.’

‘I know he’s had leg problems, but do you think Bill could ever race again?’

‘I doubt it, though that’s up to TR. But Bill’s leading the life of Riley down here at present. Though he does give us trouble occasionally — he can be quite picky about his women. We had two wonderful mares and he wouldn’t service them. Didn’t want to know them.’

Queenie smiled. ‘And what about the women in your life, son?’

Tango laughed. ‘They come and they go. I think I’m a bit picky too. Anyway, between you and Sas and Millie and Mum Ryan, I have enough women in my life.’

Queenie chuckled, then said goodbye and hung up, her heart filled with love for the boy she nearly lost. For a moment her heart constricted as she thought of all the years they’d lost — having to adopt him out as a baby, missing seeing him grow up, not being there to comfort him in times of hurt or enjoy the times of joy and achievement. She took a deep breath. All that was behind her. She had her son now and he gave her great strength. Selfishly she was glad, for the moment anyway, that there was no special girl in Tango’s life.

Several hours later Jim tapped at Queenie’s door. ‘You seen Millie anywhere? Came up for smoko and she’s nowhere about and nothing goin’ on in the kitchen.’

Queenie looked up in surprise. ‘No, I haven’t seen her since breakfast when she went off to feed the chooks.’

‘Okey-dokey, I’ll nose around a bit. Might have to make me own tea. Want a cup, Queenie?’

‘Thanks, Jim. I’ll pop out in a minute.’

Jim looked at the shrunken bread dough and untouched breakfast dishes and headed straight for the chook yard. As soon as he got close to the grain shed he heard a moan and he broke into a sprint.

As he rushed in, the rats scattered, leaping over the grain sacks, through holes in the tin wall and under stored implements. He bent over Millie, who was shaking, her eyes squeezed shut. As soon as he touched her she recoiled and opened her eyes staring at him with unfocused glazed eyes.

‘Millie, Millie, luv, it’s me — Jim. What happened? Can you move?’

‘No,’ she managed. ‘Make ’em go ‘way, Jim.’

Jim spoke soothingly. ‘They’re all gone, luv. You’re fine.’ He moved her legs from under the bags of feed and Millie instantly curled into a foetal position, hugging herself and moaning. Jim felt her body and found nothing that appeared to be broken.

‘Listen, luv, you’re all right. Why didn’t you just wave your arms about and sit up? Come on now, you can move okay.’ He helped her into a sitting position and she stared at him, the whites of her eyes still wide with fear.

‘They was all over me, Jim. Them . . . things. I couldn’t move. Ouch, me head hurts.’ She suddenly clutched at her head.

‘You’ve got a lovely egg coming up on yer head all right. I reckon you musta bin frozen in fright. Come on, luv. Let’s get you back to the house.’

Leaning against the comforting shape of her husband, and limping heavily, Millie made it back to their quarters, where she took to her bed.

Queenie insisted she rest but Millie was back in the kitchen the following morning. ‘Millie, what are you doing up? That lump on your head looks bad, I think we should get the doctor to fly in and check you over.’

Millie shook her head briefly, then put a hand to the lump. ‘No luv, it’s only a bang on the noggin. And I got a few bruises. But I tell you what, I didn’t sleep so good. I’m gonna have nightmares about this for weeks.’

Queenie gave her a hug. ‘I’ll give you a mild sedative to help you sleep. You’ll be over this in no time.’

Millie shook her finger at Queenie. ‘And don’t you go tellin’ people what happened. I don’t like bein’ teased.’

Queenie smiled at Millie fondly. ‘No, we won’t. And Jim has put down poison, so we’ll get rid of the . . . you-know-whats.’ Dear Millie, she was no spring chicken and the thought of anything happening to her made Queenie’s heart ache. If only TR could recover as easily as Millie had.

Dingo McPherson announced himself to the ward sister and was pointed towards TR’s room. He pulled his best bush hat from his head, smoothed his thinning white hair, hitched up his belt and marched inside.

But it was more difficult than Dingo ever imagined to sit beside TR, struggling to make conversation with the man he regarded as a son, with whom he’d ridden through the days and nights across the gidgee, but who was now looking at him with blank eyes. Dingo had seen a lot in his long life, but the sight of TR, incapacitated, unaware and so lost, nearly broke his heart.

‘Listen, mate, you gotta get out of here. Get back to Tingulla and get stuck into things there. This place isn’t doing you any good. As soon as your leg is outta that contraption, get moving. I don’t care what you do or don’t remember. Take my word for it, mate, anything’s better than this. You had it all, believe me. If I was you, I’d shut my mouth, say I was better, go to Tingulla and wing it till I was cured.’

TR smiled. ‘Reckon I’d get away with it?’

‘I’ll never tell. Now listen, you take care. I’ll be keeping tabs on you. I’m going to check in on Queenie at Tingulla then take a look at that bull programme at Cricklewood. I might go down and see Tango at Guneda too. Maybe buy a racehorse and get him to train it. Or get hold of one of his young fellas. You boys are starting to breed a few good ones. I need a new business interest to keep me out of mischief.’

Dingo paused, looking at his friend with deep affection. This is a tough one, TR. I suppose this has happened for a reason, maybe to remind us never to take things for granted and make the most of every moment. But after what you and Queenie have come through, it doesn’t seem right. You two treasured every day, I reckon. Never seen two happier people. So get on with it. Get on your feet and pick up your life, TR. There isn’t a short cut across the paddock in this one, but know that we’re all behind you. Take care, mate.’ The old man’s eyes were damp as he held onto TR’s hand.

TR felt the grip of affection and saw the warmth and sadness in Dingo’s eyes and thought, ‘I must’ve done something right in my life to have a family and friends like this’.

After Dingo had left, TR could hear him teasing and admonishing the nurses. ‘Give TR the works. I want him fit and back on a horse quick smart.’ A nurse laughed. ‘Well do our best, Mr McPherson. But aren’t you getting on a bit to go galloping round the country with TR?’

‘You’d be surprised what I can do, young lady,’ said Dingo with a wink. ‘And we don’t intend to gallop, we shall ride like gentlemen across this wide brown land.’ Grinning, he replaced his hat and strode down the hall towards the lifts, leaving the sister and the nurse watching with admiration and smiles on their faces.

Saskia was back at university and studying hard, but she found it hard to maintain her concentration. TR’s accident had unsettled her. It had made her realise how fragile life could be, how one’s life could change in an instant. It had made her look carefully at her own life. When she thought seriously about it, she began to question whether being a veterinarian was really what she wanted.

She loved animals, but if she was honest, she cared more about horses than about cows or dogs or cats. Horses were in her blood. They were all she’d ever really been interested in. Once, being a vet had seemed the best way of being near them, but now she began to wonder. Maybe there were other opportunities she could pursue that would allow her to work solely with horses. She wasn’t quite sure what those opportunities might be, but suddenly the remaining years of study stretched interminably before her.

Maybe she could call her mother, talk it through with her. If anyone could understand her obsession with horses, it would be Queenie.

‘Hello, Mum,’ said Saskia when Queenie answered the phone. ‘What are you up to?’

‘Hello, darling. What a lovely surprise,’ said Queenie smiling at the sound of her daughter’s voice. ‘I’ve just been outside picking jasmine. The smell always reminds me of my twenty-first birthday. Such sweet and sad memories.’

‘The night Nana Rose died. And the night you fell in love with TR,’ said Saskia softly.

‘I suppose that was the night I fell for TR. Though I didn’t know it then. Oh, how he used to annoy me!’ Queenie laughed as she remembered TR’s gentle teasing humour.

‘You were both too competitive. You always wanted to prove you were best,’ chuckled Saskia. ‘Well, so everyone tells me.’

‘I suppose I was . . . still am,’ said Queenie thoughtfully. ‘You’re a bit the same, Sas. It’s not a totally admirable trait, you know. Temper the ambition and drive with judgement. I’ve learned to stop, think and ask, do I really want to do this? Then assess what the odds are of coming out on top before plunging ahead. You can be a bit impetuous at times, Sas.’

‘Is that another way of saying I rush in where angels fear to tread?’ asked Saskia.

‘Yes, I guess it is.’

‘But sometimes people make mistakes, misjudge things, make the wrong decisions . . .’

‘That’s why you must look before you leap, Sas. Go slowly and carefully with thoughtful judgement and you shouldn’t go wrong.’

Saskia was silent. How could she tell her mother what had been on her mind now — she’d just think Saskia was being rash and impulsive. That’s your head talking, not your heart,’ she said finally.

They talked briefly about TR and Tango and Saskia hung up, feeling she’d somehow been dishonest with her mother, but Queenie had enough to worry about. Saskia would just wait until there was a more opportune time to bring up the subject of changing her career.

TR was lying in his bed watching the early morning light filter into his room when the door opened and in breezed a young blonde woman. This was a new one and she wasted no time on pleasantries.

‘Okay, TR, here we go. Day one of the torture,’ said the woman cheerfully as she flung back his covers. ‘Five weeks flat on your back is enough. Today we sit up. I’m your physiotherapist and you and I are going to become close buddies by the time we’re through, but never forget I’m the boss.’

‘Righto,’ said TR, grinning at the slight young woman with a smooth, short blonde pageboy haircut and hazel eyes. On her name badge was written Jenni.

‘Do I call you Jenni or boss?’

‘You’ll be calling me everything under the sun before we part company,’ she laughed. Then, becoming more serious, she added, ‘You’re very lucky you haven’t had to have major surgery, but this is still going to be a long and painful process, TR. Your muscles are going to hurt like hell, your body is going to scream at you to stop and you think you’ll never be okay again. That’s all normal. But if you trust me and work with me, we’ll get there. I can work miracles if really pushed, buddy.’

‘Can you fix heads too? I wish I had my bloody mind back in place.’ For a moment there was a bitter edge to TR’s voice.

Jenni gave him a sympathetic look. ‘Look, TR, my philosophy on life and work is literally, one step at a time. Taking just one step is going to be a major achievement for you, so let’s work on that and see where we end up. And I’ve seen more than my share of miracles happen,’ she declared with genuine optimism and conviction.

‘I don’t want a miracle, I just want to be ordinary again. Is that going to take a miracle?’

‘No, just guts. Now, our first challenge is to sit up. I’m going to support you and when I lift I want you to try to raise yourself up.’

TR looked at her slim figure and small bones. ‘You’re not strong enough to move me or support me.’

‘They all say that. Come on now.’

What had seemed to TR to be a fairly straightforward matter suddenly became a major obstacle. He had no strength to move, none of his muscles wanted to respond, his head started spinning and his eyes wouldn’t focus properly. He was hanging onto Jenni for dear life. She took a deep breath, counted and as she dragged him upright said, ‘Push up, TR’.

With enormous effort he managed to move as she pulled and he found he was sitting upright in the bed, whereupon everything went black and he fell back against the pillow.

He opened his eyes to find Jenni wiping his face with a damp cloth. ‘What happened?’

‘You passed out for a minute. Ready to try again?’

‘Slave-driver,’ he muttered, but was thinking to himself, ‘Christ, I can’t even sit up.’

Two more tries and he was in a sitting position. Jenni pushed pillows behind him. ‘Good one. Rest a minute and then I’ll explain and show you some of the very gentle, very basic exercises. Some are isometric, others are just tightening and releasing. Simple, but they will hurt because you haven’t been using your muscles, and you were obviously a fit man so you’ll probably notice it more. We’ll start with your good arm. We can also start working on the left side of your body as that is undamaged.’ She then demonstrated a series of finger and hand exercises, gentle head and neck movements and a series of arm exercises; the leg exercises would have to be done with assistance.

TR stared at her. This seemed ludicrous. That looks like pretty juvenile stuff, why don’t we start with the real stuff? I think I’m pretty tough.’ He paused. Why did he think that? Maybe he was a wimp who couldn’t stand pain or the sight of blood.

‘You think you’re tough, huh? Think you’re just going to get out of bed and trundle down the hall? Okay, buddy, let’s try step two. Ill release this traction harness and lay that leg in plaster on the bed. You see if you can swing your body and good leg over the side of the bed and sit up.’

With his right leg now resting on the bedcover, TR attempted to turn to the left side of the bed and drop his left leg over the edge. The slight movement caused pains to shoot through his body and he felt he was going to faint again. He gasped in alarm and reached out to Jenni as a feeling of panic swept over him.

‘It’s all right, I’ve got you. Lean on me.’

‘No!’ shouted TR in frustration. He could feel his body start to shake and a ghastly feeling of nausea rose in his throat. ‘Put me back. Let me lie down.’

‘Nope, we’re sitting up. One . . . two . . .’ She had him in a firm grip and turned his upper torso towards the left. ‘Get that leg over the bed, TR.’

Supporting him with one hand behind his back, she lifted his good leg under the thigh and TR struggled with a leg that felt like some dead log. But then he was sitting on the edge of the mattress, the leg in plaster stretched along the bed, the other dangling over the side. He gripped the edge of the bed, wishing his other arm wasn’t bandaged across his chest.

‘Don’t let me go, Jenni, I’ll go over.’ He felt he was going to topple forward and fall onto the floor; but worse, he knew he was going to be sick. He started to retch and Jenni had a bowl and a towel in front of him straightaway. When his chest stopped heaving she wiped his face again and dried it with the towel, putting the bowl on the floor.

‘This is normal too, I suppose,’ managed TR, feeling shaky and woozy again.

‘Yep. Now we have to reverse the whole process and get you back down again.’

It was agonising. When he was finally lying back down again, he took deep exhausted breaths as Jenni rehooked the traction apparatus. ‘I feel like a steamroller has gone over me.’

‘That’s me,’ chuckled Jenni.

‘Heck, I’m sorry for being sick and fainting and all. This is bloody dreadful.’

‘You did fine, TR. Most guys scream and swear and shout they can’t do it, to leave them alone, the first time. And then they throw up and pass out. You were a model of decorum in comparison. You pass with flying colours. Next we’ll have a go at those so-called juvenile exercises.’

‘Not now, not now,’ sighed TR. ‘Let me rest.’

Jenni picked up the towel and bowl. She looked down at TR thinking what a handsome man he was. She knew he’d been a rodeo champion and visualising him on a horse made her think he must have been a real heartthrob on the riding circuit. She gave him a cheerful grin. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow. I know you’ll be looking forward to that! See ya, TR.’

TR gave her a small smile and closed his eyes. Getting up on his feet and taking off was not going to be as easy as he’d thought. He was overcome by piercing pains that racked his body and slowly he reached for the buzzer to call the nurse and ask for a painkiller. All he wanted to do was sleep and not be aware of his pain.

As he slowly drifted into the drug-induced oblivion, he muttered, ‘Oh God, put me out of my misery. I don’t think I can hack much more of this.’

Chapter Eight

The cars arrived together, gliding into the underground carpark beneath Bali Hai. Tony Cuomo, George Bannerman and his sidekick quickly went to the lifts and pushed the button marked Penthouse.

The valet let them into the apartment where Dina handed them each a glass of champagne. ’Make yourselves at home on the terrace, Pappa will be with you in a moment.’ She smiled to herself. Cagey old showman that he was, Alfredo liked to make an entrance. Now, where the hell was Colin? Her father would not be pleased at being upstaged by Colin’s late arrival.

As she poured herself another glass of champagne and reached for one of the hors d’oeuvres made by the housekeeper, the doorbell chimed and Colin was ushered in, looking rather flustered. He went to her and kissed her cheek. ‘Sorry I’m late.’ He gave no excuse. ‘Where are the others?’

‘On the patio waiting for Pappa. And just where have you been, Colin?’

Colin took the caviar cracker from her fingers, popped it into his mouth and grinned at her. ‘Miss me then? As a matter of fact, I’ve been busy. So, Dina, what’s this little gathering for? It’s not a party.’ Colin gave her a shrewd look but Dina shrugged.

‘Something to do with horse racing. I’m really not interested. Now that you’re all here, I’ll tell Pappa. I’m going out, but I thought we could go out somewhere nice for dinner later.’

‘Okay.’ Colin picked up his drink and headed for the terrace.

An hour later Alfredo leaned back in his chair, surveying the sunset over the marina. ‘So, we are all clear on how this will work? George, you’re sure the horse is a good one?’

‘Yeah, yeah. No sweat. But we’ve got another horse if this one’s not up to it. I’m pretty sure it is though. Just needs a good trainer to bring it up to full potential. The Hamilton outfit at Guneda is the joint. Nobody will know it’s there or see it and gossip. And they are bloody good trainers.’

‘But I understood TR Hamilton had an accident . . .’ interjected Tony Cuomo.

‘His son Tango is running the place; he’s supposed to be good too,’ said Bannerman.

Colin looked thoughtful and twirled his empty glass. ‘If he’s anything like his old man, he’ll be bloody good.’

‘That’s right. You know TR well I assume, him being married to your sister?’ said Tony Cuomo.

‘We don’t have much contact,’ said Colin curtly. ‘It’s probably best he doesn’t know I’m connected with the horse.’

‘Let’s run through the logistics once more,’ cut in Alfredo smoothly. ‘Tony, you have spoken to the jockey?’

‘Si. He wanted a larger cut but, after a little persuasion, he is now prepared to be more reasonable.’

‘George, the horse is your responsibility. It has to beat the favourite,’ smiled Alfredo. ‘Even though we will be giving it a little help. Tony, the punters are in your charge.’

‘I have connections at courses around the country. Little old ladies with handbags stuffed with cash,’ Tony grinned. ‘I guarantee we’ll take the bookies by surprise. By the way, George, what is our horse called again?’

George rolled his eyes. ‘Bloody hell! Ambrosia, whatever that means. Don’t forget it.’

Tony nodded. ‘Nectar of the gods; how could I forget that.’

Alfredo leaned over and rapped on the sliding glass door which had sealed them off from the prying ears of the valet. ‘More champagne,’ he called through the glass. ‘We still have time up our sleeve. The horse is to be fine-tuned. Colin, you will handle the paperwork. The health farm will provide a useful cover . . . as well as being a legit business venture for our . . . other purposes.’ Alfredo smiled at him. ‘That is, should you take on the job of running the place. I want it to look like an upfront honest investment. What we run through the books in addition is our business. There will be a lot of cash going through — on paper anyway — because we will be rebuilding the resort from scratch.’ He turned to Tony Cuomo. ‘Profits from this little racing exercise will be channelled into the casino project. After we have all deducted our expenses, of course.’

Alfredo lifted his glass as the valet appeared with a fresh bottle of champagne. ‘Here’s to the sweet taste of success!’

Tango sat in an empty horsebox on a bale of hay and looked around. The smooth wooden walls, the even temperature, the comforting smell of hay and lingering odour of manure were familiar and not unpleasant. Just as tack rooms smelled of lanolin and leather, horseboxes always smelled of hay. And hay to Tango was romantic. He always thought of haystacks and hayrides and pretty girls. Tractor company calendars always had girls in brief shorts and off-the-shoulder blouses posing with a pitchfork by a haystack. He grinned, remembering Queenie’s tart remarks the time she’d spotted one in the office and turfed it out. ‘The girl should be driving the tractor, that’d sell them,’ she’d said.

Tango had lost his virginity in a pile of hay in a horse stall out Dubbo way during an agricultural show with an athletic and experienced girl who was caring for some show-jumpers. Tango grinned again, remembering old Bobby Fenton’s casual remark that he’d better pull the straw out of his hair before he fronted up to the Ladies Auxiliary afternoon-tea tent.

Tango stretched and walked across to the opposite row of occupied horse stalls. He gave the thoroughbreds a pat if they were looking out of the stall, or else he peered in to check on them and greeted each by name.

Mick poked his head round the stable door. ‘I’m walking Player before going out on the track. I’ll see you out there in half an hour or so.’

Tango heard him lead the horse away. Even if Mick hadn’t stuck his head in he would have known it was Player by the sound of his footfall on the cement outside the boxes. He was training the thoroughbred for a Sydney syndicate and Tango had high hopes the horse would race well for them. He checked the mixture of oats, corn, tick beans, alfalfa and oaten chaff in the feed bins, looked at the automatic waterers, then stepped outside into the dawn light.

He walked down to the racetrack, now much improved since Sweet William’s heyday when he was trained by Bobby Fenton. The sun was rising fast but the air was still fresh and cool and Player sidestepped, his tail lifted, eager to get going on the track.

‘Bowl along for three furlongs nice and easy, then wind him up and go for the last two,’ said Tango, taking his stopwatch from his pocket.

At the end of the five furlongs, Tango replaced the watch with satisfaction; Mick had a stopwatch in his head, he could time a race to the split second. ‘Good one, Mick, fast work him on Thursday and he’ll be set for Saturday. I’ll call Mr Stewart and make the arrangements. Take him down and let him have a bit of a roll in the sand.’

Tango spent the morning working with several other horses, swimming them in the exercise dam TR had built. Later he checked on a pregnant mare then returned to his office. Housekeeper Mum Ryan was as energetic as ever despite mild arthritis, due to her advancing years. She brought him a cool drink and a message that Dingo had called and would be arriving in the morning.

‘Great. I’m looking forward to seeing him.’

‘He’d been in to see TR. Said he was a bit shocked at how bad he was. Told him he should drag himself out of there.’

‘That sounds like Dingo. I might give TR a call. Tell him how things are coming along down here.’

‘Give him my love. Though I s’pose he doesn’t know who I am,’ sighed the old housekeeper.

‘No, it’s hard. I have to keep reminding myself when I talk to him. It’s almost easier on the phone than it is looking into his eyes — they look back at you with no comprehension of what you’re saying.’

Tango sipped his drink and rang TR, telling him about Guneda, but he could tell TR wasn’t interested.

Finally TR said, ‘Your mate Dingo was in to see me. Tell me about him.’

Tango was delighted by this spark of interest and he responded brightly. ‘He’s been a good friend to Queenie. Dingo is a true living legend. Made and lost several fortunes in the bush, tin mines and gold, then got into making his own gear for bush people which city folk took to as well and now it’s sold all over the world. Cracks him up to see the trendies in LA strutting through Beverly Hills in his outback clobber.

‘He was a great bush rider in his time — he started the McPherson Endurance Ride, which was nicknamed the Dingo Cup. He’s sort of retired now, but he still works in the bush. He started painting a few years back, in a naif style, and that took off too. You once said he’s the sort of bloke who gets hit in the bum by rainbows.’

There was a soft chuckle at the other end of the phone. ‘Doesn’t surprise me. I figured he was someone with a bit of clout. Rounded up the sisters and nurses here quick smart. Yeah, he seems a good sort of a man. I’d like to spend more time with him sometime.’

‘We’ll arrange that TR. You just get yourself up on your feet.’

At Tingulla Queenie was wrestling with details of the coming shearing season. Wool prices were down again. She was convinced there had to be a way of getting a better deal for the Australian wool grower.

‘Oh, TR, I wish you were here,’ she cried aloud in frustration. She longed to rush to TR’s bedside and fling her arms around him for comfort. But he regarded her as an outsider now and didn’t seem to want any help from her in his own private war. She knew this was a battle he had to fight himself, with their support coming softly from the sidelines, but how she longed for his support too.

In the lonely dark hours she wondered if it would be as painful if he’d died. But swiftly this was replaced with the conviction that he would learn to reuse his body again and if his mind remained locked they would just have to get to know one another all over again and fall in love once more. There was absolutely no doubt in her heart that she and TR were destined to love each other forever.

Queenie sighed and tried to focus her attention on the problems at hand rather than agonise over her and TR’s future or torture herself by reliving moments of their shared past.

‘Get stuck into it,’ she told herself, picking up the papers on her desk and applying herself to the column of figures.

Unconsciously Queenie’s mind was working on two levels. On a mechanical, almost unthinking, level she went through the account books and added up the figures. On a creative level, her mind was starting to work in overdrive. Why couldn’t she sell Tingulla’s wool directly to the international marketplace and gamble on getting the best price she could? It seemed ludicrous that so much of Australia’s raw wool was imported back in textiles. A plan began to form in her mind. She began making notes, slowly at first, then faster as questions, answers and ideas came to her in a creative flood.

When Queenie eventually stopped and sat back, looking down at the pages of rough notes, she noticed that the small French carriage clock on the desk showed it was almost midnight. She had been working on her notes for more than two hours. She felt very tired, but it was a tiredness that had an edge of excitement. If only she could talk it through with TR. Well, why not?

She reached for the phone and rang the hospital. The night duty sister told her TR was sleeping. ‘We’ve just given him a sedative to help with the pain. He can only have a painkiller every four hours or so and frankly we don’t like to give them to him all the time, but when they wear off it’s hard for him. I don’t know many men that would stand for this sort of agony without ever complaining. But it’s wearing him down.’

‘What do you mean, sister?’

‘He’s not very motivated. He’s giving the physio a hard time, he’s not really trying to get better. It’s sort of a catch-22 situation, I’m afraid, Mrs Hamilton. It’s like his mind and body are each waiting for the other to heal first.’

‘Oh God, I see what you mean. I feel so helpless. Well if he’s sleeping, just leave a message that I rang and give him my love.’

‘I will. How are you managing? It can’t be easy for you.’

‘Shearing time. Always brings its own problems one way or another. Thanks, sister.’

‘Goodbye, Mrs Hamilton.’ The sister hung up, glad she lived in a unit with only a cat to look after. She’d seen pictures of Tingulla in magazines, and even with a heap of help, running that place would take some special sort of person.

Saskia decided to skip Friday lectures the following week and go to Tingulla. She needed to talk to her mother. She caught the Friday morning train to Rockhampton from Brisbane and tried to spend the trip studying her textbooks to assuage her guilt, but spent most of the time staring out the window at the vast Queensland landscape rolling past. She tried to construct the words, the conversation she planned, but the sentences wouldn’t fall into place. There was no easy way to say, ‘Mum, I want to quit’. She knew she shouldn’t drop this so suddenly on her mother at a time when she had so many other problems, but once this next batch of exams was over, she would have to come to a decision.

She had an hour to wait for the train to Longreach so she nipped into town and treated herself to a steak and chips dinner and returned to the station armed with a large block of fruit and nut chocolate and a paperback novel to see her through the night.

She arrived at Longreach a little after eight in the morning. She could have called Jim to come and fetch her, but the mailman was happy to offer her a ride to Tingulla. ‘Got a few stops on the way. Good thing you checked in, I always wait for the Brisbane train in case there’s anyone or anything going my way. This an unscheduled trip, is it?’

‘Kind of. Had some time up my sleeve and thought I’d come home to study.’

‘How’s TR doing?’

‘Not a lot of progress.’

‘It’ll be a slow job all right. He was lucky I guess. Could have killed or crippled himself.’

Saskia nodded and didn’t say what crossed her mind — that TR virtually was a cripple, mentally at least.

She trudged through the kitchen door just as a startled Millie came to see who it was. ‘Sas!’ she said, opening her arms wide. ‘You little monkey! What a surprise. Watcha doin’ here?’

Saskia hugged her back and threw the letters and magazines rolled in a rubber band onto the table. ‘I brought the mail.’

Millie eyed her carefully as Saskia dumped her small bag and pulled out a kitchen chair. ‘And what’re you really here for?’

‘Where’s Mum?’

Down with the weaners. Want a tea or a lemonade? Then you tell Millie what’s what.’

Saskia sipped the last of the tangy juice as she finished explaining to Millie, as best she could, her reasons for no longer wanting to be a vet.

Millie looked distressed. ‘Sas . . . I dunno. You’re doing so well. And this isn’t the best time to make up your mind ’bout something like this, what with the worry we all got.’

‘I know that, Millie, but I feel I’ve got to make my mind up one way or another now. No point in staying on if I’m miserable and don’t intend to be a vet.’

‘But what would you do, luv? At least get your bit of paper and then you know you can always fall back on that, eh?’

Saskia had no spirit for the argument. ‘I’m going to have a shower. Then I’ll go find Mum. How are the new lambs?’

‘Saskia, you pick your moment to talk to your mother,’ called Millie after her as Jim came indoors.

‘What’s Sas doin’ home?’

‘Wants to tell her mum she’s gonna quit uni.’

‘Well that’s goin’ to cause a nice blue. You keep out of it, Millie.’

Saskia drove down to the paddock where Queenie was leaning over a chute of stud rams with the visiting breeding consultant who was classing the sheep on Tingulla. They took no notice of the approaching vehicle and Saskia crept up behind her mother, giving her a big hug. Queenie spun around and exclaimed in delight, ‘Sas! How lovely. What are you doing here?’

‘A break to study.’

‘Mr Burne, this is my daughter, Saskia Redmond.’

‘How do you do.’ They shook hands, Ian Burne thinking to himself how stunning they both were, although in different ways.

‘How do our rams look, Mr Burne?’

‘Better than ever, Saskia. Tingulla is one of the best merino studs in the country.’

‘That’s our business over and above everything else here — growing wool and breeding sheep,’ said Queenie. ‘I want our sheep to be even better from the front gate to the back gate. I’ve also been thinking of selling directly to the overseas markets. Plus I have an idea of further developing an arm of our wool business, but I need access to a good fellmonger to treat merino skins.’

‘Why? The skins are either dumped or sent abroad. There are few fellmongers about these days, and there’s no demand to treat merino hides.’

‘I thought our business was being a successful commercial woolgrower. What are you hatching, Mum?’ asked Saskia.

‘Tell you after dinner.’ She turned her attention back to the consultant and classer.

But after dinner Sas dropped her own news, tentatively but with a resounding impact.

Queenie put down her wine glass. ‘I don’t believe what I’m hearing,’ she said, almost whispering in astonishment.

‘Just hear me out.’

Queenie found her voice and snapped sharply in reply. ‘Saskia, there’s nothing you can say that would convince me that this is anything other than absolute folly.’

‘Mum, give me a chance . . .’ Saskia pleaded across the table.

‘A chance! Don’t you understand what a university degree is going to give you? A chance to make a career, to follow your dream, to be independent . . .’

‘My dream has changed. I don’t think I want that now.’

‘You’ve always loved animals, Sas, this is all you’ve ever wanted to do,’ said Queenie in dismay and exasperation.

‘I was a little girl! I know what’s involved now, and I know it’s not for me. I don’t want to doctor pet budgies and sick cats. I don’t want to deal with sick animals. I want to work with healthy animals — horses.’

‘Oh, Sas, this is so silly. You’ll be able to decide what sort of practice you have, just finish and get your degree and we’ll discuss it further then.’ Queenie reached for the jug of iced water: the subject was closed.

‘You don’t even want to listen!’ Tears stung Saskia’s eyes and she jumped up from the table.

Queenie flared back at her. ‘I think this is very bad timing on your part, Sas. I have a lot on my plate and I would have thought you would have been supportive and not thrown this at me right now.’

‘It’s now or never for me,’ shouted Saskia and ran from the room.

Millie came quietly into the dining room. ‘Let her go for the moment, luv. You both settle down. She’ll come round.’

Saskia wept into her pillow, wishing she could unburden herself to someone. TR couldn’t understand the situation — he was a part of the problem. Tango would support his mother, and so, she suspected, would everyone else she was close to. She knew this was just giving her mother even more to worry about, but if she didn’t approach her professor immediately after the exams, she’d be stuck.

There was a tap at the door and Queenie stood in the doorway in her white damask dressing gown, her brushed hair flowing across her shoulders. Saskia could smell the drift of the citrous perfume she wore. ‘Are you asleep, Sas?’ she asked softly.

‘No,’ mumbled Saskia.

‘I can’t go to bed knowing you’re so upset.’ Queenie knelt by the side of the bed and put her arms around her daughter, smoothing her flushed face. ‘I know it must be hard for you if you’re not liking what you’re doing, but just hang in there for a while longer. We all have to, darling.’

‘All right.’

‘You don’t sound very convincing.’

‘I’m tired, Mum, I don’t want to talk about it any more.’ She rolled onto her side.

Queenie rose. ‘Shall I wake you up for a ride in the morning?’

‘I guess.’

As the dawn chorus of kookaburras and magpies began, Queenie tapped at Saskia’s door and spoke softly to the bundled shape beneath the flowered sheets. ‘Sas? Wake up. You coming for a ride?’

There was a muffled response.

‘I didn’t quite get that. Yes or no?’

‘Okay. Give me two minutes.’

Saskia was sleepy and quiet and they saddled the horses in silence.

‘You feel all right about taking Star out?’ asked Queenie as the stallion balked at taking the bit.

‘He’ll be fine. We can’t blame the horse for what happened to TR, Mum.’

‘I know. But Star gives me such baleful looks. I think he thinks I’ve done something to TR. And he’s cranky he hasn’t been taken out as often, so watch him, Sas, he’ll be frisky.’

Saskia whistled for Spike and TR’s blue heeler bounded up to them. She swung into the saddle and Star danced about impatiently. Queenie watched her daughter settle him down and had to admit she was more than competent in dealing with horses.

‘You ready, Mum?’

‘Lead on, Macduff.’

Mother and daughter turned out of the yards in the brisk morning air, each enjoying the rhythm of the horses striding forward, their heads lifted and ears pricked, as the smells, sights and sounds of a new day unfolded. The speckled blue, black and white cattle dog raced ahead, returning to check on them every so often.

On the crest of the hill they reined in and gazed down at the gracious mansion in its glorious grounds. Queenie sighed. ‘I always feel so wonderfully lucky that this is where I was born and grew up, and that I am here today with my family and with the knowledge that the dream will go on. It will always be your home too, Sas, no matter where you go in this world or where you come to rest. But remember what Snowy has taught us — the land is on loan, it owns us, not we it. We must look after it because if we harm the earth we destroy our Dreaming.’

‘Yes, our Dreaming place.’ Saskia felt the tension of the previous night slipping away. ‘I understand better now why you wanted to stay here and not marry and move away after Dad died. Grandpa Patrick was right in leaving Tingulla to you. Y’know, I sometimes think about Uncle Colin . . . Do you suppose he is happy over there in Italy?’

‘I don’t know, Sas. In his heart I don’t believe so — he shared the same childhood as me. I just wish we could have come to some understanding.’

‘Have you forgiven him for what he did to you and TR?’

‘I can never truly come to terms with the fact he deliberately schemed to keep TR and me apart, and it worked for a while too. All because he felt I had come between him and his inheritance. Colin has never forgiven me and although I’ve tried to let my anger and resentment go, I can’t rid myself totally of the bitterness I still feel. I wish I could be more forgiving, Sas, but what Colin did . . .’ She paused. ‘I couldn’t bear to think TR was lost to me again.’

‘He’ll come back to you again, Mum.’ Saskia regretted their sharp words of last night as she saw the deep sadness in her mother’s face. How she and TR loved each other, how could he not remember?

‘How was he when you last saw him?’

The same. Well . . . I wasn’t going to say anything but . . .’

Queenie glanced at her sharply. ‘But what?’

‘He just seems so . . . unresponsive. He doesn’t seem to care about getting better. He doesn’t even want to try. That’s so unlike TR.’

‘I know. The sister said the same thing to me. But he’s in terrible pain, Sas.’

‘I know. But he does have times when the painkillers are working when you can get through to him. I’ve tried talking to him, everybody has. He’s just sort of given up, like he’s waiting for something or someone to do it for him.’

‘I’ve tried to put myself in his position and it’s frightening. But in my case I just can’t make my mind a blank. The more I think about it, the more the memories crowd in.’ Queenie’s eyes filled with tears. ‘I’m sorry, darling. I didn’t mean to get upset.’

Saskia reached over and squeezed her mother’s hand. The horses fidgeted at the movement. ‘Don’t worry, Mum. Everything is going to be all right. And don’t worry about me either.’

They smiled at each other, then Queenie wheeled Honey about. ‘Race you back.’

Queenie took off with a reckless spurt, digging her heels into a surprised Honey’s sides. Saskia checked on Spike’s whereabouts, giving a low whistle, and as soon as the dog appeared, raced off after her mother.

Jim and Millie were standing on the verandah enjoying a mug of tea as they saw the two horses streak across the flat ground at the base of the hill, the chestnut stockhorse ahead of the black thoroughbred.

‘Seems a bit irresponsible galloping down the hill like that. We don’t want another darned riding accident,’ muttered Jim.

Millie sighed. That’s Queenie. Always has thought she can just jump on a horse and gallop away from her troubles.’

But Queenie was feeling less troubled now that she’d cleared the air with Saskia and had decided on a plan for Tingulla, and if TR wasn’t going to stir himself and make an effort to get well, she’d rouse him from his pitying lethargy herself.

Chapter Nine

Queenie sat in the sun in the garden, her eyes closed, her face lifted to the early morning warmth. She stretched comfortably and took a deep breath of the fresh clear air, then got to her feet and went into her office and rang Guneda. She had decided it was time to take Tango into her confidence and tell him about her vision for the future of Tingulla.

‘Tango darling, listen to this. I’ve been doing some research into the wool industry generally and I want us to get involved in the final product — textiles and garments. I want to launch a range of Tingulla fine wool fashions, knitwear and wool fabrics using Australian mills, spinners and knitters. Tingulla will be the brand name.’

Tango let out a whistle. ‘Wow! Tingulla’s merino wool is famous — it’s a great idea. Ambitious, but no reason why you can’t make it work.’

‘There’s more. It’s not just wool we have as a resource, there’s the skins. I also want to add a merino leather fashion range as well.’

‘I didn’t think there was a demand. Merino leather has that sort of wrinkly texture,’ said Tango dubiously.

Queenie’s enthusiasm bubbled down the phone. That’s part of its appeal — it’s much softer, has that interesting texture and natural colour; it’s perfect for high fashion clothes.’

‘I suppose so. Sounds like you could be onto something, Mum. But where are you going to get the hides tanned? There aren’t too many fellmongers or tanneries operating these days. A few of the sheepskin hides are just salted and exported to places like France, the majority are just dumped. It’s a cheap resource. But I’m sure you’ve done your homework,’ said Tango, knowing his mother’s thoroughness.

‘Yes, I have. Now, Dingo knows a couple of old blokes who still do some tanning and I talked to them. The long and short of it is, I’ve decided to set up our own fellmongery attached to the old tannery at the abattoir. I’ve had advice from the Meat Research Corporation and there are new methods that don’t use chemicals and are environmentally safe.’

‘Okay, Mum. Three questions.’

‘Shoot.’

‘How are you going to pay for all this and will it make money? Why set up the whole shebang yourself rather than send the skins out? And what does TR have to say about it all?’

Queenie took a deep breath. ‘Right. Let me answer in order. I plan to sell the Kurrajong Hotel for finance because I do believe producing our own woollen finished garments, knitwear and leather fashions can become a viable national, as well as export, business. Not just for Tingulla’s wool but for other woolgrowers too. The great studs could produce individual styles like the French wine industry produces famous regional products. So yes, I believe it will make money. Marketing will be crucial, of course. Part of the money-making exercise is controlling and doing it ourselves. I see combining the best of the old with the best of modern technology.’

‘And TR?’

Queenie shifted uncomfortably, moving the phone to her other ear. ‘I haven’t talked to him about it. It seems so hard when he really has no idea what I’m talking about. As to the money, the Kurrajong is mine and TR has always agreed I can do what I want with it, seeing as I created it.’

‘I think you should pay him the courtesy of telling him your idea,’ said Tango gently. ‘What if his memory suddenly comes back and he thinks what you’re doing is crazy?’

‘You’re right. It’s just that he doesn’t seem interested in anything outside the hospital at present.’

‘Mum, when he comes back to Tingulla it might give him an interest. It’s a new project and he could get involved right from the start.’

‘Tango, that’s a great idea.’

Queenie was glad she’d talked it through with her son and she’d fill Saskia in on the details of it all next time she rang. But she wasn’t so sure about telling TR. He seemed so uninterested in anything to do with her that she felt utterly disheartened.

Although Colin still hadn’t given Camboni a definite answer — he resented his father-in-law’s assumption that he would do whatever was expected of him — he had realised that this job could be very useful. He would be in Queensland, within striking distance of Queenie. The resort would give him a respectable and credible front and when the time came, he’d just split. He really couldn’t care less what happened to any of Camboni’s projects. He was looking out for number one — Colin Hanlon.

But before making a final decision, he drove out to inspect the site of the proposed resort. He turned off the Pacific Highway onto the road inland and was soon winding through the curves and rolls of the lush green hills. The bitumen gave way to a dirt road. Queenslander farmhouses, set high above ground on poles and shaded by latticed verandahs, were tucked in the valleys. Around them the patchwork of fields were dotted with fat cattle knee-deep in lush feed. Small dams and creeks were full and it reminded Colin more of England’s west country. Progress hadn’t touched the area in the past fifty years. There were old post and rail fences, and in small towns, the occasional pub, general store and garage harked back to a slower time. Yet so close, over the border of the four-lane highway, lay glitterland. The ribbon of international resorts, towering blocks of luxury units, small brick boxes of less lavish home units, shopping centres, entertainment strips, complexes for holiday-makers, golf courses, and water sports centres, smothered what had once been quiet white beaches where rainforest swept down to the sand.

Once, small coastal townships of friendly locals had welcomed the dribble of families who came at Christmas to camp in tents and caravans and enjoy the peace and beauty of simple pleasures. But what they’d come for in the first place was all gone now. Most of the beaches were overshadowed by bland tower blocks of air-conditioned luxury with chlorinated pools on roofs and patios, the rainforest represented by potted palms on balconies and carefully arranged larger palms in manicured gardens front and back. The main streets were ribbons of commercialisation — noisy, gaudy, brash — but sun-soaked enough to make the holidaying southerners feel they had reached a tropical paradise. The heat, the sunshine, the informality and hedonistic lifestyle gave the strip of beaches a blatant sensuality that generated round-the-clock excitement. Even late at night the streets were ablaze with light and throbbing with traffic, nightclubs and partying holiday-makers determined to have a good time all the time.

Colin found it all rather gross. He had learned to appreciate the classier European resorts along the Mediterranean. They had style, he reflected as he drove further away from the Gold Coast, which he labelled a plastic fairyland in his thoughts but never in conversation with Camboni and his mates as they seemed really to believe it was paradise.

Colin found the unobtrusive side road and turned the Audi onto a dirt road creased with muddy tyre ruts, and drove up to the cleared parking area ringed with logs. It was a simple holiday retreat for school groups, small companies, and urban-based families who came over for a break from the cities and wanted something different from the coast.

Colin wandered about thinking that it was not the sort of place he’d come to for a holiday. There seemed little to do. A walk or two, a swim in the dinky pool, a game of tennis, and dinner in a restaurant that boasted home style cooking, which Colin decided would make anyone leave home. But the little bush cabins were tucked away in a clever arrangement so that each had its own access and didn’t look onto another. From a developer’s point of view it was a waste of space — many more could have been accommodated — but it gave the paying guest seclusion and privacy.

He peered into one of the empty cabins and suddenly thought the simplicity and romance of it was appealing. With the right person it would be fun. Dina would hate it. He sighed and sat in the cane lounge chair on the cabin verandah. When he first met Dina she had been fun, rich and sexy and she offered him a life of hedonism, far removed from the hardworking country life he’d grown up with. Little had changed in their relationship over the years. Dina was still the same: self-centred, indulged by her wealthy father, demanding, wilful, sometimes playful but these days more often pouty. But Colin was bored with her. Her frivolous attitude to life irritated him. They had no close friends, in Europe their acquaintances were jaded cynical sybarites; and being back home, the uncomplicated wholesomeness of Australians jarred in contrast. Colin wanted a new life. And he meant to get it.

Despite his bitter thoughts, he couldn’t help but be lulled by the tranquillity of the place. He walked to the back of the main building and on to the top of the terraced hillside. The winding orange dirt road was fringed in coiling vines of wild passionfruit, the deep red flowers attracting bees and birds. Here and there, pushing its way through the scrub, was voracious lantana where the native environment had taken over. Little landscaping had been done about the place, though he suspected that was due to lack of funds. Lawns were still struggling beside neat brick paths that went from door to door, to office, to dining room, like a join-the-dots game. The top of the hill was flat with sweeping vistas over to the coast and hadn’t yet been cleared, so rearing above the tangle of shrubs were old eucalypts and tall palms.

Colin sat on a boulder under a tree and pulled out a notebook from his hip pocket and started making notes. Engrossed in his work he didn’t hear the alarm calls from the birds in the trees around him.

‘You’ve found the best spot on the place. Peaceful, isn’t it?’

Colin looked up in surprise, he’d been so absorbed he hadn’t heard the other man approach. Standing before him was a man about his own age, dressed in shorts and a torn T-shirt and carrying a batik shoulder bag. He was muscular, tanned and had a bushy dark beard. A ragged straw hat shaded his face which was open, friendly and honest.

‘Yeah, it’s certainly peaceful. I didn’t hear you coming I was so busy writing.’

‘You should have been tuned in to the birds. They announced me,’ he said, looking up to the leafy canopy and the big flock of lorikeets eyeing them curiously. He returned his attention to Colin. ‘This is the place to be creative all right. There’s good energy coming out of this hill and valley. Reckon it’s something to do with the alignment of the peaks of the ranges over there, this hilltop and the headland of the coast out there. The crystals from round here are very powerful. Everything is in harmony with everything else. Makes for good thoughts.’

Colin looked at him, thinking the man must be a complete fruitcake and trying to conceal his utter amazement at the theory. ‘I wasn’t writing anything creative in that sense. I mean not poetry or anything, more a business brief,’ he said, hopeful of getting the conversation on to a plane he was more familiar with.

‘Doesn’t mean to say it can’t be creative. Go with the flow up here, you might be surprised with what you come up with. You staying here?’

‘No, just visiting for the day. Are you a guest?’

‘Mind if I sit down? Nope. I work here. I’m the gardener.’ He dipped a hand into his cotton shoulder bag. ‘Here, have a mango. Trees are full of them.’ He handed Colin a fat ripe mango and pulled a penknife from his pocket and started peeling one for himself. ‘My name’s Bruce Gaden, by the way.’

‘I’m Colin Hanlon.’ Colin watched him carefully as he peeled the mango in case this strange fellow suddenly attacked him with the penknife. ‘How long have you been working here?’

‘Oh, since the place opened eighteen months ago. Before that I was a marketing and advertising executive.’

Colin gave him a surprised look. ‘Dropped out, huh?’

‘I think it’s more a case of getting into it. I get a lot more satisfaction out of life doing this. I start the day with a bit of a walk through the gardens, have a chat to my special plants, listen to the birds while I’m watering. No more rushing off in a suit to flog stuff people don’t want or need.’

A bit off the planet, thought Colin, but the old hippie could be useful. ‘You make a decent living doing this? Or are you still living off your savings?’

‘I was dreadfully overpaid, I grant you that. It’s out of whack, the sort of money advertising people and unnecessary consultants get paid. I used up a lot of my savings but we live pretty simply.’

‘Do you work here all the time?’

‘Yes, I’m here every day, though the owner can only afford to pay me for a couple of hours. The rest of the time I wander around and make myself useful — might fix anything I can or take guests, when we have any, through the rainforest if they’re interested. Tell ’em about the flora and fauna and if I think they’re receptive or need to hear it, talk about ecosystems and give them a lecture about saving the planet.’ He laughed and sucked on his mango. ‘What do you do?’

‘Um, bit of this and that. Actually, the bloke I work for is considering buying this place and putting me in as manager.’

‘You’re joking. We knew the place was up for sale, poor bugger couldn’t make a go of it here. Too far out, doesn’t offer enough, nobody’s heard of it.’

‘My thoughts exactly,’ said Colin.

‘What would you do with it, not turn it into some mega development, I hope. Or condominiums — there was a rumour it was going to be built up and stuffed full of weekenders for the Gold Coast groupies.’

That would probably be more profitable, thought Colin, but hedged, ‘Well, nothing is finalised yet. What would you do with this place?’ asked Colin, thinking this man might have some ideas he could use.

‘Are you asking the marketing man or the happy man?’

‘Both, I guess,’ grinned Colin, wiping the mango juice off his lips with the back of his hand.

Bruce considered Colin for a moment. ‘I can see you’re a businessman and you probably aren’t into anything alternative . . . for want of a better word — I tend to like the word harmonious — but it seems to me our society and our lifestyle have been geared to greed, materialism and achievement. But what do we really want or need in this world? Somewhere to live where you feel good, the freedom to enjoy life, to be at peace with yourself, and to share these things. We’ve been taught that money gives you freedom. Not so. I knew a lot of people that “had it all” and they were bloody miserable.’

Ha, scoffed Colin to himself. He knew you couldn’t live without money, that was what kept him with Dina. Until he had a large amount of money of his own, he was trapped. Money was freedom all right.

‘And I tell you,’ Bruce went on, ‘if the little folk as well as the big corporations and governments keep chasing the almighty dollar, it’s going to push us all off the face of this earth quicker than any one could believe. If we don’t poison ourselves and the world first, or kill ourselves with wars and plagues, or just stop breathing when the lungs of the world collapse along with the depletion of the rainforest. It’s a matter of balance; we have to balance all these things and it seems to me a good way to start is with ourselves, learning to love us as well as our world. The kids are getting the message, but it might be too late in another generation or so. Anyway, what’s this all to do with Harmony Hill I hear you ask . . .’

‘Harmony what?’ interrupted Colin, only half listening to the speech he had dubbed the Sermon on the Mount.

‘Hill. That’s just our name for this place. No, what we need are more places where people can learn all these things, learn to get in touch with themselves and the real world. Even if only for a week or so. I’d like this place to be a sort of teaching centre.’

Colin figured he might as well hear this guy out. ‘What would you do to achieve that?’ he asked.

Bruce sucked on his mango and looked around. ‘I know what I’d build here — a large yurt to use as a convention centre or therapy and exercise studio, with smaller yurts radiating from it which could be used for meditation, private massages, float tanks or one-on-one sessions of healing, health and stress management.’

Colin was highly sceptical about this new age, self-awareness bullshit, it was a philosophy that was alien to him. But he knew it was big business in America. ‘It would have to be marketed properly,’ said Colin slowly. ‘It would have to be advertised as a holiday for the body, mind, and spirit and not perceived as some hippie commune. Clients have to see it as a fun place that does them good.’ Colin smiled inwardly. Hell, even he could get into the jargon and the spirit of the concept. ‘You got any other ideas for this place?’ he asked, figuring he might as well pick Bruce’s brains.

‘Yeah. If you’re agreeable, I’d like to sit under a tree and have a yarn.’ Bruce settled himself more comfortably. ‘Y’know, Colin, I once suggested to that big deal company I worked for that we have conferences and board meetings outside under a tree in the garden and not in the plush-plush conference room. Bullshit evaporates more quickly in fresh air.’

‘Did they?’

‘Nah. It was just considered another one of Bruce’s mad ideas and not taken seriously. No one ever listened to what I was really saying. One of the reasons I left. I’d rather talk to the plants,’ he chuckled and pushed his hat back and looked up into the trees.

‘I’d like to listen to your ideas, Bruce. First let me tell you what I have in mind.’

Colin, in his silk shirt, Valentino pants and Bally shoes sat beside Bruce in his faded shorts, torn T-shirt and leather sandals and they talked together for the next few hours. Bruce did most of the talking and while Colin decided he probably wasn’t mad after all, he certainly wasn’t on the same wavelength. He half listened as Bruce rambled on, but the question uppermost in Colin’s mind was not how to find inner peace but how to unstitch Queenie. More and more he saw that she held the key to his future. Wrest the assets away from her which were due him, and he would be home free.

Chapter Ten

Saskia marched into TR’s room with a bunch of Australian native flowers. ‘Hey, TR. How goes it? Ready to play footy yet?’ She put the flowers on his chest. ‘A bit of the bush to cheer you up.’

He looked pleased to see her. ‘Hi Saskia. Thanks for the gift. I can sit up by myself, lift a few weights and get around in the wheelchair. That’s doing pretty damned well Jenni tells me.’

‘Wow. That’s fantastic,’ she enthused. ‘Three cheers for Jenni the slave-driver.’

‘Yeah. I couldn’t do it without her.’

‘I also brought you a custard apple — you like them a lot.’

He laughed. ‘Well I’ll have to eat it now, won’t I? That’s thoughtful of you.’

‘I’ll go and get a vase and some water for the flowers. Shall I get us a cup of tea while I’m out there?’

‘That’d be nice.’

Saskia left the room and TR picked up the bunch of flowers. His right arm was now out of its bandages and able to function again, albeit with stiffness and some pain. He snapped off a small pink gumtip and rubbed the leaf between his fingers and held it to his nose, inhaling deeply. When he looked up, Saskia was standing in the doorway holding two cups of tea and watching him.

‘Remind you of anything?’

‘Yeah, hospital disinfectant.’ They both laughed.

While they drank their tea, they talked about his exercise programme and Saskia told him of her plans to spend the weekend in Surfers Paradise with her flatmates Sherry and Julie and of her increasing frustration with her studies. ‘I’m seriously considering walking out on the whole thing. I just don’t think I can get through the rest of the course. And I don’t see the point as I think I’ve definitely decided against being a vet.’

‘Mmm. Seems a pity to throw all that effort and time away when you’re so close. What else would you do?’

‘Something with horses. They really are my first love.’

‘I suppose you’ve always had horses, this isn’t a romantic girlish notion?’

‘TR, please! I outgrew that when I was eleven. I mean I want to get into serious horse stuff.’

‘Hadn’t you better talk to Tango? He’s the one who is in the serious business of horses.’

‘I thought about it but I know he’ll just say I have to stick with it. Especially for Mum’s sake.’

‘Have you talked about this to your mother?’ Saskia bit her lip. ‘Yes. It didn’t go down very well.’

TR looked sympathetic. ‘It’s probably not good timing. I suppose you can blame me for that.’

‘Oh, not at all TR! Everyone says I should at least graduate and I can see that, but I just know I don’t want to be a vet so it seems a waste of time.’

‘Listen, go off and have fun with your mates this weekend and put it out of your mind. Maybe you’ll look at things differently in a week or so.’ TR gave her a smile which was swiftly replaced by a flash of pain. He grimaced and Saskia grabbed his empty cup from him.

‘You all right, TR?’

‘Yes thanks. I get these spasms every so often. Not very pleasant. I’d better rest for a bit. Thanks for coming in to see me, Saskia.’

‘Mum sends her love. Said she’ll be in soon. She’s planning to go over to Cricklewood for a bit. That’s our other property with the stud cattle.’

‘Yeah, I’ve got the picture; not that it means anything much,’ he said with a touch of irritation. ‘I’m sort of concentrating on my own little deal here.’

Saskia nodded, feeling slightly hurt on her mother’s behalf. TR saw the pained expression in her eyes but while he enjoyed the company of this breezy young woman, Queenie made him uncomfortable. The deep love in her eyes and the fact she was beautiful and sexy, but a stranger, unnerved him.

Saskia drove south down the expressway to Surfers Paradise and along Main Beach until she found the Sunray Motel. The manager gave her a key to their shared room. Already it had the over-occupied look of girls on holiday. Clothes, towels, hair dryers, bags with cosmetics, magazines and hairbrushes covered the beds, table and benchtop in the kitchen. A note stuck to the bathroom mirror told Saskia they’d gone to check out the beach. Saskia pulled on her swimsuit, wrapped a sarong around her waist and headed across the road to the beach. It was hot and the wind whipped the breakers into an unpleasant choppy surf. She didn’t feel like swimming in this and she knew sunbaking would mean being assaulted by stinging windblown volleys of sand.

Everywhere along the beach people were enjoying themselves despite the conditions. A Japanese tour bus waited at yet another photo stop as the passengers picked their way onto the sand in dresses, long pants and shoes to take the group shot on the beach. Saskia wondered why the cameraman kept his back to the sea, posing the group against a backdrop of skyscrapers.

Further along, a beach inspector sped past her in a colourful dune buggy emblazoned with the name of a suntan lotion. Saskia realised she wasn’t wearing a hat or sunscreen and was annoyed with herself. She was about to turn around and cross back over to the street of shops, when she saw the other girls coming towards her, waving in greeting.

‘You got here. Did you get into the room okay? How’s TR?’ asked Julie excitedly.

‘Fine. In fact he seems much stronger.’

‘No memory yet?’

Saskia shook her head. ‘What are you doing? I’m burning. I’ll have to go to a shop, I forgot to bring a hat.’

‘We were just going over to get something to eat,’ said Sherry, ‘and then we’re going to look around the shops. Let’s go.’

After lunch they wandered around the shops near the beach in their sarongs and swimsuits. They joked about the casual clothes, souvenirs, novelty gifts, sandals, and beach accessories and tried on T-shirts and silly hats. The three girls bought straw hats, fifties-style sunglasses that curved in cats’ eyes studded with fake rhinestones, and ate wildly flavoured ice creams.

‘How can you eat bubble-gum ice cream? You have no class, Sherry.’

‘It’s no worse than the licorice and guava you’re eating, Jules.’

‘Let’s go down to Cavill Avenue and look at the posh shops.’

‘Not dressed like this!’ exclaimed Sherry.

‘Of course we can. Anything goes here,’ said Saskia.

Sherry looked doubtful. ‘We can’t afford them. They’re all European designers for the Japanese tourists.’

‘We can look,’ said Julie.

‘Later, later. Let’s go take a siesta,’ suggested Saskia.

They flaked out across the beds in their room with the door open allowing the wind to cool them, and gossiped. Saskia was tempted to share her misgivings about her career choice, but decided not to get heavy. Besides, the times when she had mentioned her dissatisfaction to her friends they’d all declared it was normal, everyone went through that stage.

They opened a packet of biscuits bought at the motel store, boiled the electric jug and made tea and coffee with the instant packets provided, and began to primp, shower and change for the evening. The plan was a Mexican meal, a band at the Beachfront Hotel beer garden, then on to one of the discos with the hope of meeting some attractive guys.

It was a weekend when a lot of young people had a similar idea and the three attractive girls quickly met up with four boys at the Beachfront Hotel — two brothers from a property near Winton and two mates on holiday from Cairns. They’d avoided the southern slickers and found these boys good company. They headed for the disco and danced there for a while, then someone suggested they go to the casino.

‘Let’s pool our resources and tackle the blackjack or roulette tables, ten dollar limit,’ one of the boys suggested.

The casino was a multilevel black glass cube with a gold awning stretching over its entrance. It was set back from the highway in movie-set grounds and Saskia was tempted to feel the plants to check if they were real or plastic. The lobby was filled with peach upholstered furniture, pearl shell vases and matching pot plant tubs and the sound of the chatter, laughter and groans of the gamblers. Car attendants in white uniforms with gold trim and pearl shell buttons supervised parking, and arriving and departing tour coaches. Coffee shops, restaurants and cocktail bars fanned off the lobby and the mezzanine floor. Escalators as well as lifts travelled to the ritzier upper gambling floors.

The evening passed swiftly. Saskia began to get a little bored and handed the last of her chips to the other girls. ‘I’ve kept a couple of dollars for the taxi home. You carry on, I’m going to have a look around then go. See you.’

She took the escalator to the upper level where the serious players gambled. The atmosphere was muted here and people were dressed more formally — ties were required for the men and the ladies were not permitted to wear trousers. There seemed to be more security people wandering about as well. Saskia strolled around, taking a glass of champagne off a tray a waiter offered her.

Bored, she was about to leave when she noticed a small crowd gathered around a roulette table, watching a game where several players had monumental stacks of chips in front of them.

The croupier was sharp eyed but an even more alert supervisor was at his side. The croupier deftly spun the small ball around the wheel. ‘No more bets ladees and shentlemen.’ Why the fake French accent? wondered Saskia. He looked like a surf-lifesaver.

There was a minute of tension, all eyes on the spinning wheel and ball. The ball spun into a numbered slot. ‘Trente-neuf. Thirty-nine.’ He raked the chips off the table, swiftly counting the lone winner’s chips and pushing them across the baize. A very large pile of blue chips was joined to similar piles and a murmur of envy went around the people watching. Saskia looked at the small fortune in front of the player and caught her breath. The woman was expensively if flashily dressed, large glittering diamond earrings sparkling against her dark hair. She began counting out more chips, placing small piles on red numbers on the table.

Saskia studied her. She hadn’t changed too much. She was still very glamorous in a soap opera star way. The light was soft and flattering and her make-up thick but carefully applied, but her sex appeal was undiminished. There was no mistaking her. Aunt Andina.

Saskia waited till she’d placed her bets and edged around behind her, then bent down. ‘Hello, Dina.’

Dina spun around and looked blankly at the lovely young girl before her. She was familiar. God, whose daughter was she? They all grew up so quickly. ‘Hello, darling, how are you?’

Saskia realised she couldn’t place her. ‘It’s Saskia, your niece. Queenie’s daughter. I thought you were in Europe.’ As Dina blinked in surprise Saskia asked hesitantly, ‘How’s Uncle Colin?’

The croupier was spinning the wheel; Dina turned her attention back to the table. ‘Just a minute.’ She sipped a glass of Chivas Regal at her side as the ball rattled, then jumped into a black slot. Dina sighed as her chips were swept away, then turned back to Saskia.

‘I lost.’

Saskia thought there was a faint accusing note to her voice. ‘Looks like you’ve been winning though. Is Colin here?’

‘No. He went home.’

‘Home?’

‘We’ve just moved up here, my father is living at Broadwater. How is your family?’ Her voice had the steely quality Saskia remembered.

‘We’re managing. TR is in hospital; he had a bad riding accident.’

‘Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.’ Dina lowered her voice. ‘Saskia, I’d love to chat but this is not the place. Here, give me a call some time, we are still getting settled.’ She pulled a small embossed card from her purse and scribbled a phone number on the back, smiled briefly and concentrated on the numbers once more.

Saskia moved away and turned over the card which read, Camboni Constructions with an address in Southport. Printed below it was Alfredo Camboni, Chairman and an address at Bali Hai Towers, The Waterways.

Saskia was thoughtful as she waited for a taxi at the front of the casino. She bet her mother didn’t know Colin was back in Australia. Why did he continue to cut them out of his life? From what Saskia had heard about the Camboni in-laws, they wouldn’t be her first choice to throw in her lot with. However, Millie had always told Saskia that Dina ran everything, including Colin.

Her mother had never told Saskia the full story of the family rift, only saying there was little point in dragging up painful memories. Things had worked out happily in the end — despite Colin. But knowing he was so close kindled her curiosity and Saskia decided she would make contact and depending on how — if indeed he agreed to see her — she was treated, she might or might not tell her mother.

She had just fallen asleep when the other girls came in, giggling and whispering. The bathroom light went on and Sas was prodded. ‘Hey, Sas, you awake?’ said Sherry.

‘Of course I am, who can sleep with you belting me up. What’s happening?’

‘We won three hundred dollars!’

‘Great! You guys get to buy breakfast.’ Saskia rolled over and was asleep before the other two were ready for bed.

Saskia rang from a public phone box and was a bit taken aback when Colin answered the phone.

‘Er . . . Hello, Uncle Colin. This is Saskia. How are you?’

‘Saskia?’ He sounded completely surprised.

‘Yes. I ran into Auntie Dina last night, and she gave me this number.’

‘You saw Dina last night? Where?’ He still sounded very surprised.

‘At the casino. I was there with some girlfriends. Didn’t Dina tell you?’

‘Er . . . no. She’s not up yet. Where are you?’

‘In Surfers, just for the long weekend.’

‘What are you doing with yourself these days? God, you sound so grown up. I’m sorry, that’s a terrible thing to say. I’m just trying to come to grips with the little kid I last saw on a pony now swanning round a casino on the Gold Coast.’

They both laughed.

‘Listen, why don’t you come over tomorrow? Dina’s arranged some lunch do, a buffet on the terrace, but you’d be welcome. Bring your girlfriends if you’d like.’

‘They’re busy,’ said Saskia quickly, then on the spur of the moment added, ‘but I’ll come. Where and what time?’

Colin gave her the address and hung up. He had no particular interest in socialising with a niece with whom he’d had no contact for years, but this was Queenie’s child and instinctively he felt Saskia could prove useful. If he couldn’t get at Queenie directly, he might be able to get at her through her daughter.

‘Oh I wish I hadn’t said yes. What am I going to wear? I’ve got nothing flash,’ Saskia wailed as they bobbed in the surf later in the day.

‘You could cancel it,’ said Sherry.

‘No, he’d know I was making an excuse and was chickening out. Or worse, he might think my mother told me not to go.’

‘Hey, buy a new outfit in one of those cool shops in the arcade,’ said Julie.

‘I can’t afford those places,’ sighed Saskia.

Sherry and Julie whispered briefly then Julie said, ‘We’ll buy you something with the money we won’.

‘What’s left after that pig-out breakfast,’ laughed Sherry.

‘No, no, I couldn’t,’ protested Saskia.

‘Well, let’s go look anyway.’ Julie was adamant. They dived beneath a wave and when they surfaced they started discussing the boys they’d met the night before.

They went shopping that afternoon and Saskia found the ideal outfit. She bought a long white silk beach sarong, its hem hand-painted in a pale and delicate ring of shells. It was hanging on a street stall and cost forty-five dollars. Julie and Sherry were dubious but Saskia was pleased. ‘I know exactly what I’ll do with it,’ she smiled.

The following morning she came back from the beach, showered and rubbed lotion on her skin. She towelled her hair dry and ran her fingers through it to style it, then put on a little make-up, just lipstick and eye shadow. Her thick dark lashes didn’t need mascara, and her skin glowed with health and youth. She then wound the sarong around her body, knotting it above her breasts so she had a white strapless figure-hugging dress. The line of shells followed the curves around her body and she set it off with a dramatic necklace she’d made from shells she and Queenie had once collected on Neptune Island.

‘My God, only you would have thought of wearing that like that, Sas. It’s a knockout,’ exclaimed Julie.

‘It needs a little final touch,’ said Saskia.

‘No earrings, nothing else,’ said Sherry.

But with a single frangipani flower tucked into the side of her dark curls both girls agreed she looked stunning.

However, Saskia felt tense and self-conscious as she rang the doorbell of the penthouse. A waiter opened the door and stood back. The large room and terrace seemed to be filled with people who all turned and stared at her. Then Dina was bearing down on her, followed by her father. As she crossed the white carpet, Dina’s smile looked set in cement. She was wearing a scarlet silk pantsuit and a lot of gold jewellery and she suddenly felt much older than she believed she looked.

‘Saskia, I’m so glad Colin asked you over,’ Dina said coldly.

‘Ciao little one,’ Alfredo Camboni said, making no attempt to disguise his lecherous expression. ‘You have grown into a beauty. A madonna. So pretty, so perfect.’ He embraced her, pressing her body to his. Over his shoulder Saskia saw Colin coming to her rescue. She extricated herself and Colin kissed her lightly on the cheek.

‘Come and get a drink and let me be the first to show you off.’ He took her hand and led her away. Dina and her father exchanged a look and followed them.

Colin had covered his surprise at how stunning Saskia looked. This was not the horse-mad girl he’d been expecting, but a gorgeous nubile young woman. He eyed her body beneath the light silk and visualised her firm lean flesh. Seducing her would be one delightful way to get back at Queenie, but already he could feel Dina’s eyes on him and he knew she was reading his mind.

Saskia became the immediate hit of the party, the women commenting on how adorable and how darling her dress was. ‘You made your necklace! My, you are so talented, so artistic.’ Some were sincere, some gushed, many of the men leered openly.

Small groups of men huddled together discussing development projects, investment opportunities, land deals, racing tips and gambling adventures. Their conversation stilled as Saskia was steered about the room. Two of the younger associates made a beeline for her and cornered her, each trying to outdo the other in flattery and to impress her with their credentials of expensive European sports cars and the latest places on the Coast to eat and dance. Was she going to the Magic Millions ball? Had she tried Ambrettas yet? Did she know the De Lancias? Was she going to the party for the Count di Manzonni? Would she like to go?

Saskia shook her head and laughed. ‘I move in a different world to yours’, and swept away, leaving the young men wondering what social milieu they’d missed out on.

Lunch was a buffet spread on a long table on the terrace and as people found places to settle themselves to eat, Colin steered Saskia to a quieter corner where only two could fit at a small white wrought-iron table.

‘This damn thing wobbles,’ he warned, ‘so don’t be surprised if your lunch ends up in your lap. This place is filled with the most impossible furniture.’

‘You and Dina live here?’

‘God no. This is Alfredo’s place — the lair of the silver fox. We’re staying here while we decide what we’re doing.’ He looked faintly uncomfortable for the first time. ‘Dina and I only got back from Europe a few weeks ago. We’ve been away a long time. Out of touch.’

Saskia looked steadily into his face. ‘I noticed.’

He winced and picked up his glass of wine. ‘Ouch. You’re very like your mother.’ He paused. ‘How is she?’

‘Coping. As she always does. TR’s accident has been hard on all of us, but especially on her.’

‘Accident? What happened?’ Colin’s heart missed a beat. This could be the opportunity he’d been looking for.

‘Dina didn’t tell you?’

‘No,’ said Colin, glancing over at Dina who was perched on a bar stool, her legs crossed, the scarlet silk stretched over a bulging thigh, one gold sandal dangling from the tip of her foot. He turned his attention away but Saskia caught the disdainful expression that had flitted momentarily across his face. Briefly she filled him in on TR and what Tango was doing and how Queenie was running Tingulla and Cricklewood.

‘What’s happening with Cricklewood? It’s always been undeveloped.’

‘You have been away a long time.’ She told him about the stud cattle programme and research they were doing into the new strains of beef cattle.

He listened with interest, filing away this valuable information. ‘Queenie and TR have got it made, eh?’ he said, not looking so pleased at the thought. ‘And what about the old . . . hierarchy — Millie, Jim and Snowy — are they still around?’

‘Of course!’

‘Are you going to tell them, or your mother, that you saw me?’

‘Do you want me to?’

‘Better not open old wounds while your mother is so vulnerable,’ Colin said. He didn’t want Queenie to know he was around. She’d be on her guard and Colin preferred to have the advantage of surprise.

‘I often wondered how someone like you could go from being brought up at Tingulla to living in the fleshpots of Europe.’

‘A quote from your mother?’

Saskia pushed salad into her mouth to avoid answering.

Colin changed the subject. ‘So what are you doing?’

‘Studying to be a vet, but now I’m not sure I want to be one. I’m thinking of opting out for a year and maybe starting all over again doing something else outside of uni. But what, I’m not sure.’

‘What are you interested in?’

‘Horses.’

‘Couldn’t you do something specifically with horses and parlay some of your vet’s knowledge into that as well?’ Colin offered Kindly Uncle advice, but it occurred to him Saskia could be a useful pawn against Queenie.

‘Would be nice. I’m just so fed up with everything, but I can’t take off and leave Mum while TR is in such bad shape. He can’t even walk.’

‘Christ, he must be smashed up pretty bad. But people do come back. I remember some rodeo clowns and riders who got busted and trodden on by a bull and they came back good as gold. Had bits of metal and pins where bones were, but they were tough.’ Colin thought back to the first confrontation he’d had with TR — at Queenie’s twenty-first party. Then later at the McPherson Endurance Ride. TR was tough all right, but in a quiet steely way that could be very deceptive. He was a formidable opponent, but with him out of the way Queenie was even more open to attack.

‘What are you thinking?’ Saskia was watching him and Colin realised he’d been quiet for longer than normal.

‘Oh, just old stuff.’ He stood quickly. ‘I’m going to get a refill, how’s your drink?’

‘Fine thanks.’ Saskia returned to her meal. The food was delicious but she suspected it had all been catered. She couldn’t imagine Dina donning the frilly apron and whipping up this spread. She was no stereotypical Italian mama at home amongst the oregano and tomato paste.

Colin returned with drinks, insisting Saskia have another. Family business was forgotten as he charmed her with stories of his travels in Europe. Saskia found his company beguiling. He was an intriguing man, but there was something sinister about him. Still, Julie and Sherry would think her handsome and elegant uncle was to die for.

Colin was in the middle of an anecdote when Dina interrupted. ‘Darling,’ she smiled, ‘you do have other guests, though I can see Saskia is hanging on your every word. Don’t believe everything he tells you, dear.’

Colin looked sheepishly at Saskia and followed his wife. They didn’t have the opportunity for another private chat before it was time for Saskia to leave. She went in search of her uncle to say goodbye and found him standing by the bar, Dina clinging to his arm. It was a possessive and defensive gesture and Colin looked uncomfortable. He unhooked her arm as she spoke. ‘But, Saskia, the party isn’t over! We’ll go on till dark and then out somewhere, there are so many places to go on the Coast now.’

‘Thank you anyway, Dina. I told my friends I was just going for lunch. We have to pack up, we’re going early in the morning.’ She turned to Colin and impulsively gave him a quick hug. ‘Thanks, Uncle Colin.’

‘Call me again,’ he whispered in her ear as he gave her a quick squeeze. ‘Hey,’ he said aloud, ‘I think we can drop the uncle now, it makes me feel ancient.’

The lift doors hummed open and Saskia walked through the air-conditioned, mirrored lobby, pressed the button to open the security doors, and stepped into the warm air of the street. She took a deep breath and relaxed for the first time since she’d walked into the apartment building. Somehow she knew she’d call Colin again. But what would she tell her mother?

Twirling the keys to the rental car she started to think how she’d recount the lunch to Sherry and Julie. How would she begin to describe Dina? Thinking of her cream-puff face, Saskia decided Dina had the face of a milkmaid and the tongue of a viper. She began to imitate Dina’s mincing walk and Gina Lollobrigida accent. The girls were going to love it.

Chapter Eleven

TR joined a group of patients beneath a spreading poinciana tree in the hospital gardens, giving a strong push to move his wheelchair off the path onto the grass in the shade.

It was a mixed group but he had a special friendship with Dennis, an apprentice jockey who had taken a bad fall during a race. His arms as well as his legs had been injured and another mobile patient pushed his wheelchair along. TR recognised the young boy was going through the same thing as he was. Dennis was swamped in depression and self-pity for a promising career over at seventeen.

Gently TR tried to explain what Jenni had told him. ‘Getting over a bad accident isn’t just dealing with the broken bones, mate. It’s in the head and mind too. We have to go through the various stages of the grieving process. I feel just like you do. So hang in there, kid.’

The boy looked unconvinced despite the fleeting grin he gave in gratitude for the kind words and caring smile.

‘Hey, TR, your slave-driver approaches,’ announced one of the group.

TR pretended to groan as he saw the slight figure of Jenni in her pale blue uniform marching towards them.

‘Can’t a bloke enjoy a bit of a yarn with his mates?’ asked TR as she started to shake a finger at him.

‘You were supposed to meet me at eleven. Smoko’s over, boys. Come on, TR. We’re walking today.’

‘Just like that? Up and bloody walk,’ said TR in genuine amazement.

‘Good a day as any, I reckon,’ responded Jenni, grasping the back of his wheelchair and turning him back towards the path. ‘See you fellows later.’

‘Don’t chase the nurses, TR.’

‘Break a leg as the actors say.’

‘See you on the basketball court.’

The good-natured banter echoed after them as Jenni pushed him firmly towards her ground-floor exercise room.

‘You serious about this then, are you?’

‘You sound nervous, TR.’

‘I’ve just got the hang of this damned chair. Am I getting one of those walker contraptions or dragging myself along the parallel bars or what?’

‘Now your arm is okay we can get you onto crutches.’ They went through the automatic doors into the hallway leading to what TR called Jenni’s torture chamber.

Inside the room with its familiar smell of rubber and liniment, TR looked at her and muttered sheepishly, ‘I’m afraid of falling over’.

‘That’s normal,’ Jenni said sympathetically. Slowly she explained how he had to balance on his good leg, taking the weight in the upper part of his body. ‘We’re just going to get you up first then worry about taking a step or two.’

For TR this was another major hurdle and he felt himself break out in a sweat as he struggled to balance on the two seemingly fragile pieces of wood.

When he stopped wobbling, Jenni moved behind him and grasped him round the hips. ‘I’ve got you, TR, you can’t fall; now push that crutch forward and let’s move it.’

Biting his lip, TR managed an agonising shuffle, taking two steps.

‘Bravo!’ Jenni squeezed his waist. ‘Off we go again.’

She was genuinely pleased at his progress and her spontaneous gesture caused her a flurry of confused feelings. She knew she was important in TR’s life — she represented support and a way of getting him back on his feet again. There was always a bond that developed between patient and physiotherapist, and it was necessary in helping the recuperation process. But Jenni was not prepared for the sudden realisation that this particular patient was becoming very special to her.

By the end of their session, TR had shakily negotiated six metres and allowed Jenni to help him settle back into the wheelchair.

‘There, aren’t you proud of yourself? The next hurdle is travelling a little further each day and getting in and out of your wheelchair by yourself.’

‘Then what?’

‘Then you’re mobile. You’ll still need regular treatment and some nursing assistance, and you’ll still need physio sessions but you’ll be able to go home.’

‘I can’t do that.’ TR was almost shouting. ‘I want to stay on here. I’m not ready to go back . . . there.’

Seeing how distressed he was, Jenni didn’t argue but instead reached out and squeezed his hand.

Queenie arrived at the hospital two days later and as she was walking down the hallway to TR’s room she saw him coming towards her in his wheelchair, a look of fierce concentration on his face as he propelled himself along. He slowed when he saw her and glided to a stop.

‘TR! This is wonderful. You’re mobile.’

‘Kind of. I’m having a struggle with the crutches, a bit wobbly on them. I still spend a heck of a lot of time on my back in bed. How’s everything with you?’

‘Good.’ She looked at him carefully. ‘You don’t seem too pleased with your progress.’

‘All the movement aggravates the pain. Sometimes I wish they’d just cut my damn leg off and be done with it,’ he said grouchily.

Queenie began pushing his wheelchair towards his room. ‘I know the pain must be bad, but it’s not like you to be so negative.’

‘Well I don’t know how I’m supposed to be, do I?’ he snapped.

Queenie was silent as they entered his room and found a nurse putting fresh sheets on his bed. She stood by quietly, feeling helpless as she watched the nurse manoeuvre TR onto the mattress. TR bit his lip and closed his eyes in pain until he was settled back on the bed.

Queenie opened her bag, anxious to focus on the trivial rather than see TR in such discomfort. ‘I’ve brought you new pyjamas, a book — just a light novel — and a book about Tingulla. Is there anything else you’d like?’

He shook his head.

‘TR, I know you’re doing well in here, and we’re all so proud of you, but it seems to me you might do a lot better back in your own environment. I’m making arrangements to have you moved back to Tingulla. Familiar surroundings might just trigger your memory . . . ’

TR raised his hands in protest and interrupted. ‘Wait a minute! I need special care. I can’t be stuck out on some remote station. And what right have you got to take over my life? Make decisions for me? I’m not an imbecile. I’ll decide what’s best for me!’ His voice was raised and he glared at her angrily.

‘You’ll have the best of care, round the clock,’ said Queenie in what she hoped was a reassuring tone. ‘Look, everyone tells me your heart simply isn’t in it here. You’re not really motivated.’

‘Motivated!’ snapped TR angrily. ‘You try lying here feeling like someone is shoving hot irons into your body. When taking a bloody breath can feel like a knife stabbing you. Aches and pains and weird sensations, and a head like an empty shell.’

Queenie reached over and laid her hand on his arm and spoke gently, deeply disturbed by the heat of his anger. ‘I’m trying to understand, TR, but don’t forget that I know you. I know you as well or better than you know yourself. And my head and my heart tell me I have to get you back to Tingulla. It’s your home, a place you love, TR. I just know it will be more beneficial and healing than this sterile hospital.’

‘I won’t leave Jenni. She’s the only one who can get me up and about,’ he said stubbornly.

‘Fine. Then we’ll take Jenni home with us.’

TR stared at her. ‘You’re very used to getting your own way, aren’t you?’

‘If you think I’m some spoiled rich bitch, you’re dead wrong, TR. But I’ll fight for what I want and right now I want you better no matter what. If I arrange for a physiotherapist to live in and the doctors agree, you can at least give it a try. You’ve nothing to lose and everything to gain.’

‘Not a physiotherapist. Jenni. And if she stays here, I stay.’

It was on the tip of Queenie’s tongue to ask why he felt so strongly about this Jenni lady, but she kept quiet, hoping he was just putting obstacles in her way. ‘But if she agrees, you agree?’

TR didn’t answer. ‘I’m not able to travel yet.’

‘We’ll see about that.’ Queenie rose.

‘Christ, let me at least think about it,’ muttered TR closing his eyes and wishing Queenie and her plan would go away. ‘I’m not ready to face all that unknown out there,’ he said in a tired voice.

‘TR I really believe that the sooner you make this move the sooner you’ll be on the road to recovery. I know it seems a big step,’ said Queenie gently.

‘You’re not a doctor, Queenie . . . are you?’ He opened his eyes to stare at her, a challenge in their blue depths.

She smiled at him. ‘No, TR. But when it comes to you, I think I know best.’

She left the room and TR groaned aloud. What a stubborn bloody woman.

The hospital contacted Jenni and told her that Mrs Hamilton had asked her to phone her as soon as possible. It was Jenni’s day off, but she called Queenie at the Riverside Terrace apartment.

‘This is Jenni Brown, your husband’s physio, Mrs Hamilton. Is there a problem?’

Queenie reassured her there wasn’t but suggested they meet and invited her to the apartment for coffee.

When she arrived, Queenie opened the door. Her first thought at the sight of the pretty blonde woman in her early twenties was how delicate she seemed; fine bones, small build, medium height and a sweet smile.

Jenni had heard how beautiful Queenie was, but found the tall and striking woman before her also very naturally lovely. They smiled, each liking what they saw.

‘Come in, come in. Can I call you Jenni? And please, call me Queenie.’

They settled themselves on the sofa and after some small talk, Queenie got down to business. ‘Jenni, it seems to me TR has a problem in his attitude and approach to getting better. He is very negative which, I have to tell you, is totally alien to his normal behaviour. I know you are doing a splendid job with him, and he seems to have a great attachment to you.’

‘It happens all the time. You must have their trust or you don’t get their cooperation.’

‘I understand. In his case he has, of course, the additional problem of his memory loss.’

Jenni nodded. ‘He doesn’t talk about it, but I know it’s causing him bouts of depression and it’s certainly one of the factors against his progress. He does need to change his approach.’

‘So we agree. Jenni, I want to get him out of that hospital and home to Tingulla as soon as possible. I mean very soon.’

Jenni looked at Queenie, recognising a strong-willed woman when she saw one.

Queenie missed Jenni’s penetrating gaze and went on, absorbed in explaining her plan. ‘I think being back in familiar surroundings could trigger his memory. He can’t stay in his cocoon at the hospital forever. The sooner he is at home the easier the transition back to his life will be.’

‘It could work, but he will need very specialised care Mrs . . . Queenie,’ said Jenni, pausing to acknowledge Queenie’s smile. ‘Virtually a full-time carer, as well as the physio programme. And he won’t be ready to travel for a week or more, and even then it’s risky. I sympathise, I know how anxious you are to see him turn the corner. But don’t you think you’re rushing things a bit?’

‘Possibly. But provided we can get him home safely, and set up whatever he needs, I think it will be to his advantage. I know my husband, Jenni. He doesn’t remember what Tingulla means to him. To us. I do.’

Jenni was thoughtful. ‘I see. As I said, it would mean a lot of dedicated attention and work. All the love and well-intentioned care in the world can’t replace specialised treatment.’

‘It requires someone very special. That’s where you come in. Would you consider coming out to work with him, live in for however long is needed?’

Jenni stared at her. ‘Me? I’m attached to the hospital. I’m sure we could find someone . . . ’

‘No. He wants you. I realise this could cause a bit of an upheaval in your life, but we’ll make it worth your while,’ said Queenie anxiously.

‘It’s not the money. Physios don’t generally take on other nursing duties. You’re asking me to be his full-time medical and personal carer?’

‘Yes. Work with him every day. Millie and I will assist you in any other way. Though I sense a reluctance from TR to let us do even that. Is there a problem with the hospital? Are you under contract?’

‘Not really. I could take leave without pay. But I’d like to think this over. I’d also have to talk to TR.’

‘Of course. Give me a call in the next few days. I’m going over to Cricklewood to check on the bulls and cattle we have there. We’ve started an embryo implant programme along with the semen sales.’

‘You mean you transplant embryos into surrogate cattle?’ Jenni was interested.

‘Exactly. The good mothers are plain old stock who bear the progeny of champions.’

‘Sounds fascinating.’

‘When you come to Tingulla we’ll arrange a trip to Cricklewood if you’d like,’ smiled Queenie.

Jenni grinned back. ‘I haven’t given you my answer yet. I’ll be in touch in a day or so.’ Jenni put down her coffee cup, determined not to be bulldozed by Queenie, but it was certainly an offer she’d seriously consider.

Within a week TR could manage his crutches well and it gave him a new sense of independence. He still needed the wheelchair to cover long distances but Jenni was pleased with his progress.

‘You get a gold star, TR. In fact, do you know what I think . . . I think you can go home in a week or so.’ She crouched beside his wheelchair and took his hands. ‘Now don’t close up on me and look like that. You’re going to have to face this hurdle at some stage. It might as well be now. In fact,’ she added gently, echoing Queenie’s words, ‘you might find being in a familiar environment will trigger the memory process.’

‘It’s not a familiar environment. This is. And who is going to work with me? I can’t manage all that well . . . not without you, Jenni.’

‘Well, maybe that will be possible. Queenie has offered me a job . . . to live in at Tingulla and continue what we do here on a full-time basis. A concentrated programme. How would you feel about that?’

‘How do you feel about it?’

‘I’ve thought about it carefully. I had a bit of a talk to the boss here . . . and the long and the short of it is, I’m ready to hit the road. I’ve been doing this job a few years and I feel I’m in a bit of a rut. When Queenie made the suggestion it seemed like the time to get out of the city. I’m ready for a change. Tingulla sounds like a nice place. Do you think you could stand being bossed and pushed around by me for a while longer?’

TR smiled at Jenni. ‘You’re very special to me. I don’t know where I’d be without you. It makes sense to have you take me on as a full-time job — that is until I’m on my feet.’

Jenni looked at the handsome man who needed her so much, and felt a sudden flush of confusion about her motives for taking the job. It was time for a change. The idea of being at Tingulla was exciting. And the prospect of devoting her skills to helping TR was appealing, but she couldn’t quite decide whether that was for professional or personal reasons.

She stood. ‘Now listen, TR. This will have to be a very businesslike arrangement and your family will have to understand that I’m in charge of you medically, but soon you’ll have to start letting other people help you. They won’t break you, you know.’

‘I’ll start working on it. But I’m glad you’ll be along, Jenni.’

She smiled and gave him a thumbs up sign, but she left the room fully aware that TR’s real fear lay in adjusting to married life with a stranger.

Chapter Twelve

Colin studied the documents spread before him. A company search and a contact hacking into bank computer files had revealed Queenie’s full worth — and it was substantial. And that didn’t include TR’s assets and Guneda. Colin was only interested in Tingulla and Cricklewood, the two Hanlon properties left to Queenie in their father’s will.

A seething anger burned in his gut as he looked at the figures on the paper. She’d certainly increased their worth. It crossed Colin’s mind he might have done the same with the block of units in Double Bay and the large sum of money and shares he’d been left by his father if he’d been as clever as Queenie. Well, his turn was coming to outsmart her.

According to the lawyer Colin had approached he had no legitimate claim on any of the estate. But with a little creative thought and skill Colin felt sure he could devise a way of challenging his sister. It had worked once, although he’d had the backing of Dina and her father then. This time he would have to move cautiously so Dina had no clue as to his plan. Colin would keep his eyes open and keep ferreting away.

In addition to getting his hands on some money and getting away from the Cambonis, the last and best laugh would be to show them all he was cleverer than anyone gave him credit for. He wished he had a sizeable amount of cash now. Camboni’s betting scam sounded like it could come off in a big way. He wished he could dump a very large amount on the race when the day came. Still, it was a long way off. There was still time.

Cash was a sensitive issue. The episode with Antonia had cost him more than expected. To recover from the secret abortion she had demanded he pay for a holiday in Switzerland. He figured she couldn’t be too fragile if she was going skiing, but he didn’t argue. He’d persuaded her to sign a letter in return for the cash. He wasn’t about to have her sucking him dry for money forever and Colin had made it clear he would hold good to his threat of exposing her if he ever heard from her again. He’d heard nothing since. Paying her off had been costly but it was better than risking Dina cutting off his money supply.

Queenie checked the horse float in the rearvision mirror as the LandCruiser swirled a column of dust behind them.

Ernie, sitting beside her, his arm dangling out of the window, noticed the look. ‘Honey will be glad to get to Cricklewood, eh?’

‘Me too. How are you doing, Ernie?’

‘Number one, boss. You want me to drive this last bit?’

‘It’s okay thanks, Ernie. I’m looking forward to boiling the billy though.’

‘Any cook or missus over at Cricklewood now?’

‘No. We’re on our tod. I sent the other hands over to Tingulla. I figured things could be left as they were for a week or two. But we can scratch up a meal with what we’ve got. There are plenty of supplies in the homestead.’

They drove on through the late afternoon. Queenie kept driving — she knew that if she stopped now she’d fall asleep and she didn’t want to miss the approach to Cricklewood. Although only six hours’ drive from Tingulla, the country was very different, with different species of trees and soil that was less red; the terrain was flatter and was crisscrossed with narrow creeks, with the occasional granite outcrop rearing into the sky. The place brought back memories of one of the saddest and most difficult periods of her life. How grateful she was that Millie and Jim and Snowy had stood by her. They’d been her family at a time when she had no one, only a vindictive brother consumed by jealousy and hatred. How lucky she’d been to have the support of such devoted friends as Sarah, Dingo and old Alf. She hoped that over the years she had been able to help people too and that they in turn had helped others.

‘Never forget a good turn, repay it to another person when you can,’ she’d told Tango and Saskia. ‘It’s a chain that links us together.’

‘Spreading good karma,’ interjected Saskia, then explained the expression to Millie, who nodded in agreement.

‘We have different words for it but it’s all part of looking after each other. The sisters at the mission taught us about God and what the Bible says, but what my own people say makes just as much sense. Sometimes they say the same thing, just in different ways. I don’t have the knowledge of my people as good as I should, I was taken away from my family too soon. But Snowy has taught me a lot. Though he can’t teach me the women’s business. I’m a bit of mix up stew, eh, Sas?’

‘You are a wise owl, Millie. You just listen to your heart and your spirits. You’re always right, you know.’

Millie ruffled her curls. ‘You bin talking to Snowy.’

Saskia had told Queenie of this conversation and Queenie thought again how enriched their lives were by sharing the ancient culture of the people of their land. It angered and hurt her when she saw a once proud and self-sufficient people reduced to a half-white life, losing their traditions. At times she’d had to be tough in dealings with some of the itinerant Aboriginal workers who’d got on the grog or acted irresponsibly. But she was equally swift to spring to their defence when others — be they wealthy landowners or prejudiced townies — trotted out cliched attitudes towards Aborigines, their beliefs and culture. She despised the reserves and shantytowns just as much as the inner-city ghettos. While not believing they could become tribal once more, it did seem to be the most successful way of life for them. Why couldn’t they absorb the best of both worlds? It was the same with the people in the city and the people in the bush, neither way of life was for everyone but there was something to be gained from both.

‘You thinking big thoughts, boss?’

‘How could you tell? I was pondering a bit of a philosophical dilemma, Ernie, and what I’ve decided is that life is a question of balance and harmony.’

‘Too much on one side and you gonna fall over,’ said Ernie sagely.

Queenie chuckled. ‘You’re right. That’s a very good way of putting it. Hey, here’s our road.’

They turned off onto a smaller dirt track marked by a post with a kerosene tin nailed to it with a faded name in white paint on its side — Cricklewood.

As they always did, the memories came flooding back as Queenie recalled the months she’d spent here during her pregnancy with Tango. She sighed. Millie and Snowy had helped her through the long sad months while she waited for the birth of TR’s child; with TR unaware of what was happening and lost to her — thanks to Colin’s deliberate interference. The great hole in her heart caused by having to give Tango up at birth had healed, thanks to Millie and fate bringing them all back together again.

Cricklewood had blossomed in the intervening twenty-five years. New fences, improved paddocks where new feed was high, more buildings and sheds. On the huge spread were ten thousand head of prime beef stock — Romanoglas, Poll Herefords and Brahman-Hereford cross. In separate paddocks were kept the prize stud bulls. In a new tin and fibro shed they’d set up a small laboratory and office where semen samples and breeding records were kept. Sales of their semen stock were sold abroad and an invitro insemination and embryo programme was working well.

Queenie drove towards the old homestead which had been renovated and was now rather charming. It had been very run-down but a new verandah and roof had been added, along with two additional wings at right angles to either end of the house, so that it was now u-shaped. With a fine garden and a shady windbreak of trees planted around it, the freshly painted homestead was attractive, cool and practical.

Queenie parked at the front entrance and while Ernie began unloading their gear and supplies, she went around to the locked sliding glass doors across the inner patio. As soon as she put the key in the lock she knew something was wrong — the doors were unlocked.

‘Ernie!’ she shouted, running into the house.

It was obvious thieves had broken in.

Upturned furniture and discarded items were scattered everywhere. Running to the small office she found the safe had not been opened. When Queenie got to the kitchen she saw what they’d been after. Dismayed, she stood in the doorway. Hearing Ernie rush down the hall calling her name she answered in a flat voice, ‘In here, Ernie’.

‘Oh struth,’ said Ernie behind her as he took in the scene.

Every cupboard was hanging open and foodstuffs littered the floor. A cloth had been pulled from the table flinging a bowl, jug and pepper and salt shakers to the floor. Queenie bent and picked up the pieces of the broken jug.

‘Probably wrapped stuff up in the tablecloth,’ commented Ernie, following her to the pantry door.

‘They were after food and supplies,’ said Queenie. ‘Flour, sugar, tea, tinned stuff.’ She turned around and anger welled in her voice. ‘Look, the bastards even had the hide to cook themselves a meal.’ The remains of eggs, bacon, bread, and something sticky trailed across the bench, table and floor. Ants were still busy and Queenie stuck her finger in the mess and smelled it. ‘Golden syrup.’

‘You gonna call the sergeant?’

‘I guess so. Though I’d say they’re several days gone.’

‘Youngsters, eh?’

‘I suppose so, Ernie.’

Ernie began picking things up off the floor, not sure where to start, when another angry shout came from Queenie.

‘Damn them! They’ve cut the phone line.’ heavily on a chair at the kitchen table.

‘How ‘bout that cuppa?’ said Ernie.

‘Okay.’ Queenie went to the stove and struck a match and lit a gas jet. ‘Well, that’s working.’ She filled the kettle.

‘Do ya reckon they’ll be back?’

‘I doubt it, Ernie. If they do come back they’ll be bloody sorry. Go have a look around the yards and sheds, see if they took any gear. Bet they did. Probably setting themselves up to go cross-country, that way no one would spot them.’

‘I’ll take a good look and see if they were on horses or in a truck.’

Queenie opened their tuckerbox and took out some fruitcake and leftover sandwiches and sliced some more corned beef and a tomato. She made a pot of tea and cleared and washed down the kitchen table so they could eat their supper.

Ernie came back in, looking grim. ‘Yeah, they took some gear. They were on horses and raided the tack room. Blew off the padlock with a shotgun by the look of it.’

Queenie’s mouth tightened but she said nothing, indicating the tea and food on the table. Ernie went to the sink and washed his hands, put his hat to one side and sat down. They said little during the meal and when they’d finished Ernie carried his plate to the sink.

‘Leave it Ernie, I’ll clean up this mess later. You go into town and fetch the sergeant. You might as well stay overnight and head back in the morning. There’s no rush now.’

Ernie unloaded the last of their gear from the truck and came back into the house carrying the rifle and stood it carefully by the back door. ‘They busted the laundry door and got in, then just opened them glass doors from the inside and took stuff out that way.’

‘This place is off the beaten track, what would they be doing out here?’

‘Keepin’ away from the law, I’d reckon.’

‘Yes, they’re probably wanted for something.’ Queenie glanced at the rifle by the back door, memories of the brutal death of her mother suddenly making her heart wrench.

‘You sure you’ll be okay?’

‘Yes, Ernie, get on your way,’ she sighed wearily.

It took Queenie several hours to clean up and she hesitated when it came to the pantry and kitchen. Perhaps there were clues — fingerprints or something. Well, there wasn’t a detective in the district and it was doubtful they’d ever find the person or people who had broken in now. So she swept up as best she could then slopped the mop into the bucket of water and began washing away the spilt flour, broken biscuits and other mess.

When all was back in place she decided to run a bath and relax her aching body and frazzled mind and put this violation behind her. As she watched the water run into the new enamel tub from the solar-powered water heater, she thought back to the old tin tub and the wood-burning chip heater it had replaced. For a moment she felt nostalgic for the funny old yellow and black patterned tiles in the bathroom, the flowered lino in the kitchen and the ancient wooden beds with thinning chenille bedspreads. It had served the series of bachelor managers well enough but two years ago the place had been completely renovated. One of the few things that had remained was the old brass plaque screwed by the front door with Cricklewood engraved on it. Her father had told her it was named after the London suburb where Great-grandfather Ned’s family had once lived.

Lying back in the warm water Queenie closed her eyes and began to think through her plans for selling the next batch of calves and arranging another shipment of semen stock through her New Zealand agent. Gradually she relaxed but as she let her mind and body unwind the tight control she held on her emotions sagged and she felt overwhelmed, tears welling in her eyes. Trying to cope with the enormity of TR’s injuries and the loss of his memory was a massive struggle for her. She had been trying not to address the future too much, dealing with problems as they arose in the inevitable planning and organisation that went into running two large stations. But this intrusion into her life — this robbery at Cricklewood — had dealt her a hard emotional blow. For the moment everything just seemed too hard and Queenie gave in to a helpless few minutes of crying and feeling sorry for herself. By then the bath water was getting cold and she felt uncomfortably stiff. She fell into bed, overwhelmed, and sobbed herself to sleep.

Awakening to sunshine and birdsong Queenie felt much better. She’d fallen instantly into a dreamless sleep and had slept soundly. Her energy and vigour were restored. She stretched, showered and dressed quickly and made her way to the kitchen, ravenously hungry and desperate for a cup of tea.

Seeing there were no eggs, bacon, cereal or porridge, Queenie toasted the last of the bread she and Ernie had brought and heated a can of baked beans with slices of corned beef. Then, with toast and marmalade and a mug of tea, she carried her tray onto the verandah and ate with relish. Judging by the activity from the birds flying in and out of it, she knew the mulberry tree must be full of ripe berries, so after breakfast she took a large billycan down to fill with one of her favourite fruits. She especially loved Millie’s mulberry jam, but a bowlful of fresh berries with some tinned cream would make a nice lunch.

It was midmorning by the time she got around to heading down to the tree shading the old chicken run. But as she crossed the expanse of land between the house and the nearest shed she stopped and looked across at the top paddock. It was empty. Now why have they moved the bulls from there? she wondered. She walked over to the old stables and horse paddock where Dinky, their oldest bull, resided with some rangy stockhorses. Dinky still performed his duties but in his old age had become something of a pet, preferring the company of horses and people to other cattle.

Dinky was nowhere to be seen.

Fear began to gnaw at the pit of Queenie’s stomach. She whistled and two stockhorses trotted to the fence. The other two kept here were nowhere in sight. It was an open paddock with several large trees in its far corner but there was no way they could hide the bulk of Dinky or two horses.

Queenie vaulted over the fence and ran across the field into the next paddock and headed down to the far side of the creek where the water tank stood by an old windmill. Rapidly she swung up and started to climb the rusty rungs of the windmill base. Halfway up she steadied herself and looked across to the west where the prize stud bulls were. This paddock too was empty.

‘Oh hell no, not the bulls. Dear God, not the bulls.’ She clambered up a little further, shaking with the realisation of what had happened. In a far paddock she could make out half a dozen smudgy brown shapes of the heavily pregnant Hereford cows. It was too far in the other direction for her to see where the rest of the calves and steers were.

She clambered down, slipping in her haste and banging her knee against the metal. Racing to the storage shed in the distance she leaned against the corrugated tin door, shoving it open. Bales of hay were piled to the ceiling and a few tins of motor oil, spare parts and fencing gear were stacked along one wall. In the shadows of the opposite corner leaned a battered motorbike. Checking it swiftly, Queenie wheeled it outside and, after a couple of hefty kicks, got it going. She roared away to check the rest of the paddocks close to the homestead.

It was close to lunch time when Ernie and the police sergeant drove into Cricklewood. They clumped along the verandah of the house calling out to Queenie. When no one answered they exchanged a worried look and walked indoors.

‘She must be down the yards somewhere. Take a pew, Sarge, and I’ll go see,’ said Ernie.

Sergeant Andrews lowered himself into a chair, fanning himself with his hat. ‘You want me to come with you?’

‘Nah, just be a jiffy. She can’t have gone too far.’

Bill Andrews scanned the paddocks from the verandah in admiration. He’d been in the bush long enough to know enough about the land and stock to talk easily and competently with the locals. He knew he was looking at one of the best properties in the area.

Ernie heard the spluttering roar of the motorbike and headed towards the shed. As Queenie rode up, Ernie took one look at her face and asked, ‘What’s gone wrong, missus?’

‘Those thieves took the food for a reason. They’ve hit the road with my best stock.’

‘Cattle duffers? Jesus!’ Ernie was wide-eyed.

‘Bloody thieves!’ fumed Queenie, throwing her hands up in despair. ‘They’ve taken a big mob and they’re probably to hell and gone by now. They’ve had days, maybe a week or more, head start.’

‘The sergeant is up at the house.’

‘Get on.’

Ernie swung onto the back of the motorbike and Queenie sped to the house, screeching to a stop by the front verandah where the veteran sergeant now stood holding his wide-brimmed hat in his hands.

‘Cattle duffers! Bastards have taken the best. The bloody lot of them. And a whole lot of unbranded bull calves.’ Queenie shook the sergeant’s hand and then apologised. ‘Sorry, how are you, Bill? Thanks for coming out. Looks like this is more than a petty break-in.’

‘Phone’s out too, huh?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Give me the details and I’ll get onto my radio.’

‘Oh, there’s no rush, they’re probably in another State by now. They could already be broken up and sold,’ she added fiercely.

‘It’s not easy to flog branded prize cattle.’

‘These fellows were special. And there are always unscrupulous buyers around who don’t ask questions. Someone would just have to keep them quietly under wraps on an isolated property and start selling their potential progeny to the Asian or South American markets.’

‘How far you reckon they’ve gone?’ asked Ernie.

‘Like Queenie says, they could be in Adelaide or even Perth by now,’ said the sergeant with resignation.

‘So what we gonna do, boss?’ Ernie looked at Queenie.

‘Find them. I want my cattle back.’

‘Now settle down, Queenie, it’s not that simple,’ the policeman cautioned.

‘You’re telling me,’ said Queenie angrily. She was furious. ‘A mob of stolen prize cattle doesn’t just disappear into thin air.’

The sergeant reached for his notebook. ‘Give me what information you can and I’ll start checking from my end.’

‘You can’t do anything but let the authorities start checking cattle movements,’ said Tango to Queenie when she called him once the phone was reconnected. She’d already spoken to Saskia.

‘I’m not just sitting by and twiddling my thumbs and waiting.’

‘But you can’t head off on some wild bloody goose chase — that’s a waste of time and energy. You’ve got enough on your plate.’

‘I know,’ she said wearily. ‘Shearing. And hopefully, TR coming home. But, Tango, I’ve been working on a plan and made a lot of enquiries. Ernie and the police tracker have gone over the place and found they went southwest on foot into the ranges, which makes them hard to track. The police had a look from the air but couldn’t find anything. I started checking out the trucking companies and spread the word around the stock and station agents for any gossip. One of Normie Donaldson’s truckies spotted a strange road train and picked it up on the CB radio and said he thought the guy sounded a bit evasive. The truck had a Northern Territory rego and took off like the clappers.’

‘So what are you going to do? It’ll be like searching for a needle in a haystack.’

‘Not necessarily. But, Tango, if I do get a lead on them and decide to take off, I’m going to ask Dingo to come over and supervise the shearing for me. You don’t need him to stay with you much longer, do you?’

‘Nah, you have him, Mum. So you’re serious about this then? What does Sas think of your plan?’

‘She wants to come with me, of course. I’m afraid we had some cross words.’ Queenie paused then added with concern, ‘We’ve patched things up but she seems very unsettled, Tango. Have you had any heart to heart talks with her recently?’

‘Nothing meaningful. Look, don’t worry about Sas, or TR for that matter. He sounds like he is in capable hands. It’s a good thing Dingo’s still here and hasn’t gone back to the west, he’ll keep an eye on things for you.’

‘Thank heavens for good old Dingo.’ Queenie was distracted and impatient to get on with her own plans. ‘I’ll let you know what I’m doing. Take care, Tango.’

‘You take care,’ he said with emphasis. ‘I thought your wild days were over. Don’t do anything rash.’

‘No, of course not.’ But Queenie managed to muster a small smile and added, ‘Unless it’s absolutely necessary’.

Chapter Thirteen

Jenni stood in the supermarket checkout queue, leaning on the trolley. She was tired, had a headache and knew there’d be a traffic jam outside the shopping centre. She picked up a New Idea magazine and flipped through its pages, then dropped it into her shopping trolley.

Watching her groceries travel along the conveyor belt and over the price scanner, she noticed the preponderance of packaged and convenience foods and thought how it reflected her lifestyle; no time or inclination to cook — meals for one were no fun anyway. A change of lifestyle might be just what she needed.

Her thoughts turned to the man she would be caring for full-time if she took up Queenie’s offer. Jenni smiled fondly. TR might be an older man but was at the prime of his physical appeal. A few lines were etched into his face from the sun, as yet there was no grey in his tawny-gold hair and his eyes were such a vivid blue. He must have been something of a man’s man but Jenni could also tell he had a sensitive, caring nature and his occasional flashes of humour helped round out the picture of a very attractive man. But right now he was vulnerable, depressed and dependent and it was to her he had turned for strength in the hope that she would be the one to repair his broken body and help him find his life again. It was hard to turn her back on his need.

At this moment, living in the city was draining and depressing. In contrast, travelling to the open spaces of western Queensland, being part of the family atmosphere of a large property, away from the claustrophobic city pace, were factors encouraging her to throw in the sterile hospital routine, see a bit of the country and face the challenge of rehabilitating one man. By the time the checkout girl had totalled her bill, Jenni knew she’d made the right decision.

The next morning she phoned Tingulla. Millie answered and told her that Mrs Hamilton was away. ‘She’s at the other property, can I take a message?’

‘That would be Cricklewood, I suppose. This is Jenni Brown, TR’s physiotherapist. Would you tell her I rang, please.’

‘Is there some problem with TR, luv?’

Jenni recognised the concern in her voice. ‘No, no. When will Mrs Hamilton be back?’

‘I dunno, luv. She’s had a bit of a problem over there.’

‘What a shame, as if she didn’t have enough to deal with. Just tell her I rang . . . Mrs . . ?’

‘Mrs Nicholson, but everyone calls me Millie, luv. If you like I’ll give you Queenie’s number at Cricklewood. Some thieves cut the phone but it’s back on now.’

‘I won’t bother her while she has problems. Don’t worry her, just tell her TR is doing very well and I hope to get him going even better.’

‘Doin’ well is he?’ Millie paused a moment digesting the news. ‘Then you’d better tell him it’s time to get back home and get cracking.’

Jenni smiled at the response. ‘I’ll tell him just that, Millie — to get cracking back to Tingulla.’

‘Yeah,’ Millie added, her instincts in command. ‘Yeah, you tell him if he ain’t back soon I’ll come over there and drag him back.’

Queenie was furious that the cattle theft had happened at a time when she was so vulnerable. She was annoyed with herself too. Perhaps she had been careless in reducing the manpower on the property and not setting up a better form of security for the valuable stock.

The regional stock inspector had called on other properties in the district who checked their own stock but it appeared there hadn’t been any other major thefts. Then she had received news that there had been two other similar thefts — one in the Northern Territory and one in the Kimberley region of the west.

‘Same sort of cattle, same possibility they were stolen for stud purposes, not just meat.’

‘Where could anyone sell beasts like these? They’d stick out like a sore thumb,’ said Queenie.

‘They’d have to flog them where there were other tropical breeds, they’d certainly stick out down south in a mob of English breeds. Or they could call in a ring artist and change the brand . . . ’

‘A ring artist?’

‘Blokes who use a red-hot surcingle ring to alter a brand. But what is most likely — seeing how they seemed to know what they were after — is that they’d hide them away in back blocks on a property back of Woop Woop and sell calves or semen. Kind of a long-range plan and they’d have to know what they’re doing, so it narrows the field . . . a bit anyway.’

Queenie looked thoughtful. ‘Umm . . . Well I’m still going to see if I can pick up their trail. I know you’ve done what you can for the moment . . . ’

The inspector sensed the disappointment and despair at the other end of the phone. ‘Listen, I’d love to get out there on the trail with you, but I’m one bloke to an area of three hundred and fifty thousand square kilometres with a few other problems on the go.’ He was sympathetic but knew tracking a gang of sophisticated duffers on horseback was a long shot. But he didn’t try to discourage Queenie, he understood her feelings of helplessness and he hoped that taking some positive action herself might make her better able to come to terms with the loss. He also knew Queenie’s formidable reputation and he didn’t discount the fact that if she did find some trace of her stock, all hell would break lose.

Later, when Queenie phoned home, Millie told her of Jenni’s call.

‘I hope she is going to take up my offer to move into Tingulla and work with TR. I’ll call her right back.’

‘If TR comes back home we can nurse one half-mended fella all right. Why do we need this doctor lady?’

‘She’s not exactly a doctor, Millie. She works with rehabilitating the muscles, limbs and motor skills. TR has special exercises to do under supervision and she gives him muscular massaging and therapy in the pool — things like that.’

‘I dunno anything ‘bout that kinda stuff. But I can help him and feed him and take care of that sorta thing.’

‘And that’s great, Millie, but I think having Jenni is the best solution. She has the specialised skills and you and I have too much to do to be able to devote all our time to him. And besides I don’t think TR wants us fussing over him . . . we’re still strangers to him.’

Millie clicked her tongue. ‘Once that boy is back home I jist know he’s gonna get better. Strangers indeed, what nonsense!’

‘Millie, I hope Jenni and TR will be back at Tingulla very soon, but in the meantime, I’m going to have a go at finding my stolen cattle. I just hope I’m back there when he does come home.’

Millie could not disguise her astonishment at Queenie’s plan. ‘You’re goin’ huntin’ them cattle? That’s crazy. They’re a million miles away by now.’

‘That’s what everyone says.’ Queenie spoke calmly and with self-assurance. ‘You see, Millie, I reckon those duffers might be thinking that’s exactly how we’re all reacting. They could be sitting pat in the scrub waiting for the situation to cool down. They could sit there for weeks before deciding to put them on the road in trucks.’

Millie wasn’t convinced. ‘Even Jim reckons they could’ve been overlanded a hundred miles or more by now.’

‘That’s true, but do we have some clue as to the direction they set out on or . . . ’ Queenie paused, conscious once again of the enormous odds. ‘Damn it, Millie,’ she went on more sharply than she intended, ‘I’ve got to try.’

For a little while Millie was quiet. ‘You’re right, luv,’ she said slowly, ‘you’ve gotta give it a go. Don’t you worry ‘bout tings here. Our mob will look after Tingulla, like always. You jist be a bit careful now.’

‘Thanks, Millie,’ said Queenie softly. ‘I’ll be careful.’

Queenie prepared to leave Cricklewood before dawn the next day. Ernie guided Honey into the float behind the LandCruiser and ran his eye over the gear stacked in the back. ‘Water, rifle, ammo, food, two-way radio working okay, spare parts, horse gear, your stuff. No tent?’

‘I’ve got my swag, it’s not too cold yet and I can sleep in the car if it rains. Not much chance of that, more’s the pity.’

Ernie twirled his hat. ‘Wish I was coming with you, missus. What if you find these blokes? Them crooks could be dangerous. You be careful, right?’ he mumbled.

‘Righto, Ernie.’

‘Don’t you worry ‘bout nuthin’. That lady doctor goin’ to look after TR at Tingulla?’

‘She said yes. So TR will be well looked after when he gets home. He’ll be back on his feet and better before we know it.’

‘Well you find them bulls, git home ready to meet TR, eh?’

‘Sounds good to me, Ernie.’ They shook hands and Queenie glanced into the sky. ‘Look, there’s the morning star, my lucky omen. I’ll be right.’

Ernie nodded and slammed the car door as Queenie settled herself behind the wheel. They smiled briefly at each other and as the throaty gurgle of the vehicle echoed round the sleepy bush, Ernie jammed his hat on his head of dark curls and walked unhappily back towards the homestead. There was something about this expedition he didn’t like.

That evening Queenie made camp away from the two wheel tracks that passed as an unofficial road through the scrub country on the far southwest part of the property near a range of low boulder-strewn hills. She rolled out her swag near the rock-ringed campfire and boiled a billy of black tea and cooked a pan of beans and bacon. She listened to the snuffling night sounds of the bush and, leaning back in the saddle she had taken from the car, looked up at the vast spread of stars. For a little while she forgot her troubles and let the intense peacefulness of the outback envelop and comfort her. It was almost hypnotic and, still holding an enamel mug half full of tea, she fell asleep.

Hours later Queenie awoke cold and shivering. The campfire was almost out so she threw on some logs and had it blazing by the time she had rolled into her swag. As she turned over and stared into the flames, Queenie once again faced the reality of her mission and wondered what she would do when the sun came up. There were no more tracks, no clues.

In the cold dawn, Queenie took Honey for a ride to give them both some exercise. Once the sun was high enough to light the bush, she scanned the ground for anything that might give her a clue as to what direction to head in, but she found nothing and turned back, feeling for the first time that this was a futile exercise. She was still trying to exorcise the sense of futility as she rode into her camp and, startled by what she saw, pulled the horse up suddenly.

There, sitting on a log by her fire, was an old swagman. A battered bicycle leaned against a nearby tree. The old man stared at her in obvious surprise then got to his feet somewhat awkwardly and swept his stained and floppy bush hat from his head of long white hair.

‘G’day missus. Sorry to sorta intrude like this. Saw yer tracks and found yer camp. Figured you’d be back soon. Didn’t think yer’d be a lady,’ he added and, aware of the ambiguity, went on quickly, ‘Yer know what I mean.’

Queenie smiled. ‘Yep, I know what you mean. I’m Queenie Hamilton.’ She dismounted and tied the horse to the tree alongside the obviously well-travelled bicycle, which was fitted with many straps, pieces of rope and old leather saddlebags.

‘Chipper’s me name.’

They shook hands and Queenie felt the leathery weals and calluses that told of a lifetime of hard bush work. ‘Chipper by nature?’ she grinned.

‘On and off. It’s really chip off the old block. Me dad was a timber cutter,’ he chuckled, and Queenie laughed.

‘I haven’t had breakfast yet,’ said Queenie, conscious of the code of bush hospitality. ‘Join me for some tea and damper?’

‘I’ll be in that all right, missus,’ he replied brightly as he picked up some sticks and began kindling the hot ashes.

As she got out the damper and golden syrup from the tuckerbox, Queenie glanced at the thin old man with the pipe-stained beard that framed a face as lined as a map of the channel country. He was a relic of the past, complete with collarless shirt, tattered waistcoat and even more tattered overcoat, and boots that had been repaired many times. A pair of Fireman braces were attached to his trousers by sticks, and for added security he wore a rawhide leather belt.

‘We don’t see blokes like you around much these days,’ observed Queenie. It was more a question than a statement, but she knew it wasn’t polite to be too inquisitive.

‘Been on the road for years,’ Chipper answered. ‘Was on the road before the war, did me time overseas and couldn’t settle down after comin’ back. So I mooch around the bush pickin’ up a job ‘ere and there. I was headed down to Cricklewood.’ He returned to heating up the damper.

Over breakfast Queenie admitted Cricklewood was her property and explained what had happened and a bit about her mission. ‘Sort of a long shot,’ she said, ‘and, quite frankly, at this moment I really don’t have a clue about what way to go. I was hoping to find clues along this stock route, but there’s nothing.’

Chipper was silent as he poked at the fire with a stick. After a while he looked up and said, ‘Well mebbe they took the old goat track. That’s what I’d’ve done if I was in their shoes.’

‘Goat track? What goat track?’

‘Well it ain’t really a goat track. Jist called that. Used to be a short cut through the hills to Walshie’s place. Gawd, must be fifteen years ago or more. Nuthin’ there anymore. Dunno what happened to ’im. Probably dead.’

‘So where is this goat track . . . Where does it go?’

‘Like I said, to Walshie’s place . . . an’ then there’s a track out to the Midgee Road an’ that joins onto what used to be the old highway. Funny yer never ‘eard of the goat track.’ He helped himself to damper and washed it down with tea. Queenie could barely control her excitement.

Without prompting, Chipper went on. ‘The track ain’t much used anymore. In terrible shape, but then, weren’t never much good anyway. Good enough for us inspectors of roads, but,’ he added with a grin.

‘And good enough to walk a small mob along,’ Queenie added, completing the picture Chipper was painting.

‘Gotcha thinkin’ now, eh?’ He reached for his pipe and began the long ritual of cleaning it with a pocket knife before lighting up.

‘I think you’d better tell me how to find this goat track,’ said Queenie warmly. The uncertainty of the morning had vanished and Queenie could hardly wait to get moving. But bush hospitality meant that breakfast had to be followed by a leisurely yarn.

Queenie studied the swaggie for a moment then made up her mind about him. ‘Why don’t you keep going down to Cricklewood and look up Ernie. He’s looking after things while I’m out here chasing shadows. He could do with a hand. Tell him you met me.’ Queenie knew the old man would be grateful for a bit of work. ‘How come you took to the road in the first place, Chipper?’

‘Me dad was killed. Tree fell on him, believe it or not. Mum and half a dozen kids moved to ‘er sister’s place in the city but I couldn’t stand the smell an’ noise so I took off. Took Dad’s axe and earned me tucker swingin’ it ‘ere and there. Then the war came . . . Can’t settle down now . . . that rat race they talk about might catch up with me now if I stop still for too long.’ Chipper grinned, displaying two rows of tobacco-stained teeth.

‘No rat race out here,’ said Queenie with enthusiasm, waving a hand around the camp.

‘Thank gawd,’ acknowledged Chipper in a soft voice. ‘Yer know, I feel sorry for them in that rat race. Most of ’em don’t know what a beautiful country we got ’n’ they keep buggering it up. If they got out and walked in the bush a bit, listened to the birds, smelled the gum trees, slept under the stars, they might appreciate it a lot more,’ He stopped, a little embarrassed at his flood of words. ‘Enough of this philosophy stuff. ‘Ere, this is ‘ow yer find the goat track.’ He began to draw a map in the dirt and Queenie moved over beside him, carefully memorising every detail.

After they had packed up the camp the two shook hands and parted company.

‘See ya, missus. Good ‘untin’.’

‘See you, Chipper. Good luck.’ She watched the old man with his overburdened bicycle head down the dusty track, then turned to pack her swag and select gear for the trek ahead. When she had finished, she drove the vehicle further into the brigalow scrub to conceal it, then swung into the saddle and rode towards the hills.

For a while she rode due west, then turned north at the small hill where the creek turned sharply, just as Chipper had described. After a short ride she suddenly broke out of the scrub onto the old track.

The old goat track, just as Chipper promised. Now what will I find at this Walshie’s place? she wondered and nudged Honey into a comfortable canter.

Chapter Fourteen

The tranquillity of Harmony Hill — as the holiday retreat was now officially called — was ruffled but there was a renewed energy about the place as Colin began to put Bruce Gaden’s plans into effect.

Camboni had known all along that Colin would take the job. It was tantamount to a direct order when he had called him up to his penthouse and told him he was now in charge of the place and to get on with the job without bothering him. Colin was used to Alfredo’s dismissive attitude and he knew Camboni’s real interest was in getting the casino approved and a State government licence to operate it. Alfredo told Colin that once it was approved, he would be needed to work on the casino too.

Dina had shown little enthusiasm for Harmony Hill, being much more interested in the casino, so Colin now lived at the resort during the week and went to the Gold Coast only on weekends. As usual, Dina had won the day and had purchased the pink penthouse in partnership with her father. It was her money, and in her name. That suited Colin fine — he was past feeling a kept man by the Cambonis’ money. Alfredo’s fortunes seemed to rise and fall like the tide and Colin was never sure exactly where the money came from and he never asked. Dina had always been tightlipped about her father’s business and professed to know little, but Colin knew Alfredo shared many secrets with his daughter. When they’d first lived in Italy Colin had been kept in the dark about the business dealings, which had been easy because of his difficulty with the language. But as he began to understand more and more, he decided silence and disinterest would serve him best. Gradually he had been included in several of Camboni’s operations, but the inner machinations of the family business still remained closed to him.

Colin intended to do as little work as possible at Harmony Hill so he had made Bruce his right-hand man. Bruce had done all the planning and now the yurt conference centre was well under way with several smaller yurts linked from it like spokes from a wheel. The airy wooden buildings came prefabricated and were swiftly erected. More staff were hired, a task Colin left to Bruce, who seemed to find unemployed talent overnight. Colin’s suspicion of these long-haired, smiling, laid-back dreamers diminished somewhat when they proved themselves hard and creative workers. They had the attitude that doing something they enjoyed was more important than hustling and fighting for bucks doing something that didn’t make them happy.

‘But the whole world can’t operate on that principle, Bruce,’ said Colin, cynical of a philosophy that placed so little value on money. ‘Someone has to do the bad jobs.’

‘But what might be a bad job to one, mightn’t be to another. And some people can do a mundane boring job and walk away from it at the end of the day and not be unhappy or bothered by it. Maybe they go home to their creativity, they make something, or enjoy their sport or their family. Be true to yourself and show kindness and tolerance to others and you’ll be fulfilled,’ he quoted.

‘Who said that?’

‘Me.’

Colin laughed. ‘Okay. But the first bloke I see contemplating his navel on the job gets turfed out.’ Colin still thought that all this new age philosophy was rubbish, but he kept his opinion to himself at Harmony Hill.

Colin had moved into one of the resort’s bungalows and found himself spending a lot of time with Bruce, his three-year-old daughter Greta, and his wife Ria, a soft sweet woman who had a lovely laugh. Over numerous dinners at their house, Ria told Colin about alternative remedies and therapies, including traditional Chinese medicine and techniques designed to reduce stress, create inner strength and peace, and help the body recover from the abuses of daily life. She told him about reiki, shiat’su, acupuncture and aromatherapy. ‘You see, Colin, lots of people don’t feel well and that can be due to their general health, their lifestyle or emotional problems. Emotional hurt is held in every cell of the body not just the head and the heart, and sometimes that manifests as physical pain. Treat that and then the psyche and self-esteem can improve and a feeling of wellbeing results.’

Ria had talked him into a massage each week and she found Colin’s body taut and knotted. ‘You’re holding a lot inside you, and have been for a long time,’ she said quietly. ‘You should let it all go, Colin. This isn’t good.’ She didn’t probe by asking questions, but dug her fingers deep into his tense muscles trying to release feelings of anger and bitterness buried for many years.

Surrounded by this healthy and wholesome family life, Colin missed the company of his sexy wife and the weekends on the Coast were mostly spent in bed. The sex kept them both satisfied and stopped Dina being overly curious about what Colin did during the week. But Dina was too deeply involved with Fisher Morgan, the interior designer she had hired to decorate the pink penthouse, to worry too much about what her handsome husband was getting up to without her. She was so impressed by Fisher that she decided she should bring him to Harmony Hill to do the interiors there.

When she told him, Colin threw up his hands in horror. ‘Dina, it’s not that sort of place — glitz and phoney antiques and themes. We don’t want a jungle room and a rose room and all that stuff. It’s down-to-earth simplicity and purity.’

‘Who wants to stay in a plain place? On holiday you want a bit of glamour,’ she retorted.

Colin gave up for the moment. ‘Wait until closer to the opening, and we’ll see.’

‘Talking of openings, you should hear the plans we have for the casino. It will put Monaco in the shade.’

‘The casino isn’t even built yet!’ exclaimed Colin.

Dina’s buoyant manner changed in an instant and she looked concerned. ‘I know. Poor Pappa, he is having a terrible time. There is a lot of opposition to it, more than we thought there’d be. How can people be so stupid? It will improve the place!’

Colin had heard Bruce and Ria’s views on what they called the Monstrosity, planned for a piece of State-owned land currently used as a community park. He made a mental note to tell Dina not to mention the casino should she ever meet the Gadens.

Compared to plans for the casino, Harmony Hill was small potatoes. But it gave Colin space away from his wife’s prying eyes to formulate his own plans, and because Bruce did most of the work, he had plenty of time on his hands. Colin was still mulling over his father’s will and he began to wonder exactly what Patrick’s motives had been. Colin couldn’t remember, if he ever knew, when his father had made out his will. Had it been before their mother died, or after, when he had been so grief-stricken? Perhaps that was the clue he was looking for — Patrick had made out his will when in an emotionally unfit state, coerced and influenced by Queenie to make her the beneficiary of the two properties. Tragedy had struck Patrick down before he ever really recovered from Rose’s death and before Colin had made his peace with his father. Um, it sounded good, thought Colin. Well, it was something to go on with.

Saskia caught the bus to Brisbane and went to the hospital where Millie had arranged for her to meet TR and Jenni and accompany them to Tingulla. There was no news from Queenie and no response to calls to her two-way radio so when Jenni had called to say everything was organised for TR to come home, Millie had taken matters into her own hands.

Saskia found them in the hospital foyer. TR was leaning on his crutches and Jenni was completing some paperwork at the reception desk. A small bag of TR’s belongings sat in his wheelchair.

‘Hey, TR, you’re mobile! That’s great.’ She kissed him on the cheek.

He didn’t return the kiss but gave her a warm smile. ‘Only for short periods. And I’m not too good at stairs yet.’

‘Millie said she’s made up a room downstairs for you. So you won’t have to tackle too many steps and stairs at Tingulla.’

Jenni put the pen back in its holder on the reception desk. ‘Hi, Saskia. Well, here we are. This has been a big day all round. I’ve signed off and TR’s sprung, so we’re all yours.’

‘We hired a station wagon so we can fit the chair in. You and Jenni will have to share the driving. Is that okay?’ said TR.

‘That’s what I’m here for. Wow, it’s going to be so great to have you back. Everyone is really excited.’

‘I hope no one’s going to make any sort of fuss. I’m not ready for that,’ said TR nervously.

‘They understand. Maybe it’s a good thing Mum is away, eh?’ said Saskia bluntly. ‘Give you a chance to acclimatise.’

‘Any news from her?’ asked Jenni. ‘Where is she?’

‘We don’t know. But as she isn’t answering the two-way she’s either way out of range or off on horseback. Tango says we’re not to worry.’

TR again wondered at a woman heading out alone into the scrub to chase a bunch of cattle duffers. He thought back again to the phone call where she had calmly told him that a bunch of their prize bulls had been walked off Cricklewood by cattle duffers.

‘God, how did they get away with it?’ he reacted with genuine concern.

Queenie had explained matters as briefly as she could, adding, ‘I’ll get them back if it’s the last thing I do’.

TR had listened quietly and said, ‘My being in here hasn’t helped, I suppose. I wish I could help you, Queenie.’ He’d been touched by her sheer guts and obvious attempt not to concern him or make him feel his accident was a factor. He hadn’t realised it was the first time he’d called her by name since his accident and that it made Queenie’s heart ache.

She added quickly, ‘I can’t sit by and hope they turn up. People, the authorities, are being great, but they have a lot on their plate. If I don’t at least give this a go I couldn’t live with myself.’

‘I see,’ he answered, thinking to himself, ‘Christ, what sort of a woman have I married?’ He’d wished her luck and meant it.

Jenni’s voice brought him back to the present. ‘She must be some brave lady heading off on her own like that.’

‘Yeah, she’s pretty special,’ said Saskia.

‘Strikes me you’re both strong-willed women,’ said TR to Jenni.

‘Have to be, to keep cranky convalescents in line. Well, my gear is in the car, let’s hit the road.’

It was a peaceful and uneventful journey. At lunch time Saskia took over the driving as she knew the back roads to Tingulla. TR dozed in the back until they started on the home stretch to Tingulla.

Jenni was asleep and Saskia glanced over her shoulder. ‘We’ll be coming up to our land soon.’

TR nodded. He didn’t like to say that he could have been on the moon for all it meant to him.

As Saskia drove up the drive Jenni woke up and caught her breath at the sight of the homestead. ‘It’s magnificent!’

As the car came to a halt, Millie appeared at the door and came down the steps. She wore a good dress and no apron, her wavy hair oiled into a neat bun. A smile creased her face but Saskia could tell she was nervous. She hugged Millie and introduced Jenni, who shook her hand warmly and then turned to help TR from the car. She turned his legs and he dropped an arm across her shoulders. Her other arm went around his waist and she took his weight as he pulled himself from the car. Saskia opened the back of the station wagon to get his crutches out.

Millie watched and TR avoided looking at her till he was standing holding onto the car door. ‘Hello, Millie.’

‘G’day TR luv. Here let me help you.’ She stepped forward, trying to find a distraction as she was unsure how to approach him.

Jenni handed him his crutches. ‘Here are your sticks, mate. Millie, can we go in another door, those front steps might be a bit hard for him.’

‘Round to the side verandah. My, TR, you’re doin’ great.’

TR took a couple of steps then halted, looking questioningly at Millie. ‘Which way?’

‘Come with me. Dearie me, this seems odd, you not knowin’ your way about.’

‘I’ll learn it all again, Millie.’

‘Course you will, luv. Snowy and Jim are sitting in the kitchen, didn’t want to all rush you at once.’ She chattered walking beside him as TR made slow progress across the lawn.

‘Bring your stuff, Jenni, let’s go inside.’ Saskia pulled TR’s bag from the car, her heart aching at the strained homecoming.

At that instant a streak of mottled blue-grey hurtled across the lawn, flinging itself at TR, making him stumble. Jenni dropped her bag and rushed to steady him, trying to calm the whimpering dog that was licking TR’s feet and jumping in utter joy. As she reached to grab the dog’s collar, the cattle dog snarled at her and she drew back quickly.

‘Stop it, Spike!’ snapped TR. The dog backed off but stayed close to TR, his tail still wagging. ‘Guess this is my dog,’ said TR ruefully to Jenni.

‘Yep, I’d say so. How’d you know his name?’

TR looked at her in shock. ‘I don’t know. I guess Saskia mentioned it.’

TR followed Millie along the verandah to the north side where French doors stood open, leading into a guest room with its own bathroom and sitting room. ‘We thought being downstairs would suit you best, you can use your wheelchair along the verandah and down the hall to the rest of the downstairs.’

TR nodded, staring out into the secluded corner of the garden shaded by the giant peppercorn tree. How beautiful this place was. Had he appreciated all this? he wondered. He sat on the edge of the bed. ‘Give me a couple of minutes, Millie. I’ll just wash up and be right with you.’

‘Okey-doke. We’re all in the kitchen but we’ll have tea and scones on the back verandah soon as you’re ready.’

Saskia showed Jenni to her room upstairs at the far end of the house. Jenni stepped out onto the upper verandah, staring across at the panorama of Tingulla. ‘This is so beautiful. I can’t believe I locked myself up in the city for such a long time. I guess that’s one of the reasons I wanted to get out of the hospital. You wonder where the rest of the world is and what’s going on outside.’

‘Do you ride, Jenni? There are plenty of horses here if you want to go for a ride. Just ask Snowy or Ernie to get one of the boys to bring you a horse if you do.’

‘I’m a bit of an amateur, but maybe while I’m here I can improve on that. Not that I’m looking on this as a holiday, Saskia. I have a job to do, and I want to see TR up and about and completely rehabilitated as quickly as you do.’

‘Do you think his memory will come back at the same time?’

‘I don’t know, that’s not my area,’ she answered gently. But seeing the disappointment on Saskia’s face added, ‘But I’ve seen some amazing things happen in my time at the hospital. Let’s get his body functioning properly again and being here might well be the prescription for total recovery.’

TR followed the sound of voices and hobbled through the house, pausing to glance around him at the exquisite antiques, paintings and collectables arranged with discreet style. Had he had anything to do with all this? This was like waking up in the middle of a dream only to find the dream was reality.

He paused in the kitchen doorway, unnoticed for a moment, and quickly assessed who these people might be. The slightly stooped old Aborigine with the thin white hair and deeply wrinkled skin had to be Snowy. The weather-beaten white man with gnarled hands was probably Millie’s husband, Jim. Millie was directing a sweet-faced Aboriginal girl to carry the tray out to the verandah when she noticed TR. The girl gave him a dazzling smile. A silence fell on the room.

‘G’day,’ said TR with a slightly embarrassed grin.

‘You know everyone, don’t you?’ asked Millie bluntly, running through their names. ‘And Ruthie here. Take the tray outside, Ruth, and find Sas. Tell her to bring Jenni down to meet everyone.’

Five minutes later, Jenni and Saskia appeared and Jenni shook hands with each of them, then turned to Millie. ‘Would you mind if we took up some of those scatter rugs? They’re beautiful but TR could catch his crutch on one and trip.’

‘I managed just fine,’ protested TR.

‘You were being careful; when you’ve settled in a bit more you might not pay such close attention.’ Jenni poured his tea and handed it to him.

They all talked quietly about the shearing, and the Quinns, who had called to welcome TR home. ‘They send their best, said they’d be over when you were up to it,’ said Jim.

TR nodded and sipped his tea, trying to work out who the Quinns were.

‘And still no news from your mum,’ Jim commented, trying to make conversation.

‘No. She must be in the boondocks on a horse; she’ll check in when she can,’ said Saskia.

‘If she’s hot on the trail of those bulls she mightn’t touch base for a bit,’ observed Jim.

‘She’ll want to know how TR is, so she won’t leave it too long,’ said Saskia, smiling at TR.

‘Soon as she hears he’s out of hospital, she’ll hot foot it back here, don’t you worry,’ said Millie.

TR looked down and turned his cup around in its saucer and Jenni gave him a sympathetic look. TR looked up at her and they exchanged a swift smile.

Millie paused and looked at them both, then turned back to the tea things, her heart anxious. This was hard for TR and it was obvious he relied on this Jenni girl a lot.

You get along home here, Queenie, she thought to herself. You and TR got t’get t’know each other agin.

Chapter Fifteen

The path through the brigalow trees was marked by fairly fresh tracks. Queenie let Honey slow to a walk. It had been a long day and she had been pushed hard. It was late afternoon and long shadows from the trees stretched across their path, the overripe light fading to sunset shades. The bush was motionless, a contentment settled over it as though each creature, each leaf, each living thing, had spent the day in tranquil observance.

For Queenie it had been a day of solitude; not one of introspection or loneliness, but of peace with herself and the world around her. She and her horse moved in harmony to the cadence of birdsong and the stirrings of the wind. Life was reduced to the simplicity of travelling, to the rhythm of one’s breathing and to the closing of one’s mind and simply being. Anger and confusion had dissipated into the beauty of the bush around her. Every little thing she saw, from a twisted branch on the ground to the curve of a treetop, seemed a work of art of such magnitude that no designer, architect or artist could possibly match it.

While her dedication to the task hadn’t dimmed, the searching for her missing cattle was put into perspective. What really matters at the end of the day is the ability to be able to live in a moment such as this, she reasoned, and gave herself up to the peace and pleasure of the passing hours.

There was something about travelling by horse rather than the encapsulated speed of motorised transport. It was companionable to be alone and establish a rapport with your horse. And, she reflected, just as pleasant to ride with friends. ‘Spend time in the saddle with a friend and that’s a friend forever,’ her father had told her. And now it came to her why she and TR enjoyed their morning rides so much. It was a time of bonding with each other and with nature, where there was no place for pretence or shallow thoughts or unkind deeds; it was a peaceful way to start a day with good and kind and loving thoughts. But now each morning as she opened her eyes, the realisation of what was happening in her life made her heart heavy and spirit weary even before the day had begun.

Darkness fell, shaking Queenie from her contemplative mood. The track widened and she realised she had found the clue she was looking for. Before her, visible through the bush, was an empty stockyard made of rough logs and solid posts.

She dismounted and slipped beneath the rails, studying the ground as best she could in the early pale moonlight. The earth was churned and the telltale smell and mounds of dung meant cattle had been held there quite recently. She tied Honey’s bridle to the fence and slipped her rifle from its holster on the saddle. She moved cautiously forward, heading along the track which had been carved into two ruts by vehicles.

She came to two more empty stockyards, and then she stopped. There were no lights to be seen. In the distance a dingo howled and she heard a metallic sound she couldn’t place. She continued walking softly as clouds scudded across the thin slice of new moon, but even in the dimness there was no mistaking the squat shapes of a small cottage and several nearby sheds. No lights were on and, as best she could make out, no vehicles in sight. But her instincts told her this place was not as deserted as it looked.

She edged towards the first shed and peered inside. It smelled musty and unused. She could just make out dark shapes of drums and what were possibly piles of rusty machinery parts. She slipped through the shadows to the next shed, and immediately smelled fresh hay and grain. Feed had been kept in here not so long ago. Clues were beginning to add up.

She headed for the house. Although it was still early evening and the place was dark and quiet, her skin prickled and she felt she was being watched. She edged around the side of the house to a small window and attempted to peer inside.

She was trying to adjust to the gloom when she was grabbed swiftly from behind and pushed hard against the windowpane.

‘Right, don’t move.’ Her arm was twisted up sharply behind her back and the more she struggled the more it felt as if it was going to snap.

As her attacker grabbed her rifle, Queenie lashed out with her leg, only to be hit across the side of her head. Her hat spun to the ground and her long hair, shoved beneath it, fell around her shoulders.

‘What the hell!’ The man’s voice sounded young. He spun her round, never letting his grip slacken. Queenie gasped in pain. ‘A woman! What are you doing here?’

‘Who are you?’ demanded Queenie.

‘Ado, get out here!’ yelled the man.

Queenie now saw that her captor was a young, tall, thin Aborigine of mixed blood, with a shock of frizzed hair. There was a bang of a tin door — the sound she’d heard earlier — and around the side of the house rushed another youth clutching at his belt.

‘Where’ve you been?’ snapped the fellow holding onto Queenie.

‘I was in the dunny. Sorry, Zero, I had to go. Jeez, you gotta lady.’ He stared in surprise at Queenie.

‘Now listen, you two, just what are you doing? There’s no need to break my arm. You’e got my rifle, let me go. I’m . . . lost,’ she improvised quickly.

The youth holding her hesitated, then let go of her but stood in a threatening position. ‘Where’re you heading for? This is a bit off the beaten track,’ he said suspiciously.

‘Someone stole a bunch of my cattle, and I reckon they came this way,’ said Queenie with narrowed eyes.

‘Don’ lookit us, lady,’ replied the other. ‘All we know about cattle is how to barbecue steak.’

‘You haven’t seen anything then? How long have you two been around here?’ asked Queenie.

The boys exchanged a swift glance. ‘We don’t have to tell you nuffin’.’

‘So whadda we gonna do then, Zero?’

‘Wait till the others get here.’

‘Whose place is this, can we wait inside?’ Queenie fought to stay in control of her emotions. She had been given quite a scare and was close to tears. Something told her these two young men were not a real threat, but she didn’t trust them.

Zero led the way inside and Ado followed behind her. Zero struck a match and lit an old kerosene lantern. Queenie saw they were in the kitchen, though it was virtually empty. Zero waved the rifle towards the kitchen table. ‘Sit there.’

Queenie pulled out a wooden chair and sat down. Ado sat opposite her. ‘You gonna light the stove, Zero?’

‘You were getting the wood. Bring it in.’

‘Oh yeah, I went to the dunny and then she turned up.’ He looked sheepish and headed back outside into the darkness.

‘So who are the others you’re expecting and how long before they’ll get here?’ asked Queenie with a smile, trying to ease the tension.

‘The rest of the gang should be along in an hour or so. We’re sorta the advance group.’

‘Of what? Escaped convicts, cattle rustlers, runaways?’

Zero almost grinned. ‘One of those is right. You tell me who you are first.’

‘My name is Queenie Hamilton. I live at a station south of here. I have a second property closer called Cricklewood and that’s where my prize bulls were kept, until some sods came and stole them about a week ago.’

‘You rich then?’

‘Depends what you call rich. I wouldn’t bother holding me to ransom — you wouldn’t get much for me. Your turn — tell me about yourself. How’d you get the name Zero?’

‘Guess my parents didn’t reckon I was worth much,’ he shrugged, and then grinned.

‘Ah, then you’re a runaway.’

‘Years back. Been on me own ten years about.’

‘But how old are you? Seventeen?’ Queenie was shocked.

Zero got to his feet as Ado came in with his arms full of kindling.

‘I’ll bring our gear in.’ Ado glanced at Queenie. ‘Where’s your stuff, you didn’t just walk in here like that.’

She hesitated before answering, not wanting to tell these two kids about Honey, but she figured they’d find her quick enough anyway as she was bound to make a noise. ‘I have a small pack on my horse tied down by the yard next to the first shed.’

‘You kin git it later.’

Zero grinned for the first time as he put a match to the fire in the old fuel stove. ‘Ado’s scared of horses.’

Queenie studied them closely for the first time. Zero wore a small earring; Ado had a red, black and gold knitted beanie clamped to the back of his head. Both wore jeans, old running shoes and T-shirts with wild looking rock group logos on them. She realised these were city boys. ‘How did you two get here? I didn’t see any cars or horses.’

‘We walked.’

‘You just fell onto this place?’

‘Course not,’ said Ado indignantly. ‘We’re the advance group; we came here first to get set up. Jeez, we’d better start, eh Zero?’

Ado disappeared and came back with a sugar bag. He dumped it on the table and began pulling food supplies from it. He eyed Queenie. ‘You know how to make damper?’

She nodded. ‘Want a hand?’

He pushed the flour and salt towards her and pulled a battered saucepan from the bottom of the bag.

‘Look around, Ado, there’s probably stuff to cook in,’ said Zero.

While Ado looked in cupboards and found a bowl and a frying pan, Zero opened cans of stew. The three worked quietly together, and soon a damper was cooking, the stew heating and the billy beginning to boil. They seemed to be cooking a lot of food, but Queenie said nothing, playing it by ear for the moment.

Soon voices were heard outside and the door burst open. Two young girls came in but stopped in shock when they saw Queenie, who was equally surprised at their appearance. These were not the fierce abductors she had expected but two young and unusually dressed Aboriginal girls of mixed blood. One had curly hair tied up on top of her head and wore large red hoop earrings; the other had wild frizzy hair and wore a long T-shirt hand-painted with bright sunflowers. They looked about fifteen. Following them was a large fairskinned Aboriginal woman who stopped and stood looking at Queenie.

‘We weren’t expectin’ company for dinner.’ She was a solid build with grey sprinkled through the dark waves of her hair; her eyes were brown and deep-set. She wore a loose fitting floral dress, a sleeveless cotton vest over it and worn, comfortable looking tennis shoes with baggy white socks. She stared hard at Queenie, trying to sum her up.

Queenie rose to her feet and met her gaze. ‘I wasn’t expecting to be hit on the head and forced in here.’

The woman swung around to Zero and Ado. ‘You hit this woman?’

‘We didn’t know it was a woman, she looked like she was breakin’ in. We jist jumped her; she had a gun, we thought it was someone dangerous.’

‘Where’s the gun?’

A remorseful looking Ado pointed to the corner; Zero looked guilty but still slightly defiant. The woman marched to the corner, grabbed the rifle, swiftly unloaded the magazine and tossed the rifle to Queenie. ‘I’ll keep the bullets for the minute. I’m Auntie Maud and I’m responsible for this mob. Righto everyone, light a few more lamps, get your gear into the bedrooms — girls to the left, boys to the right — and bring some water from the tank to wash with. Food ready, Zero?’

She spoke with military precision and the four youngsters hopped to it like they’d been kicked. Auntie Maud sat down at the table. ‘Sorry about them springing on you like that. Zero’s a bit hot-headed. You all right?’

‘I think so. I’m Queenie Hamilton. I was following what I thought were the tracks of my stolen cattle but they’re obviously not here . . . not now anyway. I reckon they were though. I also thought this place was abandoned.’

“Tis. We’re just bunking down here the night, then we move on to a camping ground we use a couple of k’s away. I have permission from the local police constable to overnight here.’

‘Are you a family?’

Auntie Maud grinned. ‘Of sorts.’

‘Where are you all from?’

‘The streets. A few months ago all these kids were wandering around the streets of Sydney’s Kings Cross. Runaways, on the run from authority, families — such as they were — and life.’

‘What are you doing out here? Still running?’

‘Nope, chasing something mebbe. You’re wondering why there isn’t a bloke around. Well, you don’t know Auntie Maud; I can manage this lot with one hand tied behind me back, isn’t that so?’ she challenged two of the kids who reappeared in the kitchen. ‘Get the others and start dishing up, Raylene.’

She turned her attention back to Queenie. ‘I’ll tell you what we’re on about. These kids’ve all been in trouble. Before they can start to put their lives together they have to learn who they are. And that’s my job. They’re Koories first and foremost and they have to learn to be proud of that. So I bring groups out here to a property the Land Council bought, and teach ’em what their heritage is all about — how to live off the land and what the spirits mean. They have to learn some of the old ways ’cause by learning how to survive out here and with each other, they’re learning more than they realise. And hopefully it will help them build new lives. We’re on a pretty tough walkabout that ends with a camp. We go for a couple of weeks.’

‘It sounds a wonderful idea. Does it work? I mean, do they go back changed or go back to their old lives? How many of these have you done?’ Queenie was genuinely interested.

‘I’ve done quite a few. We generally try to place the kids in jobs in the country or back in the city through our connections. People are starting to trust us more and will give kids a chance if they’ve been out with Auntie Maud.’

‘You must be a special lady. I’d like to hear your story.’

As the group dished up their meal on tin camp plates and settled round the table, Maud held up her hand for silence. ‘Whose turn?’ The girl in the sunflower T-shirt shyly raised her hand. ‘Off you go then, Raylene.’

They all bowed their heads as she softly spoke, ‘We offer thanks to the spirits of our mother earth who gives us food and nourishes our spirit and watches over us’. And with that they all began digging into the stew and passing the damper.

‘Now I’ll tell you my story. My mother was a full-blood from the Hunter Valley. My father was white, never knew ’im though. There was four of us kids; I was the youngest. Then came a terrible day when the white men came with a nun from the mission and they took us kids away. I can remember how they pushed my mother aside and how she cried out in her language not to take her children away. Well, we kids was sent away to different places and never saw each other or our mother again. I was in the mission till I was old enough to be sent to a girls’ school down south to train as a servant for white people. I hated it but I was clever and worked hard and was put in service. I managed to save a little bit of money over the years along with what the Aboriginal Protection Board banked for me. I worked damned hard, doing the work of three, but them nuns always taught us that hard work never hurt no one. I was honest and the women I worked for trusted me but as soon as I figured I had enough money I ran away.’ Auntie Maud paused and ate heartily. Queenie ate also, saying nothing, knowing the story would be resumed.

After clearing the plates and chatting with the youngsters for a while, Maud turned to Queenie again. ‘Well, I went back to the town near our land and I found some of my people who took me and taught me about the old ways. I know the white ways and I know some of the traditional laws and customs, though there’s secret stuff women never know, but I get on in both worlds and feel richer for it.

‘I got a job and ended up in Sydney and more and more I kept coming across koori kids with mixed up lives, so I got people to help and I set up a sort of safe house in the bad part of the city. Kids find their way there and we try to straighten ’em out. I wish I could get hold of more of them kids before they get sent to prison. They don’t need gaol, they’re only in there ’cause they got drunk or got in a fight or for petty theft ’cause they needed a feed or grog. They’re not hardened criminals. If they’d give ’em to Auntie Maud instead of tossing ’em in the slammer where they get the heebie-jeebies and do stupid things, we’d all be better off.’

‘I don’t doubt it,’ said Queenie. ‘It’s really great what you’re doing.’

‘Look out, she’ll put the bite on you for somethin’,’ said Zero and they all laughed.

‘I reckon you could help me out one day. We need help in all sorts of ways — jobs, donations. Give me your address and I’ll get in touch with you. You seem like a lady that’d keep a promise.’ Auntie Maud smiled at Queenie. ‘You help me and I’ll help you. I reckon I know where your cattle might be.’

Chapter Sixteen

The sleek black chauffeur-driven limousine glided through the large white main gates of Guneda and cruised past the first of the lush green paddocks where valuable bloodstock grazed behind white railings. A small white sign was lettered Office while another pointed in the opposite direction to Laboratory and Veterinarian.

The driver looked over his shoulder to the two men in the back. ‘The house or the office?’

‘Office.’

The office of Guneda Stud was a neat new building, a small replica of a classic bush cottage with narrow front verandah, corrugated bull-nosed roof and fly-screened door and windows.

The men, dressed in business suits, had city written all over them. They stepped onto the verandah as Mick opened the screen door and greeted the two strangers. ‘G’day.’

‘Morning. The boss here?’

‘Afraid not. Can I help?’

They looked at the small Aborigine, wondering about his status. ‘You in charge?’

‘Yes. Were you looking for a horse?’ Mick took a stab in the dark, curious as to what this pair with the heavy accents wanted.

‘Not really. We have a horse. We want him trained good.’

Mick grinned. ‘Then you’ve come to the right place. Come inside the office and let me tell you about Guneda.’

‘Oh we know about this place,’ replied Tony Cuomo following him inside. ‘We know TR Hamilton’s reputation.’

Mick waved them to two chairs and sat on the lounge. ‘Unfortunately TR’s had a bit of an accident. Tango has just left to do some business in town for a few days, then he’s going to Tingulla to see him, but he’ll be back in a week or so. Tango is running this place now. So, tell me about your horse.’ Mick looked from one to the other.

Cuomo did the talking. ‘We have a sprinter that’s won a bit here and there. We think he’s capable of better things. We’d like to bring him here.’

‘Where is he?’ Mick wondered about the limousine. They didn’t look like the sort of horse people he was familiar with.

‘Tamworth.’

‘We’d have to have a look at him, let you know what we think of him. Don’t want to mislead you if he hasn’t got what it takes, as far as we can tell anyway,’ said Mick.

‘We understand. Can we have a bit of a look around, get an idea of the place?’

‘Sure, I’ll give you a tour and, here, take these with you,’ Mick lifted a brochure off a shelf and handed it to Cuomo. ‘You fellows from Tamworth?’

‘No. We’ll provide all the necessary information when we send the horse over.’

The men stood, Mick shrugged, picked up his hat and the keys to the LandCruiser. ‘Right, follow me.’

As they drove towards the main stables, passing the breeding barns and foaling boxes, Mick tried to find out more about their horse, but they were reticent about giving details. This didn’t worry Mick, if someone thought they had a hot horse they might like to keep it quiet. It didn’t occur to him these men might not know a gelding from a billy goat.

After touring Guneda the men prepared to leave. ‘Um,’ asked Mick, ‘who’s the owner? What name shall I tell Tango?’

‘The horse is called . . . er,’ Cuomo turned to the other man who had not spoken.

‘Ambrosia.’

‘Right. That’s the horse. We’re part of a syndicate. Registered as Broadwater Holdings. Tell the boss we’ll be in touch.’

They didn’t bother to shake hands. The driver held the rear door open and they slid onto the back seat. Mick scratched his head as he watched the limo leave. Oh well, he’d done the best he could; they hadn’t asked many questions but they seemed to know about the place. Maybe they were just checking out that Guneda was what it claimed to be. He’d tell Tango about the visit when he returned from welcoming TR back to Tingulla.

To his surprise, two days later a hired horse float arrived, with a nervous dark thoroughbred with a white streak down its nose locked inside. The horse was cranky and highly strung and Mick and the driver had some trouble getting it out and into a small holding paddock.

‘We haven’t formally agreed to take this horse, the boss is away,’ Mick said.

The driver shrugged. ‘I was just paid to bring him here, not take him back.’ He handed over the papers and departed.

Mick skimmed through the documents. Ambrosia came from a well-connected sire and dam and was now owned by the Broadwater Syndicate. Mick didn’t bother reading further on to where the syndicate owners were listed — Alfredo Camboni, Dina Camboni-Hanlon, Antonio Cuomo and George Bannerman — his job was to settle the horse and leave the paperwork to Tango.

Colin was also paid a visit by Tony Cuomo and his silent personal assistant. They arrived unannounced at Harmony Hill and asked if they could take a look around. Colin had several workmen and builders with him so asked if they’d mind waiting or else take a look around unescorted. They said they’d prefer to look around themselves. Colin had no doubt they were checking up on things for Camboni. However, when they returned an hour later, Tony was effusive in his praise and accepted Colin’s offer of coffee.

They talked about the opening date of Harmony Hill and when Colin asked about marketing and advertising, Tony shrugged. ‘I have no knowledge of these things. I believe all that is your area. I am involved with the casino and a little horse racing. Which reminds me, I see you have built stables but have few horses yet.’

‘I understood George Bannerman was looking after that. I do have a couple of quiet horses and two Shetlands lined up for trail rides though.’

‘George will be sending you a horse in a few weeks, just to look after. He might be raced later but we don’t want him stuck out at Tamworth. We’d hoped he might be the horse we’d use in our betting syndicate. But Ambrosia is a better horse. George wants to give him one last chance to see if he’s any good. He used to be apparently.’

‘Does he need working out? So who’s going to look after him?’ asked Colin.

‘Whoever you get to run the horse rides, I s’pose. Your problem.’

Colin shrugged. ‘Fair enough. How are the casino plans?’

Tony looked at his personal assistant who had said nothing. ‘We’re working on it.’ He put down his cup and rose. ‘Thank you. I will tell Alfredo his investment here is in good hands.’

On the weekend Colin paid a visit to the coast to see Dina. She greeted him with an embrace, curling her arms about him and pushing her hips against his. ‘Umm. I’m glad to see you, caro. I have been sooo bored and lonely this week.’

Dina’s sensuality had an immediate effect on Colin. He felt himself becoming aroused before he’d even dropped his briefcase. He thrust himself back at her. ‘I’m pleased to see you too . . . Can’t you tell?’

Dina licked his ear and started to lead him towards the bedroom. ‘Hey, steady on, Dina, let me put my bag down. Get me a drink, there’s no rush, I’m not going anywhere.’ Colin sank into a chair putting down his briefcase.

‘Well that makes a change, you’re always rushing off somewhere.’ Dina poured two glasses of wine and handed Colin one and perched on the arm of his chair. ‘Caro, I’ve been thinking, why don’t I come and visit this resort of Pappa’s. This Harmony place that keeps you so busy, eh?’

Colin glanced at Dina in surprise. ‘Why? I mean, sure. But it’s not really your cup of tea. It’s not glitzy, in fact quite the opposite. Very simple, wholesome and healthy. Definitely not your scene,’ teased Colin.

Dina pouted. ‘Ugh. Are you trying to turn me off coming there?’

Colin gave his wife a shrewd look. She was playing the role of neglected and doting wife, but she obviously suspected he was up to something, seeing how he spent so much time there. Colin relaxed. This time he had nothing to hide. Well, only a few papers. There was no secret mistress tucked up at Harmony Hill. ‘I think it’s a great idea, Dina. I’d like you to see it. It’s different, and I’m really trying to get it established. Eventually it might be like those health farms you like to visit in America. It’s not plush and glamorous but it has its own charm. Like the people who work there.’

Dina stood up. He’d agreed too easily. ‘All right then. I just like to know what my husband is doing. Friends ask, and I can’t tell them any details. Now I’ll know all about it.’ She drained her glass and headed for the bedroom. ‘Pour me another wine, and bring it with you. Let’s take a Jacuzzi together.’

The next day they headed into the hinterland. Colin was telling Dina the background of Harmony Hill and what to expect, but she seemed rather bored with the idea now.

‘Stop making excuses. This isn’t a tour of inspection for Pappa. I’m just curious to see what you like so much out here.’

They drove through the grounds past the office where ripening papayas hung from a tree, to the two-bedroom cabin Colin had commandeered as his own. He led Dina into the open-plan sitting and dining area lined in honey pine. The floor was polished wood and the furniture casual rattan. She walked onto the small balcony and stared up towards the hill to one side and green patchwork of distant farmlets.

‘Pretty, isn’t it?’ said Colin, coming up behind her and putting his arms about her waist.

She turned back inside. ‘Yes, very sweet. Colin, there is no air-conditioning in here.’

‘You don’t need it, there are ceiling fans and there’s always a breeze.’ She flopped into a chair. ‘How about a drink?’

‘There’s cold ginger beer and lemon squash. Home-made,’ he added apologetically. ‘I’ll get some wine later; we’re having dinner with Bruce and Ria.’

‘Umm . . . I was thinking more of a gin and tonic. Like now.’

‘Dina, it’s only eleven in the morning! How about I show you round the place instead.’

‘I forgot, this is a health farm. All right, I’ll wait till lunch time.’

Colin helped her into the small dune buggy they used to drive about the place. ‘We’ll start up at the top of the hill where the yurts are. The sauna and spa are working, maybe you’d like a massage and spa? Ria gives a great massage.’

‘Oh does she? And what sort of a place is this?’ She gave him a penetrating look.

Colin laughed. ‘Dina, you’ve got a dirty mind. These are health massages guaranteed to help aches and pains and just make you feel relaxed and fit. Ria is a naturopath, but she doesn’t practise at a clinic anymore since she had Greta. That kid is the funniest little thing. I’ve got some horses for trail rides which aren’t set up yet, and for the kids I got two Shetland ponies; one is a bad-tempered bastard, very set in his ways; the other one, Pansy, is as sweet as can be. She and Greta are inseparable, the kid is nuts about the horses. All of them.’ Colin changed the subject — he knew Dina was not interested in children.

Colin had arranged a picnic lunch by the creek, but Dina found the grass uncomfortable, the occasional fly bothered her, she hated eating with her fingers and worried about dirtying her white linen slacks. Colin shelved his plan of making love to her on the grassy bank beneath the trees, and they returned to the cabin where Dina hung up her clothes, closed the shutters, turned on the fan and slept the afternoon away.

At sunset Colin mixed her a drink, which he handed to her as she emerged from the shower. ‘A dressing drink for you. Feel better?’

‘I will after this,’ she said, lifting the cocktail from his hand.

Dinner at the Gadens was the usual informal occasion. They sat at a long wooden table in the garden spread with a variety of vegetarian dishes, salads and a baked Moroccan chicken dish.

Dina peered into the earthen dish. ‘What’s in it?’ To Colin it didn’t sound like a polite enquiry but more of a hint she could possibly be poisoned.

Ria was unfazed. ‘Oh spices, honey, nuts. Oh, here’s Greta. Look who’s here, sweetie.’

There was a general feeling of relief as the little girl rushed in and went to her father, climbing onto his lap and giving him a hug. ‘What have you been up to?’ he asked.

‘Tea party in my room.’ She looked shyly at Dina.

‘This is Auntie Dina,’ said Bruce. Dina nodded and gave a tight smile, hoping the child wouldn’t jump onto her lap. But Greta climbed down and stood demurely before Dina and held out her hand. ‘Come.’

Dina stared at the child, wondering what to say.

Ria came to her rescue. ‘She probably wants to show you something in her room. She’s been awfully quiet down there for a while.’

‘Shall I?’

Bruce got up and headed indoors to the kitchen. ‘I’ll make you another drink, Dina. Don’t let that little monkey rope you into an involved tea party.’

As Dina was led away by the small tot, Colin muttered to Ria, ‘Not much chance of that, Dina’s not into tea. Scotch is her tipple. I know you don’t drink so I have some wine in the — ’

There was a sudden shriek and Dina’s voice echoed from the back of the house, ‘Colin!’

Bruce reached Greta’s room first and burst out laughing. As the others crowded into the doorway they too started to laugh. Greta had a tea party set up on a little table and the guest of honour standing at the table wearing a bib and paper party hat was Pansy the Shetland. The pony stood placidly and was obviously quite at home. Dina, looking bemused, was standing at the far end of the room.

Ria pushed into the room and pulled the hat and bib from Pansy, saying crossly to Greta, ‘Now look, miss, I’ve told you before, you are not to bring Pansy into your room to play. Now take her back outside and put her outside the fence away from my garden.’

‘Do as your mother says then wash your hands and come to the table for dinner,’ added Bruce sternly.

The adults all grinned broadly as they watched the little girl lead the pony by its shaggy mane down the hall and out of the front door.

Bruce shrugged. ‘She loves the horses, she’s going to be underfoot at the stables, I’m afraid.’

‘We’ll have to keep an eye on her,’ said Colin tersely. Greta unwittingly reminded him of Queenie as a child.

Dina was not amused, which made everyone uncomfortable, and throughout dinner it was obvious she felt she was mixing with her social inferiors. ‘I understand you’re the gardener here, Bruce, and you give massages, Ria?’ She managed to give a lewd twist to the pronunciation of massage and her manner to Bruce was condescending.

Ria appeared not to notice. ‘Greta, it’s your bedtime; would you like Dad to read your story?’

Bruce picked up the child, glad to leave the table. By the time he had supervised teeth brushing, read a chapter of Blinky Bill and returned to the table, all was calm again. He noticed Dina had a full glass of wine and was the only one drinking, but she seemed happy enough telling some involved story about a palace in Italy where they’d lived for a time.

By the time Dina fell into bed, she was well and truly drunk, having had a nightcap while Colin got ready for bed. In the few minutes it took him, Dina fell asleep and he found her snoring lightly on her back in her underwear, her make-up still on and the half a glass of Scotch by the bed. Colin tipped it out and replaced it with water, knowing her nighttime thirsts and demands for water, then switched out the light and curled up on the other side of the bed, thinking how different his marriage was to that of the Gadens.

Dina had remained negative throughout the meal, scoffing in a forced gay manner when Ria had tried to explain some of the health treatments they planned, and as for the idea people would willingly pay money to try and change the pattern of their lives, Dina thought it was crazy. ‘People pay money for a good time. Not to torture themselves with health food, vitamin drinks, exercise and emotional confrontation,’ she said firmly. Colin secretly agreed with her, but wished she wouldn’t air these views with Bruce and Ria.

‘Well, it’s the end result people are interested in, like becoming healthy, feeling better and approaching life in a new, less stressful, more fulfilling way,’ said Bruce gently. ‘And if they can have a good time doing it, so much the better. Because, Dina, it may surprise you, but some people find a place like this rather enjoyable.’

‘Give me the Gold Coast any day,’ said Dina and they changed the subject.

Colin squeezed his eyes shut, willing sleep to come. Life with Dina was no picnic, but at least it wasn’t dull. He suddenly realised a smooth placid marriage like the Gadens’ would bore him. Dina did spend a fortune on herself but provided she hadn’t drunk too much, her sexual energy didn’t diminish and she was always ready to experiment or try something new and lascivious. Colin was the envy of many men who yearned to bed Dina; and on occasion, his spoiled and shallow wife could be fun.

As he finally drifted to sleep Colin decided to keep his options open, and that meant keeping Dina happy . . . for the time being. One never knew where lady luck might pop up next.

Chapter Seventeen

Tango drove under the archway to Tingulla and slowed his truck as he caught sight of Snowy in the distance. He was standing by a tree, his back to the homestead, looking towards the low range of Blue Hills. There was no mistaking the bent figure in his favourite red shirt, his white hair shining like silver in the sunlight.

Tango stopped and watched him for a moment; then, turning off the engine, got out, glad to stretch after the long drive, and vaulted the old post-and-railing fence. Snowy hadn’t shown any sign he’d seen him, though he must have heard the Toyota. Tango put two fingers in his mouth and gave a long musical whistle. Slowly the old man turned towards the sound and even at that distance Tango knew Snowy hadn’t seen the view before him but had been lost in deep thought or staring into his Dreaming. But now a wide grin spread across his lined face and he lifted an arm in a loose salute.

Tango ran over to him and impulsively hugged the tribal elder he regarded as his grandfather. ‘Watcha doing, Snowy? How’s everything at the house? Is TR home?’

‘Him body home but not his head.’ Snowy shook his own head sadly. ‘Big worry. Funny ting, him not knowin’ nobody. But his walkin’ coming along pretty good. How’s Guneda, you the big boss now, eh?’

‘Oh, I wouldn’t say that. Just minding the shop till TR’s better.’

They turned and began walking back towards Tango’s LandCruiser. ‘You comin’ up to the house?’

‘Soon enough, Tango. I’m jist listening to Tingulla spirits here ’n’ there.’

‘What do they say, Snowy?’

‘They wus telling me stories ‘bout what I must do. Dis my Dreaming place and the time comes when you gotta pass it over. Dis your Dreaming place too.’

‘But I wasn’t born here, Snowy.’

‘No matter. You start ’em on Tingulla land when your mumma begin you. I knew from the minute I first seen you that you belong here.’

‘When was that, Snowy? I don’t remember. I didn’t come to Tingulla till I was about seventeen.’

‘I remember good. TR sent you over to check ‘cause they wus all worried ‘bout dis place. Millie had bad feelins and she wus right, when them no good people come to buy it up. You come up from Guneda and looked around and then you saw Nareedah and asked if you could ride her.’

‘Mum’s white Arabian. She was a beautiful horse,’ said Tango softly.

‘No fella could ride that horse like your mumma . . . but you did. You rode her, jist exact like your mumma. I knew then. I knew you belong Tingulla.’

‘And we all came home.’

‘Everyone got to come home to their Dreaming place one day. Before they go back to be with their spirits.’ Snowy gazed into the distance.

Tango put an arm around Snowy’s shoulders. ‘You’re not goin’ anywhere for a long time, Snowy. Hop in and we’ll go check on TR.’

‘Millie know you coming t’day?’

Tango started the engine. ‘Nope.’

‘She’s gonna be mad,’ grinned Snowy.

‘Does the old girl good to get riled up occasionally.’

‘Yeah, that Millie always gotta keep her fingers in everyting,’ Snowy remarked fondly.

Tango couldn’t have timed it better. He ran up the front steps as Snowy trailed behind him, catching Millie by the waist as she pushed the traymobile along the verandah to where everyone was gathered. She squealed in surprise and delight. ‘Tango! What a surprise, you didn’t tell me you were comin’. TR, look who’s here.’

‘He smelled the tea and cake,’ said Jim, getting up and shaking Tango’s hand.

TR was seated in a wicker chair, his crutches beside him. He smiled warmly at Tango. ‘Good to see you, Tango. Have you met Jenni? This is Jenni Brown, my physio.’

‘G’day, Jenni.’ Tango looked at the fairhaired girl with interest. She was small and shapely and very attractive.

‘Nice to meet you, Tango. I’ve heard a lot about you.’

Snowy joined the group, sitting in a chair next to Jim. Suddenly there was a shriek and running steps echoed along the wooden verandah as Saskia belted along its length to fling herself at Tango. ‘Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?’

‘Spoil the surprise. How ya doing, kid?’

‘Good. How’s Guneda?’

‘Coming along great guns.’ He glanced over at TR. ‘I’ll tell you all about it later. So any news from Mum?’ Tango picked up his cup of tea and sat on the edge of the verandah leaning against one of the posts.

‘Not yet,’ said Millie, handing a plate of fruitcake slices to Saskia to pass around. ‘Wish she’d get back here then we’d have all the family together again.’

‘Well, nearly everyone,’ said Saskia, thinking of Colin. She turned to Tango. ‘So is Mick holding the fort at Guneda?’

‘Yeah, he’s doing great. I think he likes a spell in the office away from the track.’ Tango turned to Jenni. ‘He’s our jockey, works with all the horses and helps with the training. He rode our Melbourne Cup winner, Bill.’

‘I remember the story. Sweet William, is he there too?’

‘Yes, he won a few more races then got a bit of leg trouble so he stands at stud and is a winner there too. His old trainer Bobby always said to us to quit while we’re ahead. So we didn’t want to push it and maybe wreck him. He did good by us, hey, TR?’

TR nodded, but it was obvious he didn’t know the story. ‘Speaking of jockeys though,’ he said, ‘what are the chances of finding a job for a kid who needs a bit of a hand?’ TR turned to Jenni, ‘I was thinking of young Dennis’. She nodded as TR continued, ‘He’s in the hospital learning to get together again like me. He had a promising career as a jockey and took a bad fall, not his fault from what I’ve been told, but he won’t ride again. The kid lives and breathes horses and some sort of job around them would probably save his life.’

‘Is he mobile?’ asked Tango.

‘If he knew he had a chance of being around horses he’d crawl over broken glass,’ said Jenni earnestly. ‘He’s just got into a wheelchair but it’s been hard to get him motivated. Patients need some sort of kick-start to get them on track and willing to make the effort to get on with their lives. Some never do and stay bitter and so don’t progress as well physically as they could.’

‘But it’s up to you, Tango; you know Guneda and what it could offer him,’ said TR.

Tango looked at his father. ‘Well, I can’t see why not. It’s fine by me.’

Millie chuckled. ‘That’s the spirit, Tango.’

Jenni interjected. ‘That’s wonderful. He’ll be immobilised for a while, but in the long run he’ll walk with a bad limp, might have to use a cane, but he’ll be good as gold. I guarantee he’ll work his fingers to the bone for you if you give him this chance.’

‘That won’t be necessary. If he’s bright we’ll put him to work in the office, there’s always paperwork to be done, but he could still spend time with the horses. Come to think of it, there’s a straight path down to the stables, he can whizz his wheelchair down there whenever he likes. Okay, that’s settled. What’s next on the agenda?’

Saskia suddenly spoke up. ‘Well, I wasn’t going to say anything till I’d spoken to Mum, but I’ve dropped out of uni.’

With a clatter Millie dropped her cup in its saucer. ‘You’ve what?’

‘Your Mum isn’t going to like that,’ said Jim quietly.

‘Saskia, are you crazy?’ Tango stared at her.

Saskia looked at TR and grinned ruefully. He smiled back. ‘Well, that seems to be a bit of a bombshell. Maybe you’d better elaborate.’

Saskia took a deep breath and adjusted her position on the arm of Millie’s chair. ‘I think I might have mentioned to some of you that I haven’t been all that thrilled with the idea of becoming a vet. I know I thought it a good idea three years ago,’ she said, touching Millie’s arm as she went to protest and make that same point, ‘but it’s not till you get into something that you start to understand what’s really involved. I love animals and I don’t want an office job, but I like horses best of all and when I did some temporary assisting with a vet in the holidays he spent most of his time neutering pets and putting unwanted ones to sleep.’

‘It’d be different being a bush vet,’ broke in Tango.

‘If I was lucky enough to get work in a rural or farm practice, but even that doesn’t excite me all that much.’

‘What do you want to do then?’ asked TR.

‘I want to work with horses, but I don’t want to rush into anything. I want to have a break and think it through.’

‘You could come and work at Guneda, couldn’t she, TR?’

Saskia broke in. ‘Thanks, but I want to prove I can do it on my own.’

‘Why throw away all the years of study?’ asked Tango.

‘Look, it’s actually not as drastic as it sounds. My grades have been really good. So I went and talked to the head of the department and I have taken leave for twelve months, just deferred for a year, that’s all. So if I can’t find what I really want to do, I’ll go back, do the last year, get my degree and look into vet jobs.’

‘Well that sounds better,’ said Millie, ‘but what is your mum going to say? She has enough to worry about at present.’

‘I’ll deal with that,’ said Saskia, then glanced at Jenni. ‘Welcome to the family forum.’

‘It’s not really my business I know, Saskia, but for what it’s worth, I do understand how you feel. In fact, it’s kind of what I’m doing. You get to a point where you have to assess your real goals in life. And I’ve known doctors and nurses who’ve done what you’re doing and they either went back and finished or found another direction. You might change your mind in a couple of months.’

‘It’s a tough old world out there,’ added Jim.

‘Well, Snowy, what do you reckon?’ asked Saskia. ‘You might as well throw your twocents’ worth in!’

Snowy looked at her. ‘You listen to your heart, your spirit fella will tell you. You’ll know what’s right. Don’t worry ’bout what this lot say, Sas.’

This pronouncement was greeted with a round of applause and defused the discussion. Millie began gathering up cups as the phone rang indoors. ‘Ruthie’ll get it, she’s closest.’

Ruthie was chattering happily on the phone. ‘Millie was jist sayin’ you should be here, all the family is here . . . well, TR, Sas, Tango . . . yeah, yeah, TR. He’s here. Miss Jenni is lookin’ after him. Oh. Okay, I’ll get her.’ Ruthie dropped the phone calling through the house, ‘Millieeee . . .’

Millie came in with a tray. ‘Ssh, Ruthie, what is it?’

‘Phone. Missus is on the phone.’

‘Oh! Here take this.’ Millie thrust the tray at the startled girl and rushed to the phone. ‘Queenie? That you, luv?’

Millie listened for a moment. ‘Yes, he’s home. Jenni and me got it organised when we couldn’t git to talk to you. We’ve been dying for you to call. No, but he’s walking on crutches pretty good. Still using the wheelchair. Jenni works with him every day, so he’s comin’ on real good. But when you comin’ back home, Queenie luv?’

Millie chewed her lip as she listened. ‘Queenie you reckon you gonna find them bulls? You get here, TR needs you . . . Okay, I’ll get him.’

Jenni helped TR to his feet and he tucked his crutches under his arms and moved inside. ‘Take the phone in there, luv.’ Millie pointed to the small sitting room and left him alone.

TR picked up the phone. ‘Queenie?’

Queenie was standing in the shade of some trees by the side of her LandCruiser; she held the two-way radio handset in her hand and when she heard TR’s faint voice, her heart lurched. She lifted the handset close to her mouth. ‘TR? How are you?’

‘I’m more mobile. I’m walking on crutches so they chucked me out of the hospital.’

‘How are you doing with Jenni?’

‘Good. Having her work with me every day has meant faster progress, I guess.’ TR changed the subject. ‘Any lead on the missing bulls?’

‘Possibly, but it could take a little while to check it out. I’m so happy you’re home. I wish I was there. Shall I come back now?’

‘No. Don’t rush back on my account. Jenni has everything under control as far as I’m concerned. And Millie is great.’

‘I see. Have you remembered anything? Have you looked over all the house?’ She wondered if he was back in their bedroom.

‘I can’t manage stairs yet, Queenie,’ he said quietly. Queenie didn’t answer. ‘You must finish this job, you can’t leave if you’re close to finding those bulls. They’re valuable and, Queenie, I’m fine, Jenni says . . .’

‘TR, I’ll be home very quickly and then I’ll be able to look after you,’ cut in Queenie.

‘I need specialised treatment, I don’t expect you to be my nursemaid.’

Queenie felt sharp tears sting her eyes. ‘TR, I want to help you, I want to look after you. I love you . . .’ It was a cry of anguish.

‘Queenie, please. It will be all right. This is hard for both of us. Don’t rush things, don’t worry and good luck.’

‘Yes, all right. Get Millie again for me. Take care, TR.’ The tears were now running down her face.

Millie was swiftly on the phone. ‘You okay, luv? What’s going on?’

‘You tell me, Millie. What do you think of Jenni?’

‘She’s nice. She . . .’ Millie hesitated, she didn’t want to upset Queenie by telling her that the bond between TR and Jenni bothered her. ‘She is getting TR walking and back on his feet and that’s the main thing, luv. You just get home safe and sound as soon as you can.’

‘This is very hard for me, Millie. I feel like TR and I are strangers. I want my husband back.’ Alone in the bush, so far away, trying to come to terms with the knowledge her husband didn’t remember her, that he was back in their house, being helped and supported by some other woman, was terribly painful and she could barely speak.

‘Is Saskia there?’

Millie heard the tearful voice and not wanting Saskia to upset her further by maybe blurting out her own news, Millie said swiftly and firmly, ‘She’s down at the stables with Tango. We’re all here looking after TR. But tell me your news, luv. Where are you?’

‘In the scrub, headed for some bloke’s property. I’ve met up with a few people who’ve been helpful.’ The line crackled and faded but Millie could hear the tired sadness in Queenie’s voice.

‘Sounds like you might be gettin’ somewhere then. You jist do what you gotta do, luv.’

‘All right, Millie. I’ll call again.’ Queenie replaced the hand-piece and leaned against the vehicle, sobbing loudly.

Millie stood staring at the phone as Tango and Saskia rushed into the room. Millie turned to them. ‘She had to go. She sends her love, said she think’s she’s onto them bulls.’

‘Why did she have to go?’ ‘I didn’t quite understand, Sas. And the line was bad,’ she added quickly. ‘You told her about TR? She spoke to him?’ asked Tango.

‘Yep.’

‘Is she coming back?’ Saskia looked worried; she could tell Millie was holding something back.

‘Not just yet. TR told her to keep going as she had some good lead on them duffers.’

‘What is it, Millie, you look upset,’ said Tango putting his arm around the plump, grey-haired housekeeper who had been responsible for bringing him back into the fold of his family.

‘Your mum is upset too . . . it’s just that she misses TR and was hoping for better news. You know, when she heard he was here she thought mebbe he got his head back.’

Tango and Saskia exchanged a half smile above Millie’s head. ‘I suppose she was disappointed. And what did she say about the missing bulls?’

‘Jist she had some ideas from some people. She’s goin’ to some old place. Come on, let’s go back to the others.’

Tango stood on the verandah watching TR push himself across the lawn in his wheelchair. He caught up with him. ‘You going anywhere in particular?’

‘No, bit of a shortage of paths. I was just getting some fresh air, thought I’d sit in the shade. What are you doing?’

‘Looking for you. Want to take a spin down to the stables?’ Without waiting for an answer, Tango grasped the wheelchair and sped off at a fast run with TR tilted back in the seat hanging on as Tango zigzagged across the grounds, calling an imaginary race, before screeching to a halt by the top stables.

‘You’re bloody mad,’ said TR placidly.

‘I can be a kid here. Got to be on my best behaviour at Guneda, seeing I’m the temporary boss.’ He was out of breath and leaned against a stable door. TR looked at the tall sandy-haired boy with the brilliant sapphire eyes that matched his own. ‘How’s it going down there?’

‘Good. When are you coming down to see us?’

‘I don’t know, Tango. I’m having a hard enough time adjusting to life here without going to my other life where everyone knows me and I haven’t a damned clue who anyone is or what’s going on. I’ll get around to it eventually.’

‘You’ll have to be re-educated, like the Cultural Revolution,’ grinned Tango, unlatching the bottom half of the stable door then holding out his hands to TR.

‘Don’t joke, Jenni has already told me that’s next.’

TR took Tango’s hands and let him pull himself out of the chair.

‘You rely on her a lot, don’t you?’ Supporting TR, Tango took slow steps into the stable.

‘Yeah, she’s been incredible. Tougher than a bloke sometimes, but also very understanding.’

‘I hope Mum doesn’t think she’s usurping her position,’ said Tango bluntly.

‘Quite different things,’ said TR and quickly changed the subject. ‘Hey, who have we here?’ He stared at the dark stallion who’d been standing quietly at the back of the stall. TR was supporting himself by holding onto the door frame as Tango untied the halter. The horse swiftly lifted his head, its ears twitching, and TR said admiringly, ‘That’s a fine looking horse’. As soon as he spoke the horse moved straight to him, pushing his head into his chest. Hanging on to the door with one hand, TR rubbed the horse’s head. The horse smelled him and nibbled at his shirt. TR grinned. ‘Friendly fella.’

Tango held the horse steady as TR was in danger of losing his balance. ‘This is Starlight Sky, known as Star.’

TR suddenly felt a surge of affection for the beautiful stallion and reached out and touched him again, then looked at Tango. ‘He’s my horse, isn’t he?’

Tango nodded, unable to speak for a minute as he watched TR fondle the horse and the horse respond to the master who’d been absent so long. ‘Do you remember him? Remember anything?’

TR shook his head. ‘No. I don’t remember anything, but it was like my body responded. I had a feeling of closeness with him. He certainly knows me though.’

‘Won’t be too long and you’ll be out riding him again.’

‘I don’t know.’ TR suddenly looked scared. ‘We’ll have to see what Jenni has to say about that.’ He turned away and limped out of the door, holding onto the wall.

Tango slipped the halter from Star and latched the door, then helped TR back into his wheelchair. Star hung his head out the top open half of the stall door and whinnied in annoyance.

‘Sorry, mate. I’ll take you for a ride later,’ said Tango as he turned the wheelchair back towards the house. TR was silent and Tango realised his father, the superb horseman who was once a famous rodeo star, was frightened of getting back on a horse.

Chapter Eighteen

Queenie drove slowly, her vision blurred by tears. Honey was back in the horse float but she kept her nose lifted to the high gap at the front of the float so she could smell the fragrances of the passing bush. Queenie had ridden back from Walshie’s place to get the Toyota and float, leaving Maud and the kids to their lessons. Good to her word, Maud had told Queenie where she thought her missing bulls might be.

‘Just an idea, mind you. But sometimes I get a special feeling for tings, and I’m generally right. I know ’bout Mitchell and his place, and not all of it good — he has a pretty shonky name. But I reckon if you got pricey cattle, Mitchell’d know. Worth a look at his place I reckon, but be careful.’ Queenie planned to drop Maud and the kids along the track and head over to Mitchell’s property to check it out.

Once she’d arrived back at the LandCruiser Queenie had raised Tingulla on the two-way radio, but now she wished she hadn’t. The call had upset her. Perhaps she was being unreasonable — she had, after all, set it all up — but she wished she was there and caring for TR and not out here in the wilderness on a wild and risky hunt.

Hearing TR’s voice had caused anguish in her heart and soul. Their physical and on his part, mental, separation was hard to bear. The more she thought of him, the more her feelings of love intensified and threatened to overwhelm her. TR was part of her; their love and closeness sustained her, made each moment of each day one of joy. How often he had held her in his arms and whispered, ‘We are part of each other, we are the two halves that make the whole, my darling. How lucky we are.’ Knowing how they loved each other had given both of them the strength to face any challenge, to tackle any mountain. But now the very foundation of Queenie’s life had been shaken. She was feeling vulnerable and was threatened by the idea that some other woman was caring for TR. Jenni might be a professional but no living person could give TR the depth of care and love that she could.

In the distance Queenie saw the first of the sheds and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. She had to get herself together. Auntie Maud and the kids were waiting for her.

She spotted Zero first, his shock of frizzed hair standing out against his dark features. He stood and watched her impassively as she drove up.

‘Where are the others?’ asked Queenie.

He tilted his head, ‘At the house’.

‘You want to jump in?’ Queenie leaned over and opened the passenger door.

Zero climbed in, glancing at Honey watching from her horsebox. ‘You gonna keep the horse in that all the way?’

‘Maybe. Can you ride?’

He shook his head. ‘No way. No horses in Redfern. Did see a mounted copper once. Is it hard?’

‘To ride? Not really. You’ve got to be gentle but firm, not afraid and show some trust. Bit like dealing with people. Can you drive?’

‘Yeah.’ He grinned at her. ‘Only other people’s cars, but. Never had a go at one of these. Not too many around the suburbs. Not so quick to burn round the back streets either.’

Queenie ignored his reference to his activities with hot cars. ‘Maybe I’ll let you spell me on this drive. I’ll see.’

‘That’d be cool.’

Auntie Maud and the other three were waiting by the house, surrounded by small sacks and bags.

‘Righto, you lot, hop in. You all set, Queenie?’

‘I’ll just refill the water bags and extra water container. Is there water in the tank?’

‘It’s low and a bit tinny. We pass a creek on the way, should be water in it.’

‘I’ll take some now anyway.’

‘Here, Adrian, you and one of the girls help do that,’ said Maud.

Queenie handed them the water container. Maud looked at her. ‘You make contact with the folks at home?’

‘Yes.’

‘You don’t look too happy.’

‘Oh, I’m all right. I guess.’ Queenie busied herself rearranging gear to make room for three in the back and Maud didn’t probe any further. As soon as they were settled Queenie drove out from the property, following Maud’s directions, onto the back track that led to the dirt road.

‘So tell me what you know about this Mitchell character and why you think he’s got my stock.’ Queenie settled into her seat, her hands resting comfortably on the steering wheel, feeling the warmth of Maud’s hip on one side. Lois was leaning against the front passenger door and Queenie checked she had her seat belt on, then glanced over her shoulder at the three in the back seat. ‘You all right back there?’

‘Yeah. Better than walking.’

‘You’ll git plenty of that later,’ said Auntie Maud. ‘Now, Barney Mitchell. I first heard of him when I was workin’ for Mrs Jamieson when I left the girls’ school. She fancied herself something dreadful that woman did, had tickets on herself like you wouldn’t believe. Acted like the Queen Mother and I was the servant who ran bloomin’ Buckingham Palace. Do this, do that, don’t forgit this, have you done that?’

‘Now we know where you get it from Auntie Maud,’ teased Ado from the back.

‘Who else worked for her?’

‘Nobody! I did everything. Oh, there was Horrie an old Koori fella used t’help out, but he was always wanderin’ off. He was supposed to chop wood and look after the vegie garden, fix things, but he was never around when ya needed him. He’d either take off and be gone bush or hidin’ out in the henhouse.’

‘The henhouse?’ laughed Queenie.

‘Yeah, curled up sleeping on a sack near the laying trough. Said he was lookin’ out for the carpet snake that’d been stealing the eggs. Don’t know why she kept him on. S’pose because he was cheap. She paid him baccy money and a bit of tucker. Never met a meaner woman in my life. But when Mr Mitchell come to call nothing was too good. I’d be baking sponge cakes and tarts, cheese pies, getting into the smoked ham, gawd, you name it.’

‘Was there a Mr Jamieson?’

‘I called him the grey ghost. He tiptoed round the place keeping out of her way. He worked in town, in some accountant office I think. But Mitchell used to come to call for afternoon tea when he was at work. All very proper like, but he used to talk and talk to her and I could tell he was spinning her some great story. Had something to do with money. She was the one with money and she held the purse strings. I never got to hear much ’cause it was a rule when visitors come, I had to keep out of sight. I had to wait till they moved onto the verandah or he left and I’d hear her say, “Oh leave that, the girl will fix it”.’

‘I’d have dropped her china cups,’ said Raylene.

‘I felt like it often enough, but that would’ve just come out of my hide, my pocket or no half day off — which was only every six weeks anyway, but I longed for that time on me own. Anyway, next thing we knew, they had to sell up and move away and I heard from Horrie they’d lost all their money and it was Mr Mitchell’s fault. He must have conned the old biddy somehow.

‘Anyway, I moved into town to work for one of her old lady friends. The work wasn’t so hard as she didn’t have a cow and chooks to look after and I got sixpence to spend and every second Sunday off. I met up with another mission girl and we used to buy lollies or get a soft drink and hang around the back of the picture show and listen to the films. Once we sneaked in but had to get out before the end in case we got caught. I’ll never forget that. Seemed like magic seein’ them people up there on the screen.’ She turned to the kids in the back. ‘You fellas don’t know what it was like then. You think you got it tough now, it was a lot harder then.’

‘We still get treated like shit though,’ said Zero.

‘You only git treated the way you deserve. You give a bit of respect, you get it.’

‘Not where we come from,’ muttered Lois.

‘So go on, what about Mitchell?’ said Queenie. Maud’s involved story was passing the time and helping keep her mind off TR and Tingulla.

‘Years later, long after I’d run away from that town, I started looking for work in the city, I saw a write-up ’bout him in the newspaper. He was appearing in some court case and they said he owned some big property out this way and was very rich but it seemed that he’d made his money from deals with other people who’d lost their money and he’d moved in and bought up places cheap, including the stock. The story was that he somehow managed to gather up a lot more stock than he paid for. Hintin’ like that he either stole ’em or hid ’em and they never got counted in the musters for the sale.’

‘A few extra cattle missed in a muster here and there isn’t going to make him rich,’ said Queenie. ‘And why was he in court?’

‘Couple of blokes were found dead on one of his properties up north. They was Asian fellas, and there was talk of smuggling.’

‘Smuggling what?’ The boys were interested. ‘Drugs, hey?’

‘Possibly. But they couldn’t prove that. What they did find out was there was a big racket in birds and snakes and stuff.’

‘Who’d want them?’ asked a surprised Raylene.

‘Collectors overseas. They were smuggled out alive, big market in what do they call it . . . exotic pets,’ explained Maud.

‘What happened to Mitchell?’

‘He got off. Said he knew nothing about it, he didn’t live up there, some manager ran the place and he’d disappeared. So they couldn’t prove anything. But the story is Barney Mitchell is behind a lot of illegal deals.’

‘Nice bloke,’ said Ado with a raised eyebrow.

‘And you’re just gonna bowl up and say, er ’scuse me, can I have me bulls back?’ said Lois.

‘I was kind of wondering the same thing,’ said Queenie. ‘And why do you think he has them? I was half suspecting you might be spinning me a yarn to get me to drive you up this way.’

They all laughed. ‘Have to try that sometime,’ said Maud. ‘No, on our way into Walshie’s, a Mitchell Transport road train went past us and we thought it was odd. We was a bit concerned someone might have moved onto the property. We stay there every trip and we thought it was even stranger ’cause, as you probably noticed, cattle had been held there. I figured Mitchell must’ve bought the place.’

‘That’s a pretty big transport company. I didn’t know who was behind Mitchell Transport. Maybe he has bought that place.’

‘I doubt it. But he must know it’s abandoned. Strikes me as a good place to do a little shady dealing,’ said Maud thoughtfully.

‘If this Mitchell is responsible, he sounds like he might be a pretty tough customer. I’ll have to think through how I tackle this one.’

‘How we tackle it you mean,’ said Maud.

‘Right on,’ came a chorus from the two boys.

‘Now wait a minute. I’m just going to leave you on the track to your next camping site as you asked. I don’t want to put you and the kids in any danger. This is my problem.’

‘Kids! She called us kids,’ complained Zero.

‘Rounding up cattle duffers isn’t usually on the curriculum of my courses,’ grinned Auntie Maud.

‘You’re always going on about helpin’ people, so here we can put it into action,’ grinned Ado.

‘You’re jist hopin’ for some excitement,’ sniffed Raylene.

‘Be good if we could get her cattle back and give these blokes a serve, but,’ enthused Zero.

‘Ah, lex talionis — an eye for an eye,’ said Maud who had a store of phrases and quotes drilled into her by the mission nuns. ‘In tribal justice it’s the law of pay back.’

‘Law of the streets ain’t much different,’ said Lois.

‘Listen, really, I want to do this on my own. I appreciate your offer, but I don’t want to be responsible for putting any of you in danger. If Mitchell is as bad as you say, it could be dangerous,’ said Queenie, glad of the sudden distraction of disturbing a flock of budgerigars. The sky ahead was patterned by a swirling blanket of thousands of darting bright birds. In solid formation they swooped in a grey-green mass then, at some instant command, changed direction to sweep to the other side of the sky revealing the iridescent flash of their scarlet underfeathers. Their high-pitched shrieks, dazzling colours and rapid flight formation silenced the occupants of the vehicle. Then in seconds, like thunder clouds rolling away, the sky was empty, blue and still once more.

Lois was first to speak. ‘Wow, that was awesome!’

‘I ain’t never gonna keep a budgie in a cage again,’ added Raylene.

‘Magic,’ commented Ado.

‘Free, wild and beautiful, that’s our land. We gotta keep her dis way, eh?’ said Maud. ‘We should come to the creek pretty soon. Good place to camp the night.’

Queenie nodded and they continued the drive in silence, each wrapped in their thoughts.

Tango glanced at TR as he dozed, stretched out in the settler’s chair, his bad leg propped up on a footstool. Tango put aside his book on the history of champion horses and stretched. He was ready for some exercise. The morning was sunny and fresh — he’d take Star out for a ride. He headed around the verandah and ran into Jenni, who had been picking vegetables from the kitchen garden for Millie.

‘Hi there, Jenni. I thought I’d go for a ride. TR’s asleep.’

‘Oh, I’ll leave him be for a while then. I was going to give him a massage. His muscles still aren’t being exercised enough.’

‘Do you feel like some exercise? Come for a ride with me.’

Jenni hesitated. ‘I haven’t been riding since I was a teenager. But I would like to try again. Is there a quiet horse about?’

‘You bet. Put some jeans on and I’ll find you some boots. Meet me at the stables.’

Tango saddled Star who was impatient and uncooperative. Banjo, a small calm grey mare, took no notice as Tango readied her for Jenni.

‘Where do you want to go?’ he asked as Jenni appeared.

‘Those hills look so pretty, they really are blue. Are they very far away?’

‘No. I smuggled some of Millie’s fruitcake out of the pantry, we can have a picnic at the creek. Now, this is Banjo, a very sedate and trustworthy old thing.’

Tango held the reins and as Jenni struggled to swing into the saddle, gave her a boost under her small, neat bottom. ‘Stirrups right length? Okay off we go.’

Star pranced about for a short distance then settled down as they walked comfortably down through the paddocks to the back gate. By the time they’d reached the open ground, Jenni was managing a rising trot.

Tango smiled at her. ‘Be easier if we canter slowly. Lean back and relax into it. Forget the riding lessons. Stick your feet forward if you feel insecure. Ready?’

The wind blew strands of blonde hair across her cheeks, which were flushed with warmth and pleasure. By the time Tango reined in at the creek at the bottom of the hills, Jenni was quite breathless.

She slid from the grey horse, laughing that her knees were shaky.

‘There’s the creek, the water is good to drink,’ said Tango. ‘I’ll boil the billy.’

Conveniently hung on a twig was an old billycan which he filled with water then set over the small fire he’d made. Jenni watched as he took a small cake tin from the bag on his saddle along with a bottle bound in protective leather.

‘Milk,’ he said. ‘I know you don’t have sugar.’

‘You’ve thought of everything. This is gorgeous,’ said Jenni. ‘This is obviously a family spot. Did TR come here too?’

‘We all do. This part of the creek is known as Tea Break.’

Jenni laughed and began to question Tango about TR. ‘I get dollops of a story here and there from Millie and Saskia. Tell me more about him.’

‘What sort of things do you want to know?’ Tango studied her for a moment or two, wondering what lay behind her questions. ‘I didn’t get to know him till I was sixteen and didn’t know he was my father till some time later.’

‘I know, Millie told me. No, tell me about TR the man. What makes him laugh; what sort of things did he like to do to relax; does he lose his temper . . ?’

‘You should know that. I heard you two having a bit of a domestic yesterday. Surprised me really — I’ve never heard TR shout or get angry like that before.’

‘That’s quite common. I see it a lot, it’s frustration and fear as well as pain,’ said Jenni cheerfully.

Tango made the tea and poured it into their mugs. ‘It must be so hard for him. How well is he really doing?’

‘He could be doing better,’ said Jenni gently. ‘I thought things might happen more quickly or there’d be some dramatic change being back here. But if anything, he seems more withdrawn.’

‘I guess the reality hits him here more than at the hospital. Everyone knows him and he knows he had a role here, but it’s all blank to him. Must be hell.’ Tango sighed and tried to smile. ‘We still have to find some way of revving him up a bit.’

Jenni nodded. ‘Motivate him, get him thinking more positively. I don’t know how. I try and try.’ The usually bubbly Jenni looked crestfallen.

‘Come on, Jenni. Let’s ride up the hill a bit. The view’s really something,’ said Tango to cheer her up.

They packed up, hung the billycan back on the tree and this time Tango lifted Jenni into the saddle. They smiled at each other and Tango said, ‘You’re a slip of a thing, I don’t know how you push and pull TR all over the place.’

‘Tricks of the trade,’ she grinned. But as she lifted the reins and settled her feet she was thinking how much Tango was like the handsome man in her charge. With a pang she realised how fond she was of TR and wished she had some miracle cure to make him as fit and happy as his son.

Tango left Tingulla after telling TR how things were progressing at Guneda.

‘Get back into it, and good luck,’ said TR. ‘I’ll be down to see it all when I’m getting along a bit better.’

‘Sure, I understand.’ Tango dropped an arm around his father’s shoulders and gave the ever-vigilant Jenni a warm handshake. ‘No need to tell you to watch out for him, I can see you do.’ He turned to embrace Saskia who walked with him to his car. ‘So, kid, what’re your plans?’

‘Flexible at the moment.’

‘Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.’ He hugged her again. ‘I’ll be there like a shot whenever you need me, Sas,’ he said softly.

She stared up at her handsome half-brother, no wonder all her girlfriends sighed and said he was to die for. Tango, like TR, was devastatingly handsome, yet he seemed unaware of his effect on women. ‘I’ll keep you posted. Good luck with everything at Guneda.’

Saskia had a few unformed plans but was unsure quite what to do. Millie had swiftly figured out to stop asking questions — Saskia just clammed up and got cranky, telling everyone to stop cross-examining her.

Jenni had set up a daily timetable of workouts, exercises, rest, massage and what they called tours, where she and TR began exploring the rest of the property as TR familiarised himself with his home. While TR took a nap, Jenni would sit in the kitchen and help Millie by shelling peas, polishing pieces of silver or some other task while sharing a pot of tea, and Millie would fill her in on the history of Tingulla and its family.

‘They certainly are an amazing family, especially Queenie,’ said Jenni, sitting with Millie after Tango had gone. ‘I guess she gets her resilience from those pioneer forebears. It couldn’t have been easy starting out in the early days. It makes you understand the attachment these old families must have to their places when you realise the heritage that’s held here.’

‘We’re all part of Tingulla,’ said Millie.

‘I had no idea how sophisticated a merino stud was either.’ continued Jenni. ‘I thought the sheep just bumbled around in the paddocks then their wool was shorn. The studmaster took us through the prize rams yesterday, it’s all very scientific, isn’t it?’

‘TR and Queenie have modernised this place a lot. I dunno much about wool prices other than they’re never enough. Not like the old days when Queenie’s dad used to say how the country rode on the sheep’s back. They’ve seen some crook times, but Tingulla’s always come through good, so long as Queenie has been here. And TR. Saskia’s dad Warwick got the place into trouble, but that was ’cause he done some stupid things. I reckon Queenie was gettin’ ready to do some new scheme when TR had his accident . . .’ Millie sighed. ‘Guess them things’ll have to wait till TR is back together agin. Like Humpty Dumpty.’

‘Not necessarily, Millie. I think it would be good to try and get him involved in the business again, even if he doesn’t remember what he was planning. Perhaps Queenie can talk it through with him and that might be the trigger he needs.’

‘We’ll see when Queenie gets back. You never saw a more devoted pair. Queenie will pull him through this, just you wait.’ Jenni didn’t answer and began rolling the pea shells up in the sheet of newspaper spread on the table. ‘Course, you is doing a terrible good job with his legs, Jenni,’ Millie added.

‘Thanks, Millie,’ said Jenni with a wry grin, getting up from the table. ‘In fact I might just check on the patient now.’

Queenie was eating supper off a tin plate by a large crackling campfire on the verge of a small creek. Honey was hobbled nearby. They’d tied a tarpaulin to one side of the LandCruiser and the other end to two poles to provide a shelter. Swags were spread around the fire where each sat eating their meal. The meal had been prepared by Ado and Raylene with no fuss as everyone was following a strict roster. The other two packed away the food, washed the dishes in the creek, then all settled around the fire, looking expectantly at Auntie Maud.

‘Dinner ain’t gonna be from a tin tomorrow. First light we’re going hunting. Now, I’m gonna tell you one of the Dreamtime stories about the Milky Way. It’s the tale of Gurria the crocodile serpent.’ The young people, bred on a diet of twentieth-century technological entertainment, settled down to listen to that most ancient and powerful of arts — storytelling. Queenie watched the young city people settle themselves and listen with real interest to something that belonged to them.

Maud’s voice lifted and sank with colour and expression as she related the ancient legend. ‘ . . . And so Gurria was left to die where he was speared and today we can see the ridge that was formed from his tail, head, backbone and legs. While his body was rotting away, the rain fell and the sunrays made rainbows in the sky. These colours were trapped between the scales on Gurria’s back and they became opals. Legend says that people are similar to opals in that nature creates the changing colours as we change according to our moods.’

Later, after a heated debate about mining on sacred ground, Queenie and Maud were the only two left awake as the fire burned low. ‘I see what you mean about the old stories teaching new lessons,’ said Queenie softly.

‘It’s always the same with these kids. They start off arguing from a white point of view and then before they know it, they’re thinking from their Aboriginal perspective.’ Auntie Maud gave Queenie a shrewd look. ‘And what’ve you been thinkin’ ’bout all day?’

Queenie looked sad. ‘My husband. I should be with him. He’s home from the hospital, he’s got a nurse living in to look after him and I think it should be me, but I get the feeling he prefers her. I told you about his accident. It’s very hard to come to grips with the idea that the man you love has forgotten you. I feel like I’ve been cut in half.’ She brushed away a tear. ‘I’ll be all right. It’s hard being so far away from him. My sense of duty pulls me one way, my heart another.’

Auntie Maud reached out and took Queenie’s hand and stroked it. ‘You listen to me. If the love was there, it will still be there. He’s getting on with gettin’ hisself better. You gotta get on with what you gotta do. Women are stronger than men. And we get through hard times by bein’ on our own. Don’t you give away your power to nobody by thinking you need them more than they need you. Sometimes you gotta walk by yourself before you can git back with others and be strong. You gotta prove you can survive on your own. Do that, and everything will come to you, ’cause nothin’ will hold you back. I think you know that, you’ve made that journey. You just forgot the lesson for a minute. Don’t be dependent. What you’re feelin’ is simple, luv, it’s jealousy and that’s a killer. What you gotta do next is see if you can find them bulls. You started out by yourself now you got Auntie Maud and the gang — you’re ahead of the game, Queenie.’

Queenie looked into the strong and caring face of this wise woman and drew comfort from her words. ‘You’re right, Auntie Maud. Thank you.’

Queenie rolled into her swag, glancing up at the Milky Way, and to the music of the sleeping bush, the soft breathing of the young people and the occasional crackle from the fire, she felt sleep drift down on her like a soft and gentle coverlet.

Chapter Nineteen

Queenie reached for TR to pull his firm warm body close to hers. Smiling through the mists of sleep, they woke each other leisurely as the day began. She closed her eyes with pleasure, feeling his kisses down her back, in the nape of her neck, as he gently caressed and aroused her languid body, building to the searing passion their love-making generated. It was an abandoned, erotic coupling, where trust and safety swept away the barriers of inhibition. The romance, their physical adoration of each other, the blending of heart, body and spirit hadn’t lessened. Queenie arched and gave a soft moan, feeling his body thrusting deep within her, making them one.

‘Queenie . . . Queenie . . .’

She opened her eyes, a smile playing at her mouth, and gazed into the concerned face of Auntie Maud.

‘Are you all right, Queenie, you cried out.’

Queenie blinked and tears of pain, embarrassment and sadness filled her eyes. ‘It was just a dream . . .’ she whispered.

Auntie Maud nodded understandingly and patted her head, moving back to the small campfire where the four young people were organising a hasty breakfast.

Queenie lay in her swag watching the shreds of mist drift across the creek, aware of the heavy dew that lay on her Driza-Bone coat thrown over her swag. Someone had drawn a funny face in the wet coating on the LandCruiser’s windscreen. Her body felt drained and exhausted as if she really had spent the night making love to TR.

Queenie stretched, feeling miserable, stiff and not quite awake. Auntie Maud bent over her and handed her a mug of tea. ‘See if this will brush away the cobwebs.’ Queenie took the steaming tea with a grateful smile.

‘We’ll be pushing off soon, probably be gone most of the day. Hope to catch dinner,’ continued Auntie Maud. ‘This is where the kids get to put into practice what they’ve learned.’

‘What are you hoping to get?’ asked Queenie.

‘Anything edible,’ grinned Auntie Maud. ‘Rule is we only eat what we gather. No food, no eat. But there’s always roots and a wild bees’ nest round here. However, I’m hoping for a good fat goanna or snake or maybe a duck or a fish. Plenty tucker ’bout when you know where t’look.’

‘I’m not eating a snake,’ muttered Raylene, overhearing them. ‘And I don’t want to kill some cute little duck.’

‘When ya hungry things won’t look so cute,’ warned Zero.

Queenie finished her tea and threw back her swag. ‘Sounds like a big day for all of us.’

Auntie Maud issued final instructions on preparing the traditional hunting tools, baskets and dilly bags of small digging implements. She turned back to Queenie as she rolled up her swag. ‘Just what do you plan on doing at Mitchell’s place? Wouldn’t it be better if we was to come too?’

‘Thanks. This is my private campaign. I’m just going to have a look. I’ll be careful.’

‘What if you find ’em — the bulls — then what?’ asked Lois.

‘I go for assistance. Official assistance. I’m leaving the vehicle and float here and riding Honey now you’ve told me how to get cross-country to Mitchell’s.’

‘There’s nothing much near his place, he likes his privacy like I said. You’d be best heading for the back road into Noondale — which is only a pub and a cop station,’ suggested Auntie Maud.

‘If I find my cattle I’ll probably need both,’ grinned Queenie. ‘I’m going to grab some food. I’ve got a good day’s ride ahead of me. Will you still be camped here when I get back?’

Auntie Maud smiled at her. ‘Doubt it. Mightn’t look like it, but I do have a sorta agenda. Have to check into certain places or they send the bush police after us.’

‘So this is goodbye?’ Queenie looked around at the four young adults clustered around their matronly leader.

‘Just for now.’ Auntie Maud took both Queenie’s hands in hers and looked deep into her eyes. ‘Our paths gonna cross again Queenie-Tingulla,’ she said firmly. ‘And you know sumthin’ else? You and that fella of yours is gonna be okay.’ She squeezed Queenie’s hands and Queenie felt tears rush to her eyes.

Slowly, each of the kids stepped forward to shake her hand and wish her luck. Then, slinging their dilly bags over their shoulders, the unlikely tribe dressed in hand-painted T-shirts, coloured earrings and once-new running shoes followed their elder into the scrub. On this clear bush morning they were setting out to learn and preserve the ways of their people as had been done for thousands of years. Already Queenie could see they had shed many of their city ways and would never look at the world in quite the same way again.

‘Go well Auntie Maud,’ she said softly as Maud, too far to hear, but catching the thought, turned and lifted the nulla-nulla she carried in salute.

Despite her casual and confident remarks to Auntie Maud, Queenie was nervous and unsure of what lay ahead. The track she was following could, of course, be a dead end, but some gut instinct told her Maud was right. Queenie began to wonder whether she should have agreed to Auntie Maud and the gang accompanying her, but in her heart she couldn’t bear the idea she might be putting others at risk. Possibly she should have let them decide that, for as TR often told her, she could be too fiercely independent sometimes.

Her mind moved ahead to more practical matters and she mulled over the Tingulla wool fashion concept, thinking through its finer points. The more she thought about it, the more she was convinced it would work. She had already written to Henri Barnard in New York and she’d run it past Dingo as soon as she was back.

Queenie stopped several times throughout the day to spell Honey and in the last of the daylight she spotted the boundary fence of Mitchell’s station. Maud’s directions had been spot on.

She rode the boundary fence peering into the distance, but all was deserted. There had been no stock in these paddocks for some time. Darkness was falling and when she finally came to a rough gate, she lifted the bent rusty wire and cut across towards where she guessed the homestead would be. In the last of the light she found a better track that was obviously what passed as the road from the main gate to the homestead. She rode to one side, ready to dart into the bush should she meet anyone riding or driving on the rutted road.

Night fell. There was no twilight, no lengthy softening of sun into shadows and fading day. One minute it was a burning sunset of hot tones; the next, velvet darkness, as if God had flung a heavenly light switch.

First she came across some leaning sheds, a tractor and a small stockyard. Then through some trees she saw a glimmer of light. It came from a house. Close by were two smaller buildings. Further away on a slight rise, Queenie could make out the shape of the large main homestead. It was in darkness. Queenie slipped from Honey and led the horse as she examined her surroundings. At the side of one of the low buildings a cattle truck was parked. She peered into the cabin and, seeing the keys dangling from the ignition, took them out and slipped them into her pocket. A utility truck and four-wheel drive were also parked nearby. Several horses were held in a stockyard and in the clear light of the rising moon, Queenie began studying the half dozen horses. Suddenly she caught her breath.

She slipped over the railing and moved slowly through the horses to a dark chestnut with an unusual white patch on its haunches. While several of the horses shied and snorted, they didn’t panic and swiftly settled to the presence of the slim shadow in their midst. Queenie murmured softly and approached the stockhorse, moving around to its right side. On its rump was the brand TG. Tingulla’s brand was also on a rangy palomino — these were the two missing stockhorses from Cricklewood.

Queenie’s heart began to beat a little faster. She had no doubt her stock was or had been here — it could have been sold or disposed of already. But if it was here, where? She ducked under the railing, tied Honey to a fence and began scouting around. One of the sheds was stacked with fresh bales of feed. A chained dog barked and Queenie paused, listening for any movement from the house. All remained quiet. She knew from what Auntie Maud had told her that this was a big property, so if her cattle were here it could take days riding around trying to find them.

The only life on the station seemed to come from the small lighted house. Queenie tiptoed quietly towards it, keeping as best she could in the shadows. There was a narrow verandah and she stepped onto it, hoping there were no creaking boards. However, she quickly realised any slight noise she might make wouldn’t be heard inside where she could hear the loud chatter of men’s voices. She edged to the side of the window which was a quarter open. Glancing into the room, she had full view of what was obviously the main living and dining room. Two men were seated at the table playing cards and drinking beer. As she watched, one rose and disappeared through a door leading to what was probably the kitchen and utility room. He returned with two large bottles of beer and put them on the table, picking up his hand of cards.

They were playing poker and talking about a football match. Queenie decided to check the rest of the house and see if anyone else was there. She circled the verandah, peering into darkened windows, and walked to the back of the house. A water tank stood by the back steps; several bare iron bedsteads lined a fly-screened sleep-out. At the other end, near the back door, was a laundry room lined with shelves of tinned food. Cautiously she tried the back door. It opened.

She closed the door and returned to the open window. The men’s conversation had turned to money.

‘So is he bringing the cash here?’

‘Better bloody be, I ain’t hanging round waiting for me dough. I got another job to do.’

‘What’s takin’ ’im so long? I hope we don’t have to wait for them bulls to be sold.’

‘Nah. He’s got a buyer lined up already, I reckon. You don’t lift good stuff like that without knowing what to do with it. That ain’t our problem. C’mon, Ritchie, you in or out?’

Queenie had heard enough. In the shadows of the shed she pulled her pocketknife from its leather sheath on her belt and began to slash and jab at the tyres on the utility truck and the four-wheel drive until she had punctured them all. She closed the knife and shoved it in the back pocket of her moleskins.

She went back to Honey and leaned on the railing, contemplating her next move. She could take off and get the police, but by the time they got back, the stock would probably be on the move again and the men paid and gone. A slow anger began to build in the pit of Queenie’s stomach. These two men had been hired to walk onto her property and clear out her valuable stock. It had been part of a plan that was probably repeated all around Australia. There were unscrupulous sellers and buyers inside and outside the country. With a place as remote as this, her stock could be kept hidden and be used to improve other stock as part of an ongoing business. She and TR had worked hard to build up their reputation at Cricklewood and she wasn’t about to see that jeopardised. Her instinct was to confront these men, and impulsively she pulled her rifle from its holster on her saddle.

But then she paused. What was she going to do? Go in there like Clint Eastwood and demand they tell her where her bulls were, then round them up and load them onto the truck? That’s what the rash and youthful Queenie Hanlon would have done. But it was dark, there were two of them and the odds were not in her favour, despite her deadly aim. No, she would just ride quietly back out to Noondale and get help. Obviously these men were waiting for Mitchell to come and pay them.

Queenie untied Honey’s bridle and, still holding the rifle, put her left foot into the stirrup. But suddenly, in the motion of swinging up onto the horse, she found herself being yanked through the air onto the ground. A heavy boot pressed down on her throat. Gagging, Queenie dropped the rifle, trying to push the foot away so she could breathe.

A large man leaned over her, grabbed the rifle and pulled her to her feet by the front of her shirt. Her Akubra hung down her back and her hair fell loose.

‘Shit, you’re a sheila! What the hell’re you doin’ sneakin’ round here?’ demanded the man.

‘I could say the same to you,’ said Queenie, clutching at her throat, her voice hoarse.

‘Don’t git smart. Wotcha want with a rifle and peerin’ in windows? I bin watchin’ ya. Get inside.’ He took off the safety catch, cocked the rifle and prodded her forward, following her to the homestead with the gun held dangerously close to her ribs. He kicked open the front door and shoved her in. The two unshaven men looked up from their cards in surprise.

‘Look what I found spying on us,’ said the man. He was older and larger than the other two.

‘What she doin’ here?’

Queenie glared at him, trying to cover her fear. ‘I’ve come for my bulls you stole.’

‘Oh yeah? You want ’em giftwrapped?’ The two younger men laughed.

‘How d’ya know t’ come here?’ asked the older man, still holding the rifle.

Queenie didn’t answer, trying desperately to work out how to play this.

The man inclined his head at one of the cardplayers. ‘Check outside, Ritchie.’

‘Why me? There could be anybody out there. Or another crazy sheila with a gun,’ he said, getting up from the table.

Queenie made a sudden lunge for the rifle but Ritchie was quick and he grabbed her, bending her arm up behind her back. ‘Naughty, naughty, lady. Kev, get some rope outta the laundry, we’ll tie her up and leave her in the back bedroom. Then if she’s got any mates out there they gotta come and git her, else we leave her to the boss to sort out. We don’t need this hassle.’

‘Right on.’ The man called Kev moved down the hallway.

‘That wasn’t a smart move, lady,’ said Ritchie, pushing Queenie’s arm up, sending an agonising pain along her limb. Too terrified to move, she didn’t struggle, fearing he could break her arm.

’Act in haste, repent at leisure,’ said the big man with a slow smile.

Kev hurried in with a length of clothesline and handed it to Ritchie, who wrenched Queenie’s other hand behind her back and began winding the rope around her wrists. She lashed out and kicked him with her leg and he scuffled with her for a second.

‘Jesus, give me a hand,’ he panted.

The older man leaned the rifle against the wall and grabbed Queenie’s hair, pulling her head back. She slid to the floor and Ritchie put a booted foot in the small of her back as he continued binding the rope around her wrists. ‘Grab her feet.’ The rope was then flung around her ankles and knotted in place. ‘There, trussed up like a chook.’

‘You won’t get away with this!’ yelled Queenie.

‘Shaddup. Gimme that tea towel.’ Swiftly they tied the smelly damp cloth over her mouth.

‘Okay, pick up her feet.’ With one carrying her by the shoulders, the other by the feet, they half carried, half dragged Queenie to the first bedroom, tossed her onto the bed and left, slamming the door.

Queenie began to shake with shock and fright. Tears poured down her cheeks and she wondered how on earth she was going to get out of this. How she wished she’d brought along Maud and the kids. It was her own stupid fault for being so stubborn, thinking she could handle any situation herself.

She lay there for some time curled into a foetal position, trying to get control of herself. Gradually her tears subsided and she rolled onto her back to ease her discomfort. It was then that Queenie felt the bulge of the penknife in her back pocket. She wiggled her fingers and eventually managed to slip them into the pocket and grasp the knife. Slowly she eased the pocketknife out. With her fingers she was able to open out the blade but she had no leverage to slice through the rope. She looked about the room and sat up. She looked at the bed. There was a gap between the frame and the bed base. Working with her hands behind her, she jammed the handle of the knife into this slot where it lodged, the blade protruding. Kneeling down on the floor she lifted her wrists above the blade and began a sawing motion across the knife.

The blade was sharp and she quickly sliced through the first loop of rope. She placed the next loop on the blade and cut through that too. She was then able to wiggle her hands free and in seconds she’d loosened the rope from round her feet and pulled off her gag. She rubbed her chafed ankles and wrists with relief and glanced about the room. There was a window, which was nailed shut, the glass panes painted cream. However, she knew the hallway led to the back door. She quietly opened the bedroom door and stepped into the hall. The three men were arguing. They sounded drunk and aggressive.

She got to the back door and slowly turned the knob. It was locked. Damn it, she thought. In the darkness she couldn’t see the key so she crept back down the hall, just as she heard the bigger, older man declare, ‘Shit, we might as well enjoy ourselves. I haven’t had a woman since bloody Holdsworth. You blokes draw straws, I’ll go warm ’er up.’ There was a burst of laughter, a chair scraping and the clink of glasses.

Queenie went cold with fear. Oh God, she hadn’t bargained on this. She rushed back into the bedroom, closing the door as the man came into the hallway, stumbling against the wall. He pushed open the door and went to where Queenie was lying on the bed, her feet and hands behind her, the tea towel draped over her mouth.

‘Surprise, little lady.’ He unbuckled his belt, slipped his braces off his shoulders and dropped his pants, falling on top of her. His breath was beery, his face rough with stubble. He groped at her breasts, trying to pull open her shirt.

In a split second Queenie pulled her hands out from beneath her. She was clutching a solid glass ashtray, which she raised in the air then slammed down on the back of the man’s head. With a grunt he rolled to one side. She gave him a shove and slid from under him. Stunned, the man was bleeding and struggling to get up, but his pants were still around his ankles. Queenie grabbed the heavy china lamp base from beside the bed and smashed it over his head, surprised at how little noise it made. The man slumped onto the mattress. She stood staring down at his unconscious shape, drawing deep shuddering breaths.

Slowly and silently, trying to control her trembling, she crept down the hall and listened. The two men were arguing over the cards. She glanced swiftly into the room, remembering that the man had leaned her rifle against the wall right beside the hallway entrance. If it was still there it was a mere arm’s length away.

Queenie lay down on her stomach, wiggled slowly to the doorway and reached around into the lighted room. The men were still arguing about the cards and although one was almost facing the hallway, so long as she didn’t stand up, she didn’t think he’d notice. Slowly she slid her hand along the skirting board and with a flood of relief she felt the wooden butt. She slid her hand up to the magazine and tilted the rifle, grabbing the barrel and pulling it to her. She moved back into the darkness of the hallway, stood and checked that the rifle was still cocked.

‘You’re cheatin’ you bastard,’ shouted Ritchie.

‘Balls I am! You . . .’ The words stopped in shock as Kev looked up and caught sight of Queenie standing in the doorway, the rifle aimed at him. Stupidly the two men sat speechless as she edged around the room towards the front door.

‘Where do ya think you’re going?’ Ritchie rose drunkenly to his feet.

‘Make one move and I’ll shoot you in the balls,’ said Queenie steadily, lowering the sights of the rifle to aim at Ritchie, who instinctively crossed his hands over his genitals and sat down with a thud.

Queenie got to the door and opened it, still facing the two men. ‘Now tell me, where are my bulls?’

‘Fuck off, lady.’ Kev rose to his feet, still holding a pair of cards, but as he made a move, a shot rang out and he looked down to see there was a round hole through the ace of diamonds.

Ritchie made a lunge towards her and Queenie shot the toe off his boot. He recoiled, staring in shock at the ripped leather, wondering how it missed his foot. Queenie was out of the door, slamming it behind her and running into the night before either man had realised what had happened. As she ran she whistled and was relieved to see Honey loom out of nowhere. The men rushed down to the bedroom and it was another minute or so before they wrenched open the front door and raced outside. By then Queenie had flung herself onto the horse and was charging down the yard, clearing the moonlit fence in a wide high jump to gallop out of sight.

‘Get in the bloody ute, there’s a gun in there, quick.’ The doors slammed, the engine started then the truck slewed on its four flat tyres as it tried to take off.

‘Oh shit!’ exclaimed Ritchie, hitting the steering wheel. ‘We’ll never catch ’er now.’

Queenie’s heart was pounding, but she didn’t slacken Honey’s pace until she was sure the men hadn’t found a means of chasing her. Then she slowed Honey, took some deep breaths to calm herself down. After a minute or two she felt better but was still shaking. ‘No one’s going to believe this!’ she shouted to the bush a little hysterically. Well, she’d have a good story to tell the constable in Noondale. She wondered if the cattle duffers would hang around for their money. She just prayed they would be too interested in looking out for themselves to harm her bulls. It would be tragic if they shot them after all this. Queenie glanced up at the moonlit sky. She’d probably be in Noondale by breakfast time.

Chapter Twenty

The Noondale constable shook his head and handed Queenie another cup of instant coffee. ‘If it was anybody else but you I wouldn’t have believed it. I’ll get on the blower and we’ll be off. Times like this I wish we had access to a chopper at the drop of a hat. Leave your horse in the yard, she’ll be right.’ He eyed the weary Queenie. ‘You up to another trip back there?’

‘My oath! I want to make sure my bulls are all right. How soon can we get a truck in to pick them up?’

‘There’s a fella out that way. I’ll put him on standby. We’ll call him when we get there.’

‘You mean when you actually set eyes on my stolen stock,’ countered Queenie, managing a tired smile.

‘Ah, it’s not that I don’t believe you, Queenie — if you don’t mind me calling you by your first name, I sorta feel I know you — but there’s always the chance they could’ve done something vindictive like, or taken off with them. You said there was a cattle truck there.’

‘Oh, that reminds me.’ Queenie reached in her pocket and dropped the keys to the truck on the desk.

The constable picked up the keys and put them in his shirt pocket with a grin. He drained his coffee mug and reached for his official hat. ‘Ready?’ They were settled in the police four-wheel drive before Queenie thought she should have called Tingulla and passed on the news.

They arrived at the Mitchell property in the afternoon and debated on the strategy of approaching the house. ‘Why not bowl straight up to the front door? I’ll keep out of sight, you take your hat off, the car’s unmarked,’ suggested Queenie.

‘Good idea. Though if I was them blokes I wouldn’t be hanging around.’

‘I wouldn’t take off on foot either,’ commented Queenie. ‘Though they’ve probably caught the horses by now. Or fixed the vehicles.’

‘I doubt they’d have had four spare tyres for each one though,’ grinned the burly constable.

As they approached the first buildings Queenie slid down in her seat. Constable Higgins parked outside the manager’s house where Queenie had been held and went to the door. He rapped loudly and called out, but there was no response. Dogs chained further down the yard began to bark and howl. The constable tried the door which opened. He went inside then got swiftly back into his vehicle. ‘Nobody there. Looks like they left in a hurry. Let’s try the big house.’

That too was locked and empty. ‘I don’t see the cattle truck you mentioned,’ said Constable Higgins. ‘Though the others are here. You did a fair old job on the tyres.’

Queenie looked about the sheds. ‘The truck was parked over there. My guess is they hotwired that and took off. Let’s go find my bulls.’

They drove about the property heading west and when they passed a paddock with a group of horses, the constable stopped and watched them for a minute then reached over and took his binoculars from the glove box. He studied them briefly then wound the leather strap around the glasses and handed them to Queenie. ‘They’re missing bloodstock from down south,’ he said grimly. ‘If your cattle are here too then Mitchell is in deep shit. ’Scuse the language.’ Constable Higgins looked quite satisfied. They came over a rise and spread before them were the missing stud bulls and calves from Cricklewood.

‘You little beauty!’ cried Queenie. ‘They look okay too.’

‘God, I see why they duffed them. They’d be worth a bob or two,’ commented the constable.

They pulled up to the barbed-wire fence and Queenie leapt out, followed by Constable Higgins who held up strands of the wire for Queenie to slip through. She strode towards the group of bulls but the constable hung back cautiously. Suddenly a massive bull broke away from the group and began loping straight towards Queenie at a fast and determined run. The constable looked from Queenie — who kept walking calmly forward — to the rapidly approaching thousand kilos of muscle, and opted for discretion over valour, sprinting back to the fence. When he turned around he was astounded to see the massive bull lumber straight to Queenie, who stood still, talking quietly to it. The bull lowered its head, went to Queenie and began rubbing his heavy head against her body, licking the bare skin of her arms. Laughing, she held onto its ears to keep her balance and fondled the beast. She went back to the fence and the bull followed her like a dog.

‘This is Dinky,’ laughed Queenie as the constable helped her back through the wire. ‘He’s an old sook, more of a pet now. Though he does do his duty now and then when he fancies a lady.’

‘Phew, you had me going there for a bit,’ said the constable sheepishly.

Queenie gave Dinky a hefty pat through the fence. ‘Let’s call that trucker. I want to get my animals home.’

They made the call on the police two-way radio and notified the stock inspector at Longreach that Queenie’s stock had been found. Constable Higgins made notes and then they turned back towards the homestead.

‘I’d love a cup of tea to celebrate,’ sighed Queenie. ‘Is it trespassing if we went in and brewed ourselves a pot in the manager’s place?’

“Fraid so. But don’t panic. I always carry the makings with me. The missus always throws in some cake or biscuits too. Soon as we’re out on the road we’ll find a spot to put the billy on.’

‘Now that’s what I call a fully equipped police vehicle,’ said Queenie with a grin.

But as they bounced over the scrubby ground the first thing they saw as the home buildings came into view was a station wagon parked outside the main homestead.

‘Hello, somebody’s home. I guess we’ll just have to front them as planned.’

By the time the constable had parked and stepped from the car, leaving Queenie and his hat in the front seat, a man in a shirt and tie was waiting in the front yard. Constable Higgins strolled towards him with an affable smile. ‘Are you Barney Mitchell?’

‘Why? Who wants to know?’ snapped the man, loosening his tie.

‘Constable Higgins from Noondale. I’m following up a line of inquiry, Mr Mitchell.’

‘What right have you got to be on my property? You got a search warrant?’ Mitchell was belligerent. Small beads of perspiration were shining on his forehead.

‘Why should I need a search warrant? I just want to ask a few questions. There wasn’t anybody about so I thought I’d look for the owner on his property,’ said Higgins easily.

At this point Queenie got out of the car and went and stood by the constable, glaring at Mitchell in disgust.

‘Er, this is Mrs Hamilton. She would like to know how her missing stock came to be on your property.’

‘So you were snooping. Look, I’ve been away, I don’t know anything about any missing bulls or how they could’ve got here. I spend a lot of time away from this place. People come and go,’ blustered Mitchell.

‘Who said my missing stock were bulls, Mr Mitchell?’ said Queenie in a deadly quiet voice.

‘You get off my property. I’m calling my solicitor,’ barked Mitchell.

‘You do that Mr Mitchell,’ answered the constable.

Ripping his tie off and loosening his collar, Barney Mitchell stormed inside the house.

‘What now?’ whispered Queenie.

‘Not much he can do. He’s got stolen property on his premises whether he put it there or not.’

They turned back to the police car when Queenie nudged the constable. Lying on top of the bonnet of the station wagon was Mitchell’s jacket and a briefcase. The jacket was open, revealing the inside pocket which bulged with several fat white envelopes.

‘What do you want to bet there’s cash in those meant for the three blokes who were waiting here to be paid for delivering my stock, and whatever else they’ve done for Mitchell,’ hissed Queenie.

Constable Higgins took her firmly by the elbow and led her to the car, opening the door for her. ‘Hop in. Don’t worry, we have enough on this bloke. What with the description of the three fellows who held you and the cattle truck that left here, I reckon they’ve probably already been picked up.’

Chapter Twenty-One

Colin waited till Dina had left the pink palazzo, as he called the unit she and Fisher had almost finished decorating. He lifted the phone and called Saskia at her flat.

‘How’re things going, Saskia?’

‘So so. I’ve just got back from Tingulla. TR is back at home.’

‘How’s school? Have you had any thoughts about your future plans?’ Colin’s voice dripped solicitous concern.

‘Well . . . sort of. I’ve taken a year off; I’m just here packing up. So I’m seeking opportunities, as they say.’

‘Maybe I can help there.’ Colin was being the kindly uncle, but he had his own reasons for helping Saskia. By luring her to Harmony Hill he would be able to keep tabs on her and the family. Besides, it would be fun just to upset Queenie — he knew she’d be furious if her daughter had anything to do with him.

‘Oh?’ Saskia was curious.

‘Look, Saskia. I told you a bit about Harmony Hill but it’s now progressing well and I’d like you to come out and have a look at the place.’

‘Uncle Colin, is there a job in the offing here? Or is this a social trip?’ asked Saskia bluntly.

Colin laughed easily. ‘Well, I’d like you to see what we’re all about before I offer you a job.’

Saskia agreed to visit Harmony Hill with him the next day.

In the morning Colin tooted outside her apartment and Saskia dashed downstairs and threw her battered leather shoulder bag into the back seat of the Audi.

‘All set?’ asked Colin.

‘Yep. What’s new?’

‘Well, the conference cum convention centre is finished, we’re just doing the little individual yurts. Have to start looking for another therapist soon. Ria will do acupuncture and naturopath health stuff plus she’s a dietician so will advise the clients on nutrition and health, that kind of thing.’

‘What’s her husband do?’

‘Bruce can do anything it seems. He’s worked out an advertising and marketing strategy plus he’s been overseeing the building and the landscaping. He’s set up a pretty good couple of walking tours through the rainforest. Throws in environmental awareness chats. He’s also found a bat colony and a bowerbird’s nest, so they’ve been included too.’

‘Sounds good. Is this place going to make money?’

‘It’ll depend on marketing and promotion. It doesn’t have to make a profit right away.’

Saskia glanced at Colin, trying to read his expression behind the dark glasses. ‘From what I’ve heard about Mr Camboni, a health resort doesn’t sound his sort of thing.’

Colin glanced at her with a slight grin. ‘Been catching up on the family gossip, huh?’ He punched a cassette into the tape deck as if to change the subject, and the rest of the journey passed in idle chatter.

Saskia noticed that Colin never asked about TR or Queenie, though he did ask more about the family business. ‘Tingulla and Cricklewood have done fabulously. Mum and TR are pretty smart, so is Tango. He’s running Guneda while TR is recovering.’

‘I hear Guneda’s got a pretty good name in the horse-racing world.’

‘Yeah, TR and Tango are terrific trainers and breeders. That’s what I’d really like to do,’ she sighed.

‘Why don’t you ask Tango for a job then?’

Saskia shook her head of dark curls. ‘No way. Not yet. I want to make it on my own first. No handouts, thanks.’

Colin didn’t answer but recognised her stubborn streak and thought to himself, ‘Christ, she’s just like her mother’.

Tango rose early and went down to the racetrack. Two horses thundered past him, clods of dirt kicking up behind their galloping feet. He clicked the stopwatch and waited for Mick to turn the perspiring black thoroughbred back towards him.

Mick loosened the strap on his helmet. ‘So? Whaddya reckon?’

‘He’s out of condition, has a few bad habits, typical bloody mad racehorse, but seems to have potential. Tell me about the blokes who came to see you. Where are the papers?’

‘In your tray on the desk.’

Tango studied the horse as Mick told him of the visit of the two men. ‘One of them didn’t say nuthin’, the other fella didn’t seem that interested. He wasn’t the boss like, though he was a pretty posh sorta fella. Foreign, bit spivvy.’

‘Curiouser and curiouser . . . hmm.’ Tango rubbed the horse’s nose. ‘You’re not a bad looking bloke, you might come good given a bit of work. We’ll see, eh, Mick?’

‘Been on worse and done all right, Tango.’

‘Yeah, riding to win? Or backing the opposition?’ he chortled. ‘There are different ways of winning a race. See you later. And thanks for minding the shop.’

Back in his office, Tango studied the papers that came with the horse known as Ambrosia. ‘Well, I’ll be . . . the bastard’s back into racing again. Okay, Alfredo Camboni, I’ll train your horse, business is business, but the price has just doubled,’ he said aloud, stuffing the documents in a file and slamming the drawer of the filing cabinet shut with unnecessary force.

Saskia was entranced by Harmony Hill and took an immediate liking to Bruce, Ria and young Greta. As they finished their glasses of fresh juice and carrot cake on the Gadens’ patio and began talking about horses, it was young Greta who took Saskia by the hand.

‘Come, come. Lookit the horsies.’

Saskia grinned at her. ‘All right. You coming?’ she asked the other adults.

‘No, we’ll just chat for a bit. You’re in good hands,’ said Colin.

‘Just keep an eye on her, Saskia, she’s a devil round those horses,’ said Ria.

Saskia soon discovered what she meant. Greta led her to the stables, and while Saskia was looking at the yards, Greta dashed into one of the stalls and came out with Pansy the Shetland following her. As the two of them prowled around the stables, Pansy followed like a dog till Greta asked, ‘Lift me up to Pansy’.

‘You want to ride Pansy? She’s not ready to ride.’

Greta airily waved a hand. ‘Don’ need a seat. You just put me on, okay?’

Saskia picked up the little girl. ‘It’s not a seat, it’s a saddle, Greta. Here we go.’ Greta swung her legs across the broad back of the tiny horse, grasped the long shaggy mane and before Saskia could blink, she dug her little heels firmly into Pansy’s sides and the tubby Shetland took off at a rapid trot with Greta squealing in delight.

‘Oh God! Hang on Greta!’ shouted Saskia in alarm as she took off after the bouncing child and rapidly moving pony. But Greta had done this before. She leaned forward, yanked on Pansy’s ear and the Shetland wheeled about and, guided by Greta, trotted back to Saskia, who grabbed her and pulled her off the pony.

‘Let’s put Pansy back in her stall and next time we’ll put on her saddle and halter and you ride properly with boots and a hat on, okay, Greta?’

They returned to the others and Saskia laughed, ‘I see what you mean about this one. I thought I was a horse freak when I was little!’

‘Greta’s going to run the kids’ horse trails,’ laughed Bruce.

‘And who’s going to run the horse trail rides and run the stables?’ asked Ria with a lifted eyebrow. They all looked at Saskia.

‘What do you think, Saskia? We need someone to pick out some steady quiet horses, look after them and the stables, take guests out for rides, though we haven’t worked out the trails properly yet,’ said Colin.

‘You’d live here, there’s a small cabin near the stables that’s quite pretty,’ added Ria.

As Saskia hesitated before answering, Colin cut in, ‘Listen, Saskia, uni can only teach you some things. You can’t beat the school of life and hands-on experience. And if you’ve chosen the wrong course, well forget it. Waste of time. This way you’d be learning as well as earning a pay packet.’

Bruce and Ria exchanged a glance. There was no doubt Colin was a smooth salesman.

‘You think it over, Saskia,’ advised Bruce.

‘I don’t have to, I think it sounds great!’ It wasn’t the answer to a full-time career but it was working with horses and what she could see would be a pleasant lifestyle. ‘You’ve got a deal!’ She shook hands with Bruce, Colin and Ria.

‘Me too,’ demanded Greta holding out her hand.

Saskia solemnly shook her hand. ‘Would you like to be my assistant, Greta? Help me with the horses?’

‘Yeth,’ lisped the little girl, suddenly overcome with the idea she was being treated as a grown up. Spontaneously she hugged Saskia round the legs.

Bruce and Ria chuckled. ‘You be careful, Saskia. You don’t know what you’re letting yourself in for! Let’s give you the grand tour of Harmony Hill.’

Later, as Saskia wandered around by herself, she thought seriously about her decision. While she hadn’t hesitated in agreeing to work at Harmony Hill, deep down she had misgivings. What would she tell her mother? How was she going to feel knowing that Saskia had gone against her wishes, but most of all, thrown her lot in with Colin?

Saskia wasn’t exactly sure what had transpired between Queenie, TR and Colin all those years ago to bring about such enmity, but maybe this was a chance for her to bring everybody together again. Her loyalty lay with her mother but she also wanted to lead her own life and make decisions of her own. Queenie cast a very big shadow and Saskia was determined to make her own way in the sun. Even if that meant making mistakes along the way.

Jenni wandered around the garden, marvelling again at the beauty and peace of the beautiful homestead. The surroundings began to calm her and she felt ready to tackle another session with TR. His recovery was proving more than the challenge she’d expected. She was confused at her own feelings for a man twenty years her senior — he aroused such deep emotions in her. Was it the longing for a father figure, having lost her own father when a young girl? Or the fact he was a handsome and sexy man in the prime of his life? Or was added to both these factors the knowledge that he was vulnerable, and saw in her his salvation?

The morning’s session had been traumatic and had shaken her badly. She’d given TR a muscular workout and was following it with a massage. TR had been quiet and seemed more depressed than usual. He buried his face in the towel as he lay on the table while she pummelled and probed deep into his muscles and tendons. At one point she felt his shoulders shake and she wondered if he was crying. Her hands relaxed their strenuous massaging and began softly stroking. As her fingertips rippled lightly across his skin she felt him relax. She was glad this technique brought about a lessening of the tension held in his body, but for the first time she forgot about her professional role and became aware of the beauty of his body and the physical attractiveness of TR the man, not the patient. She was glad she couldn’t see his face or he see hers. Swiftly she pulled herself together and draped a towel across his back and shoulders, pressing him lightly. ‘That’s enough. Let me help you sit up.’

Later they had met in the downstairs sunroom where the furniture had been pushed to one side, and begun another walking lesson.

TR struggled across the room, one crutch supporting his bad leg, his face twisted in pain. Jenni cajoled and encouraged him, directing his wobbly progress. ‘Walk TR! Don’t hop!’

A few more turns and then Jenni went to him and took the crutch away. TR rested his hand on her shoulder to balance. ‘Now what?’ he asked irritably.

‘Now walk. Without the crutch. Just one step, TR. Come on, you can do it.’

He glared at her. ‘No!’

‘You have to start on your own sometime, TR. Don’t be afraid of falling, I’ll be right beside you.’ Jenni went to move away from him, leaving him standing without a crutch or her support. He swiftly grabbed back his crutch. ‘No!’

‘Stop being a baby, TR. Try for God’s sake!’ shouted Jenni. ‘Stop giving up.’

Fear, frustration, then sheer anger swept over TR and with a furious heave he hurled his crutch through the open French doors and it landed on the verandah with a crash.

Jenni backed away from him, standing with her hands on her hips as he glared defiantly at her. ‘All right walk to me, or go and get your crutch yourself,’ she said with icy calm.

Their eyes locked and to TR the few steps that separated them yawned like a chasm. His legs felt like lead. Shooting pains quivered up and down his bad side, his feet felt nailed to the floor. With a tremendous effort, feeling he was moving in slow motion, TR dragged one foot in front of the other, swung his arm out for balance, then stiffly pushed his bad leg forward in a shaky step. It was a parody of a staggering walk and he began to waver and sway. He shuffled another step; his eyes went from Jenni’s to the floor and his arms flailed as he tried to keep his balance. In the same instance Jenni sprang forward as TR’s legs buckled and he went down to the floor.

She caught the brunt of his weight, falling down with him in her arms. TR let out a screech of pain as his leg bent beneath him. Then Jenni was cradling him in her arms, his face buried in her shoulder as sudden wracking sobs shook his body.

Slowly she lifted a hand and smoothed his hair. ‘It’s all right, TR. And it will be all right. That was very brave of you,’ she said softly.

TR lifted his head, his bright blue eyes sparked with moisture, his face a mask of despair. ‘I fell over,’ he said with the bewildered simplicity of a child.

‘We have to try it again, TR. I’ll stand beside you and take your arm this time.’

TR shook his head. ‘It hurts. This is too hard. I just don’t care, Jenni.’ He grabbed her hand fiercely. ‘I can’t go on like this, there’s no point. I have no life, no mind, no heart for any of this.’

Jenni hadn’t been able to answer. Her professional demeanour had been badly shaken. TR was no longer a patient but a man she longed to comfort. Somehow she had to get him through this blackness of self-pity.

Jenni turned from the garden back towards the house, looking for Millie for a chat. Maybe she could offer an answer.

In the kitchen Jenni decided against plugging in the electric jug and put the old iron kettle back over the hotplate on the Aga. Millie had a big casserole cooking slowly in the second oven and a tray of just baked Anzac biscuits were cooling on one side. Jenni munched on one as she took the teapot outside to throw the leaves in the garden.

‘Good timing, luv. I was just coming in to do that,’ said Millie, coming from the direction of the chook house, fat fresh brown eggs nestling in a small pail. ‘How’d it go this morning?’

‘Not too good, I’m afraid. One step forward and one step back — in more ways than one. TR took a bit of a spill and it’s rattled him. He’s very depressed and wants to throw the towel in. I hate to see him like this.’

‘This is not our TR,’ said Millie sadly.

‘I’m feeling a bit helpless, Millie. I’ve never had a situation quite like this.’

Millie glanced swiftly at the pretty young woman sitting at the table close to tears. ‘He needs Queenie,’ she said softly. ‘No offence, luv. You’re doin’ a wonderful job with his outside. His insides need fixin’ up — his heart and his head. You leave it to Millie; believe me, things is gonna change round here. Now, tea’s made, go and give Jim and Snowy a hoy, they’re down in the machinery shed.’

Millie had a faraway look in her eye as she set out the cups and milk jug on the kitchen table and tipped the warm biscuits onto a plate. TR needed help all right. His spirits needed lifting and he needed a bit of a push to get him back on track. The track he was on at present was leading downhill, fast. Thank goodness Dingo was returning to Tingulla tomorrow following the wool and ram sales.

Millie knew how they could get TR going again. But Jenni was not to be part of it. In fact she was not to know about Millie’s plan at all. She smiled to herself as she pulled the knitted tea cosy over the pot. Things would get better for TR by and by.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Ernie rode back towards Cricklewood’s homestead in the late afternoon light, having made a final check on the cattle in the top paddock. Water was low in the bottom dam, but the stock was looking fit and gaining weight, despite feed being a bit scratchy. At times like this the best bulls would be handfed. He missed seeing the affable bull Dinky in his paddock near the house. Ernie wondered where Queenie was and wished he’d gone with her. He was worried that she might be in trouble. But she was the boss and she’d told him to stay behind.

As the horse walked slowly on, Ernie sat back in the saddle, his legs relaxed in the long stirrups, his wrists crossed as they rested on the pommel, and pondered about his Tingulla family. Cricklewood and Tingulla were home to him. Like Snowy he was linked to the two worlds of this land — his traditional and tribal Dreaming, and the white family of Tingulla. Ernie had been born in the district and like his father had been a stockman and drover working in the north. When his father died, Ernie had returned as a teenager to his own land and found work at Tingulla. His education had been sporadic, his father had never been in one place long enough for Ernie’s education to be comprehensive. But he had benefited from the occasional tutor and governess who had spent time at Tingulla. He could read well and TR had loaned him the books he’d owned when he’d first come to Tingulla to work.

He had learnt his Aboriginal skills from family members over the years and he had also acquired some knowledge of city politics from itinerant workers. But it was hard for him to identify with the problems of Aborigines in the cities. His sense of place and belonging, and his affinity with the land, were intensely personal and his world seemed remote from the fights, demonstrations and prejudice of his city-based brothers and sisters.

He was in this reflective mood when he rode up to find Snowy squatting in the shade of a tree near the stockyard. He’d been thinking of Snowy, strong images of the old man had been popping into his head all morning, so seeing him here at Cricklewood was no surprise.

Ernie dismounted and greeted Snowy with a grin. ‘What’s up, Snow?’

‘Not a lot. No worries. Jist takin’ a break.’

‘How’s TR? Any news on the boss and them missin’ bulls?’ Ernie squatted beside Snowy, the reins looped over his arm.

‘Reckon she’s gotta lead on ’em last I hear. Hard t’say if she’ll get all them fellas back. TR is walking round pretty good on sticks. Uses the chair sometimes. But he’s still sorta lost.’

‘Must be hard for him eh?’

They sat in silence for a bit. ‘So whaddya know, Snow?’

Snowy looked at the handsome young fellow beside him. ‘I reckon your time is comin’, Ern. You bin initiated, I’m watching you these last months. You come on pretty good. Nice and steady. You don’t get up to no mischief, so I figure it’s time I pass on some more of the learnin’ to you. I ain’t so young and I shouldn’t take this with me.’

‘Traditional laws and special knowledge stuff, you mean?’

‘Yep. When a young fella proves he’s worthy of learnin’, by how he lives him life, then it’s time.’

‘You gonna start, like now?’

‘When we git back to Tingulla. It’s not somethin’ I hand over like a book. Too much t’take in all at once, so I give you little bit by little bit. I gotta show you tings, show you places, tell the laws and the legends so you understand the beliefs ’n’ all.’

Ernie looked a bit overwhelmed. ‘That’s a big job. You reckon I’m up to it, Snowy? And anyway, you ain’t crook or nothing are you?’ He looked concerned and Snowy smiled.

‘No, that’s why we should start dis one pretty soon. But slow. Like building a house. First we do the floor, then the walls, then you put the roof on and soon you start doin’ stuff by yourself, windows ’n’ doors ’n’ all them other bits. You gotta understand your spirit power and learn how to use him.’

‘The others know this is goin’ on?’

‘Nope. I never say much. Millie she probably figure it out in time ’cause you ’n’ I will be spendin’ time together, to go to special spirit and sacred places to learn the ceremonies.’

‘I understand, Snowy, and I know you is my tribal family, and I’m the one to get it passed on, but we gotta live in two worlds now. How is this traditional law gonna fit in with what’s goin’ on outside?’

Ernie had great respect for the tribal elders and knew the knowledge that had kept their culture alive for so many centuries now rested in frail heads and hearts.

‘No fella kin live good in the future till him know the past. And we is losin’ it, Ern. The grog has got to a lot of the old fellas. Others reckon they don’t know nothin’; fact is, they know stuff, but don’t know they know it. So we gotta teach the kids ’n’ keep passin’ it on.’

Ernie nodded. ‘I know what you mean. Well, I’ll do me best, Snowy.’

The old man rocked on his heels and looked satisfied. Their past and their future, the origins of all life, and the laws to live by interpreted through the legends, would pass into Ernie’s hands and the spirits of their shared totem would be pleased.

‘We head back to Tingulla now, eh?’

‘Righto, Snowy. Things are shipshape here. The men have come back from Tingulla now shearin’s over. Also, some old bloke turned up, a swaggie, name of Chipper. Said he’d met Queenie on the track.’

‘He bin workin’ here or campin’?’ asked Snowy.

‘He’s a worker all right. Struth, can he swing an axe!’ declared Ernie. ‘He cut a stack of fence posts like a ruddy machine. Every one of ’em identical. Said he might hang around for a bit, which suits me. So, Snow, I guess we can head back today.’

The young man and his elder briefly clasped hands. A bridge had been crossed.

The next day at Tingulla, Dingo sat at Queenie’s desk finishing up the paperwork on costs of the shearing and sale of the clip. He wrote her a note and pinned it to the top of the file as the phone rang. Millie picked it up somewhere in the house but quickly appeared at the office door.

‘It’s America. That French friend of hers, Henry whats his name.’ Millie seemed flustered. ‘You’d better talk to him, Dingo, I don’t git that flippin’ accent of his.’

Dingo smiled as he reached for the phone. Henri the hotelier who had wanted to marry Queenie. Millie had never thought the match should go ahead and in a way that had been the catalyst for her to bring Queenie and TR together.

‘Henri, this is Dingo McPherson. Queenie is out in the bush, can I help?’

‘Dingo! How nice to speak to you. I’ve just received a long letter from Queenie. I am most distressed to hear about TR. Is he any better?’

‘Not much. Physically he’s making slow progress. No return of his memory yet. It’s all very sad and difficult. I’m helping out for a bit.’

‘That is a great pity. Well, Dingo, I know you are privy to some of Queenie’s business plans so I will speak to you so you can pass on this news, yes?’

‘Sure, if it’s business.’

‘Queenie wrote to me that she is selling the Kurrajong Hotel and she had always promised me first refusal. I’ve spoken to my company directors and bankers and I would be very agreeable to buying the hotel. We would make very few changes as I know it is run superbly. In a few months I will come out and review matters. So tell her yes, I accept her offer.’

‘I had no idea she wanted to sell,’ said Dingo in surprise. ‘She must have some plan up her sleeve.’

‘Dingo, she says she wants to set up a fellmongery and a tannery . . . What is this?’

Dingo laughed, rubbing his thinning white hair. ‘Well, I’ll be . . . it’s a place that takes the wool off the sheep hides and the tannery treats the skins. Turns it into leather.’

‘Ah, I see. It makes sense now. She is thinking of going into wool and leather fashions, I believe.’

Dingo grinned. ‘You’ve got to hand it to her, she doesn’t let the grass grow under her feet.’

‘Pardon?’

‘Never mind, Henri. Did Queenie say if this was something she and TR had been working on by any chance?’

‘No. I get the impression she had come up with the idea since his accident. Please, wish them well. I will begin drawing up documents for the sale.’

‘Righto. I’m sure shell be pleased. She’s out in the scrub chasing some lost bulls, she should be back pretty soon.’

Henri looked down from his office to the traffic sliding along elegant Fifth Avenue and smiled wistfully at the memory of beautiful Queenie. She was probably happier in the Australian bush than she ever could have been here in the metropolis. He supposed she had been right in refusing to marry him. He sighed. He also knew he could never compete with the incredible bond of love that had bound her and TR together. But in his own way, Henri still loved her.

‘Ask her to telephone me when she is able. I hope things become happy for them very soon. Au revoir, Dingo.’

‘Hooroo, mate, nice talking to you.’ Dingo hung up the phone and wandered outside to find TR. He was sitting in a chair, staring into the garden, a newspaper dropped in his lap. ‘G’day, mate, how’s it going?’

TR shrugged. ‘So so. What’s new?’

Dingo winced internally seeing TR so dispirited. ‘I’ve been talking to some hotel bloke, friend of Queenie’s. She’s selling her hotel in the Blue Mountains to raise some capital for a wool venture. She talk to you about it in the hospital?’

‘Nope. Of course, she could’ve talked to me about it before . . . but then I wouldn’t remember that, would I?’ TR’s voice had a bitter edge.

‘No matter. But when Queenie gets back I reckon you should get involved in this wool thing. Starting from scratch now.’

‘Give me an interest?’ asked TR with a wry smile.

‘Sort of. But you’re a smart man, TR, and Queenie respects your advice and opinions. That hasn’t changed. Getting in with something new that’s just starting up means it doesn’t matter what went before. You’re right at the starting blocks with Queenie on this one.’

‘I’ll think about it.’

Dingo nodded and didn’t say any more, but he was slightly heartened. TR hadn’t sounded as negative or bitter. He’d talk to Queenie. This new project could possibly provide some common ground for her and TR to start getting to know one another again. They had always been such a great team together. Playing, working, loving, they sparked off each other, supported each other, and shared such a bond it made outsiders wonder that two people could be so close. And everyone secretly wished they had what Queenie and TR shared.

Millie made sure Jenni was out of the house and made a phone call to Mrs Quinn. Later Millie said to Jenni, ‘Mrs Quinn rang, she wants you to go over for dinner tomorrow night. Thinks you need a break.’

‘Really? Just me? What about TR?’

‘Give him an evenin’ off, luv. Take one of the cars and go over, they always have nice dos. You haven’t had a break since you arrived, it’ll do you good.’

‘Well . . . I don’t like the idea of the long drive back on my own.’

‘Oh, dinner at the Quinns’ means staying the night. They always have a big breakfast and everybody heads off after that. Them’s a country style dinner party. I told her you’d go. TR, Jim, Dingo and me will manage just fine.’

‘Well, in that case . . .’ Jenni looked rather pleased at the idea.

Later Millie had a quiet conversation with Snowy, who listened then nodded, ‘Tomorrow night. We’ll set it up.’

Millie watched Jenni drive off to the Quinns’ in the late afternoon then hurried down to find Jim, who was in the meat house hacking chunks of meat off a frozen carcass. The meat house still was an old-fashioned shed, but it had been modernised with a cold room and freezer. Jim worked at the solid wood block with well-worn knives that reflected decades of service. Millie heard the thwack of the meat chopper and knew he was preparing her order for the week’s meat.

‘She’s gone. Now, how do I tell TR what we got planned?’ she announced, holding open the screen door.

‘Come in or out, Millie; either way close the door, luv. Flies.’

Millie stepped into the shady coolness, pulling the flyscreen door shut. ‘Would it be better if you spoke to him, Jim? Being a white fella. If he don’ remember nothin’ then he might think I’m just talkin’ rubbish.’

‘I think Dingo’d be best to talk to TR. I can’t go to this shindig you’ve cooked up anyway. Seein’ as I’m not initiated. But Dingo has been, he knows tribal customs. Let him take TR under his wing.’

‘You’re right, luv. Can I take some of them chops now, I’ll grill ’em up for dinner with some garden vegies.’

When he’d finished in the meat house, Jim washed his hands under the tap at the old tank beside the shed and went to find Dingo who was in the chill room built onto the woolshed. Merino skins were stacked in large piles in their raw state between layers of salt and hessian.

‘She’s got a good old stockpile of hides here,’ commented Dingo to Jim. ‘This will go to the fellmongers no doubt, and be the start of Tingulla’s wool enterprise she’s setting up.’

‘What fellmongers?’ asked Jim. ‘None around here.’

‘The one she’s building. Well that’s the plan as I understand it, she’ll tell us all about it when she’s back I’m sure.’

‘That Queenie. She’s a real . . . aw heck, what’s the word. You know them blokes that’re always doing things, settin’ up shows and stuff, doin’ deals . . . ’

‘Entrepreneur. That’s right. Always full of bright ideas and schemes. But unlike most people, Queenie isn’t just talk. She makes them happen.’

They both chuckled fondly. ‘Did Millie tell you she called this mornin’ to say she got them bulls?’ asked Jim.

‘Yeah, she did. I’ve heard of that Mitchell,’ said Dingo. ‘Nasty piece of work. They caught the blokes he’d hired to do the duffing and they all squealed like stuck pigs. He won’t get away this time. A lot of people have to thank Queenie for this I think.’

The two men headed back outdoors. ‘Where’s Snowy?’ asked Dingo.

‘He’s in the bush getting things ready. Millie said you had to meet him at the southwest corner after tea.’

‘Right.’

‘Er, Dingo there’s one other thing. Millie wanted you to tell TR what’s goin’ on.’

‘He doesn’t know?’

Jim shook his head. ‘Millie figured he might not want to do it, and she wanted Jenni out of the picture. Nothing against the girl, but well, it is sorta secret stuff, right?’

Dingo nodded. ‘Women. They always make things more complicated than they need be. I’ll just tell TR we’re takin’ him out.’

After dinner Millie busied herself in the kitchen with the dishes while the three men relaxed on the verandah. Jim leaned back in his chair and rolled a cigarette. ‘You blokes best be getting a move on, eh?’

‘I’m intrigued to say the least, Dingo,’ said TR with a smile. He liked Dingo enormously even knowing they’d been friends in what TR referred to as his past life. In his mind, their friendship had only just begun.

‘Get those sticks of yours, and I’ll bring the Toyota around to the steps here.’

Jim helped TR into the passenger seat, half lifting him off the ground as the step up was so high. TR winced in pain and Millie cautioned him to be careful. Jim shut the door and went around and shook Dingo’s hand. Then, standing with his arm about Millie’s waist, they watched the red taillights of the vehicle disappear down the driveway.

Twenty minutes later the headlights flicked onto the bush track leading south. Suddenly, in the beam of light, they saw Snowy. He was standing by a tree, ramrod straight, his arms by his side, dressed in his old blue shirt and work pants. They stopped and Snowy got in the back seat and began giving Dingo directions.

They weaved through scrub country for another hour until Snowy tapped on Dingo’s shoulder. ‘This’ll do. Put ’im over there.’ They parked near the trees he indicated. ‘TR, you wait little time, okay. We come back git you real quick.’

TR shrugged. He was beyond wondering. In his past life he might have known what this was all about, now he was just along for the ride. He didn’t care much about anything these days. He felt he was drifting in an often painful grey haze, with a few patches of sunshine provided by sweet young Jenni.

He had no idea how long they left him there. He’d watched the clouds scud across the moon and stars and then dozed for a bit. Then Dingo was beside him, opening the car door and helping him down. ‘Lean on me, there’s a bit of a track here, it’ll be hard with those sticks. Don’t trip, for God’s sake.’

‘The moon’s bright, I can see fine.’ TR began following Dingo, watching the ground carefully. Gradually he became aware of a faint humming noise. Then a slow steady beat. For a second he thought he was hearing his own heartbeat, then he realised it was a muffled drumbeat.

They stepped into a clearing and TR stopped and looked about in surprise. A small group of Aboriginal men were seated in a semicircle. Their faces were painted with streaks of white clay, and he was surprised to see one of them was Ernie. He smiled at TR reassuringly through the white paint.

‘Sit here.’ Dingo helped TR down to sit on a log, where he stretched out his legs, holding his crutches across his lap. Dingo sat cross-legged beside him.

Snowy disappeared into the shadowy scrub, then reappeared carrying an armful of green bushes which he placed on the small campfire in the middle of the clearing, causing smoke to billow and a pungent sweet smell to swirl into the air.

Ernie sat cross-legged on the ground beating together two music sticks painted in an intricate design of ochre, yellow and white. Beside him sat another man also holding two short ornamental music sticks which he began to click together. On Ernie’s right the didgeridoo player lifted the long hollow tube of wood and cradled one end in the fork of his toes, then began breathing and blowing into the other. The haunting wail rang through the bush. The beat began to get faster.

‘Who are these people?’ asked TR, leaning close to Dingo’s ear.

‘Local tribe.’

‘What’s the ceremony?’

‘You’ll see.’

The music was now very loud and rapid and from out of the trees four more men appeared. These were the dancers, naked except for shorts, a loincloth, one with only dried grass covering his genitals, another in underpants dyed with ochre. Their bodies as well as their faces were elaborately painted, and one man had brolga feathers in his hair. Another had a tail of long grass swinging at the back and through his prancing movements he became a horse.

As TR watched he suddenly saw, enacted before him in mime and dance, the story of his accident. The bolting horse, the tree, another horse and TR falling. The dancers carried the injured rider to the centre and laid him down and ‘doctored’ him, then came in a series of pantomimes the man’s efforts to walk. But he kept falling over and needed another man to hold him up. Finally the helper refused to hold him up any longer and they left the injured man lying on the ground like a crumpled doll.

The singing began. In unison the men chanted, the wailing sound rolling through the bush. As TR sat there he realised this was for him, he could feel it physically entering his body like a burning flow of energy. He was transfixed by the theatre in the moonlight, hypnotised by the strange magic of the moment.

The singing went on for several hours, all the men clapping as they sang. Finally the figure who had lain motionless on the ground in the centre all this time, began to twitch. Slowly he rose to his feet, swayed and stood there; then, like a robot, he took firm measured steps across the clearing and disappeared into the bush. The music reached a crescendo and TR closed his eyes, feeling like he might faint. He suddenly had a vision of a brolga. He saw it dance on long fine legs, its soft grey wings spread and noble head arched as it danced. The vision was so vivid he could feel the draft of air from the movement of its wings. He thought he’d closed his eyes for a second or two, merely to catch his breath, but when he blinked and looked about him he found the clearing deserted save for Dingo seated beside him.

Dingo smiled at him. ‘You all right, mate?’

‘I only closed my eyes for a second. What happened?’

‘Only what was supposed to.’

TR felt drained and exhausted, but strangely exhilarated. ‘Was I hypnotised?’

‘No. Just sung. Time to go. Soon be dawn.’

‘I saw this brolga . . . it was so real. What does that mean?’

‘Must be your totem.’ Dingo helped TR to his feet, handed him his crutches and they moved slowly back to the LandCruiser in silence.

As they drove into the dawn, TR knew he had been through a very special and mysterious experience. He knew instinctively he should never speak of this night with anyone, not even Dingo or Ernie. He knew some great change had come about in his life, and he felt a serenity and peace he hadn’t known since his accident.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Saskia adored her little cabin tucked away in a grove of palms at Harmony Hill. Best of all she liked being on her own, with her own space, her own things about her. It had been fun sharing an apartment with Sherry and Julie at university but being on her own, responsible for her own wellbeing, organising her own life, was a delightful change. She was apprehensive about her mother’s reaction to it all. However, that hurdle was still to be crossed. Maybe when Queenie saw this place she would understand a little better Saskia’s wish to do her own thing. Thinking back over her mother’s life Saskia was suddenly aware Queenie had never done this. Tragedy had flung her into a role of responsibility and challenge. She had never travelled, hadn’t had a carefree youth, or been able to explore and stumble along the road to maturity. For her mother, the eyes of older wiser and often resentful adults had watched her every step. Queenie had battled and won the day, but at what cost? wondered Saskia.

She loved, respected and admired her mother, and while many were in awe of the famed Queenie Hamilton, Saskia was determined to step away from this shadow and make her own way. She wasn’t ambitious — perhaps because she had been brought up with so much — but Queenie had made sure her values were sound. Saskia was no privileged brat, despite the wealth and prestige of her family and its heritage. While Saskia appreciated all that Tingulla stood for, she loved it for her home. This was where her roots were, the generations that had gone before her had created this magnificent station. Its history was part of the history of Australia. But to Saskia what she loved was intangible — the view from every window, the ghosts of her family who had lived here, plants tended by her grandmother, the shared Aboriginal heritage, the stories passed down of the exploits of the men, horses, cattle and sheep. Like every child of Tingulla she had her own special memories, her own special places. Tango had missed growing up at Tingulla but in being reunited with his family, he too had made his places of peace on this land. Tingulla was in her blood and would always be part of her life, but she had to roam a little before returning to its security.

Saskia had become part of Bruce and Ria’s extended family. Colin spent a lot of time locked in his office on the phone, so the staff of Harmony Hill gravitated towards the Gadens. Bruce deferred to Colin, but Saskia soon saw that Cohn didn’t seem to care too much and left a lot of decisions to Bruce.

Colin had allocated Saskia a budget and she had soon outfitted the stables with saddles and riding gear for the horses and the prospective customers well within her financial limits. She had devised and set out several horse trails of varying degrees of ease and challenge that wound around the hill, into the valley and rainforest and along the creek. She took Greta on Pansy to test the junior ride, and little Greta announced it was ‘triffic’.

One morning a truck towing a horse float drove up to the stables. Several of the farmers had been helping her out and sending her horses to see if they’d be suitable. This was a carrier from Tamworth who had shoved papers at her. ‘Mr Hanlon said you was to sign. Here.’ The man gave her a leaky pen.

‘Just a second. I want to see the horse before I sign. I don’t buy just anything,’ said Saskia testily.

‘So take a look at ’im. I ain’t takin’ it back. This was a one-way trip.’

‘Where are you from?’ she asked curiously.

‘Tamworth.’ The man unlatched the float door and began hunting the horse out with a series of yanks and pushes, grunting and muttering at the horse, who stomped nervously.

‘Here, careful, let me, you’re going to get kicked,’ snapped Saskia, thinking men like this shouldn’t be allowed near horses.

When the horse was free of the float and led to the railing and tied up, Saskia eyed it in surprise. ‘That’s a thoroughbred. He should be racing, not dragging tourists round the countryside.’

She was looking at the papers in her hand, trying to make sense of where the horse had come from, when Colin and Bruce appeared.

Colin seemed to be expecting the horse. ‘I’ll take care of this, Sas.’ He took the documents from her, signed them and handed them back to the driver.

‘Colin, this horse isn’t suitable for family horse rides,’ said Saskia. As if in agreement, the bay thoroughbred snorted, wrenched its head and kicked out in annoyance.

‘I don’t know anything about horses, but that looks like a pretty decent sort of an animal to me,’ said Bruce.

‘Yeah. He used to race a bit,’ said Colin. ‘It belongs to a friend of mine. Don’t worry about this one, Sas, he’s just a boarder.’

‘Does he still race?’ asked Saskia who was studying the conformation of the horse. To her trained eye it was obvious this animal was superbly put together — its shape, balance, stance and body shape were near to perfect.

‘Possibly. That’s why they want to leave him here. It’s closer to the Gold Coast, Brisbane and country tracks.’

‘But who’s going to train him?’

‘You can if you want,’ laughed Colin as he turned away. ‘Thanks, mate.’ The driver slammed the door of the float and got into the truck. Colin turned to Saskia. ‘Don’t you worry about this fellow, just put him out and feed him. Frankly, I wouldn’t ride him, I’m told he’s got a few wild habits which is why he’s not looking so good as a racer.’

Bruce winked at her and the two men moved away.

Saskia approached the horse slowly, keeping her distance. The statuesque horse and the slim girl eyed each other warily.

‘So you have a few wild habits, do you?’ said Saskia in a soft voice, never breaking eye contact with the horse. ‘Maybe we can fix that, eh?’ The horse was first to look away and Saskia moved to the side of its head, brushing her hand across its eyes which flicked shut for a moment. The horse visibly relaxed and Saskia led it quietly into the yard next to the stables.

She had no doubt this horse had led something of a chequered career, but she also knew that there was no way she was going to ignore him and regard him as just a casual boarder. She took the halter off the horse and latched the stockyard gate. She leaned over the railing and watched him swiftly explore his new home.

‘I have a funny feeling that you and I are going to be mates,’ she said aloud. The horse intrigued her. In a sudden flash she saw an opportunity, but for the moment she’d keep her idea to herself.

A few days later Saskia was sitting on a feed bin outside the neat tack room making notes on a clipboard when Colin, eating a banana and wearing shorts and a T-shirt emblazoned with the Harmony Hill logo of linked rings and a heart, wandered up and offered her a banana.

‘I like your uniform,’ said Saskia taking the banana. ‘I bet you couldn’t dress like that in Italy.’

He shrugged and gave her a lazy smile. ‘Silk knit-tops, linen slacks and espadrilles were more my uniform. You know Italian fashion, even casual is smart. And expensive.’

Saskia could just imagine Colin in designer European fashions, sipping his espresso in some piazza watching women from behind his Bollé sunshades.

‘So, how’s it going?’ he asked.

‘Great. I’m just roughing out a release form for guests to sign as Bruce suggested.’

‘Just make sure if they fall off a horse they don’t sue us.’

‘Oh, I’ll make sure that doesn’t happen. Bruce says people will always say they can ride even if they’ve never been on a horse before. But I’m really happy with the horses I’ve got. Steady, patient and calm; they’ll canter easily but not take off. And Greta has “trained” Pansy and Jeffery the Shetlands. We had to teach them not to take off when kicked in the flanks. Kids seem to curl their legs up automatically and kick them in that crease where it hurts.’

Colin nodded but he wasn’t really interested. ‘How’s that racehorse of George’s?’

‘Well, he’s here. I’ve ridden him once or twice on that flat stretch along the river. What’s happening to him?’

‘They want to race him at Grafton.’

‘What? He’s untrained and out of condition — he doesn’t stand a chance!’

Colin shrugged. ‘They just want to check him. He used to be good. But he developed a problem. They want to see if he still has it. George is looking for a good horse. Do you want to come along? It would be helpful if you could come and look after him.’

‘He’ll certainly need looking after,’ said Saskia testily. ‘If he has the will to win, being so unfit, he’ll bust a gut!’

‘So get him as fit as you can.’

Saskia glared at Colin. ‘Is this part of my job description?’

‘Suit yourself. I don’t think they’ll pay you though.’

‘I wasn’t thinking of the money, I was thinking of the horse. I’ll be there.’

Colin grinned inwardly. Saskia reminded him of Queenie: she couldn’t resist a challenge, and when it came to horses she was a soft touch.

Saskia lifted the phone to ring Tango. She wanted to sound him out on some ideas she had been mulling over. But before he answered, she hung up. No, if she was going to do this, she was going to do it her way. She must trust her own instincts and judgement. She’d always had an idea about working with horses, she just hadn’t thought about racehorses — that had been TR and Tango’s province. Then she had realised their involvement with horses had clouded her own vision. But in recent months she had done a lot of serious thinking. If she focused purely and simply on what interested her and where she thought her skills were, what she really wanted to do was to train horses, starting right from breaking them in. Just because Tango and TR ran a stud didn’t mean she couldn’t do it too — her own way. Saskia knew she had to prove herself before she would ever consider working at Guneda. She didn’t want any favours. If the day came when TR and Tango offered her a proper job, it would be because she had proved to them she was good.

Saskia had never forgotten a chance encounter she’d had at the Longreach Show when she was a young girl. Her mother had taken her along to the rodeo and one of the clowns had come up to greet them.

‘G’day, Queenie, saw some of Tingulla’s stock in the ring. Very nice. This your youngster?’

Saskia had been introduced to Maxi the Clown, who’d offered to take her round to the back of the rodeo where the clowns and performers had their tents. There was a troop of dancing ponies and various other acts that had enthralled the large crowd earlier in the day. Queenie, knowing she’d be safe with Maxi, had agreed. For Saskia it had been one of the great afternoons of her young life.

One of the clowns had shown her how to juggle; she’d watched the clowns paint on their faces; she’d combed the tails and manes of the dancing ponies, and had been shown how the miniature dancing dogs walked on their hind legs and did cartwheels on the backs of the ponies. But the performance she’d loved best was Jimmy Wilton and his wonder horse along with his brilliant team of seven white Alsatian wonder dogs.

‘Jimmy is Australia’s master horseman. He gets horses to do things that no other horse in the world can do,’ Maxi had told her. ‘Do you want to meet him?’

Saskia had nodded but felt shy.

Sensing her feelings, Maxi reassured her. ‘The old man can be a bit gruff, but don’t take it to heart.’

She’d been surprised then when he led her to a large old car with battered upholstery and introduced her to a wrinkled old man wrapped in a sheepskin jacket with a bush hat jammed on his head. They’d shaken hands — Saskia remembered the roughness of that handshake — and eyed each other with interest. Then the old man had smiled and shuffled over in the seat as best he could to make room for her.

‘Got a crook leg and hip,’ he muttered. ‘Don’t mind the rips in the seats, that’s the dogs. Scotchy and Silver ride with me most of the time.’

‘What are the other dogs’ names?’ asked Saskia.

‘Sunny, Snowy, Soda, Susie and Sandy. Greatest animals on earth,’ said Jimmy in his raspy voice. ‘Woe betide anyone who tries to lay a finger on me while they’re about. So, you like horses, lass?’

‘Oh, yes,’ said Saskia firmly. ‘I want to work with them when I grow up.’

‘Do you now? Well, I’ve spent a lifetime studying the brains of the equine and how they react to the actions of man. I’ve lived for nothing else, only the study and education of the horse,’ said Jimmy with no false modesty. ‘I reckon I know the most efficient, safe and humane method of catching, breaking and re-educating horses, whether they be trotters, pacers, saddle horses, racehorses, you name it. But like everything else, a bad teacher makes a bad animal. You treat your horse as a pal. Remember that.’

Saskia had nodded. ‘I wish you could teach me,’ she said shyly.

‘I’ve taught my method to a lot of blokes over the years, and it’s never failed. I even wrote a little book on how to do it. Here, write down your particulars and I’ll send you a copy.’

Later, when Maxi fetched her to take her back to her mother, Saskia had asked, ‘Is Jimmy rich, Maxi? He’s so clever.’

‘Nah, sad to say he’s not. A lot of blokes learned from Jimmy and pass his method off as their own. Others he’s taught have made a lot of money with Jimmy’s blessing. Jimmy is a humble man and his love of horses is more important to him. But I doubt anyone will ever be able to do the tricks he does with those horses and dogs of his. Bloody amazing man.’

Saskia had never told anyone details of her meeting with the great old horseman. It was a special and personal event she kept to herself. But, good to his word, several weeks later she’d received a slim book in the mail. The Horse and His Education by JD Wilton. It had pictures of Tim the Wonder Horse and the seven white Alsatians and, written as he spoke in a no-nonsense style, was his fourteen-day step-by-step method of breaking in a horse, along with a lot of other valuable information on care and education of horses.

Saskia knew she could learn much from old men like Jimmy, who’d spent their lives around horses in the bush and in the racing game, but she also trusted her own observations and instinct. She felt she had a gift which she knew would have to be perfected by trial and error, but she was now determined to strive to become one of the top horse trainers in the country. Who knows, maybe she’d be the first woman to be a member of one of the elite all-male committees that oversaw horse racing in Australia.

Saskia didn’t consider being female altered her dreams or ambitions in any way. Queenie had seen to that. Her mother was her role model and she had shown Saskia that anything was possible. She didn’t know about glass ceilings, or barriers that held women back in their careers. To Saskia, if you wanted to do something, you did it as best you could. And if the opportunities weren’t there, or obstacles were placed in your path, then they were to be overcome — that was part of the challenge.

And now, for Saskia, this racehorse was her challenge.

Colin joined Alfredo Camboni and George Bannerman at Gallops disco where neon lights flashed over the dance floor, the bar was called the Winning Post and the toilets were labelled Jockeys and Jockettes. Whips were tacked to the walls along with posters of buxom girls spilling out of jockeys’ silks. A mechanical bucking bronco was in constant use by squealing girls and macho city cowboys.

Colin slid into a leather booth, commenting to Alfredo, ‘This doesn’t seem like your sort of place’.

Alfredo winced at the level and quality of the music. ‘It is not. But we are meeting someone here. Our jockey.’

‘There he is,’ said George, indicating a flashily dressed, slight figure threading his way through the crowd towards them. ‘This is Donny Spukis. Known as the Spook,’ said George.

Colin noted that the jockey was not as young as he’d seemed across the room. The jockey nodded to each and shook hands before sitting down.

‘The Spook’s been riding up in the East,’ explained George.

‘Grafton’s a bit of a comedown from Hong Kong, isn’t it?’ said Colin bluntly.

The jockey shrugged. ‘This is just a dry run. I go where I’m paid.’

Alfredo cut in, changing the subject. ‘There’ll be a bigger race at the Gold Coast later on. We’ll find you rides never fear, Mr Spook. In fact, we’d like to see you ride the favourite in the Gold Coast Cup.’

George grinned at Colin. ‘Ever been to the East, Colin? Can get very hot.’ He winked at him in case he hadn’t got the reference to the Spook’s rapid departure from Asia.

With the din of laughter, chatter and music swirling about them, the four men talked in complete privacy, leaning across the table in deep conversation. The Spook listened more than he talked, nodding every so often, occasionally twisting the heavy gold ring set with a diamond on his little finger, a chunky gold watch hanging loosely on his wrist like a bracelet.

Saskia had agreed to deliver the horse to the track at Grafton. He had been registered as Duke’s Lad but she called him Toff, short for Toffee because of his colour, and because he looked so aristocratic. She had only been able to do some light work and exercise with him, but she knew his near perfect conformation matched a powerful heart and stride. She wanted to see him race with other horses to discover exactly what his bad habit was.

Saskia stood down at the railing to watch Toff’s race. Colin and George Bannerman watched from the members’ stand. Saskia had borrowed binoculars and she watched Toff carefully. He was well placed and moved up, but as soon as he was closed in by other horses she saw him flinch and pull up, despite the frantic whipping from the Spook. They moved to the outside clear of the pack and made up a lot of ground but as they came to the bend, Toff eased back again.

‘So that’s it,’ Saskia said to herself.

In the straight Toff took off again but he found it impossible to make up ground and placed fifth. Saskia was thoughtful as she went back to the stalls behind the track. Toff had a phobia about crowding and taking a bend.

She saw Colin and Bannerman approaching the stalls leading Toff while the Spook was in the jockey’s room.

Colin caught her attention. ‘Hi, Saskia. Here, put this bloke away. This is George Bannerman.’

‘Hello, Mr Bannerman.’

‘Call me Georgy Porgy,’ he chuckled.

‘The horse can do better, Colin, I know what his problem is —’ began Saskia, but George Bannerman leaned over and pinched her cheek, a little too hard for comfort.

‘I’m the horsie expert here, sweetheart. Don’t you worry your pretty little head about Duke’s Lad. He’s doing his best.’

‘He can do better, Mr Bannerman.’

Colin frowned at her. ‘Leave it, Sas. Just take care of him and get back on the road. We’re not going to race him again.’

The two men headed back to the bar. Saskia shook her head and turned her attention back to Toff who was looking calm and rather pleased with himself now the race was over.

Saskia rubbed her hand over his eyes. ‘You enjoyed that, didn’t you? . . You just don’t like the bends and being crowded by those other guys. Well, tell you what, Toff, I’m going to fix that.’

Chapter Twenty-Four

Ruthie heaved the old forked wooden stick used as a clothes prop under the sagging line of heavy wet washing and picked up the empty clothes basket. On a sudden whim she put the big old wicker basket on her head and stretched out her arms for balance and attempted to walk with it on her head. She swayed and rocked her body, tottering for a few steps as the basket wobbled.

‘What the heck’re you doin’, Ruthie?’

‘Ooer! Ernie, I din’ know you was there. Now you made me drop it,’ said Ruthie, giggling as she picked up the basket.

‘You tryin’ to be one of them Indian ladies that carries pots on her head?’

‘Dunno. Just thought I’d try it.’ She grinned at him, her big brown eyes laughing. She perched the basket comfortably on one hip and walked beside him. ‘So watcha bin doin’? How was Cricklewood?’

‘Things is good. Dingo’s gone over there to git them stolen bulls organised for Queenie so she can git back here to TR. I bin spendin’ a bit of time with Snowy.’

‘Oh.’ Ruthie knew he wasn’t going to give her any details. ‘And how’s your love life?’ She nudged him in the ribs.

‘Pretty good. I really fancy this fantastic little sheila I know.’

‘Is that so?’ said Ruthie sounding cross.

‘Yeah. In fact, she’s a bit like you.’

‘What! Who?’ demanded Ruthie, flaring up. Then, seeing Ernie’s teasing smile, she realised what he was saying and calmed down, but still flounced ahead of him. ‘You’re a real pain in the neck sometimes, Ernie.’

Still smiling at her, he watched her move away. Sometimes Ruthie acted like a grown woman but mostly she remained the laughter-loving girl he’d known all the years they’d both been at Tingulla. They were part of Tingulla’s loyal family and they shared this bond as well as their Aboriginal heritage.

He caught up with her and grabbed her round the waist. ‘Even if I do drive ya crazy sometimes, d’ya reckon you could put up with me, but?’

‘I’m glad I don’ hafta put up with you.’ She pulled a face at him. ‘You go off with Snowy. I got work to do.’

Ernie looked serious. ‘No, ridgy didge, Ruthie. I bin thinkin’, you know, mebbe we should, you know . . . ’

‘Should what, Ernie?’

He looked down at his dusty riding boots, his usual confidence deserting him. ‘Get hitched. You know what I mean, Ruthie. Whaddya say?’

Her arms dropped to her sides, the washing basket falling on her feet as she looked down, quite overcome with shyness. ‘Git married like?’ She looked up at him defiantly. ‘I ain’t gonna move in with you. I’m a good girl. And anyway, Millie’d kill me.’

‘All right, all right. We’ll git married. However you want it. Jeez, Ruthie, we’ve known each other long enough. Who else would I pick?’

‘Well I jist might’ve picked out someone else, y’know.’ She gave him a flirtatious look and Ernie grabbed her and kissed her full on the mouth.

‘You’d better not, or I’ll get the kadaicha man after ’em. Off you go and tell Millie and Jim the good news.’ He slapped her on the bottom and turned away, whistling happily.

The morning smoko break turned into a celebration as news of Ernie and Ruthie’s engagement spread. TR raised his tea cup. ‘Here’s a toast to you, Ruthie. Congratulations! Now, who’s going to give the bride away?’

‘I’ll give her away if she doesn’t shape up,’ laughed Ernie.

‘No, that’s the job of the father of the family,’ explained Jenni.

‘I ain’t got no family. Tingulla’s bin my home and youse are my family,’ said Ruthie, emotion welling in her voice.

She turned to Snowy who was sitting on the top step of the verandah, his hat perched on his knee, a wide smile on his face. ‘Snowy, would you do it? You is the father of Tingulla.’ She spoke quietly, voicing the respect and love they all felt for the old man.

‘Course I will, Ruthie. If someone tells me what t’do.’

Millie brushed a tear from her eye and reached for the tea pot. ‘My, my, we’ll certainly have some news to tell Queenie when she gets back from Cricklewood.’

Jenni and TR exchanged a swift glance. TR put down his cup. ‘Well, we have to get back to work. I’m ready for whatever torture you have lined up today, Jenni. I feel like taking on the world.’ He grinned at her.

‘When are you gonna burn them sticks of yours, TR?’ asked Jim.

‘Sooner than you might think, Jim. Suddenly I’m thinking I’m ready to tackle Mount Everest.’

The enthusiasm in his voice and the sparkle in his eye made Millie’s heart do a sudden flip. She threw Snowy a swift grateful look, then turned back to the tea things. ‘Righto, smoko’s over. Everybody back to work. Even the bride to be.’

Tingulla was bathed in the lazy afternoon light and all was quiet and peaceful. Millie knotted the ribbons of her worn sunhat under her chin and headed for the bottom vegetable patch to find a gramma suitable for making into a pie and to do a bit of weeding, more for the pleasure of being in the garden than out of necessity.

Ruthie was in the laundry starching and ironing, lost in visions of the bridal dresses she’d seen in magazines and shop windows. She knew her wedding to Ernie would be a simple and plain affair, but a girl could dream after all.

As Queenie drove the LandCruiser towards Tingulla, the thought of seeing TR again gave her a feeling of warmth and joy. Knowing he was at Tingulla made her world right again. Although they hadn’t often been apart over the years, both were aware of the importance of respecting each other’s space and freedom. But whether they were working separately about the property and unable to see each other from dawn to dusk, or they were many miles apart, they looked forward to seeing one another again with a longing that never waned. This past separation between them had been harder because Queenie knew TR hadn’t been thinking of her, or if he had, it was with no previous knowledge of the love that they’d shared. However, knowing he would be there, waiting for her, and once again in his rightful place, gave her hope that his recuperation would be complete and all would be as it was.

Arriving at Tingulla, Queenie drove immediately around to the stables. She let Honey out of the float, stretched and pulled her hat from her head, lifting her thick curtain of hair from the nape of her neck. Taking off her sunglasses, she walked around the side garden towards the verandah, wondering if TR was sleeping.

She could hear sweet music floating from inside the house. Quietly she walked along the polished wood verandah to the French doors of the games room. The music was an old-fashioned love song in a waltz beat. Queenie stopped and closed her eyes for a moment, suddenly swept back in time to the woolshed dance the night of her twenty-first birthday. The night TR had led her away from the crowded dance floor into the moonlight to claim his birthday dance with her. She remembered the feel of his tweed jacket, the sweet smell of his skin and hair — like fresh hay — and the way her body had trembled with the touch of his arms about her. Thinking now of the partially crippled and bitter man he seemed to have become, her heart twisted.

Queenie stepped through the French doors into the games room. The furniture had been pushed aside and sunlight flooded through the opposite windows, illuminating a scene which struck her still and cold: TR with his arms wrapped around Jenni as they danced slowly in time to the music.

Queenie gasped and turned away, the one-two-three beat of the waltz hammering in her ears and stabbing at her heart.

Millie straightened up in the garden and picked up the gramma and headed back to the house. But she stopped when she saw the dark shape of Star dashing from the stables. There was no mistaking the figure of Queenie, her hair flying, as the horse galloped towards the creek. Millie hurried indoors. Queenie was home but something was very wrong.

TR was sitting alone in the kitchen as Millie came rushing through the door. ‘What’s going on, TR? I just saw Queenie going hell for leather to the hill on that mad horse of yours.’

‘She’s back. Walked in on our exercise session and took off before we could explain.’

‘Explain what?’ demanded Millie, dropping the giant gramma on the table with a thud.

‘I was trying to dance. It’s part of Jenni’s coordination exercises.’

‘Dancing? Holdin’ each other slow dancin’?’

“Fraid so. I suppose she jumped to the wrong conclusion. Jenni tried to stop her, but she took off somewhere.’

Millie yanked her hat from her head. ‘She’s out on Star, prob’ly cryin’ her eyes out. Let’s hope she doesn’t crash the horse,’ said Millie furiously. ’How could you two do somethin’ so stupid?’

‘Fair go, Millie. Jenni says she does this with all her patients.’

‘I bet,’ sniffed Millie.

‘Now just a minute, Millie, you’re being unfair to Jenni . . . ’

Millie shook her finger at TR. ‘And you’re hurtin’ Queenie, TR, and you will never forgive yourself when you come to your senses and realise what you’re doin’.’

TR stood up, awkwardly pushing back his chair and reaching for his crutches, his face flushed and angry. ‘I’m sick of people talking to me about this great love between Queenie and me. It means nothing to me. I don’t remember anything about it. What am I supposed to do? I don’t know her!’

‘Get to know her!’ shouted Millie.

They glared at each other for a moment then Millie rubbed her hand across her eyes. ‘I know it must be hard for you, TR, but it’s harder for Queenie and it breaks my heart, seein’ you two like this.’

‘I don’t know what to do, Millie. I just don’t know. Everyone expects too much,’ said TR in a sad tired voice as he limped from the room.

‘Everyone except Miss Jenni I s’pose,’ said Millie under her breath.

Queenie finally rode back to the stables, drained and exhausted. She dismounted and unsaddled Star, turned back to the tack room and saw TR sitting by the door, his crutches leaning against the wall. Spike resting his head against his master’s leg. TR was absently fondling the dog’s ears as he looked up at Queenie.

‘G’day. How was your ride?’ His voice was warm but hesitant.

‘All right. Star enjoyed it.’ Queenie walked past him to hang up the saddle and saddle blanket.

As she came back outside with the currycomb, TR caught her arm. ‘Take a pew for a minute.’ He indicated the hay bale beside him. Queenie sat reluctantly, avoiding looking at him.

‘Glad to hear you found the bulls. How did you manage that?’ asked TR.

‘A couple of lucky breaks, I guess. I met a swaggie . . . ’

‘That’d be Chipper. Dingo and Ernie said he was working over at Cricklewood.’

For a brief moment Queenie relaxed and almost forgot the estrangement between her and TR; but then, as she looked into the dazzling blue of his eyes and saw the blank shadows in their depths, she knew he was merely being polite. ‘Look, TR, are we going to sit here and make small talk or . . . ’

‘Or talk about what’s really bothering you? Queenie, you had no reason to go flying off like that. It wasn’t what it looked . . . Jenni has been using dancing as part of her therapy for years.’

‘You looked pretty happy waltzing around in there.’

TR tried not to smile at Queenie’s petulant response. ‘I am feeling pretty good about things actually. I suddenly feel more . . . positive. I’m anxious to get going on my legs and I just know everything else is going to fall into place too.’

‘Has there been any improvement? Have you remembered anything?’ asked Queenie.

TR shook his head. ‘No. But I don’t feel so depressed about things. I’ll have to learn to deal with my situation as best I can.’

‘I knew bringing you back to Tingulla would help,’ said Queenie, feeling her anger and hurt begin to subside.

‘Yes, but it’s not only Tingulla. It’s been the help of someone special . . . ’ TR was thinking of Snowy and the ceremonial singing, but Queenie jumped to her feet.

‘Yes, let’s not forget to give credit to the amazing dancing Jenni. I’m glad you’re feeling happy and progressing so well. I have to go and shower and change. I haven’t even said hello to Millie yet,’ said Queenie, storming off.

‘It was your idea to bring Jenni out here,’ he called after her, but Queenie didn’t turn around as she headed to the house.

Once on the front verandah, she took long deep breaths trying to calm herself. Then, mustering all her self-control, she marched in the front door, calling out loudly, ‘Hello, I’m back!’

Jenni came hurrying down the hall from the music room, Millie emerged from the kitchen and Ruthie hung over the upstairs bannister.

‘Queenie, I hope you don’t think there was anything . . . ’ began Jenni, but Queenie cut her off with a bright smile.

‘I’ve been talking to TR and I’m so happy he’s doing so well, that’s marvellous, Jenni.’ She brushed past her to give Millie a hug. ‘So how about my luck in getting our stock back, eh, Millie?’

‘Luck had little to do with it, my girl. You come along and tell me all about it.’ Millie led her firmly away and Jenni was left standing in the vestibule. She looked up at the beaming Ruthie, smiled briefly and went back to straightening the furniture in the music room.

Alone in the kitchen Millie turned to Queenie. ‘Now what’s going on?’

‘You tell me, Millie. I walked in on a cosy little scene with Jenni and TR. Maybe I just overreacted, I don’t know. I’m bushed, I want a bath, a hot meal and a sleep, and then I’m going to get up and start today all over again. So, how has TR been? Is Jenni really helping him?’

Millie wasn’t fooled by Queenie’s artificially bright manner. ‘Yeah, she’s been getting him goin’ pretty good. But you know how down he was, he wasn’t trying to help himself, so depressed and . . . what’s the word? Wanted to chuck it all in?’

‘Unmotivated.’

‘That’s it. Well, I was pretty worried so I talked to Snowy, and the men took him out and sang him. I reckon it’s changed his outlook. Course, Jenni don’t know about it. Only Dingo and Ernie and Jim. Snow’s bin spendin’ a lot of time with Ernie, showing him the old ways. Passin’ on the learnin’.’

‘Dear old Snowy, he is getting on,’ sighed Queenie.

‘And there’s more news,’ added Millie, making the inevitable pot of tea.

‘What, about the children?’

‘Yes, well. Now, Queenie luv . . . about Sas. Mebbe it’s not my place . . . but,’

‘She’s all right isn’t she?’ cut in Queenie with a worried look. She didn’t like the tone of Millie’s voice.

‘Oh yes, she’s never been better,’ said Millie. ‘She just quit university.’

‘What!’

‘Steady on, luv. She’s taken a year off, got a job — workin’ with horses — and is as happy as a sandboy.’

‘What’s going on, Millie? Where is she working? Who set all this up?’

Millie paused and then uttered the one word she knew would dismay Queenie. ‘Colin.’

‘What do you mean, Millie? How?’ Queenie was stunned and momentarily confused.

‘He’s back, luv. The family are living over at the Gold Coast. He’s running some resort. He gave Saskia a job running the horses. You know, tourist ride things.’

Over the years Queenie had tried to come to terms with the misery and heartache Colin had caused her and TR. She had tried on several occasions to make her peace with her brother but each time she had been spurned — the bitterness and anger he felt towards her ran too deep. Queenie felt saddened by the severed link, but while she had tried to forgive Colin, she could never forget. Nor would she ever trust him again. She knew he still harboured a grudge against her for what he saw as her scheming to gain possession of Tingulla and Cricklewood.

From snippets she’d heard over the years since he and Dina had been in Europe, she realised he’d squandered the substantial fortune their father had left him in stocks and prime Sydney real estate. But Colin would never admit that he had been foolish with his money — all his life his problems had been caused by someone else. He’d blamed Queenie for the major catastrophes that had befallen him, and Queenie didn’t doubt he now placed blame for any present difficulties at Dina’s feet.

At Millie’s news a mixture of emotions spun through Queenie’s head, and the strongest of all was fear — fear that Colin had returned to threaten her in some way.

‘Colin! I turn my back for a minute and he gets in the door making trouble. Well, I’ll put a stop to this quick smart.’

Millie pushed the teacup in front of Queenie. ‘Now just wait a minute, luv. Sas is lovin’ this job. And it does sound good. She’s bin dying to tell you all about it, but she didn’t want to tell you over the phone. Now, drink your tea. Piece of cake?’

‘I don’t trust Colin. What does Tango think?’

‘When we couldn’t stop her quittin’ he offered her a job at Guneda, but she wanted to do her own thing.’

Queenie bit into the slice of fruitcake and didn’t answer. She could understand how Saskia felt. While it was a shock to discover she’d gone against her wishes and dropped out of university, she recognised Saskia was expressing her independence. At least she had a job, doing something she liked by the sound of it. She felt a pang of hurt that it was Colin who’d given her the opportunity. She wouldn’t have minded if it had been anyone else in the world.

‘Well, I suppose it’s better than working as a cocktail waitress in some Gold Coast disco. I’d better phone her. What is this place?’

‘Harmony Hill. You go have your bath first and relax. She ain’t rushin’ off anywhere.’

Queenie put down her cup and stretched. ‘A bath sounds wonderful, I’ve been driving and riding for days. I also had a bit of a nasty time of it, Millie . . . the blokes that had the bulls . . . ah, never mind.’ Queenie suddenly felt like crying and wished she could go to TR and pour out the nightmare of that drunken man falling on her. She turned away, mumbling in a tired voice, ‘Thanks for the tea, Millie. And everything else . . . ’

‘There is some good news,’ called Millie after her. Smiling broadly she added, ‘Ernie and Ruthie’s got engaged’.

‘That’s lovely. That is good news.’ Queenie managed a smile. ‘I guess it isn’t any surprise when you think about it — they’ve been such pals for so many years. I’m very happy for both of them. I think they’ll be a good match, don’t you, Millie?’

‘I do. It’s very sensible.’ Millie’s expression softened. ‘And they’re right fond of each other.’

‘I’ll talk to her after my bath.’

Queenie headed upstairs to the master bedroom she once shared with TR. It was just as she’d left it. No sign that he had been in it. Of course — the stairs — he wouldn’t be able to manage them yet. She fell across the bed, exhausted and emotionally shattered, and let the hot tears flow.

Chapter Twenty-Five

‘So they’re all back at Cricklewood now, safe and well.’ Queenie had phoned Tango and was telling him the story of recovering the bulls. ‘It was pretty hairy at times and, frankly, not very nice.’ The cheerful note she’d been trying to keep in her voice faded.

‘You all right. Mum? I don’t think you’re giving me all the details.’

‘Oh, it’s over now. I didn’t need the shocks waiting for me back here though . . . Saskia quitting has really upset me. Didn’t you try to talk her out of it, Tango? I’m really angry at Colin. He’s so devious, I’m sure he must be up to something. It’s just too much of a coincidence that he, of all people, talks her out of uni then conveniently offers her a job. And just what sort of a place is it? I haven’t been able to talk to her yet.’

‘Mum, Saskia wasn’t coerced. In a way, Colin did her a favour. She’d made up her mind. You know she’s been miserable for months. And from what she’s told me, Harmony Hill sounds pretty nice. The big thing is she’s working with horses and is happy. It’s a job.’

Queenie sighed. ‘I’ll listen to what she has to say. But I do think it’s unfair of her to do this to me when I have so many other problems, and TR and . . . Jenni . . . It’s all very difficult. Tango.’ For a moment she sounded close to tears. Then she gave a brittle laugh, ‘Ah what the heck, we’ll soldier on. I’m pushing on with my wool plan. Dingo is coming back from Cricklewood for a couple of days then he’s going back home, so maybe things will get back to normal soon.’

‘Mum, don’t worry about Sas . . . ’

‘I’m not worried Tango. I’m just . . . well . . . never mind. Take care, darling.’

Tango knew his mother was trying not to worry him but she was obviously very distressed.

The next day Queenie walked around the verandah and rapped on the glass pane of the French doors.

‘Come in.’ TR was stretched out on the bed reading a book. ‘Hi.’ He smiled at Queenie then noticed her straw-coloured linen skirt, cream silk blouse and leather shoulder bag. A heavy gold heart hung around her throat and he wondered idly if he’d given it to her. ‘You look very nice. Where are you going?’

‘I’m very concerned about Saskia. I’m going over to the coast to see her and this place of Colin’s.’

‘Does she know you’re coming?’

‘No, I thought I’d ambush her.’ They smiled at each other and Queenie perched on the edge of a chair. ‘How are you feeling?’ she asked, noting TR’s pale face.

‘Only mild agony today. Might have done too much yesterday.’ He sighed. ‘I’m just so anxious to toss those damned crutches away and stop feeling like a cripple.’

‘Can I get you anything?’ asked Queenie, hating feeling so inadequate when it came to helping TR.

‘No thanks. Jenni will give me a massage. That always helps.’ They looked at each other awkwardly for a minute then TR changed the subject. ‘I wouldn’t worry too much about Saskia. She seems very sensible and very determined to follow her own drummer. I did try to talk her out of it. We all did. She can be a bit stubborn — like her mother, I think.’ The teasing smile still hovered around his mouth. ‘At least she is happy doing something she likes and it could lead to some sort of a career. The more she works with horses the more she’ll learn.’

‘What’s she going to learn pushing fat ladies onto horses and dragging them up a hill?’ demanded Queenie irritably.

‘Patience, good humour, and to watch her weight?’ suggested TR. When Queenie didn’t smile he added, ‘Look, go and see for yourself then and make your judgement after that’.

Queenie stood. ‘Yes, that’s what I’m doing. I just wish Colin wasn’t involved, I smell a rat when he’s around.’

‘I gather we don’t like brother Colin.’

‘No we don’t,’ snapped Queenie. ‘But let’s not get into that. Well, I’ll be off then.’ She went to the bed and kissed TR on the cheek. It was a swift brush of her lips and both felt shy about the contact.

TR looked up at her, marvelling at what a beautiful woman she was, wishing he could get to know her afresh, without all the baggage of their past. ‘Queenie, when you come back, perhaps we could talk more about this wool scheme of yours. I talked about it with Dingo, it sounds interesting. If I can help . . . be involved . . . ’

Queenie gave him her first happy smile since returning to Tingulla. ‘Oh yes, TR, I’d like that.’

He touched her hand lightly. ‘Don’t be too tough on Saskia, hear her out.’

Queenie turned at the French doors and gave TR another wide smile. ‘I’m a fair and reasonable woman, TR.’

‘Until crossed,’ thought TR to himself as he waved her goodbye.

Queenie stayed the night in a motel in Nerang and the following morning found directions to Harmony Hill. As she wound through the grounds to the carpark outside reception, Queenie had to admit it was an idyllic setting.

She walked past a frangipani tree where a set of metallic chimes tinkled sweetly from the branch on which they hung. She stood and listened to them singing in the breeze, then plucked several of the fragrant cream flowers and tucked them behind her ear. She flicked her fingers against the silver cylinders of the chimes and as she turned away a voice behind her said, ‘You’ve just sent a message halfway round the world’.

She spun around to see a man with a thick dark beard and warm merry brown eyes smiling at her. He was dressed in jeans and a flowered shirt with a frayed straw hat on his dark hair. He stuck out his hand. ‘Bruce Gaden. I work here. They’re nice, aren’t they? Coorabell Chimes, made by a musical madcap of a bloke near Byron Bay.’

‘What did you mean by sending a message?’ asked Queenie, taking an immediate liking to this man.

‘I’ve sent these chimes to friends all over the world. We also sell them here and visitors take them away. And it’s sort of an understanding that when the bells chime, a friend is thinking of you.’

‘That’s nice. This place is very pretty.’

‘Have you come to stay?’

‘No, actually. I wanted to see Saskia Redmond or Colin Hanlon.’

‘Not both together?’

‘No. Are they here?’

Bruce stared at the startingly lovely woman with the brilliant emerald eyes and face framed by waves of burnished golden-brown hair. ‘I bet you’re Saskia’s mother,’ he exclaimed.

Queenie laughed. ‘I am. And she doesn’t know I’m coming.’

‘Checking up, huh? Come over to my house and meet my wife — we’re near the stables and that’s probably where Sas is — and have a cup of tea or a fruit juice.’

Queenie was charmed by the Gadens’ rustic cottage and garden and felt immediately at ease with Ria. Little Greta was introduced but hung back shyly, trying to grapple with the concept of Saskia having a mother too.

‘I’ll put the kettle on. Greta, you take Sas’s mummy over to the stables and find Sas,’ said Ria.

The little girl took Queenie firmly by the hand and led her away. ‘Do you like horsies?’ she asked.

‘Oh very much.’

Greta nodded with satisfaction and Queenie felt she had passed some test. When they got to the stables Greta called out, ‘Sassy . . . I gotta surprise for yooooo’.

‘And what might that be?’ answered Saskia, emerging from the stalls with several bridles in her hands. Seeing Queenie she stopped, trying to gauge her reaction — she had been dreading this moment. Apprehensively, she moved forward and hugged her mother. ‘Why didn’t you tell me you were coming? I was going to call, I had a message you rang. That’s so great about finding the bulls, I knew you would.’ The words rushed out, trying to forestall the exchange she knew was coming.

She stepped back and studied Queenie, who was smiling gently at her. Saskia’s bright and hopeful expression suddenly changed to dismay. ‘Oh dear. Now you know about this job, you don’t approve, you’re going to try and talk me out of it. But it won’t work. Mum.’

‘Steady on, Sas. It would have been nice to have discussed it first, I have to admit.’

‘I had to make a decision quickly at uni, Mum, and you were out there in the scrub. And anyway, no matter what you might have said, I still would have left.’

‘Sas, I just want what’s best for you. I want you to have choices in your life.’

‘That’s exactly why I’m doing this.’ Saskia led her mother to the railing where they leaned comfortably. Sas picked Greta up and perched her on the top railing, holding onto her. ‘I’ve only deferred uni for a year, I’ll go and get my degree if this year out doesn’t work. And this just seemed too good a chance to miss. I’ve set this whole horse deal up here, the admin and money side of it as well as finding the horses, getting them used to the trail — which I also laid out — ’

‘What about Colin?’ interjected Queenie. ‘He just spells trouble.’

‘Mum, I know there’s some sort of feud between you two, but he helped me out because we’re family. It was a sheer accident that I ran into him and Dina on the coast and when I told him I was sick of uni, wanted to work with horses, he offered me this. I’m helping him out too.’

‘What’s his involvement with this place?’

‘He’s the manager; Bruce runs the day-today side of things. Colin still lives over at the coast but stays here most of the week. He spends weekends with Dina and has meetings with her father and their associates. I don’t know much about that side of things.’

‘Dina’s father is involved with this place?’

Saskia glanced in surprise at her mother, who seemed horrified. ‘Alfredo Camboni? Yeah, he owns it. But he doesn’t have anything to do with it; Colin says he’s not interested in it — he’s too tied up in the casino they’re building.’

‘My God, I knew it! What goes on here? This is probably a cover for some money-laundering operation.’

Saskia burst out laughing. ‘You’re being paranoid. Mum. Come on, look around. There’s a horse I want to show you. Come and look in the stables first.’

Saskia gave her mother a tour of the stalls and stables; then, with Greta dashing ahead, they went down to the paddock where Toffee was kept. Queenie let out a low whistle as she saw the beautiful bay thoroughbred canter across the grass. ‘That’s a great looking horse. Can he race?’

‘He has a few problems. It’s a long story, I’ll tell you about it over a cuppa.’

‘Heavens, what is that child doing, Saskia? Get her back, she’ll get hurt.’

Tiny Greta was running on her short chubby legs across the paddock towards the giant racehorse. ‘It’s all right. Mum, I’ll go get her, but the little monkey does this all the time.’ Saskia ducked between the rails and hurried after Greta.

The child stood still in the middle of the paddock as Toffee trotted swiftly to her and stopped in front of her. Greta walked up to the horse and gave it a hug around its knees; her head didn’t even reach up to the horse’s body. Queenie’s heart was in her mouth, hoping the child wouldn’t move behind the animal, willing Saskia to hurry. But the horse seemed to know Greta was a little person who was to be treated with gentleness. Toffee hung down his head and Greta grabbed his mane behind his ears; then Toffee lifted his head, arched his neck and swung the little girl high in the air. He lowered her back to the ground and barely had her feet touched the ground than he lifted her into the air once more, her squeals of delight echoing around the paddock.

‘Again, Toff!’ she cried.

‘That’s enough, Greta,’ said Saskia, plucking the little girl from the horse’s neck. Toffee tossed his head, shook his mane and cantered rapidly away as Saskia led Greta back to the fence to where Queenie was shaking her head and laughing.

‘I hope you didn’t teach her that, Sas!’

‘No, Greta and Toffee invented that game. I have to watch her all the time. But it’s strange, she sometimes gets in the yard with half a dozen horses and pushes them around by their front legs, getting them into place, but they all do what she says and are very careful with her.’

‘Animals seem to know to take care of the baby of a species,’ said Queenie as she took Greta’s hand, leading her back to the Gadens’ house.

‘I’m not a baby,’ pouted Greta.

‘No, you’re a bossy boots,’ laughed Queenie, ‘and I’m glad I don’t have Saskia’s job, I couldn’t manage all those horses and you, Greta! But it does seem like a nice sort of job nonetheless,’ she added, looking lovingly at her daughter.

‘I’m happy here,’ said Saskia returning her mother’s affectionate look.

‘Good,’ declared Greta, closing the subject.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Tango was troubled. He sensed there was more behind his recent conversation with Queenie than she was revealing. The journey to recover the bulls had obviously drained her and she had been under constant strain since TR’s accident. Now she was planning to move ahead with setting up the fellmongery and revitalising the old tannery. But he suspected there was something else she wasn’t telling him. As always when he wanted to think. Tango went down to the stables.

Tubs of blazing bright geraniums stood around the flagstone courtyard by the horse stalls. Tango wandered through the stalls, murmuring to the horses, breathing in the sweet smell of fresh hay. In one of the breeding boxes a thoroughbred broodmare was lying down resting, her swollen belly showing she was close to term. Tango read the vet’s check written on her chart by the door showing all was in order. The foal, sired by Sweet William, was due in two days. Peering inside he saw the magnificent chestnut mare had company. Dennis, the injured young jockey whom TR had befriended in hospital, was seated on the straw by the mare. His wheelchair was by the wall.

He glanced up and saw Tango. ‘Just keeping her company. I reckon she’s missing her stablemate and she seemed a bit stressed.’

‘Good idea, Denny. How’s it going? You settling in okay?’

‘I am. I manage to keep pretty busy too . . . despite the chair. I’m real grateful to you and TR for giving me this job. I’ll pull me weight as best I can.’ The crippled boy looked down at the mare, and stroked her neck. ‘I know I’ll never ride again, but it’s real good to be around the horses.’

‘I know what you mean. I’ll catch you later, Denny.’

‘Righto. I’ll be back in the office this afternoon, got a lot of reports to write up.’

Tango smiled and left. The boy had an uncanny head for figures and was proving quite an asset, doing some of the paperwork and book-keeping that Tango detested.

Tango debated about seeing Mick down at the track but decided against it, wanting to be on his own to think things through. Guneda was running smoothly, the horses in training were coming along well, as were the breeding and stud programmes. But decisions would have to be made in the coming months and Tango hoped TR would be part of that process. Even if his memory hadn’t returned he would have to start getting involved in the business again. His knowledge and instinct with horses were still intact, he’d shown flashes of that in casual conversation. If they couldn’t have the old TR back then a new TR was going to have to take his place.

With a sudden burst of insight. Tango realised Queenie faced the same problem. It was all very well re-educating a man for a job but how did you resurrect his old emotional life? If we could live life over, would we do the same things? Marry the same people? Fall in love again the way we did before? His beautiful mother, who’d found the love of her life, lost him, then found him again was now facing an even worse kind of loss — no wonder she was feeling insecure and unhappy.

Tango had experienced a few semiserious flirtations and had extricated himself from distraught and desperate partners, but in his heart he knew he was looking for a love that was all-conquering and complete — a love like his parents. Leaning on a white painted railing and watching racehorses Guilder and Barnstorm prance in a field together. Tango made up his mind. As soon as Royal Robes, the chestnut mare gave birth, he would leave for Tingulla. He wanted to see Jenni again.

TR and Jenni were in the swimming pool at Tingulla working through an aqua-exercise routine. The pool had been put in by Queenie and Warwick when Saskia was born and Warwick had insisted on it being oversize so he could swim long laps for exercise. It was made from natural stone with neutral pool tiles that reflected the colour of the sky. Surrounded by an expanse of green lawn the pool area was screened by trees and shrubs and even a palm or two.

TR stopped to catch his breath, hanging onto the edge of the pool. ‘My legs are aching, Jenni. In fact, they feel like they may drop off.’

‘That’s good. This is the best exercise you can do, TR — it uses all the muscles with no strain.’ She swam over to him. ‘Float for a bit on your back and rest.’

TR floated with his eyes closed. ‘I wish I felt as free on the land as I do in the water.’ ‘You will. Think how far you’ve come in such a short time.’

He opened his eyes and looked at Jenni, thinking she looked no older than Saskia. She wasn’t wearing any make-up, her short blonde hair was damp and it clung to her delicately shaped head. Her neat compact body, sheathed in a yellow one-piece bathing suit, was rounded but boyish, her hidden strength defined in her lean muscles.

‘I owe you a lot, Jenni. You’ve been very patient with a grouchy old bloke,’ TR said with a lopsided grin.

‘It’s my job,’ she answered. ‘And you’re not grouchy — well, not so much now — and you’re certainly not old.’

‘I feel it sometimes. I guess my days of sowing wild oats are well and truly over,’ he joked.

Jenni was standing on tiptoe, the water above her shoulders. She reached out and touched TR’s cheek. ‘Not necessarily,’ she said softly.

TR swung his feet down to the bottom of the pool so he was standing close to Jenni. He was still holding her hand. They stared at each other for a moment and Jenni saw how long his eyelashes fringing his blue eyes were. Droplets of water sparkled on his lashes and she reached up to his face with her other hand as TR closed his eyes and lowered his face to hers. His lips brushed against hers, then Jenni’s passive mouth burned to life, kissing him back with a force that made him stumble. She wrapped her arms about him and held him close as he began to kiss her back. Jenni’s nipples were hard and erect, thrusting through the thin covering of her swimsuit and jutting into the smooth skin of TR’s chest. He ran his hands down the slinky wet length of her back, one hand travelling over her hips and buttocks drawing her body close to his.

Suddenly he pulled away. ‘No. This isn’t right.’ He fell backwards under the water and sidestroked away from her, bursting to the surface near the pool steps.

Jenni didn’t move. Shivering, she watched him pull himself clumsily out of the pool and flop onto the grass. He buried his face in his towel, fiercely rubbing his face as if to wipe away all traces of her kiss. With tears in her eyes Jenni turned away.

Queenie and Saskia walked arm in arm through the gardens to the Gadens’ house for lunch. Queenie knew Colin would be there too and she felt sick with apprehension at seeing her brother after so many years.

Ria, Bruce, and Colin were gathered on the patio when Queenie and Saskia arrived. Saskia glanced at her mother and swiftly squeezed her hand.

Colin took the initiative and stepped forward, giving Queenie and Saskia a light kiss on the cheek.

‘Hello Colin,’ said Queenie in a neutral voice.

He stepped back and spread his hands. ‘I’m astounded, you look the same as you did at Saskia’s age.’

‘Thank you. I can see you’ve learned some of that Italian charm,’ said Queenie without changing her expression. Although she appeared cool and calm, Queenie was flustered. The sight of Colin had sent an angry electric current tingling through every fibre of her body. Whatever feelings she thought she’d let go came surging back. Behind the new facade was the same old Colin, though Queenie had to admit he certainly had acquired an attractive, if slightly decadent, veneer of sophistication.

Bruce’s voice cut in on her thoughts. ‘I was thinking that too — you could pass for sisters. Saskia, what do you both want to drink?’

‘Juice for me, thanks.’

‘I brought some white wine,’ said Colin, ‘a Rosemount chardonnay. Queenie, a glass?’

‘Thank you, Colin.’

Ria and Bruce exchanged a swift glance. The civility was chilling. Ria excused herself to go to the kitchen to see why there was ominous silence from Greta, who’d been left to shell peas.

‘Make sure Pansy isn’t getting stuck into them,’ Colin called after her and they all laughed, except Queenie, who didn’t know about the house-broken Shetland.

‘How’s TR doing?’ said Colin.

‘He’s coming on. How is Dina?’ Queenie continued the small talk as Bruce took Saskia inside with him to help in the kitchen. ‘We’ll let you guys catch up a bit,’ he said, hoping the ice in the air would melt in the meantime.

‘Dina is all right. She likes having her father near and living at the Gold Coast — for the time being.’ Colin handed Queenie a glass of the chilled white wine. ‘So, how are you really, Queenie?’ he asked bluntly.

‘Colin, this is very difficult for me. When I got back and found what Saskia had done, I was very angry with you . . .’

‘Hey, it wasn’t my idea, Queenie. You always blame me right off, don’t you.’

‘Let me finish. I knew she’d been a bit frustrated at uni but I felt she could have hung on till she got her degree. I got the impression that you persuaded her with some shonky job offer, just to get at me.’

‘That’s bloody unfair. Typical of the way you think about me though.’

‘You haven’t given me much cause to think otherwise, Colin,’ snapped Queenie.

‘Listen, this is not a shonky outfit, even high and mighty Queenie Hanlon must concede that. I needed someone to set up and run the horseriding. Saskia fell into my lap.’ He shrugged and spread his hands again, an easy smile on his face. ‘It suits both of us. After all, blood is thicker . . . eh?’

Queenie shivered at his words — ‘Saskia fell into my lap’. He suddenly seemed like an evil spider about to pounce on an unsuspecting fly. Alarm bells rang in her head. Colin was up to no good — she recognised the signs. Queenie took a step forward and spoke in a harsh low voice. ‘Let’s get one thing straight, Colin. You tried to ruin my life once. I won’t let you try again with my daughter’s life. You cause her one moment of harm and you will wish you’d never been born, brother of mine or not.’

If they’d been alone Colin would have let loose with the verbal bile that was burning in his throat, but instead he stepped backwards, a thin smile appearing around his mouth but not in his eyes. ‘Why, Queenie, Saskia isn’t going to fall on her face or get led astray — she’s your daughter, isn’t she? I’m sure she’s learned well from you.’

‘I bloody well hope so, Colin.’ Queenie turned on her heels and marched into the kitchen, her knees shaking. Why was Colin the only person who could get under her skin and make her so angry and fearful? He had almost destroyed her once but she had beaten him. Now she had the terrible feeling that he wanted to try again.

The Gadens were perched in the kitchen, Greta on Saskia’s lap. They all looked up at Queenie expectantly.

‘Is there blood on the floor?’ grinned Bruce.

Seeing Queenie’s pale face, Ria hurriedly pushed him towards the door. ‘Go and put the fish on the barbecue; keep Colin occupied for a bit.’ As Bruce left, Ria gave Greta a pile of paper napkins. ‘Go put these at everyone’s place on the table, Greta.’

‘Well, Mum, has Colin convinced you this place isn’t growing crops of marijuana or laundering mafia money?’ grinned Saskia, trying to defuse her mother’s anger.

‘What!’ exclaimed Ria, bursting into laughter.

‘That’s not funny, Sas,’ said Queenie. ‘I think Harmony Hill, and you Ria, and Bruce, are great. And I’m happy you like what you’re doing. But believe me, Sas, Colin is up to something. I just don’t trust him. I’m sorry Ria, but I know him too well.’

‘You don’t think your past hurts and present insecurities could be influencing you?’ asked Ria gently.

‘Not to mention a touch of over protective mother it is?’ added Saskia with a smile.

Queenie looked at the impish face of her daughter and the sweet face of Ria. Maybe she was being paranoid and overreacting. She sighed! ‘You could be right. I’m sorry to spoil your lunch, Ria. Let’s forget it and go out and make the best of it,’ she said, struggling to smile.

‘Nothing has been spoiled,’ said Ria, taking Queenie’s arm. ‘Unless Bruce has done something dreadful to our giant snapper.’

The strained atmosphere between Queenie and Colin continued through lunch but was ignored by everyone. Colin went out of his way to be especially charming and funny and no one but Queenie guessed at the bitter anger that was festering beneath his smooth exterior.

As soon as he could, Colin excused himself saying he had a meeting in Surfers Paradise. He thanked the Gadens, waved to Saskia and went to Queenie, giving her a kiss on either cheek European-style. ‘Give my regards to Millie and all. Look after yourself, Queenie . . . Watch your back,’ he said with a wicked grin and a wink at Saskia.

Queenie turned away and didn’t answer. She longed to take refuge in TR’s arms. Normally he would have helped her dismiss the whole episode as trivial and typical Colin and would have made her laugh. But this time Queenie knew that wasn’t going to happen — TR was too wrapped up in himself and Jenni. Queenie suddenly felt she had no sense of humour left, no husband, and a daughter who thought she was being paranoid about a man whom everyone else regarded as a rather harmless and charming rogue.

Queenie knew only her work at Tingulla and Cricklewood would see her through this bitter time. Work would be her salvation until the other wrinkles in her life began to smooth out.

Later in the afternoon Queenie said goodbye to the Gadens and said sincerely that she wished she could stay on as a guest.

Ria took her hands and looked into her eyes, seeing the sadness in their green depths. ‘Any time you want, Queenie. You can have total privacy. You need a little meditation time and nurturing, I think.’

‘And a massage, Mum. Ria gives wonderful massages. She fixes my sore back after riding.’

‘And it’s also good for sore spirits and restoring positive energy,’ said Ria softly.

‘I’ll remember that. Keep an eye on my rascal of a daughter, won’t you,’ said Queenie, grateful this warm and caring woman was near to Saskia.

Ria slipped an arm around Saskia’s shoulders. ‘We’ll do that, never fear. Greta tells everyone she has a new sister . . . which has led to some interesting speculation in the village,’ laughed Ria.

Saskia walked to the car with her mother. ‘Thanks for coming up to see me. Even if it started out as an earbashing it’s been lovely to see you. I hope your mind is at rest now, Mum.’

‘In some respects. Just remember I love you, Sas, and I’m always here for you, no matter what.’ They hugged tightly, both close to tears. Queenie got in her car and leaned out the window. ‘Good luck with Toffee, that’s a heck of a horse. If you can get him racing properly I’ll back him all the way home!’

Dingo turned up back at Tingulla from Cricklewood where everything was back to normal and running smoothly. Ernie had gone back to Cricklewood to join Chipper, who looked like unpacking his swag and settling down in one place for a while. With Dingo about Tingulla, TR and Jenni avoided being left alone too much. Jenni had regained her professional demeanour and began her teasing banter with TR again but at times TR caught her looking at him with a wistful expression.

Having a cup of tea with Millie while TR and Jenni were doing their morning exercises, Dingo commented, ‘As soon as Queenie gets back from seeing Sas I’ll be heading back to the west. By crikey, I hope next time I see you things are back to normal. Or as normal as they’re going to get.’

‘Oh, we’ll all get there, don’ worry ’bout that, Dingo. I don’ think Queenie is gonna haul Sas home by the pigtails. Both the properties seem to be goin’ okay and she has these new plans . . . It’s just TR now.’

‘I think he’s made amazing progress. The singing helped his attitude and that’s made a big difference.’

‘I wasn’t thinkin’ of his health. It’s him and Jenni, they’re too friendly to my mind, if you know what I mean.’ She looked at Dingo, seeking some helpful answers.

Dingo downed his cup and reached for his hat off the back of the chair. ‘Don’t look at me, Millie. We blokes aren’t any good at sorting out those kind of matters. Let ’em get on with it, nothing much we can do. If she’s helping him get better that’s good. Until he remembers who he is and who everyone else is and recaptures those feelings, you can’t blame him for just following his instincts.’

‘But it ain’t right, Dingo . . . She’s just a young girl.’

‘And a very pretty one, eh?’ laughed Dingo, pushing back his chair. ‘Stop worrying, Millie, take it as it comes. Ta for the tea. I’m off to the wethers then I’ll be with the studmaster sorting out some of those old rams.’

Queenie drove up to the front entrance of Tingulla and tooted the horn to announce her arrival. Ruthie appeared with a dusting cloth at the front door.

‘Hi, Ruthie. How’s the bride-to-be?’ called Queenie.

Ruthie draped the cloth on her head like a veil, held out the corners of her skirt and did a little dance.

Queenie laughed and took her small bag from the back seat as Millie appeared behind the capering Ruthie. ‘Get on with you, Ruthie,’ scolded Millie with a smile.

Queenie hurried up the steps and gave Millie a hug. ‘So, luv, you look happy. Everything okay with Sas then?’

‘Oh yes. Harmony Hill is a lovely place, run by a sweet couple. Sas is doing very well and is quite happy.’

‘But what?’ prompted Millie seeing a shadow cross Queenie’s face.

‘If it wasn’t for Colin’s and Camboni’s involvement, I’d be quite happy.’ She paused. ‘I saw Colin.’

Millie stopped in the hall and spun around in shock. ‘You did what? How did that go? I bet he hasn’t changed,’ she sniffed.

‘No. Well, he’s added a lot of Italian charm and phoney manners. But I still don’t trust him an inch and it worries me he is so close to Saskia. I still can’t believe it was just a coincidence they ran into one another. I’ve warned Saskia but she thinks I’m overreacting. Being overprotective.’

‘So you should be where Colin’s concerned,’ said Millie, heading upstairs with Queenie’s bag.

‘Hey there. Welcome home.’

Queenie turned to see TR leaning on a crutch and smiling at her.

‘Has the daughter been cut out of the will or is she still in the fold?’ he grinned.

‘Still in the fold, but doing her own thing. She’s set up a wonderful riding school for the guests and she’s even trying to train a racehorse . . . TR, it’s the most magnificent looking animal.’

TR turned towards the verandah, ‘Come and let me sit down and tell me all about it.’

Millie paused at the top of the stairs and, watching Queenie and TR walk slowly together out to the verandah, smiled with satisfaction.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Tango was called after dinner and told that the chestnut mare was foaling. Mick and Dennis were watching the mare in the loose box through the screened window. Mick had hoisted Dennis up onto a high-backed stool and he clung to the metal bar across the window in fascination. A shaded light hung above and the stall was filled with deep straw. The mare had been pacing about, her tail raised, frequently looking back at her flanks.

‘How are things looking?’ asked Tango.

‘Too early to tell yet,’ said Mick. The contractions are gettin’ stronger, she lies down and then gets up and paces.’

‘She’s sweating,’ said Dennis in a worried tone.

‘That’s normal. You ever seen a foal born, Denny?’

‘Nope. Never been around at the right time. Is it okay for me to watch?’

Tango smiled at him. ‘You bet. We try to leave the mother alone for as long as possible unless she needs help.’

Two hours passed and Mick brought them all hot mugs of tea as the three men watched the mare strain and grunt. They told Dennis of the history of Sweet William and how they hoped he would now sire a Melbourne Cup winner. As they watched, the mare stood and with a gush her waters broke as she shifted position, lay down and continued her straining.

‘You know, I have a funny feeling about this one. I reckon it’s going to be special,’ said Tango.

‘What are you gonna call it?’ Dennis sensed the excitement of expectation and smiled at Tango.

‘We never name them till we see ’em. Course, they gotta have their registration name an’ stuff. But Tango and TR always git a name for ’em that’s spot on,’ said Mick.

‘Who does this foal belong to, or is it for sale?’ asked Dennis.

‘This one belongs to Guneda. But if it’s a good one we’ll keep it. And like I said, I think this is a special one,’ enthused Tango.

‘Ain’t here yet,’ said Mick, stifling a yawn.

At that moment the angular forelegs of the foal appeared, wrapped in a white film of membrane. A short while later the head appeared, lying along its legs, but then all progress stopped. After some time Tango went quietly in to the mare and waited; then, with her next straining heave, he grasped the forelegs above the fetlocks and pulled downwards, easing the foal from the birth passage. Dennis’s face was full of joy. ‘Wow!’ he breathed.

Tango freed the air passages and mouth, slipped a flat brown object from the foal’s mouth and stepped away, leaving the mare and foal to separate themselves as nature intended.

He joined Mick and Dennis as the mare whinnied in delight and began licking her foal. Later they watched the foal wobble to its feet and instinctively feel its way along its mother’s flank to find the udder.

‘It’s a beauty,’ whispered Dennis, emotion shining in his eyes.

‘Bloody oath,’ agreed Mick with a big grin.

Tango looked at the tiny foal whose coat had the same red-gold gleam of its mother but had a pure white mane and tail, and on its forehead a small white star.

‘I think a beer’s in order to celebrate,’ declared Tango.

While Mick helped Dennis into his wheelchair, Tango slipped back into the stall and scooped up the brown liverish milt that had been in the foal’s mouth to prevent water entering during birth. He’d never seen one before and he knew according to country legend it was supposed to bring great luck if dried and placed on the roof of the stable. He decided it was an omen.

Stepping out into the dawn light Tango caught up with Mick pushing Dennis’s wheelchair. ‘You remember this night, Denny, I reckon we’ve seen a Melbourne Cup winner born.’ Mick and Dennis nodded. They wouldn’t forget this night.

The following day the vet came and checked Royal Robes and her foal, declaring all was in order and agreeing the little colt had star quality.

With his mind at ease about the foal and Guneda in general, Tango told Mum Ryan he’d be off again.

The old housekeeper looked disappointed. ‘You flit about like a flutterbye; I miss having you and TR about the place. But those boys will keep me company. That young Denny is a nice lad. Starting to come out of his shell now.’

‘Good. I knew you’d start to mother-hen him . . . and, Mum Ryan, its flit by like a butterfly . . . Where’d you get flutterbye from?’

‘From my granny and she’s right, that’s what they do — flutter by you.’

Tango shook his head. ‘I never had a granny to teach me such important facts of life.’

‘That’s what grannies are for. I wish you’d settle down and start a family yourself. We could do with some youngsters round here.’

‘Make do with Dennis, he’s not even eighteen. It’ll be a while before I find the right girl.’

‘You don’t have to try ’em all out before you choose one,’ called Mum Ryan to Tango as he headed for his suite along the verandah.

Tango laughed but in his heart he wondered if he might have found the right girl after all.

Queenie chose her moment to suggest to TR that they sit on the verandah so she could outline her wool plan to him. She handed him a cup of tea and he smiled at her warmly, a faint hint of amusement in his bright blue eyes.

‘I feel as if I’m a board of investment bankers,’ he grinned.

Queenie returned his smile, a glow lighting up her face. She had always loved discussing things with TR. They’d shared everything and she missed the close communication between them. As always TR listened attentively, asking pertinent questions. Together they went through the structure of Tingulla Wool and Leather Enterprises, its goals, financing, and future function.

‘It’s ridiculous that most of Australian wool is exported offshore to be processed,’ sighed Queenie as they finished their tea.

TR gave her a shrewd glance. ‘You should push the government to set up a super mill. Then we could churn out masses of woolies, like jumpers and blankets, from our raw wool rather than importing back our own wool as processed goods.’

‘I just might do that,’ laughed Queenie. ‘The wool people do their best, but maybe they need someone to head a committee and make a few moves in that direction.’

‘I wouldn’t be game enough to say no to you,’ grinned TR. ‘So whatever you want me to do, just say.’

‘Oh, I will. And I welcome any input. This is a Tingulla enterprise.’ Although TR was unaware of their past closeness, this talk had brought them closer and it gave Queenie a renewed sense of hope and excitement that they could recover the lost ground between them. But the feeling didn’t last long. Queenie looked up with a flash of annoyance to see Jenni walking along the verandah towards them carrying a glass of water.

TR smiled, ‘Pill time, I can tell’.

Jenni was wearing a short skirt and stretch-knit T-shirt, her blonde hair tied up in two bunches above each ear. She looked pert and sexy in a little girl sort of a way. She handed TR the water and two capsules in a small plastic cup. ‘Excuse me, TR, but it’s time for your massage and we have a new hurdle today.’

TR swallowed the pills. ‘God, what fresh hell have you cooked up now?’ he asked, smiling at her.

Queenie glanced at them both, feeling like she was suddenly invisible. ‘I’ll leave you to it. See you later.’ She walked angrily away.

‘What are we doing then?’ persisted TR, anxious for any new challenge that helped him progress.

‘Tackling the stairs.’

‘Oh, I see. Righto, you’re the boss.’

‘And depending on how we go this week, we might ditch the crutches and use just a cane.’ TR sighed. ‘Then I’ll only look like a semiinvalid.’

‘Now TR,’ admonished Jenni, ‘I thought you’d be pleased. Come on, back to work.’ She held out her hands; TR grasped them and allowed her to pull him out of the chair. He reached for his crutches and followed her inside. Jenni looked over her shoulder. ‘We’ll do some limbering exercises first,’ she said and smiled warmly.

Queenie shut the door of her office and resisted the impulse to kick the wastepaper basket across the room. Seeing TR and Jenni together reinforced the bond they shared and the gap between him and herself. Jenni was very professional with TR — in front of Queenie anyway — so she couldn’t criticise her for any breach of ethics. But the confident young woman made Queenie feel insecure. Jenni exuded health and energy and a fresh sexiness that threatened Queenie’s sense of her own femininity and attractiveness. TR, who had always sworn undying love, had rejected her. No matter what reasons there were for this, it didn’t make the pain any less and she felt herself sinking into depression again.

She laughed bitterly to herself. All those people who thought Queenie Hamilton had it all and was unconquerable wouldn’t believe how she was feeling now. She couldn’t believe it herself. ‘Oh TR, please come back to me,’ she murmured aloud. ‘Until you do, neither of us will be whole again.’

Several hours later there was a tap at Queenie’s door. She put down her pen and rubbed her eyes. ‘Come in,’ she called, thinking it was Millie with a welcome cup of tea.

Tea had arrived but it was Tango who came in with the tray, kicking the door shut behind him. Tea’s served, madame.’

‘Tango! What a glorious surprise!’ As he slid the tray on her desk Queenie rushed around to give him a hug. She held him tightly. ‘Oh, you don’t know how pleased I am to see you.’

Tango pulled away and gazed into Queenie’s strained face and sad eyes. ‘Yes I do. That’s why I came.’

Queenie pushed a lock of hair back from his forehead. ‘You knew I was down, didn’t you?’

‘I figured you might like to dump your feelings on me. I know you used to share stuff with Sas but she’s got her own thing going. And, well, for a whole lot of reasons, even with my youthful male perspective, I thought you might like to talk or just have a shoulder to cry on, or a head to box. Whatever.’

Queenie felt tears well in her eyes as she looked up into his face, the same azure blue eyes as TR’s, the same lopsided grin. But Tango had a lot of Queenie’s spirit in him and she knew they communicated on some inner level without always needing words. The son she’d been forced to give up as a baby had been returned to her and now she saw him as a man.

‘I always thought you’d be my boy, I could see myself telling you how to brush your teeth when you were forty. But now I see you as my best bloke friend. And I have this feeling no matter what I do you’ll be there to help me along.’

‘That’s always been the case, Mum,’ he said softly.

‘Oh, I know,’ said Queenie brushing away a tear, ‘but I always thought of you as my child, that I had to look after you. Now I feel you can look after me. Oh gosh, does that make me sound like an old lady? I’m feeling so wretched. I’m losing my looks, I feel rejected, I feel threatened, I feel so . . . unwanted.’

‘You are in a bad way,’ said Tango as he poured the tea and Queenie slumped onto the leather sofa.

‘Do you suppose I’m having a midlife crisis?’ asked Queenie glumly.

‘I dunno. But there are perfectly good reasons for you to feel the way you do.’

‘I keep telling myself that, but it doesn’t make me feel any better,’ sighed Queenie, sipping the tea.

‘Look, we all know why TR isn’t relating to you — you present a challenge and a threat to him.’

‘How? I’ve tried to be nonjudgemental and not to put any pressure on him,’ said Queenie despairingly.

‘But the pressure is still there. You come with the baggage of a past together that he doesn’t remember. That sets up expectations he doesn’t know how to handle.’

‘Whereas Jenni is unencumbered,’ said Queenie harshly.

‘Yes. He remembers everything about their relationship, it’s just started. She has been there for him and with him during some tough times, he’s exposed himself to her in a way he wouldn’t want you or any of the family to see. He’s wept, he’s got angry, he’s fallen over, and she’s held him up — physically and emotionally. It’s natural there should be a very close bond between them.’

‘It doesn’t stop it hurting me though,’ added Queenie in a small voice.

Tango reached out and touched Queenie’s knee. ‘But you can’t fight it either, Mum. The more you try to move close to TR the further away you’re pushing him.’

‘So what do I do then? Nothing? Just stand back and watch him fall in love with a woman young enough to be his daughter. Where does that leave me?’ Tears splashed down her face.

Tango didn’t answer for a second as he struggled to cover his confusion. Surely his mother had misinterpreted the relationship between Jenni and his father. Taking a deep breath he reached for the tea pot and topped up their cups, saying, ‘I would say Jenni has gotten more involved with Dad than she normally would because he’s her only patient and they’re living under the same roof. She told me a special bond develops between her and all her patients. She represents their security, their safety, their hope for getting well. And maybe she could be a bit infatuated with him,’ he added slowly. ‘Dad is TR Hamilton after all — handsome with a great sense of humour, and a strength of character and sensitivity that any woman would fall for.’

‘Great,’ mocked Queenie. ‘Go on. Is this supposed to be making me feel better?’

Tango tried to smile. ‘Listen, Mum, let me tell you how to handle this from the male’s point of view. I speak from vast experience here of course,’ he grinned.

‘So what do I do?’

‘Nothing.’

‘Nothing? Just stand back and watch Jenni entice TR into her own life?’

‘Don’t give Jenni unscrupulous motives, Mum, she’s not a scheming girl.’

‘She must be something, now even you’re defending her!’ Queenie flared.

‘Settle down, Mum,’ said Tango patiently. And suddenly Queenie laughed ruefully. Here was Tango being the placating adult to a recalcitrant child. Tango continued, ‘Like I said, you just get on with your life and take it one day at a time and for once let matters take their own course. You’re going to have to trust the angels on this one. If you and TR are meant to be, you will be. If it means you both start over again, you’ll have to slowly rebuild what you had. If it means you both start a new life apart, then that’s what has to be.’

‘No, I won’t accept that.’

‘What choice do you have, Mum?’ asked Tango gently. ‘You can’t force TR to love you.’

Queenie pulled a crumpled tissue from her pocket and blew her nose. ‘You’re right I suppose. Not that I like it. I tell you what though, if those two really did get together, I’d feel pretty insecure if I were them. What if TR woke up one morning in bed with Jenni and his memory came back? What then? You know it could happen any time.’

‘Then I wouldn’t want to be in either of their shoes,’ said Tango with a grin. ‘So don’t worry about it. Fate will sort it out. Move ahead with your wool project. It’s all looking very good, I hear.’

‘Yes, the man I talked to about the fellmongery tried his technique out on some of the merino hides and it works brilliantly — no chemicals, no pollutants. Come and I’ll show you the skins. It’d make a fabulous jacket for you.’

They stood and Queenie smiled at Tango. Thank you, darling. I feel much better. How come you’re such a wise boy?’

Tango hugged her. ‘Because you’re the mother that I thought I’d lost and I love you very much and I’d kill for you if it would make you happy.’

Queenie stroked his face. ‘I don’t deserve you.’

‘Oh yes, you do.’ Tango took her hand. ‘Show me the makings of this flash new jacket I’m going to get.’

She linked her arm through his and chatted eagerly about the new safe technique for getting the wool off the sheepskin hides. Tango glanced over his shoulder and saw Millie hovering in a doorway. He gave her a swift smile and a wink and Millie sighed with relief, but Tango was still disturbed.

TR tackled the grand cedar staircase. Jenni stood close by giving advice and encouragement as he hauled himself up the stairs, using the broad bannister and his newly acquired walking cane as support. He began to get the hang of lifting each leg up a step. Jenni stood behind him on the step below to give him a feeling of security.

TR was sweating with exertion and nerves. But he made it to the landing and stood motionless, holding on with both hands, aware his knees were shaking.

‘Take a deep breath or two, TR. If you want to, sit on the next stair for a minute,’ she advised.

TR sat on the bottom step of the curving section of the staircase that led to the upper floor. Jenni sat beside him and gazed at the portraits of Rose and Patrick Hanlon. ‘They look like nice people.’

TR looked at the portraits and although they were strangers to him, for a moment he had a feeling of great warmth, as if he had been close to them. ‘Yes, they do, don’t they.’

‘Did you know them?’ asked Jenni.

‘I think so,’ said TR slowly. ‘I can’t remember anything, my mind is telling me nothing; but my body is telling me yes, I knew and liked them. I can’t explain it really.’ He rose painfully to his feet. ‘I’m ready for the final ascent.’

Slowly TR made it to the top and looked along the length of the corridor. ‘Go and explore,’ suggested Jenni. ‘It’s your home. I’ll wait here. Don’t trip on the rugs.’ Jenni began looking at the grouped family photographs along the wall as TR limped along the hall.

He hesitated, then opened doors, peering into strange bedrooms. With a pang, he opened the door to what he realised was the master bedroom, the room he’d shared with Queenie. He went inside. The French doors leading to the verandah stood open, the white antique lace curtains billowing lightly in the breeze. A vase of flowers stood on a small table beside a pile of books and silver-framed photographs of Queenie, TR, Tango and Saskia. He looked at the bed where they must have made love. He turned away and stepped to the door of the shared dressing room. Clothes that must be his hung opposite Queenie’s. TR suddenly felt he was suffocating and turned away quickly, to find Jenni standing by the bed watching him.

He walked to her and looked into her eyes. Seeing his confused expression, she reached out and touched his face. TR covered her small hand with his, pressing it to his cheek, closing his eyes as if in pain. Jenni’s heart ached for him and she slipped her arm about his shoulders and drew him to her. A muffled sigh that could have been a sob escaped him and he leaned against Jenni, causing her to stumble backwards, and they both fell onto the bed, wrapped in each other’s arms. TR lifted his head and gazed into Jenni’s eyes, then in a sudden surge of passion began kissing her wildly, pressing her body beneath his. Jenni kissed him back, clutching him, her passion mounting and matching his. TR caressed her pert small breasts, finding her nipples hard and pointed. Without lifting his mouth from hers, he flung a leg across Jenni’s thighs. A sudden searing pain made him catch his breath and with a jolt he realised what he was doing. Lifting his lips from hers, he said huskily, ‘No’.

Jenni kept her arms around him. ‘It’s okay, TR.’

‘No. This isn’t right. You’re sweet, Jenni, but I . . .’ TR was confused, unsure of what his real feelings were. He depended on Jenni; he felt he knew her better than anyone else — she was the only person he really felt comfortable with. But she was young enough to be his daughter. And what would this do to Queenie? Even if she never knew, he would always have to address this act of betrayal and, no matter what the circumstances, or what his own feelings were, it was wrong.

He struggled to sit up. ‘I’m sorry, Jenni. This just isn’t the right time . . . or place.’ He touched her face gently and left the room.

At the end of the hall was the guest suite Jenni was using. TR gazed sadly at her clothes flung across a chair, paused, then left the room, making his way laboriously back down the hall.

When he reached the bottom of the stairs Millie appeared and gave him a penetrating look. ‘Anything seem familiar?’ she asked.

‘No. I feel like a Peeping Tom.’ TR turned on his heel and headed for his verandah room.

Dinner was a strained affair with Dingo and Tango trying to keep the conversation going with stories of their various adventures in the bush. Dingo laughed as Tango finished the story of his disastrous rodeo riding career.

‘I guess I’ll leave the rodeo records to Dad,’ Tango grinned.

Dingo announced he’d be off in the morning and so Queenie suggested they have a glass of best Para port to toast Dingo for his help and to wish him a safe journey. In the confusion of Jenni taking away the plates and Millie bringing in the coffee, Tango rose. ‘I’ll get the port,’ he said. ‘Where is it?’

‘In there,’ said TR pointing to the door at the bottom of the sideboard.

‘Right.’ Tango bent down and took out the old bottle of port. ‘Pass the glasses, Mum.’

But Queenie was staring at TR. ‘How did you know the special port was there? We normally drink decanted port from the sideboard.’

TR suddenly realised what he’d said. He looked confused. ‘I don’t know. I didn’t think, it just came out.’ Silence fell and everyone looked at TR. ‘Well stop looking at me like I’m doing party tricks!’ he said trying to joke, but his voice trembled.

‘All right, pour the bloody port,’ said Dingo and slowly conversation resumed. But Jenni kept casting anxious glances at TR.

TR caught her eye and gave her a querying look.

She leaned towards him and said in a low voice, ‘Do you feel all right? Any headaches or anything?’

He shook his head and tried to turn away but Jenni persisted. ‘Are you sure, this could be significant.’

‘What? Knowing where a bottle of port is kept? For Chrissake, Jenni, it’s no big deal.’

‘It could be important, TR. It shows that all your memories are still there, you just don’t know how to retrieve them. Perhaps if we . . .’

TR’s patience snapped. ‘Give it a rest, Jenni. You think I’m going to be cured between the dessert and the port, just like that!’ He snapped his fingers at her and Jenni recoiled in distress.

‘TR, I’m just trying to help . . .’ she began.

‘I’m tired of being helped!’ snapped TR and the table fell silent as everyone stared at them. ‘And I thought you’d be the last person to push me into getting my memory back!’

‘TR, that’s not fair . . .’ Jenni looked like she was about to burst into tears. She pushed back her chair and, mumbling an apology, fled from the table.

‘Good one, Dad,’ said Tango tersely as he hurried after Jenni.

TR sat looking down at his plate as Queenie looked at Dingo. ‘Pass the port,’ said Dingo and Queenie handed him the bottle.

Tango found Jenni sitting in the darkness on the verandah. She brushed tears from her cheek as she heard his footsteps. He sat down beside her.

‘You okay? Don’t let him upset you. He’s still pretty tense.’

‘I know. I was just a bit taken aback. And embarrassed,’ she sniffed.

‘He’ll apologise, I’m sure. And nobody took much notice.’ Tango found her hand and squeezed it. They sat in silence for a moment as Tango played with her fingers. Then he asked, ‘What did Dad mean when he said he didn’t think you’d want him to get his memory back?’

‘I guess he figures if he remembers everything, he’ll remember that he loves Queenie and not me.’

‘And that would upset you?’ asked Tango.

Jenni gently withdrew her hand. ‘Let’s not talk about it now, Tango. You know I’m fond of TR. Of you both,’ she added with a catch in her voice. ‘This is very confusing.’

Tango drew her to her feet. ‘Let’s go into the kitchen and scrounge some more of Millie’s dessert.’

And together they both added, ‘And a cup of tea!’ Laughing, they walked along the verandah where long yellow patches of light from the windows shone across the darkened lawns.

The following morning Dingo was loading his gear into the utility truck. Jim was driving him into Longreach to the airport. Dingo had done the rounds saying goodbye and he’d gone out earlier that morning to make a special trip to the cottage where Snowy lived.

‘Hey, Snow, I’m off,’ he called at the front door.

Snowy walked stiffly toward Dingo and, as if on cue, the two men pulled their worn bush hats from their heads at the same moment. The two elderly white-haired men shook hands, Dingo rested his free hand on top of their clasped hands. They looked deep and steadily into each other’s eyes. No words were spoken. They were two men from different cultures and backgrounds yet they shared a deep love of the bush and the land, of this place and this family. They were men who had made their own way in the world. One had made a fortune, the other possessed very few material belongings, yet they had a common strength of values and belief in the spirit of the land.

‘Look after Tingulla, Snowy.’

‘I’ll always do that, boss.’

Dingo looked at the old Aborigine and knew Snowy would always be there — in the rocks and trees and wind.

Snowy flashed his gap-toothed smile. ‘Good huntin’ over there in the west.’

‘I do my best, Snow. Never know what I’ll get up to next.’ Dingo turned back to the house, going to the kitchen to farewell the others.

As Dingo threw the last bag into the back of the Toyota, TR came limping up, leaning on his walking cane. Dingo took his hand and slapped him on the back, ‘Anytime you want a break . . . let me rephrase that . . . any time you want to escape all these doting women and help with a new scheme I’m working on, come over and stay with me. You’ve been promising for years.’

TR smiled. ‘I might just surprise you. Thanks for all your help, Dingo. Is that the lot?’

‘Yep I reckon so. I travel light,’ said Dingo. ‘Here come the mob to see me off.’

Queenie and Tango strolled over followed by Jenni and Millie, who was busily organising Jim’s trip to town. Dingo said his farewells then turned to Queenie and gave her a hug. ‘You just live for each moment, luv,’ he whispered in her ear.

As the vehicle disappeared down the drive, a gloom seemed to settle over the group. Tango dispelled it with an invitation that turned attention in his direction. ‘Hey, Jenni, before you start work, come and have a game of tennis with me.’

Jenni glanced at TR who nodded. ‘Go ahead, I’m going to have a shower and tidy up a bit. I’ll see you later.’

‘Be careful in the shower, TR. Sit on the plastic chair,’ advised Jenni protectively.

‘Hey, he’s a grown up,’ interjected Tango. ‘Come on, Jenni, I’m off tomorrow, this is your last chance.’ He took her hand and ran off in the direction of the tennis court.

‘I’m going to see if there’s any more tea and toast left, I rushed breakfast,’ Queenie announced with forced brightness.

Queenie took a fresh pot of tea and a New Woman magazine onto the verandah. It was a peaceful morning, the sun had burned off the dew from the grass, magpies were fighting over scraps Ruthie had scattered for them. Queenie sipped her tea, reflecting on what Dingo had said — live for the moment. How lucky she was really . . . to be in such a beautiful place at this moment in time. Her children were well and happy and TR, if not restored to her in heart and spirit, was mending physically. She closed her eyes and allowed herself to drift in this brief pocket of contentment as the faint thud of tennis balls and laughter from Tango and Jenni drifted up from the tennis court.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Saskia was working on Toffee’s training programme in between running the trail rides for the now officially opened and functioning Harmony Hill. The retreat had had a low-key opening with invited press, health and tourism officials, and influential celebrities known to be interested and sympathetic to an alternative holiday concept.

Feedback from the guests was glowing. Some had been to similar retreats in places like Big Sur in California, but most agreed that nowhere else offered the diversity, beauty and specialised care that Harmony Hill did.

As yet there hadn’t been much general publicity; Colin wanted to keep a low profile and target their specific market. As a result, speculation around the small farms and the local village as to what went on at Harmony Hill had ranged from drug-induced sex orgies to it being a secret cover for an organised-crime ring. However, quite by chance, Saskia had become a floating public relations representative when she began visiting some of the local farmers, trying to find the ideal training ground for Toffee. She had ridden to the farms and explained she was giving the horse a bit of a workout, asking if she could cross their properties from time to time. Over chats with the farmers and their wives, the gossip soon spread that Saskia was from the famous Tingulla station and was taking on a problem racehorse, and in the process they learned exactly what Harmony Hill was all about. Most of the stolid farm people shook their heads or laughed openly at the idea of paying good money for things they took for granted, and some suggested they could offer guests the extra incentive of helping with their milking or fixing a few farm fences to relieve stress.

After a few days’ searching, Saskia had finally found what she was looking for — a farmer, Angus Wellburn, who had a decent size herd of quiet cattle. Saskia asked permission to work the cattle with Toffee and when she told him of her experience mustering and working at Tingulla, Angus had been only too happy to let her move his stock from one paddock to another.

‘I used to be in the racing game. That’s a fine looking horse,’ he had commented. ‘Not your average looking stockhorse, that’s for sure. But go ahead and exercise him if you want, luv.’

In a gentle fashion Saskia began working Toffee like a stockhorse. She rubbed his neck as she saddled him, explaining what she had in mind. ‘You see, Toff, you get nervous in a race when other horses bunch around you or touch you. You’re a loner, and we’re going to overcome that.’

The first time she had taken him into the paddock where the cattle were, the big bay racehorse had become highly disturbed and Saskia had a hard time keeping him in check. She rode slowly round in circles, working her way steadily closer to the herd of grazing cattle, who took no notice of the horse. She then let Toffee stand and watch the cattle for five minutes before turning to leave the field.

Her lessons with the horse never lasted more than twenty minutes as she regarded him as a child with a limited attention span, but she always went back to her lesson the next day. Horses learned by habit and undoing a bad habit was difficult, but Saskia had come to understand this horse’s nature and she persevered in short sessions where the tussle of wills became less and the trust and bond between them grew.

By the third day Toffee had poked quietly along behind the cattle as Saskia gradually closed the gap between them. By the end of a week he was less threatened and had even chased up a stray or two. In addition to working with the cattle Saskia was also working on his problem with bends. She had found the perfect strip of smooth ground on the flat stretch along the river where they galloped flat tack before the track swerved in a big sweeping bend following the river. Further along was an almost right-angle bend that doubled back up the hill. She worked Toffee along this, feeling him get out of stride and throw his legs and start to drift wide around the bends, pulling up in the process. So Saskia slowed him up, easing him into the bend and sprinting out of it. Over the weeks she raced from each direction so he got used to a left-hand, as well as a right-hand, curve.

Colin was oblivious to her work with Toffee. He had become preoccupied with paperwork and had locked himself in the office. He spent long hours on the phone and was always rushing off for meetings with Alfredo and his associates. That suited Saskia just fine — she wanted to keep her work with Toffee quiet, hoping it would be a welcome surprise later on. She was also getting very attached to the horse and when she had asked about him, Colin had been very abrupt. ‘I don’t know, or care,’ he said. ‘George says he’s not good enough for our needs.’

Saskia couldn’t quite figure her uncle out; sometimes he was dismissive, other times she caught him looking at her with an expression she couldn’t fathom, which sent shivers up her spine. Other times he went out of his way to be charming and referred to their close family bond, frequently trying to persuade her to go over to the Gold Coast and to go out on the town with what he called the junior jetset, but she always declined, preferring her own friends. Besides, she was far too busy with Toffee to worry about socialising. Every spare moment she had was spent with the horse or planning new ways to improve his training. Saskia had a new passion, and everything else took second place.

Queenie crossed from the library to the sunroom and stopped as TR came slowly towards her, moving cautiously and leaning heavily on his walking stick.

‘Hey that’s great, TR. Have you given away the crutches?’

‘Not completely, I feel a bit insecure with just this cane. I was going to have another go at the stairs. God, listen to me. This must sound crazy to you. Getting up and down that staircase is a major achievement for me.’

‘No, it doesn’t sound crazy. I’m really proud of your progress,’ said Queenie gently. ‘Come on, I’ll go upstairs with you.’

‘No,’ said TR quickly, ‘I want to do it on my own. Jenni told me I have to get used to not having a backstop.’

Queenie managed a smile. ‘All right. I’ll watch for a minute.’ Then impulsively she said, ‘TR, do you want to move back upstairs? To our room?’ It was madness to her that TR was sleeping downstairs whilst she lay all alone in the big old bed they’d once shared.

TR had his back to her, holding onto the bannister, about to put a foot on the first stair. His voice was muffled. ‘I don’t think so.’

Queenie moved around in front of him. ‘TR, I miss you. I’m lonely. We need each other. Even if you don’t remember it, we are very close and loving. Don’t you want to at least try?’

‘I’m uncomfortable in bed, sleeping with someone else would be a problem,’ he muttered.

‘TR, we’re going to have to face this hurdle at some stage. Think of me as a woman you’ve just met . . . Don’t you find me a bit appealing?’ Queenie said it lightly, but her heart was tight and constricted in her chest.

TR gazed at her, looking into her emerald eyes so filled with love and devotion. ‘You’re a beautiful woman, Queenie . . . but it just seems strange. I can’t explain it, I don’t understand why, but I’m finding you and me . . . hard to deal with.’

‘But not so Jenni?’ said Queenie bitterly.

‘Jenni has nothing to do with this,’ said TR quickly. That’s different.’

‘How is it different, TR?’ asked Queenie in a still voice. ‘Why is Jenni easier to deal with than me?’

‘She doesn’t put any pressure on me. Even though you don’t mean to, I just feel you’re forcing me to be someone I don’t know.’ TR looked frustrated and upset.

‘All right, TR, forget it. We’ll just leave things as they are and take it day by day.’ She turned and walked away, trying not to show the hurt and pain she felt.

‘I think that’s the best way . . . for the moment,’ said TR to her back.

That afternoon, as they walked in the garden, TR told Jenni of his conversation with Queenie and tried to apologise for his behaviour towards her at dinner. It was a subject that caused them both pain and embarrassment, but he pressed on. ‘The idea of making love scares me. I’m afraid of the pain in my hip and leg and I feel you expect so much from me, Queenie too. If there was a stranger I could just hop into bed with as an experiment, it’d be much easier. God, does that sound terrible?’ he asked.

Jenni shook her head. ‘No, it’s perfectly understandable. I can understand Queenie’s frustration though, you’re a very sexy man, TR, and I bet you’re a great lover!’ She said it in her usual teasing banter, but they both were aware that an invitation hung in the air.

Before he could respond, TR stumbled slightly. ‘Damn this bloody leg,’ he exclaimed angrily, throwing his cane away in frustration and frightening off a butcher bird on a nearby shrub.

‘Well, now you’ll have to walk on your own.’ Jenni hurried over to the shrub and picked up the cane and held it out to TR. ‘Come and get it.’

Angry and annoyed with himself, and embarrassed at revealing his feelings to Jenni, TR glared at her, measuring the ten metres that separated them. Defiantly he grasped his bad leg around the thigh and lifted it in front of him, placing it on the ground, taking a step. He paused; then, without using his hands, dragged his bad leg and took another step. Suddenly discovering he could move forward in this awkward, robotlike gait, TR began to close the gap between them.

Jenni stayed still, watching him intently, a smile playing around her mouth and her eyes brimming with tears. ‘Go for it, TR. You can do it. I’m not going to help you this time. Come on, come on.’

Biting his lip, TR edged forward, covering the distance despite the pains that shot up his leg and hip. At the end he stumbled and fell into Jenni’s arms.

She hugged him tightly. ‘Well done, TR. I knew you could do it.’ She pulled back and looked up into his face where a pleased expression had replaced his anger. ‘You’re walking, TR. You’re on your own now.’ She kissed him gently on the cheek, and still holding onto her, he hugged her tightly.

‘Yes, Jenni, I’m on my own now,’ he murmured into her soft blonde hair. He felt the tears on her cheeks, but he didn’t know whether they were tears of sadness or joy.

Late in the day Queenie found TR reading in the sunroom. She was friendly but businesslike, trying to forget the episode on the stairs that morning. ‘TR, I’m going into town tonight for a community meeting with other woolgrowers, the head of the meatworks, the council members and our new fellmongery manager, and any other interested parties . . . Would you like to come along?’

‘Is this to put the final proposal to the town?’

‘Yes. I’m not expecting any opposition; in fact, everyone sees it as a positive move, but we want to inform the community of what’s involved.’

‘So the fellmongery is going to be attached to the old tannery? I thought Tango said that was no longer in use.’

Queenie sat beside him on the sofa. ‘It’s not really. The tannery has practically come to a standstill but it can be easily set up again and can be expanded to suit our needs. We will have to update the waste-water disposal system. We have to reassure everyone that thanks to the new techniques there won’t be chemicals going into the ground, water supply or sewerage. And on the positive side we will hopefully be able to start employing local people as the business grows. In fact, I had it in mind that eventually, if it becomes big enough and we can encourage others to follow us, we could make it a public company so others can share in the dream.’

‘Sounds good. Okay, I’ll come. What time are we leaving?’

‘Soonish. I was planning on having a bite to eat in town before the meeting,’ she said shyly.

‘Great, I’d like to have a look around town.’

Queenie winced — she could tell he was just making an effort to be nice to her.

Jim and Millie were working together in the vegetable garden in the cool of the day’s end when Queenie found them. ‘I’m going into that meeting tonight, Millie, so don’t worry about dinner. Um, TR’s coming with me.’

‘You takin’ Jenni? She might like to look around the bright lights of Longreach,’ suggested Jim.

Millie nudged him. ‘No, she’s busy. Doin’ somethin’ for me.’

‘She is? What?’ asked Jim in surprise.

‘You’ll see,’ improvised Millie. ‘You get along, love, we’ll be right,’ said Millie.

Queenie grinned at her and left. Good old Millie, she thought.

‘What’s goin’ on?’ asked Jim.

‘Haven’t you ever heard three’s a crowd,’ declared Millie in exasperation. ‘Honestly, you men. And where’s Snowy, I haven’t set eyes on him for ages,’ said Millie, quickly changing the subject.

‘Ruthie said he and Ernie have gone walkabout for a bit.’

Millie nodded and handed Jim a bucket of new potatoes they’d dug up. ‘Here, take these up to the house. And don’ you mention nothin’ to Jenni ‘bout Queenie and TR going away t’night.’

TR and Queenie were sitting in the restaurant at the Jumbuck Motel. Husband and wife faced one another demurely across the table, like a couple on a blind date. Gradually, away from prying eyes — Jenni’s especially — they began to relax and enjoy each other’s company. For the first time TR talked in detail about his stay in the hospital and he made Queenie laugh with stories of the nurses and patients. He talked about young Dennis the jockey and how glad he was Tango had taken him on at Guneda.

‘He’s doing brilliantly according to Tango,’ said Queenie. ‘Says he’s a whizz at figures and has taken to book-keeping like a duck to water.’

‘That’s great if he learns a new skill. The poor kid will never ride again.’ TR twisted his fork into his fettucine. ‘I wonder if I will. I don’t have any desire to go near a horse again, unless it can put me back together again.’

‘TR!’ Queenie nearly spilt her glass of claret in surprise. ‘You can’t say that. You mustn’t! You’re only feeling like that while you’re still a bit insecure. You’ll get over it and come good.’ A note of fear crept into her voice. This was so unlike TR.

TR nodded but looked unconvinced. ‘Maybe.’

‘TR, do you know how good you were . . . are . . . on a horse? There was none better. You’re more at home in the saddle than behind the wheel of a car. You stormed through the American rodeo circuit as well as being the best here at home. There’s never been anyone as good as you. Every morning we ride before breakfast while the morning star is still out. You love being on a horse!’

‘Not if this is what it does to you,’ he said tersely, ending the conversation abruptly.

Queenie changed the subject, telling him about Saskia and Toffee, Harmony Hill and her distrust of Colin. She was animated and, as she talked, her eyes sparkled and her hands danced and gesticulated expressively. TR found himself relaxing in her company and realised what a sexy and delightful woman his wife was. At one point she made him laugh and as she grinned at him, he impulsively leaned forward and kissed her on the tip of her nose. ‘I like you,’ he said softly.

Queenie’s eyes filled with tears. ‘Oh TR,’ she whispered, her face glowing with love and hope.

Immediately TR regretted the spontaneous gesture. Each time he showed some small indication of affection, Queenie grasped at it like a drowning person reaching for a lifeline. Seeing his involuntary withdrawal Queenie was swamped once more with hurt and frustration.

The rest of the meal was spent in strained silence, TR afraid to let down his defences again and Queenie trying to keep her emotions in check. Finally they gave up and paid the bill then headed for the community hall.

The meeting was well attended and Queenie explained at length what was involved and how her project would affect the district’s wool growers. A member of the shire council who worked in the local stock and station agency stood up and asked TR what he thought of the idea and how he was involved.

TR glanced questioningly at Queenie, the quick look asking did he know this man. Queenie nodded and whispered, ‘Doug Jenkins’.

Leaning on his walking stick, TR rose to his feet and where once he would have spoken with assurance and quiet authority, now he hesitated nervously, glancing round the room full of friends and acquaintances who were strangers to him. ‘This is Queenie’s concept and she has been overseeing its execution . . . However, she has explained it in detail to me and I can’t pick any flaws in the plan . . . Like any enterprise there is an element of risk, but if we never took risks we’d never make the gains either. I don’t want to influence you too strongly as I . . . am not quite myself yet. My advice to you would be that as well as voting this evening for the idea, you also vote on your belief in Queenie’s abilities. Put the two together and see what your decision is then.’ TR sat down awkwardly as the audience burst into a round of spontaneous applause.

After brief discussion a vote was taken on whether the local community would support the idea of establishing a tannery and fellmongery at the old meatworks, and Tingulla Wool and Leather Enterprises — and Queenie — were given an overwhelming vote of confidence.

‘Now you’ve just got to fix up the money,’ whispered TR to Queenie.

Queenie grinned at him. ‘I have that under control, don’t worry. And Sarah has insisted on investing her money in this too.’

After the meeting broke up, there was general milling about in the hall and many people came up to greet Queenie and shake TR’s hand, wishing him well.

TR found himself apologising for not knowing names or faces, but his apologies were brushed aside. ‘All in good time, TR. It’s just great to see you getting about’, was people’s response.

‘I seem to be a pretty popular sort of a bloke,’ said TR to Queenie as he laboriously made his way from the hall after everyone had left. ‘Or is this like seeing a dead man walk?’

Queenie laughed. ‘You are popular, TR. All over the country as a matter of fact. But especially here.’

‘Yeah, there’s a great feeling of warmth and friendship. Makes me feel good. I’m glad I came.’

Queenie took his arm to help him as he limped. ‘That’s one of the nice things about small communities and country people,’ she said, ‘we mightn’t see each other for months, but we all help each other when needed.’

Queenie was smiling as they got into the car; despite the shaky start to the evening, she felt convinced that they’d bridged a chasm in their relationship. She turned the car radio on and tuned in to a country music station. After hearing the first chorus of a song, TR picked it up and sang along. Queenie hummed too, remembering the times they’d sung songs together and how TR always had his small silver harmonica in his pocket.

‘You serenaded me on my twenty-first birthday,’ Queenie reminded him.

‘Singing? Or do I play the piano?’

‘Harmonica. You used to serenade the cattle when out mustering too.’

They both laughed for no special reason as they turned off the main road and bumped through the bush, the headlights spotlighting the dirt track and scattered gum trees. When they arrived at the house, lights were shining on the verandah. Silhouetted against the sitting room windows was Jenni.

Queenie opened her door as TR leaned out of the window and called, ‘You’re up late’.

Jenni walked over to the car.

‘You didn’t have to wait up for us,’ said Queenie sweetly, taking her bag from the back seat.

‘I’ve been sitting out here talking to Millie. She’s gone to bed and I was enjoying the evening. How was the meeting?’ asked Jenni.

‘It was great. I really enjoyed the drive.’

‘You drove?’ said Jenni in delighted surprise. ‘That’s fantastic. I was about to suggest it as our next move.’

‘No, no. I didn’t . . . Do you think I could drive?’

Queenie turned at the verandah steps as TR hung out of the car door, grinning at Jenni like an excited kid.

‘Sure. Let’s go for it now! Just around the driveway. Move over.’ Jenni opened the door and watched TR struggle over to the driver’s side.

‘Are you sure about this, Jenni? Don’t want to do any damage,’ said TR a little apprehensively.

‘It’s your right leg that’s crook, not your clutch side. Just take it slow and easy. It will hurt a bit, it’s an unfamiliar movement.’

Queenie stood on the verandah as the engine burbled to life and, with slightly unsteady acceleration, the LandCruiser headed down the drive, its red taillights glowing in the dark. Queenie walked inside, went upstairs to the master bedroom and kicked the door shut, her earlier euphoria evaporating.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Tango walked out of the office and stood watching George Bannerman and his sidekick get out of the chauffeured black Mercedes.

‘G’day, are you Tango? I’m Georgy. Come t’check on our horse.’ He didn’t bother introducing his companion. ‘You was away when my associate brought Ambrosia in, he saw that Abo jockey you got here. Everything in order?’

Tango took an instant dislike to George, from his flashy clothes to his phoney smile. ‘Yes, everything is fine with the horse, if that’s what you mean by “in order”,’ replied Tango.

‘Great, great,’ said George, adjusting his testicles to a more comfortable position. ‘We’re going to give him a little bit of a run on Saturday. Nothin’ too adventurous just a quiet little qualifying race.’

‘Listen, er, George, that’s a fast horse, you could run him in a really big race right now and he’d stand a decent chance.’

Bannerman shook his head vehemently. ‘Ah, we don’t wanna do that. Our connections wanna bring him on slow and easy.’ He didn’t add that they didn’t want it known they had a hot horse. They wanted the odds long on the day of the Gold Coast Cup.

Tango shrugged. ‘Have it your own way. The horse could start winning races any day. But that’s your business. Do you want to clock him round the distance? Mick — my assistant manager as well as training jockey,’ said Tango pointedly, ‘is doing a bit of track work with him now.’

The three stood at the railing and watched Ambrosia gallop along the course. Bannerman peered through binoculars and Tango timed it with his stopwatch. As the horse stormed past the post, Tango passed the stopwatch to Bannerman. ‘Pretty impressive, wouldn’t you say?’

Bannerman merely nodded. ‘Right then, we’ll pick him up Friday afternoon and he’ll be back in your care on Monday. And naturally our connections want his progress to remain . . . confidential.’

‘I understand,’ said Tango without expression. He didn’t bother asking where the horse would be racing. But the word would spread about Ambrosia soon enough, a horse as good as that wouldn’t stay hidden for long.

Queenie tidied her desk, putting the letter from Henri with the crest of the Hotel D’Accord in New York on top. Dear Henri, what a good friend he’d been. He’d come into her life when she had made a great success of her business life, but was vulnerable and lonely after the death of Saskia’s father, Warwick. She had been cheated out of Tingulla by Colin and the Cambonis and had struggled to start a new life in the city. Henri, an internationally famous hotelier, had fallen in love with her and had asked her to marry him. Queenie couldn’t help wondering at this moment what her life would have been like had she married the urbane and charming French-Canadian and moved to New York. But Queenie knew had she done so, the pull of her Dreaming place would have called her home. She was only happy in her rightful place — at Tingulla and in TR’s arms.

She put folders, papers and her diary into her briefcase, glanced around to make sure she hadn’t left anything behind, closed the door and went to find Millie.

‘Cup of tea before you go luv? Jim’s all ready,’ said Millie as Queenie walked into the kitchen.

‘I guess so, Millie. Now, do we need to go over anything? I don’t think any problems will come up. Snowy and Ernie should be back soon I suppose. Ruthie’s here of course, and Jim. And TR.’

‘Stop frettin’, Queenie. It ain’t the first time we got on without you. I want you to have a break down there in Sydney. Have a bit of fun with Sarah.’

Queenie smiled. ‘Well, I am looking forward to seeing her. But this is work, Millie. Meetings with bank managers and so on.’

Millie poured the tea. ‘You sad ‘bout sellin’ the Kurrajong?’

‘In a way I am. But it’s served its purpose,’ said Queenie. ‘And it’s passing into good hands. It won’t change dramatically. Henri can only make improvements. It will be part of the Montpelier chain now.’

Initially Millie had been doubtful about Queenie going to Sydney at this time and asked why she couldn’t arrange the sale from Tingulla. She didn’t like the idea of Queenie leaving TR and Jenni together, but gradually Millie began to realise that Queenie wanted it that way.

It hadn’t been an easy decision for Queenie. She had thought it through carefully. Her jealousy and resentment were poisoning her daily thoughts. She couldn’t concentrate and felt like sneaking around and spying on TR and Jenni all the time. She knew that wasn’t healthy and so she was trying to heed her son’s advice and let fate take its course. The more she tried to bind TR to her, the further away she pushed him. Her claim on him was a wedding ring and a past of forgotten shadows. She couldn’t fight the youth, energy and hope that Jenni brought him.

Queenie’s tactic now was strategic withdrawal. She was not one to walk away from a fight, but maturity brought its own wisdom and painful as it was to remove herself from the present situation, she knew it was the right thing to do. She had to trust that the great love that had bound her and TR would survive even this.

Queenie walked out onto the verandah as Jim started up the car. Jenni carried her briefcase and handed it to Jim, which made Queenie feel Jenni couldn’t wait to see her leave.

Queenie kissed TR quickly on the cheek. ‘Take care, I hope everything is okay. I’ll call you in a day or so and let you know how things progress. I don’t know how long I’ll be away. Probably several weeks. I guess I’ll also go up to the Blue Mountains.’

‘Good luck Queenie. Though it seems luck is always on your side,’ smiled TR.

Not always, Queenie thought to herself, giving him a quick smile before turning away to wave to Ruthie and give Millie a hug.

As they drove away leaving Millie standing on the bottom step forlornly twisting the edge of her apron, and TR and Jenni standing in the shadows of the laden jasmine that twined around the verandah posts, Queenie remembered Snowy’s advice to her — never look back. She kept her eyes steadfastly ahead and wondered what changes would take place while she was away.

Other than clothes and immediate necessities Colin hadn’t unpacked any of his effects that had come from Italy. Dina had insisted they ship to Europe all their furniture and household possessions, including the personal effects Colin had had in his bachelor apartment in Double Bay. Among these was a large box he hadn’t unpacked in Italy, which was labelled Colin — bachelor stuff. Now he wanted to get into that carton and he spent several hours rummaging in their storage bin in the basement of the pink penthouse.

After several hours he finally found what he was looking for. He slit the box open and went through it, putting aside photo albums, old records, knick-knacks, letters and books. There was also a long metal cash box which he put to one side as he began going through the books.

While he was occupied, Dina drove into the underground garage and pulled up in their allocated space in front of the storage facility. She got out of the car with a bemused expression. ‘What are you doing caro? You look like a monkey in a cage.’

Colin started guiltily. He’d been deeply engrossed in a pile of letters. ‘You’re back early. What happened? You run out of money? Or buy out the shop?’

‘We couldn’t find anything nice to buy so we went to lunch. Why are you opening that box after all these years?’ she asked, peering through the mesh of the cage.

‘Just looking for a . . . legal document I seem to have misplaced,’ said Colin hurriedly.

Dina looked at him curiously. ‘I’m going for my siesta.’ She pushed the button and disappeared into the elevator.

Half an hour later Colin walked quietly into the penthouse, doing a brief double take as he caught sight of himself in the massive giltframed mirror Dina had just acquired to hang in the entryway. He went into the study and pulled open a drawer in the white Louis Quinze replica table which Dina used as a desk. It was filled with her personalised embossed stationery.

Colin changed his mind and opened the leadlight doors on the wall shelves, put the book and the tin box inside and turned the little gold key. Returning to Dina’s desk he found her address book and copied out a phone number. He peered into the bedroom to make sure Dina was asleep, then shut the door and lifted the phone.

Dina was lying on the quilted bedspread with her shoes off and a satin shade over her eyes, but she wasn’t asleep. She heard the click of the phone as Colin dialled and she reached out and lifted the phone to her ear without disturbing her eyeshade. She lay on the bed listening to the conversation and when Colin hung up she gently replaced the receiver, pushed the eye shade up on her head, and stared thoughtfully at the ceiling.

While Colin was in the shower that evening, Dina began looking through his drawers, wardrobe and in his desk before moving into the study. It took her five minutes to find the book and tin box which was unlocked. Inside were letters, documents and a few small mementoes, but nothing that appeared to be of interest. She took down the book, it was an early edition of Australian poetry. It was not Colin’s usual reading matter and she flipped it open. Written in the flyleaf was the signature of Patrick Hanlon. Dina riffled through the book and found a folded sheet of paper. She read it quickly. It was a letter from Colin’s father explaining his will and the reasons why he had left Tingulla to Queenie and not to Colin. Dina shrugged and replaced the letter and book.

With Queenie’s departure from Tingulla the energy seemed to drain away from the homestead. Queenie had been the focus of daily life and now it seemed an empty shell. There were fewer people about and TR found the solitude suffocating. He found he was becoming irritable with Jenni’s insistence on continuing his exercise regime. He drew away from her, preferring to assert himself in small ways rather than turn to her for assistance and support.

The change in TR’s attitude was indicative of his recovery, but whereas Jenni would normally welcome this withdrawal process as a sign of independence in a patient, this time she was very disappointed. She was deeply attracted to TR; to her he represented the ideal man. She was an only child, her mother had been widowed when Jenni was very young, so she had lacked the companionship of a brother or father. To her, TR, with his strength of character, his gentle humour and good looks, was the man she’d dreamt about all her life.

Now that he could drive for short distances before the pain in his leg became unbearable, TR began roaming around the property. He spent time looking at the giant rams with their great curled horns, blank expressions and impossibly thick blankets of fleece. He parted the snowy wool, marvelling at the superfine lanolin-soaked wool fibres. Queenie was right, this was a unique resource and Tingulla’s wool was consistently among the best in the country.

TR was down at the home paddock leaning on the fence when he saw Snowy making his way towards him. He was carrying a canvas bag, a swag and a stockwhip looped over his shoulder. He raised his hand in greeting.

TR waited till the old man had reached him. ‘Glad to see you back, Snowy. Ernie with you?’

‘Not yet. I left him out there. He’ll be back in a day or so. Gotta bit of thinkin’ to do. He’s learnin’ the old ways and the laws real good. Howa tings here, boss?’

‘Quiet. Queenie’s gone to Sydney. I’m getting about pretty well. I’m feeling a bit useless, bored I suppose. A bit confused about my life here.’

‘You bilong here, no question ‘bout that.’

‘I just don’t feel I fit in, Snowy.’

The old man stared at him. ‘Maybe you need to go walkabout too.’

TR smiled ruefully. ‘And go where? I admit the idea is appealing but I doubt I’d manage too well on my own out in the bush. I’m still a bit wobbly on my pins and frankly, Snowy, I don’t know if I’ll remember my bush skills.’

‘Ah, I wasn’t thinkin’ of you just goin’ bush on yer own, TR. I reckon you should go over there t’see Dingo. Make ’im a big walkabout.’

TR was silent for a moment. ‘I’ll think about it. I can drive a bit now, hop in and I’ll give you a ride back up to the house.’

‘Before we git goin’, TR,’ Snowy took the stockwhip from his shoulder and smoothed it a little and handed it to TR, ‘this fella bin Patrick Hanlon’s best whip. He give him me in his will. I reckon you should take ’im now.’

TR was about to protest, but the look on the old man’s face stopped him. TR looked at the beautifully plaited whip with the TG brand woven into the handle and said warmly, Thank you, Snowy’.

Jenni was waiting for TR when he got back to the house. ‘Hey there! I thought you’d run away from home. Where’ve you been? Don’t overdo the driving, it puts strain on your leg, you know.’

‘I was looking at the big rams and I’ve been thinking about Queenie’s wool scheme. I met up with Snowy, he’s back.’

Jenni patted the cushion beside her on the wicker lounge. ‘Sit down and rest. Are you filling in some of the blanks of running this place? It seems an enormous job, not to mention Cricklewood and Guneda. I’d like to see the stud, do you think we could go and see Tango? It might be good for you to acquaint yourself with all the rest of the background of your life.’

‘I like it here for the moment. It’s les . . . complicated.’ He didn’t want to say it, but without Queenie there, he felt more relaxed. He felt like he was walking a tightrope between the two women when they were both around him.

Jenni rested her hand on his thigh. ‘How do you feel?’

‘Ah, a bit tired.’

‘Want a massage?’ she asked. ‘Guaranteed to relax tired and aching muscles.’

‘Okay. I might go have a shower first.’ He leaned on his cane to get to his feet. He didn’t explain to Jenni he felt more mentally tired than physically tired, but a massage always helped him unwind.

However, lying on the massage table, his face buried in a towel as Jenni worked her fingers into his shoulder muscles, TR couldn’t relax as he normally did. He suddenly felt there was a different energy flowing from Jenni’s hands. Where her strong fingers usually worked firmly and often painfully into the knots and stiffness of his tendons and muscles, now they seemed to stroke and caress. With a pang TR realised just how attached Jenni was to him.

He lay there rigid and unmoving, with a sinking heart, wondering what to do. Jenni was so caring and sweet and there was no denying the bond they shared. It was easy to deal with her because their relationship had been a natural progression. But then there was Queenie — his wife. A beautiful, intelligent, clever woman who loved him deeply and with whom he’d supposedly built a happy life. But that was a past he couldn’t recapture and starting over again seemed impossible.

‘TR, what’s the matter with you? Your back is as hard as a rock,’ admonished Jenni. ‘Come on now, relax.’

TR sat up, clutching the towel draped over him. ‘I can’t.’ He looked at Jenni staring back at him, puzzlement as well as affection in her hazel eyes. ‘I have some thinking to do.’ He struggled from the table and limped from the room. Jenni slowly screwed the top back on the bottle of massage oil. Her hands shook and tears blurred her vision. TR had obviously come to a turning point, but what about her?

Millie carried a tray of corned beef and salad sandwiches and a pot of tea out to TR who was writing a letter on the verandah.

‘There’s only sandwiches for lunch. No one round here wants t’eat and I’m busy,’ said Millie briskly.

‘That’s all right, Millie. I’m not very hungry either.’

Millie looked at him for a second then folded her arms. ‘So what’s botherin’ you then?’

TR gazed at the plump, grey-haired motherly figure. The years were catching up with her. Millie’s light skin was wrinkled but she radiated strength and energy. ‘Sit down, Millie,’ he said gently. ‘You and I are friends, right?’

‘You bet, TR. Since you first come here as a strapping young man. You was a shy young fella but you knew what you wanted. By golly you and them horses, and then Queenie. I’ve looked out for you just as I have for Queenie. Because without you and her bein’ together, neither of you is happy.’

‘I know, you all tell me that . . . about Queenie and me,’ said TR slowly, ‘but it doesn’t mean anything. I mean, I don’t feel anything. Then there’s young Jenni . . . and I’m fond of her . . . which all leaves me feeling a bit confused,’ finished TR lamely, seeing the grim set of Millie’s mouth.

‘Now listen, TR, Jenni is a nice girl. She’s helped you through a tough time, and you is a very handsome bloke. Charmin’ too, when you wanna be. But she is young enough to be your daughter, and I don’t think you should be makin’ a fool of yourself and makin’ one heck of a stupid mistake just ‘cause you ain’t yourself.’

‘So what do I do, Millie? What if I don’t get back to normal? What if my memory doesn’t come back? I’m trying to take this one day at a time, but I tell you, Millie, I don’t think I can go on in this limbo. Trying to live a ghost life. I reckon it’d be less painful for everyone if I cut the ropes and we all started over.’

‘No!’ Millie rose to her feet. ‘I’m not listening to this rubbish talk. You is givin’ up, TR. And you’re wrong, hear? You is dead wrong.’ Millie’s eyes shone with furious tears.

TR reached out and took her coarse, worktoughened hand in his. ‘Millie, I don’t want to upset you. I’m trying to do what’s best for all of us.’

‘That ain’t what’s best,’ muttered Millie stubbornly.

‘You won’t give up on us, will you?’ said TR with a sad smile.

‘No. Queenie’d never forgive me if I let you walk away from her, from your life. There never was two people more happy than you two.’

TR patted her hand. ‘Millie, I am going away, just for a short time. On a walkabout, like Snowy suggested. I think I’ll go and spend some time over there with Dingo.’

Millie stared at him then nodded slowly. ‘Yes, that’d be good. But what about Jenni?’

‘I’ve been thinking about that. We all need some time apart before we make any earth-shattering decisions. Jenni’ll need to find another job. I don’t want to lose touch with her and I want to help her. So it occurred to me, she might be able to work up there where Saskia is. I was just writing to her to see if she’d put in a good word for Jenni with the owners.’ The truth was TR didn’t want to give Jenni up, but the time had come for him to choose between the two women in his life, and he couldn’t do that with them both watching his every move, each asking for something he couldn’t give.

‘What’s Jenni say about this?’ asked Millie.

TR looked sheepish. ‘I haven’t told her yet.’

‘Well you’d better, ‘cause I ain’t doin’ it for you, TR.’ Millie picked up the tea pot. ‘I’ll top this up with hot water. And, TR, I think you’re doin’ the right thing. Going to Dingo.’

TR tried to choose the right moment to speak to Jenni, but she found and confronted him instead. He was sitting in Millie’s old chair near the herb garden in the shade of the peppercorn tree. She moved his cane and perched on the arm of the chair. ‘So, have you finished your thinking?’

‘Yes, I have.’ TR didn’t look at her. ‘Jenni, I’ve come to a decision . . .’

‘You’re going to give me the flick,’ she interjected with a slight grin.

TR smiled at her. ‘Not quite. But I guess you know things have come to a sort of . . . head.’

‘Well, you’re virtually walking on your own. You can have routine treatments and checkups in town now.’

‘There’s no one that will look after me like you, Jenni.’

‘You don’t need looking after, you’re on your own now, TR,’ said Jenni with a flash of her old bossiness.

‘Now that’s the Jenni I know and love . . .bossy and sassy and strong. I reckon these past weeks you’ve gone a bit wimpy on me, Jen,’ TR said lightly. ‘I’ve decided to go and stay with Dingo over in the west for a bit. He’ll toughen me up.’

‘Don’t get too tough,’ said Jenni softly. ‘So my job is over, I’m out of your life now?’

‘No! Not all,’ TR replied. He paused and sighed. ‘I hope you’ll always be part of my life. I just don’t know how I feel about you — about anyone, to tell you the truth,’ TR looked at her with a pleading expression in his deep blue eyes. ‘Please try to understand, Jenni.’

‘This has been a very . . .unusual time for me too, TR. I have always sworn never to get emotionally involved with my patients. Until you came along. I suppose being together so much is part of it,’ said Jenni in a small voice.

‘Jenni, you sweet girl, you shouldn’t get involved with me. I don’t want you to get hurt. This has been more than just a job for you, I realise that. I owe you an enormous debt.’

‘I don’t want you to feel you owe me anything, TR. I want you to listen to your instincts, what you really feel,’ said Jenni, and added defiantly, ‘If you’re brave enough to do that.’

‘And what are your feelings, Jenni?’ asked TR steadily.

‘I think I could love you, TR, but until you are sure about how you feel, I’m not going to let myself go.’

‘Shall we call a truce then? Until I come back from the west?’

Jenni nodded and stuck out her hand. ‘That’s a deal.’ Jenni stood up, forcing a bright smile. ‘But if you fall off another horse over there I’ll be pretty cross with you after all our hard work. I don’t know if you’re ready to tackle riding horses yet.’

‘Don’t worry about it. They ride camels out there.’ They smiled at each other and Jenni kissed him lightly on his cheek, then walked swiftly away.

Chapter Thirty

The yachts slid by in white formation. Sails billowing, they sliced through the dazzling blue water across the harbour towards Middle Head.

‘Has to be Wednesday, there go the solicitors and doctors of Sydney’s yachting set,’ remarked Sarah adjusting her sunglasses.

Queenie lifted her glass of white wine and clinked glasses with Sarah. ‘Here’s to Tingulla Wool and Leather Enterprises, otherwise known as Tingulla Fashions. Sarah, I really appreciate your help with this, but are you sure about being an investor as well?’

‘Hey, that sounds like a moment of doubt. If I didn’t believe in what you’re doing I wouldn’t offer to put up some money too. We’ve known each other too closely too long and I’ve seen you win through time and again under extraordinary circumstances. I’d put my money on you sailing a paper canoe over Niagara Falls. I know it’s a big project and you’re really doing it on your own again, but you’re at the helm so we won’t go under.’

Queenie was touched by Sarah’s words. So many people were putting their faith and trust in her to make Tingulla Fashions a success.

They sipped their wine in the sunshine, the checked tablecloth fluttering in the breeze blowing from the water, which was just a few metres away. Laughter and conversation drifted along the outdoor tables of Doyles waterfront restaurant at Watsons Bay.

‘Wine at lunch, I feel positively decadent,’ sighed Queenie.

‘Here comes some more decadence,’ grinned Sarah as the owner, Peter Doyle, bore down on them with a platter piled with fruits and cakes. ‘The desserts, not Peter, I mean.’

‘Sarah, I’m sure your beautiful companion deserves this extra indulgence. My compliments.’ Peter smiled and put the platter on the table between them.

‘I don’t think I can eat another thing, your seafood salad had half the ocean in it. It was absolutely wonderful,’ enthused Queenie.

‘Thank you, madam!’ He acknowledged the compliment with a slight bow. ‘How was the flounder?’ he asked Sarah.

‘Superb, as always. Peter, this is Queenie Hamilton. From Tingulla near my parents.’

He gallantly kissed Queenie’s hand. ‘Welcome. I guess you don’t get much fresh seafood out there.’

‘No, not fresh. This has been heavenly. And not just the food.’ Queenie waved her arms to take in the restaurant, the view over the bay and the beachside setting itself. ‘No wonder you’re world famous.’

‘So is my restaurant,’ grinned their incorrigible and charming host. ‘Let me send you home with some fresh shrimp, just in off the boat. A little light supper for John and yourselves.’ He moved away, greeting other diners.

‘Well, that takes care of dinner tonight; he is sweet,’ said Sarah. ‘We come here regularly. The kids love it too. This for them is going for fish and chips.’

‘I can’t think of dinner at present. Oh it’s nice to feel so carefree. It’s been so hard lately.’ Queenie’s happy expression faded and Sarah reached out and touched her arm.

‘No moping. This is time out from Tingulla, right?’

‘Well, if you insist.’ Queenie gave a wry smile. ‘But how would you feel if your husband was left at home with a young blonde who has her hands on him all day?’

Sarah laughed. ‘Okay, I take your point. Whinge away.’

‘Oh Sarah, I don’t want to whinge, but sometimes at night in those lonely dark hours, I’m fearful TR and the life we had has slipped away from me.’

‘Hang in there, Queenie. This is TR we’re talking about. He’s special, remember?’

‘I remember all right,’ said Queenie with feeling. ‘But does he?’ Sarah gave Queenie’s hand a reassuring squeeze.

A waiter arrived at their table and handed them a small Styrofoam Esky. ‘Compliments of Mr Doyle.’

‘Ah, the shrimp. Come on, Queenie, let’s settle the bill and go down to Double Bay and window-shop on the way home.’ Sarah pushed back her chair. She knew Queenie would never be her old self until TR was back to normal and she prayed that day was not for off. But perhaps it was an impossible dream. She resolved not to let Queenie get the slightest hint of her doubts.

Queenie spent a few days relaxing then, one sunny afternoon while John, Tim and Pauline were at a football game, she sat down with Sarah and announced that it was time to get down to business.

Over coffee she explained in detail the total concept of Tingulla Fashions. ‘It’s quality fine wool and leather fashions for men and women. I’m trying to break away from the idea too many people still have that wool is for expensive suits or winter jumpers and not much else. The summer-weight wools breathe and adjust naturally to the temperature. They are superb to wear and they look terrific.’ Queenie pulled out of her briefcase a few rough sketches of her designs.

‘Queenie, these are stunning. Europeans would love these,’ said Sarah. ‘My God, this whole project is so exciting! But it’s going to take a lot of work to get it off the ground.’

‘It has good export potential, but above all I want to sell it to Australians. We should all be walking advertisements for wool. We know better than anyone the benefits of wool but we’ve been carried away by synthetics.’ Queenie sat back and sipped her coffee.

‘Now, Sarah, this is where you come in. You did such a fabulous job marketing and publicising those rundown terraces we transformed into Heirloom Cottages all those years ago. With your help we started a whole trend in renovating old places and living in the inner city. So would you take this on? For a fee of course.’

‘I’d adore to do it! But let me barter with you — pay me in these clothes, not cash. I’m an investor, remember.’ The two friends laughed and shook hands.

Over the next few days Queenie and Sarah began visiting and talking to fashion manufacturers, knitters, tailors, pattern-makers and sewers, from organised groups to part-time piece workers. Queenie had already done a lot of homework and they quickly honed their list down to the most likely people to employ. A small mill in Victoria had been contracted to spin and weave Tingulla’s wool and the head designer flew up to Sydney to meet Queenie with dye samples of the colours Queenie had chosen. She wanted all the dyes to come from natural sources for their subtlety of shades as well as part of the ‘totally natural’ sales pitch she envisioned.

‘I also want to do a range of very Australian inspired creations,’ Queenie told Sarah as they sat talking over a glass of wine after a long and exhausting day of meetings. ‘I haven’t firmed up this concept yet. I know the colours I want, and that it should be an Australian theme.’

‘It’ll come in time,’ Sarah said reassuringly. ‘It’s all moving along very quickly. I’m astounded at how fast people will move when they’re enthused about something. The response everywhere is wonderful.’

‘We’ve got to work on an initial launch promotion to get us rolling,’ said Queenie. ‘Something really fabulous for the first showing.’

Sarah flipped over pages in her notebook. ‘I’ve been making notes about publicity and I think we should talk to one of the big TV magazine programmes and do a minidocumentary on this whole thing. They could start filming now, follow us all the way through.’

‘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 Redfern 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 know 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.

The men settled down with their beers as Dingo declared, ‘Ah this is the life. Nice to have a bit of company to watch the sunset. I’ll get us a feed in a little while.’

‘So what’s for supper tonight, Dingo?’ asked Tango. ‘Surely we’ve finished that stew by now.’

‘And what’s wrong with my stew?’ demanded Dingo.

‘Nothing, it was just . . . a lot,’ said Tango, winking at TR.

‘And filling. I reckon I could go for something simpler tonight. Corned beef and salad. Or a plain grilled steak,’ said TR.

Dingo slapped his leg. ‘Steak, that’s it. I’ve got some buffalo steak out there you’re really going to hoe into. Who’s for another cold beer first?’

‘My arm could be twisted,’ said Tango.

‘Me too,’ joined in TR. As Dingo disappeared inside he looked at Tango and rolled his eyes. ‘God, how does he survive his own cooking?’

‘He’s outlived three wives,’ laughed Tango. ‘What I wouldn’t give for one of Mum Ryan’s dinners.’

Dingo returned with three cold bottles of beer. ‘Now, tomorrow I want to get you blokes over to the neighbour who’s got these alpacas. Wonderful creatures, fabulous wool, cost a bloody fortune each. But could be good. You’ll find it interesting.’

‘Yeah, I’ve heard about them. A lot of money tied up in one animal,’ said Tango.

‘I thought you said you were starting to farm ostrich and emu?’ said TR.

‘I am. But it doesn’t hurt to branch out into something new. Like Queenie. I like the sound of what she’s doing. In fact, I’m going to send her emu skins now that she has a tannery going that’s prepared to do something a bit different.’

‘Did you know they are also tanning cane toads and fish skins up north?’ said Tango.

‘You’re pulling our leg,’ said TR.

‘Straight up. Barramundi skin is beautiful. And I saw a cane toad lampshade in a souvenir shop on the Gold Coast,’ insisted Tango.

‘They’ll sell anything to the poor — or rather, rich — bloody Japanese. You sure it wasn’t a cane toad that’d swallowed a light bulb? They eat everything,’ declared Dingo, but he looked thoughtful, and TR and Tango burst out laughing.

‘He’s trying to figure out if there’s a quid in this that he might’ve missed,’ laughed TR. ‘What do you do with the big birds anyway?’

‘Sell the ostrich plumage, emu oil and eggs, plus tan the skins of both and sell the meat. That’s at the end of their productive breeding life. And don’t laugh, I have another scheme in mind too. Might get you blokes roped in on this one.’

‘Might have known there was a catch to his offer,’ grinned TR to Tango.

‘What now, Dingo?’ asked Tango.

‘Camels. But I’ll tell you about that over dinner. Ah, darkness has fallen . . .’ They sat in silence watching the day end. ‘I never get tired of watching a sunset, and I’ve seen more than my fair share,’ mused Dingo.

The three men sat in contemplative silence, each lost in his own thoughts. Dingo glanced at the father and son, thinking how alike they were. He said a silent prayer that TR would recover; it was painful to see him living in this limbo land.

TR felt an intense peace in the silence of the evening and he was able, for the first time, to contemplate a future for himself. He knew he was leaving Queenie and Jenni out on a bit of a limb and that it wasn’t very fair to them, but he needed this time alone to start piecing his life back together again.

Tango was thinking of Jenni, wondering how she was settling in at Harmony Hill. She drifted into his thoughts often these days; she was exerting a pull on him he’d never experienced from any other girl before. No wonder his father had relied on her so much. Despite her sweet softness, she was a strong woman and he liked that. Perhaps he’d pay her a visit soon to see how she was getting along.

Finally Dingo stood up, saying, ‘Right, work to be done. And on the morrow we venture forth.’ He headed for the kitchen and called behind him, ‘Dinner time!’

TR and Tango looked at one another and groaned.

Queenie was shaking slightly as the Regent Hotel doorman opened the door of the taxi for her. She walked across the spacious lobby to the house phone, lifted the receiver and asked for his room. She had barely been connected when the phone was taken from her hands and replaced in the cradle. She turned around slowly to find Henri smiling at her. He looked as handsome as ever, his warm brown eyes glowing with pleasure behind his glasses. His hair was shorter and elegantly cut, a hint of grey at the temples. He smiled his perfect smile and they embraced affectionately, Henri kissing her on both cheeks.

‘My beautiful Queenie. How is it possible you become more lovely with each year?’

‘Henri, it is so good to see you.’ Queenie was filled with joy at the sight of this old lover, her staunch ally and friend. ‘You’ve come along at exactly the right time.’

Henri took her arm and led her across the foyer, the two unaware of what a stunning couple they made. ‘The right time to take you to dinner, or the right time to enter your life again?’

Queenie glanced at him. ‘Both.’

Henri pressed the lift button. ‘Sarah told me about TR’s accident. I am most distressed for you. For you both. But these memory lapses can often be just that — a lapse. I am sure all will be well. Have courage, dear Queenie.’

They stepped into the lift and Queenie linked her arm through his. ‘It has been a terrible time, Henri. I don’t know if it’s Murphy’s law or fate or what, but so many problems have come all at once.’

Henri squeezed her arm. ‘Bad luck is like a snowball, it gets bigger and bigger and rolls faster and faster downhill until boomph, it comes to the bottom of the hill and it is over.’

The lift chimed and the doors opened and Henri led Queenie along to Kables Restaurant. ‘Come, tonight we are going to eat superbly, enjoy some Bollinger and fill in the gaps between notes on Christmas cards.’

The maitre d’ showed the world-famous hotelier and his beautiful companion to a discreet corner of the lounge area and hurried away to send the waiter with the champagne and crystal glasses.

Queenie touched the perfect rose in the centre of the little table. ‘So, Henri, Sarah tells me you haven’t married. Anyone special in your life?’

‘There is only one special lady in my life.’ He reached out and touched her cheek. ‘But I have some nice companions from time to time.’ He smiled at Queenie. ‘My work . . . you understand.’ He gave a Gallic shrug and spread his arms.

Queenie smiled sadly. ‘Life doesn’t always turn out the way we think or plan, does it?’

‘No, so we must accept what the fates decree, mais non?’ He raised the crystal flute of champagne. ‘Here’s to friendship.’

Queenie lightly touched her own glass to his. ‘Sometimes friendship is better than love. To you, Henri.’

‘And to you, Queenie. Salut.’

The waiter handed them the menu and Henri glanced at it briefly, made his decision and put it down. ‘Now, Queenie, I am fascinated to know what is this plan you have that has driven you finally to part with the Kurrajong.’

‘Only to you, Henri. I need to finance a new plan for Tingulla.’

By the time they had finished their glass of champagne, given their order and moved to their candle-lit table in a quiet corner, they were deeply engrossed in conversation. The years apart evaporated as Henri listened attentively to Queenie’s plans, asking an occasional detailed and pertinent question.

After dinner they sat in the piano bar and Queenie listened to Henri tell her of his plans to open a new hotel in Eastern Europe and China. ‘I must tell you of my travels to these places, you know how I love to travel,’ he smiled. ‘But it is late, we shall continue this soon. What are your plans?’

Queenie glanced at her dainty Rolex watch. ‘It’s late. Sarah and John will be in bed. I’m dying to hear about your travels, you tell such wonderful stories. I get so involved with Tingulla and the sheep and cattle and Cricklewood and the land that I forget there are lands beyond our fences.’ Queenie rose. ‘I’m planning to go up to the Kurrajong on the weekend. I want to tell the staff in person of my plans to sell.’

‘They will be upset.’

‘They won’t be when they find out I’m selling to you, to Montpelier.’

They walked arm in arm down the marble staircase to the foyer. ‘Then I shall accompany you to the Blue Mountains,’ said Henri. ‘Are you agreeable? Perhaps we could arrange a handing-over ceremony.’

‘What a delightful idea!’ exclaimed Queenie. ‘But in the meantime I have to go and talk to a few pooh bahs about my new business venture.’

‘Going into battle?’ Henri asked as the concierge signalled a taxi.

‘Sort of,’ laughed Queenie. ‘It depends which side you’re on as to whether it’s war or not.’ The doorman opened the taxi door and Queenie reached up and kissed Henri lightly on the mouth. ‘Thank you, Henri. It’s been wonderful. See you very soon.’

‘Bonne nuit, Queenie.’ Henri watched the taxi slide away and sighed deeply. He thought he had got over Queenie and had settled for their bond of friendship. Now, seeing her again, his heart told him otherwise — he would always love her.

Chapter Thirty-Two

Dina watched Colin surreptitiously, aware he was distracted, making plans that he didn’t want her to know about. She knew him well enough to know he wasn’t involved with another woman, and the only other interest he had was money. Colin was applying himself to work with a diligence that she found unusual. He spent time on the phone, he wrote copious notes and letters which he carried about in his locked briefcase. She knew very well that all this industry had nothing to do with Harmony Hill, although he tried to give her the impression that it did.

One Friday Dina called Harmony Hill to see whether Colin was coming back that evening or the next day, but Bruce told her Colin had already left. ‘He said he had a lunch appointment in Brisbane, Dina.’

‘I see, very well. Goodbye.’

‘And thank you too,’ muttered Bruce, hanging up the phone. He too had noticed that Colin was preoccupied. He mentioned it to Ria. ‘Do you think he has a girlfriend? Sometimes he looks quite pleased with himself.’

‘No, I think he’s doing some business deal,’ said Ria. ‘And he doesn’t want Dina to know about it, if you ask me. He’s been getting mail sent here too from various countries, tourism and consulate people. What do you suppose he’s up to?’

‘Arranging a surprise trip for Dina? Running away from Dina? Planning on robbing a bank? Who knows. So long as he keeps out of our hair and lets us get on with running this place, I don’t mind,’ said Bruce a trifle curtly. Colin’s charm had worn a bit thin with the Gadens. They had hoped he would mellow and blend into the lifestyle and philosophy of Harmony Hill, but they now realised he was still only interested in himself and he’d probably never change.

Bruce was right, Colin did have a lunch appointment but not in a trendy restaurant. He drove to a small terrace house in the Brisbane suburb of Paddington. He took his briefcase with him, locked the car and rapped the brass knocker, looking up and down the street as he did so.

Inside, Fredrico greeted him and called, ‘Bettina, bring us coffee’. He gestured to the chair. ‘So, how is Alfredo’s casino coming along?’

‘I’m not up to date with the latest developments,’ said Colin. ‘I’m involved in other business dealings.’

‘Just as well. I hear there are problems, certain opposition from some quarters. Certain officials getting a little greedy . . .’ He paused as his red-headed wife, dressed in tight hot pants and a white T-shirt embroidered with colourful sequins and beads, carried in the tray with two cups of short-black espresso coffee. ‘Put it down there and leave us, Bettina, we’re talking business,’ said Fredrico gruffly.

She seemed unruffled at his tone. ‘Okey-doke, I’m going to the beauty parlour anyway. Byeee.’ She tottered out on the high gold heels of her clear plastic sandals.

Fredrico shook his head. ‘If I didn’t know the hairdresser was a fag I’d think she was having it off with him. She’s always down there.’ He noisily sipped his coffee and reached for a folder and slid it across to Colin. ‘I think you’ll be pleased. My man has excelled himself, even if I say so myself.’

Colin took out two sheets of paper and glanced from one to the other. He rubbed the paper between his fingers and held each sheet up to the light, even sniffing each one.

‘I believe the paper is an identical match. Worth the exorbitant sum he charged me.’

Colin glanced at him. ‘We had agreed on a price.’

Fredrico shrugged. ‘Subject to the man being able to do the job. He says it took more time and trouble than he anticipated. And considering the matter involved . . .’ He spread his hands in a helpless gesture but his eyes were alert and hard.

Colin put the papers down. ‘You’re telling me the price has just gone up?’

‘It is negotiable.’

‘No, Fredrico, we had a deal.’ Inwardly Colin was cursing. It was perfectly obvious to Fredrico what Colin planned. He was wide open to blackmail now. He kept his expression unconcerned, knowing there was nothing else he could do. ‘All right, how much? Bearing in mind, I am not . . . er . . . inheriting cash money here. I am merely claiming what is rightfully mine in the first place.’

‘You and Dina plan to go back to the land? I don’t believe so,’ Fredrico smiled. ‘Come, come, we are reasonable men.’ He wrote a figure on a piece of paper and slipped it to Colin.

Colin glanced at it and recoiled. ‘This is outrageous, you’re a hustler, Fredrico.’

The other man drained his coffee cup. ‘I have an expensive wife. And I am very sure your lovely wife does not know of this transaction . . . and you would prefer to keep it so, si?’

He had Colin there. Dina was one of the reasons he’d decided to put this whole plan into action. ‘If I agree to this, it has to be on a deferred basis. I can’t come up with this sort of cash immediately.’

‘I trust you, Colin. Naturally we would like to put a reasonable time limit on your payment falling due. How long do you anticipate before you will acquire the necessary funds?’

‘Give me two months — and don’t even think of charging me interest.’ Colin was prepared for things to be tricky — he was taking a gamble and he knew it — but the money would be worth it.

‘Very well. We shall shake on the deal.’ As Fredrico leaned across the low coffee table between them, a small smile played around his mouth. ‘I have, of course, taken the precaution of keeping a photocopy of these . . . merely as collateral, shall we say.’

‘Yeah, I understand,’ said Colin, taking a mouthful of the now cold strong black coffee. He hated dealing with these people but he had to admit he’d have done the same thing. They shook hands and Colin knew the deal was as binding as signing in blood. He put the folder with the two documents in his briefcase, closed it and spun the dials on the combination lock.

He drove down to the Gold Coast and entered the flamingo pink building, whistling.

Sarah sat Queenie down and ran through the publicity and promotional plans for Tingulla fashions. Queenie grinned at her friend. ‘You’re amazing, Sarah. A whirlwind once you get your teeth into something. I also want you to go down to Kui House and meet everyone. I’ve asked Raylene to do some sketches for me — I think she could come up with some really innovative knitwear designs — and they’ve also lined up some knitters. I need more clothes though for this first collection.’

Sarah consulted her notes. ‘Queenie, I also took the liberty of making a few enquiries about a place to have the launch party and showing of the collection.’

‘Great.’

‘The Hilton ballroom would be terrific of course. But I have talked to the NSW Art Gallery and we can have it there. It’s such a romantic setting, we’d need to set up a catwalk and a small stage but the lighting is great, we’ll fill it with Australian bush flowers and Australian art on the walls. The theme is going to be “Tingulla Wool — Naturally the Best”!’

Queenie gave her friend an affectionate hug. ‘Sarah, that’s a great idea. That’s a fantastic slogan too.’

‘There’s more,’ continued Sarah. ‘Sexy singer James Blundell has agreed to host the evening as well as sing and draw the door prize. I also think Dingo should launch it with a poem and one of his romantic little speeches.’

‘Good idea. Why don’t we also cadge one of Dingo’s paintings out of him to be raffled for charity — Kui House perhaps,’ suggested Queenie. ‘They’re fetching hefty prices these days.’

Sarah made a note. ‘Now, Queenie, my next suggestion is that we’ve earned some time off from all this crashing around town looking for office space and headquarters for Tingulla Fashions. So, tomorrow we’re going for a slapup lunch at David Jones.’

‘That’s a wonderful idea,’ said Queenie.

‘I read in the paper that DJs are having some whoopty-do fashion show that I think we should see. Countess Magda Vambery is unveiling her new collection.’

‘Countess who?’ exclaimed Queenie. ‘I’ve never heard of her. Not that I’m up with all the European couturiers.’

‘She’s a migrant of obscure Hungarian nobility who’s been here for ten years, according to the paper,’ explained Sarah. ‘It doesn’t sound like our sort of thing, but it should keep us entertained through lunch.’

They were lucky enough to get a good table at the elegant sixth-floor restaurant, and they settled themselves close to the catwalk that had been erected down the middle of the room. A Hungarian gypsy violinist backed by a three-piece ensemble provided the music and once the main course had been served, the fashion show got underway.

The heavy drapes were pulled across the windows blocking much of the daylight, and special lights played across the stage. The fashion buyer for David Jones, dressed in a black Chanel suit and pearls, stepped to the microphone and in a clipped accent welcomed the guests and introduced the Countess Magda Vambery.

The countess made a dramatic entrance through a small curtained-off area, sweeping in with a flourish, standing centre stage and awaiting the applause, which came falteringly as diners put down their cutlery to give polite acknowledgement to the woman who stood before them.

She was in her early fifties with thick dark hair that had a silver streak blazoned through one side. Her dark eyes were wide black pools in a creamy face split by a wide scarlet smile and perfect teeth. Large green gems blazed at her ear lobes and around her throat was a gold band studded with gemstones. She wore a dramatic red dress with a fabulously embroidered antique silk shawl draped over one shoulder.

After bowing her head to thank the audience she stepped up to the microphone and began speaking in a husky Hungarian accent. She described the inspiration for her collection which went back to her great grandfather Arminius Vambery who set out from Constantinople and travelled through the East and published a book called Travels and Adventures in Central Asia in London in 1864. Her brief tale had the audience immediately fascinated and the clothes lived up to their exotic origins. Queenie and Sarah studied them carefully, marvelling at the intricacy of the beading and embroidery; but, as they both noted, what set them apart was the striking use of colour and simplicity of cut and design.

‘Not one of them uses any wool, notice that?’ whispered Queenie.

‘They’re pretty fantastic just the same,’ replied Sarah,’ and her presentation is great.’

‘She could sell ice to Eskimos. I think she could sell these clothes even if they weren’t any good.’

‘But, Queenie, they are. Where has this woman been?’

‘Let’s find out.’

Immediately after the show when the models came out for the finale and the countess was presented with flowers, Sarah nudged Queenie. ‘She reminds me of a prima ballerina taking her bows.’

They went backstage and asked to meet her. The countess was tenderly wrapping one of the bejewelled evening gowns in tissue as the models returned from the haughty heights of elegance to everyday busy career girls.

Queenie introduced herself and Sarah. The countess glanced at Queenie, taking in the beautiful and tastefully dressed woman and her smart and attractive friend. The countess drew herself up, flinging her shawl over her shoulder, holding out her hand in a regal gesture and flashing a dazzling smile. ‘Magda Vambery. I do hope you enjoyed my collection.’

‘Very much indeed. I have to admit I’m surprised we’re not familiar with your label. Have you been established in Europe?’ asked Queenie.

‘My family yes. I grew up in couture in Paris where my grandfather fled when things became difficult in Hungary after the war.

‘My father came here in the sixties. I stayed in Europe with my husband the Count Maximilan Frederick Muller, but despite a grand title he had little else — the estates were long gone as was the money. Poor Maxie, he lived in the past and never adjusted to having to sully his hands with commerce. We settled here ten years ago but he became very difficult to live with so we separated, he is much older than myself. He lives in Double Bay and we are better friends now than when we were together.’ She laughed, ‘So, darlings, now you know my life story. I have managed a boutique and been the European fashion consultant for exclusive shops and department stores plus I created designs for private clients. But they always brought me European magazines and asked me to copy them, so two years ago I decided to go into business for myself. So here we are!’ She waved an arm around the crowded dressing room.

Sarah had been looking at several dresses hanging on a mobile rack beside them as the countess spoke. ‘These garments are superbly finished on the inside, you could virtually wear them inside out!’ Sarah exclaimed.

‘I insist on attention to detail. It is a European custom. My father and grandfather schooled me thoroughly in this. Was there something you were interested in . . . I would adore to see you in this gown Mrs Hamilton’.

‘No, we were more interested in you and your designs,’ smiled Queenie, though she agreed the shimmering jade chiffon gown was exquisite.

‘These are such extravagant clothes, surely they only appeal to a limited clientele. Don’t you make more . . . mundane clothes?’ asked Sarah bluntly.

The countess clutched her head in horror. ‘I do not do mundane! Never!’ Then calming herself she answered softly, ‘I cannot produce on a large scale, so I have carved a niche for myself which few others can fill. My designs are not for everyone’s pocket but you get value for money. These are classic and will last and look au courant for years.’

‘I can see that,’ said Queenie. ‘Would it be possible for Sarah and I to visit you at your business? We’d like to talk to you some more, we’re venturing into a fashion enterprise of our own. Nothing like this,’ she hastened to add.

The countess hesitated. ‘My salon is very busy, I generally go to my clients for a private consultation.’

‘We would prefer to come to your premises,’ said Queenie firmly.

Countess Magda Vambery gave them a shrewd look then seemed to come to some decision. ‘Very well,’ she nodded, ‘I’ll make an exception.’

She took a card from her bag and quickly wrote an address on the back and handed it to Queenie. The cream card was simply engraved Countess Magda Vambery. Couturier. There was a post office box address in Vaucluse and a telephone number. On the back the countess had written in flowing script.

Queenie and Sarah looked more closely at each garment in the collection with the countess pointing out details and finish and explaining its inspiration. ‘Each garment has its own little story going back to the stories my grandfather told me from his father when he travelled to all those exotic places. For example, the pattern of that beading comes from Central Asia,’ said the countess. ‘This hooded cape is based on one worn by the desert tribes of Oxus he described when on his way to Khiva.’

Queenie and Sarah finally dragged themselves away and once in the privacy of the huge lift they looked at each other with large smiles.

‘She’s quite something, isn’t she?’ said Sarah.

‘The countess is a great performer,’ agreed Queenie. ‘But I think she is a very astute business lady.’

‘I agree. Beneath that glamour queen act is a very shrewd woman.’

Queenie had a growing feeling of excitement. ‘We definitely have to talk to her. She could be just what we need.’

‘Queenie! You’re not contemplating bejewelled sweaters are you?’

‘No of course not. But she has great flair and I think she had business skills that could be useful to us. I also think the countess might be scratching to rub a few shekels together, despite all the glitter.’

‘Let’s visit the “salon” as soon as we can,’ said Sarah. ‘And I’ll get John to check out her business reputation.’

They looked at each other and grinned. ‘This is going to be fun,’ said Queenie. ‘I rather like the countess.’

Chapter Thirty-Three

In the bright West Australian light a grey falcon swept leisurely across the brilliant sky giving a loud cluck-cluck call as it pursued a small bird. Dingo glanced up and squinted. ‘Don’t see them too often.’

He swung the Toyota over to a paddock where two camels were grazing. ‘These are a pair of racing camels I’m using for breeding,’ Dingo explained. ‘The racing is starting to get serious now. And it’s damned good entertainment.’

‘What’s this camel idea of yours, Dingo? Surely not racing camels? You won’t make another fortune that way.’ Tango rolled his eyes. ‘And I’m not going to train them!’

‘You could,’ retorted Dingo, ‘I train ’em just like stockhorses. Break them the same way too.’

‘So what is the plan?’ enquired TR with genuine curiosity.

‘Exporting wild camels — and ones we breed — to the Middle East. Ours are disease free and can be used for all kinds of purposes, not just as a food source. I’ve done my homework,’ added Dingo, seeing their sceptical faces.

‘You’re mad,’ exclaimed Tango good-naturedly.

‘Possibly,’ replied Dingo without rancour.

TR laughed. ‘So what’s your plan?’

‘A round-up. A camel muster. There’s a mob of feral dromedaries out there and we’re going to round them up.’

‘On horses? Oh no! You are mad.’ Tango shook his head in dismay as Dingo looked pointedly at the racing camels. ‘Not me, no way.’

‘Well you can definitely count me out,’ grinned TR, tapping his bad leg.

‘Rubbish, lads,’ admonished Dingo. ‘It’ll be the greatest muster of all time! We’ll make history. They’ll write songs about us.’

‘Yeah, yeah,’ grinned Tango.

TR’s smile faded. ‘I . . . I don’t think I’m ready to ride yet, Dingo.’

‘Ar, I was just kidding, I’ll get some of the boys to do the hard work. But it’d be good if you could follow in the ute and lasso any strays. No one was better than you with a rope, TR. I have a special pole arrangement for catching them,’ said Dingo, seeing TR’s dubious look.

Tango glanced at TR. It was still hard to believe but, as he’d noticed at Tingulla, TR had developed a definite wariness towards the horses he had once loved.

‘Even though we won’t be using horses in this madcap round-up, you really have to face up to getting on a horse again, Dad,’ said Tango softly. ‘It’d be a million to one chance you’d fall again.’

‘My luck hasn’t been very good lately,’ said TR.

Dingo stuck his hands on his hips and said, trying to make light of the situation, ‘Maybe if you fell off, your memory’d come back.’

Tango looked at Dingo in shock, then burst out laughing and TR half-heartedly joined in. However, later Tango took Dingo aside to discuss the matter. ‘We have to get him back on a horse. This is crazy,’ said Tango in exasperation.

‘Don’t worry, Tango, I have just the horse. I even have a saddle to suit him. I had a bloke here who was a paraplegic and we got him riding. TR’s problem is in his head not his leg and hip.’

So, despite TR’s protests, Dingo announced he was taking him for a trot round the back paddock the next day.

The little grey filly had a sweet face and a patient nature. She was already saddled when TR and Tango arrived at the yards.

‘Crikey, what kind of a saddle is that?’ asked Tango, eyeing the high-back, broad saddle with its high wide pommel and leather brace.

‘It was for holding the crippled bloke in the saddle; I figured it’d give TR some extra support till he’s strong enough and used to riding again,’ explained Dingo.

TR tried not to show how nervous he really felt. He wasn’t sure that he even remembered how to ride, he was just assuming it would come naturally — everyone kept telling him what a marvellous horseman he’d been. ‘And where’s the hoist to lift me into the saddle?’ he joked. Although he walked quite well with his cane, throwing his leg over a saddle presented a definite challenge.

‘That’s Lacey’s party trick,’ said Dingo, approaching the grey filly. ‘Come here, TR; stand next to me.’

Taking the reins, Dingo quietly directed the filly with soft words and a gentle nudge with the stockwhip. The filly sank to her rump then rolled to one side so that TR was able simply to step into the saddle at ground level. Once TR was aboard, Dingo took his cane and handed him the reins, saying, ‘Hup, Lacey’.

The filly righted herself and rose back on to her legs. Dingo adjusted TR’s feet in the stirrups. ‘If you feel like you can’t hold the seat well, there’s a leather brace that can wrap round your middle attached to the saddle.’

‘No, thanks,’ said TR.

‘Then relax the white knuckles,’ grinned Tango.

But TR just sat there, immobilised, gripping the reins as the horse waited patiently. He was feeling strange sensations jerk through his body; the nerve endings in his bad leg, hip and arm sent shooting pains through his body. He felt shaky as if he might topple over, and he broke out in a nervous sweat.

‘You’re going to look pretty silly just sittin’ there, not going anywhere after all that effort getting on,’ commented Dingo.

Tango’s heart felt like it would crack. He could barely stand to see TR — once so magnificent on a horse, who had ridden with such fluidity and grace, as one with a horse — transformed into a fearful and trembling wreck. Finally he walked to TR and rested his hands on top of his father’s, feeling the fists like solid iron, so hard was TR gripping the reins.

‘It’s all right, Dad,’ Tango said gently. ‘You can do this.’

TR looked down at his son, their eyes matching in blue intensity; but where the expression in Tango’s was soft and sympathetic, TR’s eyes looked hard-edged like a diamond. TR didn’t answer, and seemed in an almost catatonic state, unable to function. Tango gently tapped the horse on the rump and she moved forward. TR swayed momentarily, caught himself and turned his attention to the movement of the horse.

Some kind of automatic pilot took over and TR found he was acting on instinct. The horse trotted obediently around the saddling yard, circling to the left then to the right as TR directed.

Tango and Dingo broke into applause.

‘You got your sea legs back, off you go, TR,’ shouted Dingo.

Tango opened the gate. ‘Go for it, TR!’

TR was suddenly elated at the sensation of power and motion. After months of restricted movement, he felt wonderful and he soon found he was settling into the rhythm of an easy canter. When he rode back into the yard, Lacey sank to the ground once more and Dingo and Tango watched TR awkwardly but successfully dismount.

‘Righto, you’re on the team,’ said Dingo. ‘Let’s pack up and hit the road . . . or rather, the desert.’

Tango looked at TR. ‘He’s serious about this.’

‘Bloody oath I am. There’s money out there in them thar humps.’

Dingo had organised what seemed like a small army. Three four-wheel-drive open Land-rovers and a Toyota utility truck loaded with supplies and equipment and two stockmen on motorbikes made up what he called the advance party. Support units included a cattle truck, several horses in horse floats and a gyrocopter.

They were all on Kolareena Station, another of Dingo’s scattered properties out in the flat Kimberley plains. Over the years camels had moved in and multiplied to an estimated three thousand head. There was a large water hole where they went to drink and it was here that salt licks had been dropped two weeks ago. So it was a safe bet that the camels would still be around the water.

Dingo, who knew his land intimately, had briefed several of the men and told them about a narrow gorge where they were to set up hessian fences. The idea was to drive the camels down the dead-end gorge and into the temporary yards.

Dingo explained that the camels would be kept in the yards for a week or so to quieten down and get used to being handled. ‘Remember at all times that these are wild animals, they’ve never seen a man before, probably not even a horse. So they’ll be mad as hell and they’ll have a go at you given half a chance. Especially any cows with calves — they’re fighting for their lives.’

‘What are they going to make of a chopper and motorbikes then?’ pondered Tango.

‘There’s also an awful lot of them,’ added TR. ‘How many are you going to keep?’

‘That’s not entirely up to me,’ said Dingo. ‘After they’ve settled down, we’ll cull the mob. You can tell which are the better-natured ones. We feed them hay and watch them chew their cud so you get a good look at their teeth and you can tell their age, and we’ll let the cranky old ones go. Then the sheik’s man flies in and takes his pick. This is a special consignment, you see.’

‘This is no spur of the moment plan by the sound of things,’ observed TR.

‘Ah, it all happened by accident. I sold a painting of some camels in the scrub to a gallery in Perth. Next thing I knew I was contacted by the business manager for this Middle East sheik wanting to know if I had any camels for sale. He wanted fresh, healthy stock. I always knew we had a few herds round the place, so I took a little flight over Kolareena and was pleasantly surprised to find I had more camels than I imagined.’

‘You ever met the sheik?’ asked Tango.

‘Yeah, I met the desert potentate,’ grinned Dingo. ‘Turns out to be a kid in his twenties with so much oil money he has trouble spending it quick enough to keep up with the way it comes in.’

‘Does he want some horses?’ asked TR and Tango in unison.

‘He bought a lot of racehorses in New Zealand. That was last year’s hobby. Actually, he’s a pretty bright businessman. Harvard degree in business. Their emirate is still run by his father, but Rasheed is hoping when he takes over to bring it into the twentieth century. You might even meet him; he left it open whether or not he’d come down.’

TR and Tango looked at each other and laughed. Dingo was full of surprises. He was an old man now, but he still charged at life like a runaway bull.

They set out after sunrise, the four-wheel drives in radio contact with each other and with the gyrocopter skimming ahead to check the location of the camels.

‘Don’t get too low and don’t get too close. Keep your distance. I don’t want them scattered hell west and crooked before we get there,’ barked Dingo into the radio.

The chopper pilot soon reported that a big herd was around the water hole. ‘I’ll wait on the ground for further instructions till you’re in place, then give me the word,’ radioed the pilot.

The vehicles and bikes fanned out in a V formation, the bikes on the wings. They circled the water hole at a distance until they were approaching it in a direct line to the hessian fences and holding paddocks. Once they were in position, the gyrocopter flew in from behind them.

At its sound and sudden approach, the herd leaders bellowed and soon all that could be seen of the great mob of dromedaries was a huge cloud of red dust as they pounded away in panic.

The old bulls tried to break the pattern of flight by occasionally veering away to the east or west, but the chopper would quickly buzz them back in the direction of the mob to be attended to by one of the motorbikes.

There were two men waiting out of sight at the yards as the angry and frightened camels streamed past the hessian fences and into the pens. In the melee some camels escaped, but most milled about in confusion. The men swiftly had the yard sliprails in place and before long the vehicles appeared through the dust cloud.

TR and Tango were trailing in the ute when Dingo’s voice crackled over their radio. ‘There are a couple of runaways a kilometre west of you, see if you can get them. They’ve been running like the clappers and the pilot says they look like bloody beauties. You know what to do. Good luck.’

TR and Tango glanced at each other. ‘I was hoping we wouldn’t have to do this,’ said TR.

‘I’d do it, but you’re a better shot with a rope, TR.’

‘You sure about that?’ he asked as they stopped and quickly changed places, Tango getting out to help boost TR into the back of the utility truck and then getting behind the wheel.

‘Tie yourself in position to that window bar, and don’t fall,’ yelled Tango excitedly.

There was a rope tied to one end of the bar across the back of the window behind the driver. Slinging it around his waist TR knotted the other end in place, giving him a sort of sling support to lean against. Grimly he picked up the specially made pole with a lasso at its end and they sped off in the direction given by Dingo.

Tango pointed out of the window at what appeared to be a distant puff of red smoke. ‘There they are!’ He put his foot down and roared after the young pair who were still running fast but tiring. He headed after one, gaining and closing on the camel running at a steady lope. He drew level and TR, holding on with one hand, leaned out and dropped the looped rope neatly round the head of the camel bringing it to a choking halt and crashing it to the ground.

‘Tie him off, Tango!’ yelled TR, knowing he couldn’t move fast enough with his bad leg.

Tango had stopped the ute and he almost fell out of the door as he grabbed the rope and hauled it in, hand over fist. As he struggled with the thrashing camel, TR slid as best he could over the side of the ute.

‘Watch he doesn’t bite, he’ll take half your arm off,’ he cautioned. Then, with practised swiftness and sureness, TR whipped the length of the rope from the pole and around the legs of the camel, front and back. With the camel immobilised they stood back, both breathing heavily from the exertion. TR was also experiencing a lot of pain caused by this exertion.

‘You haven’t lost your touch, TR,’ said Tango, when he’d caught his breath.

TR looked bemused. ‘If you ask me how I did that I wouldn’t be able to tell you. I guess it’s all just there in my head. Put the blindfold on him to lessen the trauma a bit.’

Tango carefully tied the cloth over the camel’s eyes, avoiding the flashing teeth. The animal calmed, and lay still on the ground trussed up like a turkey. ‘Right, let’s get his mate.’

The process was repeated but this time as they drew beside the racing camel and TR leaned out with the pole, something strange happened and he lost his concentration and missed the camel.

It was like a slow-motion movie happening in his mind, blotting out everything around him. He was galloping down a slope beside a runaway white horse and he reached out and pulled a young woman from the horse onto his saddle. He could smell her hair, feel her hand through his shirt, and he knew it was Queenie.

Tango had circled the camel and they were pulling back alongside it before TR’s vision cleared; then, with a quick swing, he shot the lasso surely over the camel’s head.

He didn’t think more about the flashback until the two rogue camels had been trussed up, blindfolded and winched into the back of the truck they’d called in by radio. But as they drove back to the gorge, TR was quiet.

‘You all right, Dad? Didn’t strain or hurt yourself, did you? I shouldn’t have let you do this. It was a bit risky,’ worried Tango. Then he grinned, ‘But it seemed like a good idea at the time’.

TR returned his grin. ‘No I’m hunky-dory.’ For TR this expedition, which had seemed a mad enterprise, was like life blood flowing into his veins. He felt stimulated and enlivened with an energy he hadn’t known since regaining consciousness in the hospital. For the first time he felt like he had come back to life.

‘We have journeyed this way before, eh Queenie?’ said Henri as the dark blue Rolls Royce sped smoothly and quietly up the Bells Line of Road through the mountains.

‘A few times before, I think,’ she smiled. Queenie was comfortable and relaxed, Henri was a good driver and the car smelled of leather and his Guerlain aftershave.

There was a reception committee waiting to welcome them — beaming staff lined up at the entrance to the Kurrajong in a spontaneous greeting.

Henri gestured towards the reception crowd. ‘My God, it looks like the staff of a stately mansion waiting to pay homage to the mistress.’

But there was no obsequious tugging of forelocks, only a genuine and friendly warmth as the chef, Monsieur Ambert, stepped forward to welcome Queenie ‘home’. Carol and John Macquarie, who had managed the hotel since its opening, were next to take Queenie’s hand and they led her inside as Chef Ambert and Henri talked in rapid French.

Everything was exactly as they expected it to be and Queenie and Henri exchanged a quick glance of approval at the flower arrangements, the polished wood, the shining silver and crystal — the attention to small details that made this hotel so special. Restored by Queenie to its former splendour it had become one of the grand boutique hotels of the world. The majesty of its setting on the edge of a breathtaking mountain valley with great sheer sandstone cliffs made it unique.

They toured the entire hotel, dropping into the kitchen to sample the soup de jour, talking to the head gardener in the greenhouse, and pausing to ask guests how they were enjoying their stay. As they walked around the Kurrajong’s exquisite little man-made lake, Queenie gazed into the dark trees of the mountains ringing the valley.

‘I’m remembering the night of our gala opening,’ she said to Henri, ‘when all this was nearly destroyed by the bushfire. What a drama that was, what a disaster it nearly was!’

‘And what a heroine you were, dear Queenie.’ Henri took her arm. ‘Yet what seemed to be a major disaster turned out to be a huge blessing. The Kurrajong was on the front page of every newspaper and all over the TV news. You couldn’t have bought all that publicity! So often it turns out that adversity has a silver lining. Never forget that, Queenie.’

Queenie didn’t answer, and Henri squeezed her arm. ‘Come, what say we enjoy ourselves and row around the lake and over to the pavilion. We can pretend we are in Switzerland.’

Queenie nodded and they headed for the little jetty where the canoes and row boats were tied up. ‘Do you know, Henri, I always meant to organise a small musical event here. Chamber music or a small orchestra performing in the pavilion in the middle of the lake while guests sat around the lakeside — a sort of siesta-time symphony!’

‘A wonderful idea, we shall do it,’ smiled Henri.

‘I’ve arranged with John and Carol that we meet with the staff at five this afternoon to make our announcement,’ said Queenie.

Henri helped her into the dinghy. ‘Forget business for a little while, enjoy the view.’

Queenie leaned back in the little boat and shut her eyes as Henri guided it across the lake. For a brief moment she almost believed she was gliding across a lake in the Alps, embarking on some mysterious and romantic journey.

The staff were gathered in the dining room and although rumours had circulated there was some concern about what Queenie would be announcing.

As she stood before them she glanced around the worried faces and smiled. ‘I have good news and sad news,’ she began. ‘I am selling the Kurrajong.’ There was a startled and worried gasp from the staff and Queenie smiled again. ‘However, the good news is, our Kurrajong has been bought by Monsieur Barnard and will be part of the Montpelier chain, which you all know is one of the world’s finest hotel groups.’ At this announcement there was a burst of applause.

When it died down Queenie continued. ‘I am undertaking this for purely financial reasons; the Kurrajong, thanks to you all, continues to be an enormous success. I am sorry I haven’t always been able to be as hands-on as I would have liked, but you know how closely I have kept tabs on you all.’ There was a small titter. Everyone knew very well Queenie kept a very close eye on all details of the hotel and its staff, even from a distance.

‘The Kurrajong will always be very close to my heart.’ At this her voice trembled and a few of the women wiped tears from their eyes. Queenie thanked everybody for their past support and hoped they would continue to serve Montpelier with the same devotion.

She then introduced Henri, who assured everyone that very little would change, that everyone’s job was secure and, while he would be making regular visits, Carol and John Macquarie would continue to manage the hotel. He hoped to increase European visitors to this Australian gem in the Montpelier crown and would be also be sending some of his European staff to do some of their training here. He added that as the Kurrajong was now part of an international chain there would be similar opportunities for Australian staff to work in Montpelier hotels in other parts of the world. He added they must also prepare for the increase in Asian visitors.

In closing, he announced that the most prestigious suite in the hotel would be named the Tingulla Suite in Queenie’s honour, which brought a round of applause. Finally waiters circulated with trays of Moët et Chandon champagne and Henri proposed a toast and a vote of thanks to Queenie and wished her luck in her new venture. Holding aloft their champagne glasses, the staff cheered and stamped their feet.

Queenie was deeply touched at the obvious care and affection with which the staff regarded her and for the next forty-five minutes she went among them asking about their lives and families and promising to return often to see them.

Later, as she and Henri ate dinner on the moonlit terrace, she reassured him that everybody would continue their loyal service to him and the Kurrajong.

‘It is because of the respect they have for you,’ said Henri.

‘This place will always hold a special place in my heart,’ sighed Queenie.

‘It will for me too,’ whispered Henri, taking her fingertips and kissing them. They exchanged a meaningful look, each remembering the times they had shared here when Henri had courted her.

Queenie gave him a slow fond smile and he was first to look away. He rose and went behind Queenie to pull out her chair for her. ‘A nightcap before we retire, Queenie?’

She nodded and walked beside him, smiling at the staff in the dining room as she and Henri headed for the discreet and elegant bar that overlooked the floodlit lake and gardens. For the first time in many months Queenie drew strength from another person and she was glad that Henri was there with her. This beautiful hotel in the mountains was an oasis and she felt that the mountains were a barrier to the outside world and her other life. And that for a brief interlude she could forget.

Chapter Thirty-Four

Colin was whistling in the shower and Dina, who rarely rose from her bed when Colin left early, flung back the covers and padded into the study. She picked up Colin’s briefcase and tried to open it, but it was locked. She replaced it then went to the bookshelf and took down Patrick’s book, finding the letter back in place. Thoughtfully she returned to bed.

When Colin returned to the bedroom and slipped his shirt on, Dina rolled over and sleepily remarked, ‘Caro, can you leave me a cheque? I left my chequebook and credit cards at Pappa’s.’

‘Why don’t you ever have any cash, Dina?’ muttered Colin.

Dina waited for a moment or two then went into the study as Colin was ripping a cheque from the book inside the open briefcase.

‘Write down what you’ve done with this cheque on the stub,’ instructed Dina, wrapping her arms around him from behind. Colin handed her the cheque over his shoulder, snapped the briefcase shut and stood it up. Dina quickly looked at the left-hand numerals of the open lock, then, turning Colin around, she gave him a sensual hug, rubbing against him and leaning around him to look at the numbers on the other lock. ‘Come back to bed, caro.’

Colin gently but firmly pushed her away. ‘No, Dina, I’ll be late for an appointment.’ He turned back to his bag, spun the dials on the lock and put it on the floor. ‘I’ll just grab a cup of coffee, want one?’

‘No, grazie.’ Dina scribbled the numbers she’d memorised on a piece of paper and went back to the bedroom, putting the paper in the drawer of the bedside table then settling down in bed.

Colin, holding his briefcase, and wearing sunglasses, appeared at the bedroom door. ‘I’ll be back late. You eating with your father?’

‘I suppose,’ mumbled Dina.

‘Get your chequebook back.’ Colin left and Dina went back to sleep.

The following morning Dina feigned sleep but once she heard the water running and guessed Colin was in the shower, she took the paper with the numbers on it from the drawer and hurried into the study. She spun the dials and snapped open the briefcase. As swiftly as she could without disturbing things, she rifled through papers, folders and documents. A plain school exercise book caught her attention and when she opened it, she found a folded letter inside. It was another letter from Patrick Hanlon, handwritten and dated only two weeks before he died. She read it swiftly then replaced it and glanced through Colin’s notes in the book. There were overseas addresses and contacts in South America and Mexico. There was a bank account opened in his name in both places. There were details of immigration requirements, and names and addresses of consulates. It was enough. She had the picture.

She carefully replaced the book and slammed the briefcase shut, spinning the combination lock to random numbers. She went back to bed and pretended to be sound asleep. Colin left the apartment without a word or gesture towards her.

Saskia and Jenni trotted back down the hill to the stables, passing the paddock where Toffee was grazing. Suddenly the horse kicked out his back legs and took off in a playful gallop.

‘He’s got the wind up his tail,’ remarked Saskia as they reined in to watch.

‘He’s a gorgeous looking horse. Is he really as good as you say, Sas? I mean, do you think he could win races now?’

‘You bet he could!’ declared Saskia. ‘I’ve got him completely cured of his bad habits — after working as a stockhorse, bumping around the cattle, he wouldn’t flinch in the middle of the pack running in the Melbourne Cup.’

‘Then why don’t you race him?’

Saskia chewed her lip. ‘I don’t see how I could. And really I just wanted to prove to Tango I could do this. I wanted to prove it to myself as well, even though I was pretty confident that I could train horses. I’ll have to get Tango up here. Maybe he could make an offer for Toffee.’

‘Is he for sale?’

‘Not really, but he’s just been put out to graze here. He placed in a few races then developed this phobia and I don’t think he was treated very well. Bannerman brought him up here from Tamworth and they raced him once to see if he was as good as he used to be, but he didn’t do well, so I guess they’ve written him off.’

They headed back to the stables and as they dismounted, Jenni continued, ‘You know, Saskia, if you really wanted to prove something to Tango you should race Toffee.’ Jenni swung her saddle over a rail then turned suddenly, her face bright with excitement. ‘Hey, why don’t you buy him yourself?’

Cradling the saddle and blanket in her arms Saskia stopped and stared at Jenni thoughtfully then smiled broadly. ‘Why didn’t I think of that before? I’ll have to tread softly, I don’t want Colin or the dreaded Georgy Porgy to know their clapped-out racehorse has come good. They’ll put the price up.’

Saskia brought the subject up casually with Colin that afternoon. ‘I’ve really got attached to Toffee — I haven’t had a horse of my own for ages. Do you think George Bannerman would sell him?’

Colin didn’t look up from the paper on his desk. ‘He’d sell his own mother for a quid.’

‘So I’ll ask him. How much do you think he’ll want?’

‘Well, seeing as they have just dumped him now, I don’t think he’d be worth much.’ He glanced at her. ‘You serious about this, are you? What are you going to do with a broken-down racehorse?’

‘Oh, I only want to keep him for me to ride. He has a bit more go than the other horses.’

‘Let me do the negotiations for you, kid,’ said Colin quickly. ‘I don’t want you to get ripped off.’ Colin was calculating building in a commission fee for himself.

Over dinner Jenni and Saskia confided their plan to the Gadens but asked them to keep it to themselves.

‘Well, if the horse is as good as you say he is, you should race him and find out for sure,’ said Bruce encouragingly.

‘How can she do that, Bruce, you have to be a licensed trainer,’ said Ria, ever practical. ‘Do you know a trustworthy trainer who’d enter Toffee in a decent race for you?’ put in Jenni.

Saskia looked thoughtful. ‘Angus Wellburn, the bloke who owns the dairy farm down the road where I work Toffee, is a retired trainer. I don’t know if he still holds a licence, but he’s taken quite an interest in Toffee. Maybe I should talk to him.’

‘Oh do, Sas. See him this afternoon,’ enthused Jenni. ‘I think this is so exciting!’

Queenie and Henri had finished their paperwork, and contracts had been exchanged and were now in the hands of their solicitors.

‘All that remains is for me to say goodbye,’ sighed Queenie over lunch at the Kurrajong’s superb restaurant, but she smiled as she said it.

‘Not goodbye, au revoir. You will be back, often I hope,’ said Henri warmly. ‘And now my first official duty is to propose we go to dinner in fabulous downtown Katoomba.’

They met after sunset and strolled through the town, calling into the Paragon Cafe to buy some home-made chocolates. ‘How is Mrs Simos?’ Queenie asked the young man behind the counter.

‘She’s retired, and her daughters are running the place now, but the chocolates are still wonderful,’ he grinned.

‘Then we shall have a selection,’ said Henri. ‘A business that started in 1916 and is still thriving must be good!’

‘We’d better save these for dessert, or we shan’t eat our dinner,’ said Queenie, sniffing the delicious chocolatey aroma.

Over dinner they talked of art and Henri was intrigued to hear about the fashions of Countess Magda Vambery. ‘I have met women like her, some come from proud White Russian or aristocratic Austro-Hungarian families with royal connections and were forced out after the war and fell on hard times. With such a background I’m sure she has exquisite taste,’ he said.

‘Her own couture business is quite new, but I think she’s missed the boat in the contemporary fashion world. She’s making lavish and extravagantly beautiful gowns that few people can afford these days. In the fifties and sixties the socialites outdid each other in these sort of fashions. People don’t dress like that so much any more. I’m hoping if she is suitable and agrees, we might be able to swing her over to more elegant modern wool and leather designs,’ explained Queenie.

‘Like the Italian designers.’

‘No. Like Australian designers,’ replied Queenie firmly.

‘I stand corrected,’ smiled Henri. ‘Who will be doing your designing then, in addition to the wild countess?’

‘I’ve worked out a basic theme, and Sarah has found an exciting new designer, Leonard Osborne, who does men and women’s tailoring. Then, out of the blue, for the Aussie knitwear, I found a talented Aboriginal artist, a young girl who was a street kid a year ago.’

‘That sounds an eclectic mix, to say the least,’ observed Henri. ‘But Queenie, ma petite, you can’t run everything yourself. A fashion enterprise on the scale of Tingulla Wool and Leather needs someone to run it, someone with a background in fashion, buying and selling, dealing with overseas markets, as well as supervising the actual making of the garments. It is a full-time job and has to be based in the city. Sarah has a family, you weren’t surely thinking of putting her in charge?’

‘No, her skills are public relations, marketing and promotion — she has a natural gift for it. No, I’m hoping this is where the countess will come in,’ said Queenie.

‘A title does not automatically denote talent for business,’ cautioned Henri.

Queenie smiled warmly. ‘That’s true, but Sarah and I will see for ourselves in a day or two.’

Henri reached over and squeezed her hand. ‘If you have need for further capital you know where to come,’ he said gently. ‘Even if you just want the countess checked out, perhaps I can help.’

‘You are a good friend, Henri. Thank you for the offer. Sarah has invested in the company and John has already offered to look into the financial status of Countess Vambery Couture. But come the day Tingulla Fashions storms Fifth Avenue, then you can help us set New York on fire.’

‘And don’t forget Paris,’ added Henri brightly. ‘Although I grew up in Quebec, I have family connections in France too.’

Queenie burst out laughing. ‘You really are a man of the world, Henri!’

After dinner they walked back through drifts of smokelike fog that beribboned the dark pine trees. Reaching the massive stone gates of the Kurrajong, Queenie paused. ‘I remember the first time I rode along here and found this gateway and then saw the tumbledown hotel. It was like something out of an old movie.’

Henri dropped his arm around her shoulders and gave her a small hug. ‘Anyone else would have wandered around, peered in the windows and gone away to tell the tale. But you, no. You have a vision, take a big gamble and make it happen. You’re incredible, Queenie. And you will make your Tingulla Fashions a great success also.’

‘Thanks. You make me feel so confident that it will all turn out okay,’ said Queenie gratefully, putting an arm around his waist as they walked up the sweeping driveway. ‘Sometimes I have moments of great doubt. It is very hard to soldier on without TR . . . I feel very alone at times.’

‘Never feel alone, Queenie. You always have my support. And love,’ said Henri softly.

‘Oh, Henri . . .’ Queenie let the sentence trail off.

They were silent until they reached the hotel. There was soft music coming from the piano bar but they went quietly up the curving, plushly carpeted staircase and walked down the corridor lit by imitation old-fashioned gas lamps. At the door to Henri’s suite they paused.

‘A nightcap?’ he asked.

‘Yes please. And a chocolate,’ said Queenie, holding up the Paragon bag.

Henri had the grandest suite in the hotel with double French doors opening onto a balcony set with table and chairs. The sitting room was French provincial in decor, as was the large bedroom, bathroom and dressing room. Henri pulled the flower-sprigged curtains across the windows and switched on a low-light swathed in a powder-blue shade.

‘It’s a cold evening, I think I’ll light the fire. There is champagne in the refrigerator in the kitchen or a selection of liqueurs in the drinks cabinet. You choose,’ he said, kneeling by the neatly laid fire in the grate. Two rose-print easy chairs were drawn up on either side of the fireplace, a large white fur rug spread between them before the fire.

‘I think a glass of Moet would wash the chocolates down very nicely,’ Queenie said. While she filled the ice bucket with crushed ice and sank the champagne bottle into it, Henri turned on the stereo and music from the film ‘Out of Africa’ filled the room. He took two champagne flutes and set them on the small table beside one of the chairs as Queenie placed the ice bucket beside them.

‘What a gorgeous fire.’ She kicked off her shoes and sat on the floor, leaning back against the chair. Henri opened the bottle and poured their drinks, handing Queenie a glass and sitting in the chair next to her. Queenie leaned back against his legs and sipped the champagne. ‘Umm, wonderful.’

Henri leaned over her shoulder and clinked his glass against hers. ‘Here’s to you, Queenie. I wish you happiness.’

She turned to look into his caring brown eyes. ‘You really do, don’t you, no matter what.’

‘No matter what. Even if it pains me sometimes.’

‘Oh, Henri.’ Queenie turned away from the look of love in his eyes. ‘You are a good friend. And I need a friend at the moment.’ Her voice trembled and she put down her glass.

Henri slipped from his chair and sat beside her. He put down his glass and seeing the tears shining in her eyes, gathered Queenie in his arms. ‘Cherie, it is all right to let down that fence you put around yourself.’

Queenie’s voice was muffled as she leaned against him. ‘I’m tired of being strong. And positive. And making all the decisions. And wondering . . .’

Henri held her tightly as she buried her head in his shoulder and shook with silent sobs. He gently stroked her hair until she calmed down. Queenie took a deep breath and drew back and tried to smile. But Henri took one look at her fragile expression and leaned over and kissed her damp cheeks, drawing her to him.

Queenie didn’t resist and slowly kissed him back. Then, in a rush, her defences fell away as their passion rose. The memories of their love-making came flooding back, heightening her desire. Tenderly Henri laid her back on the white fur rug. He covered her face in tiny kisses as she ran her fingers through his hair and across his shoulders. Queenie tightened her arms about him pressing him to her, arching her body to his. After keeping her emotions pent up for so long her physical passion overflowed at the touch of loving affection.

Henri lifted his face and looked into her eyes. ‘Are you sure?’ She smiled softly and nodded.

Henri kissed her. ‘This is a gift. From one to the other. So let’s enjoy these moments — you and I, alone in this room, an oasis for two dear friends.’ And while he was joyful to be holding Queenie in his arms, his heart was sad, knowing this was an interlude without commitment. He had lost her once, could he dare hope to win her again?

Queenie had felt rejection, jealousy and loss. Now she needed to feel desirable, to be adored, to give in to the sheer physicality of pleasure. So they gave to each other with the passion of lost love, with abandonment and the familiarity of old lovers. Henri gazed at Queenie’s still taut and beautiful naked body stretched languidly on the fur rug, the firelight playing over the mounds, curves and hollows of her breasts, hips, belly and legs. He brought her to climax time and time again before she pushed him down and straddled him, rising slowly and sensually on him until he moaned with uncontrolled delight. Just as they both began to feel the final surge of passion sweep them away, Henri swung Queenie back onto the rug, her legs locking over his shoulders as she arched to meet his thrusting hips. They came together, each fulfilling the other until, with a moan, Henri buried his face between Queenie’s breasts, and they shuddered and lay still, their hearts pumping in unison.

Queenie stroked his head, feeling contented and filled with great fondness for him. There was no tomorrow, there was no past, there was just this moment, and Queenie felt renewed.

Henri freshened their glasses and they sat staring into the dwindling fire, their damp bodies touching. Queenie leaned her head on his shoulder. ‘Know what I’d like now?’

‘Yes, I think I do.’ Henri reached for the bag of chocolates and popped one into her mouth. ‘Replenish your energy.’

‘Be careful, I might attack you again,’ she answered impishly.

‘Then you’d better pass me the chocolates too,’ he grinned.

Later, Queenie insisted on returning to her own room. Wrapped in a towelling robe, Henri saw her to the door. ‘Can’t I walk you down the corridor?’

‘Not like that. No, I’m fine. I’ll see you for breakfast.’

Henri caught her by the wrist. ‘No pangs, I hope.’

‘None. We made each other happy for this evening and I thank you for that,’ she said gently, reaching up and kissing him on the cheek. ‘What we have between us is very special.’

Henri gazed sadly after her, realising this was all he could ever hope for. Queenie’s love for TR was stronger than both of them.

When Queenie walked into Sarah and John’s house, Sarah gave her a shrewd look. ‘You look rested, more placid. Must be the mountain air, eh?’

‘Everything has gone well, Sarah. I was sad at saying goodbye to the Kurrajong, but the handover has gone smoothly and I know all will continue as usual. What’s new here?’

‘We’re fine. Saskia and Tango rang to see how things are going. But you have a solicitor chasing you. Brusque fellow, wanted to track you down but I said you’d be back in a day or so.’

‘Strange, surely not Henri’s man. The contracts have all been done. I wonder what he wanted.’

As Sarah followed her down the hall she said pointedly, ‘Queenie, this legal man says he represents Mr Colin Hanlon’.

Queenie stopped and slowly turned around, staring at Sarah with a feeling of dread creeping over her. ‘What does he want?’

‘He wouldn’t tell me. Typical of Colin to find someone who is as rude as he is. All he said was that a certain document had come to light and Mr Hanlon was seeking to claim his rights. What do you suppose that means?’

Queenie closed her eyes for a moment, her calmness shaken. ‘Oh not again. He couldn’t.’

Sarah was aghast. ‘Try and claim Tingulla again? That’s impossible.’

‘I knew he was up to something,’ said Queenie softly, shaking her head in resignation. Then she stiffened. ‘Well, let him damn well try. I’ll fight him every inch of the way.’

Sarah was reassuring. ‘As you always have. Come on, don’t worry about it now. Let’s go into the sitting room, John’s pouring the drinks.’

Queenie was shaking as she entered the gracious and warm room where John stood holding out a sherry. ‘Here, I think you need this, Queenie.’

‘Thanks, John. Here’s to good friends — and battles to be won,’ said Queenie with a determined lift of her chin.

‘I see you’ve come back with renewed strength and vigour. Good for you.’ Whatever Colin was playing at this time, John had no doubt he would be devious and dishonest.

Queenie was thinking the same thing as she sank into a chair. She’d know more tomorrow.

Chapter Thirty-Five

Tango and TR rode down the gorge to where the camels were penned. The cranky ones, as Dingo called them, had been culled and let go along with those considered too old and rickety. Tango and TR were chatting quietly, chuckling occasionally as they rode.

This time together had cemented the bond between them. When he had first arrived at Tingulla, Tango had come to respect, admire and love TR before knowing he was his father. In those early years TR had also felt a deep attachment to the lanky teenager, without understanding why it should be so — until Millie’s stunning revelation that Tango was the son TR never knew he had. For TR, all this past knowledge of Tango had been lost, and now he had come to know him this time as an equal, as a man of quiet humour and cheerful nature, who was reliable and trustworthy and had a gift with horses.

Watching them, Dingo recognised father and son had the same qualities and it warmed his heart to see the bond re-established between them. Dingo felt that was what TR and Queenie needed — time together, to get to know each other and fall in love again. He’d have to talk to the ever resourceful Millie and get her to help engineer this. Maybe TR and Queenie should spend a couple of weeks together on Alf’s Neptune Island. Dingo nodded to himself, pleased he was sorting out everybody around him.

‘Hooshka Ahkbar!’ he barked, and the camel he’d been sitting on unfolded its front legs and rose to its feet.

Tango and TR saw Dingo loping away in the distance on his favourite racing camel, settled comfortably in the saddle he’d made, his Akubra hat pushed firmly down on his white hair.

‘He thinks he’s Lawrence of Arabia,’ said Tango with a grin. ‘He’d look the part in a sheet too.’

‘He’s having the time of his life with this camel caper, isn’t he,’ added TR.

‘I think that’s been Dingo’s philosophy all his life. Make hay while the sun shines, but stop and smell the roses along the way,’ said Tango. ‘And now he can afford these indulgences. He gets these great bloody ideas for schemes and deals and he has tremendous energy for a man his age, but it’s all the blokes that work for him that have to make them happen!’

‘And he still keeps on making money. He’s unbelievable. I don’t think there are too many like him in the bush anymore,’ said TR.

They arrived back at their camp and TR clicked his tongue and the grey filly slid to the ground so he could dismount.

‘I reckon she learned that from the camels,’ chuckled Tango. ‘You’re feeling a lot more at home in the saddle, aren’t you?’

TR rubbed his bad leg. ‘Still feel a bit stiff though. I could do with one of Jenni’s massages.’

‘We’ll be back at Dingo’s house tonight. You can have a hot bath,’ said Tango.

‘Sounds good to me.’ Privately though, TR would have preferred the firm and caring touch of Jenni’s hands. He was slowly coming to a decision about her. When Tango left, he would have to make plans to visit her.

That evening Tango and TR returned to Dingo’s homestead while Dingo stayed at the camel camp awaiting the arrival of the sheik’s representatives.

While TR luxuriated in a steaming bath with a newspaper and a Scotch and soda, Tango checked in with Millie at Tingulla, Mick at Guneda, Queenie at Sarah’s and Saskia at Harmony Hill.

Saskia was in high spirits. ‘Did you catch any camels?’

‘Yeah, heaps. It was pretty exciting stuff actually. Best of all, we got TR up and riding.’

‘You did! Hey, that’s great news.’

‘So everyone else is doing okay, how about you little sis, what’s new and exciting in your life? And how’s Jenni?’

‘She’s fine. Really liking it here, though Colin is being a pain as usual. But, Tango, could you come and visit before you go back to Guneda? I’ve got a horse I want you to see. I’ve trained him and I think he could be raced.’

‘Jeez, Sas, don’t jump the gun. If you want to be a trainer, come and work for me. It isn’t an easy road for women. As I offered before, come under Guneda’s wing and let us help you get started.’

‘No way. I want to prove myself on my own merit. If I start out with you guys, everyone will just think I’ve been helped by the family and couldn’t do it out in the real world on my own.’

‘Don’t be so stubborn, Sas. Do you want to start by shovelling muck out of stables at Randwick?’

‘I might not have to. You just wait and see, Tango.’

Tango laughed. ‘Okay, do it your own way. In a couple of weeks’ time there’s a decent race at Southport — the Gold Coast Cup — Camboni is putting Ambrosia in it, so come out and spend the day at the races with me. Bring Jenni too, I’d really like to see her again.’

‘How do you think Ambrosia is going to do?’

‘Good. He’s a fine horse. I’m trying to get them to let Mick ride him instead of the jockey they want.’

‘Who’s that?’

‘Ah, some jockey who’s had a few wins. Had a few nasty suspensions too. Bit of a dubious background I reckon, but not a bad rider. It’s just that Mick knows the horse.’

‘Umm. That jockey sounds like the sort of bloke Alfredo would go for. Keep Mick away from that lot,’ warned Saskia.

Tango raised his voice a pitch. ‘Oh, now the trainee trainer is giving me advice about the jockeys, eh?’

‘Oh belt up, Tango,’ said Saskia. ‘I’ll see you at the races.’

‘We’ll put some money on Ambrosia and I’ll take you and Jenni out to rip up the Gold Coast with our winnings,’ promised Tango.

‘He mightn’t win,’ teased Saskia.

‘Well it won’t be any skin off my nose. I’ve done the best I can with him. If they let Mick ride him, he’ll place for sure.’

Saskia found Jenni in the massage room and told her Tango was coming up for the Cup. ‘He was so condescending,’ fumed Saskia. ‘I’d love to run Toffee against his horse.’

‘Why don’t you? Has Colin said anything about selling him?’

‘He was down in Sydney, I’ll see if he’s back.’

The Gadens told Saskia Colin was over at the Coast, so Saskia rang the apartment and asked him if he’d spoken to George about selling Toffee.

Colin was in an affable mood. ‘Yeah, yeah, I didn’t forget. You can have him for a thousand.’

‘Dollars? Yipes, I didn’t think he’d want that much,’ exclaimed Saskia. ‘What was he going to do with him anyway?’

‘He’s got reasonable bloodlines, he could be put to stud. A thousand is a gift price, Saskia. Listen, you stick to your pony rides and forget about racehorses.’

‘Even if they are broken down?’ shot back Saskia. ‘I’ll think about it.’

She found Jenni and told her the news. ‘Double what I thought,’ she sighed. ‘A thousand dollars.’

‘You’ve got five hundred though?’ asked Jenni.

‘Yes, my emergency savings.’

Jenni grinned. ‘Then that’s all right. I’ve got five hundred to spare. We’ll go halves in him. Whaddya say partner?’

Saskia stared at her. ‘Are you sure, Jenni? You don’t know anything about horses, you’re going to have to trust my judgement.’

‘Since I left the hospital and started hanging around with you lot I’m developing a real interest in horses and riding!’ she laughed.

‘Well, if you’re sure, let’s do it!’ Saskia rang Colin back and said she’d pay the thousand.

Colin was pleasantly surprised. He’d just made himself four hundred dollars on the deal — Bannerman had only asked for six hundred. Now Camboni’s syndicate had decided Ambrosia was the better horse they didn’t care about a horse who couldn’t win for them.

‘I’d like his papers as soon as I could.’

‘Hand over the cash and you’ll have them in a day,’ said Colin.

That afternoon Saskia rode Toffee down to Angus Wellburn’s farm and chatted to him about racing. After a while she got to the point of her visit. ‘You told me you were a racehorse trainer for a number of years. Do you still hold your licence?’

The farmer scratched his head, tipped his hat back on his head and reached for his roll of Drum tobacco. ‘Well, yes I do. I’ve dabbled with horses for blokes off and on. Just an interest. Why do you ask?’

‘I want to enter Toffee in the Gold Coast Cup. I’ve trained him but I don’t have a licence, so I was wondering if you would enter him for me.’

The farmer slowly finished rolling his cigarette and licked the length of paper. ‘Who owns him?’

‘I do now. With my girlfriend. He had broken down but I reckon I’ve re-educated him and I think he’ll do well. He had a few places and a win before he developed his phobia.’

Angus Wellburn lit up and took a long drag before answering. ‘I’d have to be pretty sure about this fellow now. I mean, I have my reputation to think of, can’t be running a dog under my name.’

‘Listen, Mr Wellburn, come and watch him run on the flat by the river. Time him.’

‘Righto, don’t get yourself in a lather, girl.’ He ambled over to his truck. ‘I’ll follow you down. Did you bring a stopwatch?’

‘You bet.’ Saskia swung into the saddle and patted Toffee. ‘Let’s go, sport. Show us what you can do.’

The beautiful thoroughbred lifted his head and trotted down the road that led to the big flat stretch of kikuyu grass along the riverbank. When the farmer had parked and had the stopwatch ready, Saskia moved into position. At the blast of the car horn, she kicked Toffee into the straight and along the sweeping bend of the riverbed. As they swept past him Angus Wellburn clicked the stopwatch, looked at the distance, at the hands of the watch, and made a few quick calculations.

Saskia trotted back to him. Toffee looked as though he’d barely expended any energy and could do it several times over before working up a sweat. ‘How’d we do?’

‘Not bad. Hard to judge out here, what with the rough start and all, but . . .’ Angus allowed himself a small smile. ‘He’ll do me all right, I reckon.’

‘Wow! So you’ll do it. You’ll enter him for us?’

‘Hang on. It’s not as easy as that. I’ll have to see his papers and he’ll have to qualify and we’ll have to do some serious workouts, but there’s time. We’ll also have to find a jockey.’

‘I have a friend in mind, if he’s available,’ responded Saskia quickly.

Angus looked doubtful. ‘That’s nice he’s a friend, but is he any good?’

‘He’s won the Melbourne Cup and he is the resident rider for Guneda Stud. Is that good enough?’

Angus tugged at his hat brim and grinned. ‘Yeah, that might be good enough.’ He looked at the horse then Saskia. ‘You’re full of surprises, young lady. Come up to the house and we’ll talk about the details of getting him ready for the race.’

Jenni was just as excited as Saskia and they dubbed themselves the Sweetheart Syndicate. Saskia phoned Mick at Guneda and before she said anything made him promise to keep the whole conversation confidential. ‘This is just between you and me, Mick. I don’t mind what your answer is, but just promise me you won’t mention this to Tango.’

‘All right, Saskia. You not doin’ sumthin’ you shouldn’t, but?’

‘No Mick. It’s a bit of a game between me and Tango. See, I found this horse . . . ’

His feet up on a chair, Mick listened carefully, pulling thoughtfully at his ear lobe. ‘Well, I’ll tell ya straight, Saskia, Tango is me boss while TR ain’t about, but I have t’say I ain’t too happy at ridin’ Ambrosia for that Camboni fella. He and Colin ran a dirty race against me in the Melbourne Cup. I don’t think he’s gonna make me ride if I don’t want to do it. He’s a pretty good horse but, and stands a good chance, y’know. What’s your bloke like?’

‘He’s good too, Mick. But you’ll have to come and see for yourself. We’ll pay your expenses if you can come up here. You can stay at a farm down the road. I don’t want Colin to see you.’

Mick chuckled. ‘You gonna keep me under a bed? I kin crash in the stable. Good way t’get to know a horse.’

‘Is that a yes, Mick?’ pleaded Saskia.

‘You sound like your mumma. She know ‘bout this plan?’

‘No, but she’s seen the horse and thought he looked good. But I’d rather do this on my own without anyone in the family knowing,’ said Saskia, barely containing her excitement.

‘Tell you what, I was planning on taking a bit of a break soon as Tango gits back from Dingo’s place. He rang and said he was comin’ back soon, but TR was stayin’ on for a bit. I was gonna go to Tingulla, but I’ll come over there first. Always wanted t’look at that Surfers Paradise place.’

‘Good on you, Mick. Let me know when you’re arriving.’ Saskia couldn’t believe her luck. Finally she had a chance to prove herself.

Queenie rang Colin’s solicitor but he was unavailable and no one else could help her. She left her name and Sarah’s number, then she rang Tingulla.

‘Millie, it’s me, how are things?’

‘No worries, luv. You gone and sold that hotel of yours?’

‘Sure have. And I’m busy reinvesting the money in Tingulla Fashions. It’s all coming together quite well. There is just one black cloud on the horizon.’

‘What’s that, Queenie?’

‘Colin. He’s up to something. He has his solicitor chasing me. You haven’t heard anything or had any visits up there?’

‘No, nothing. All is quiet and goin’ smooth. Though you’d think the Queen herself was gettin’ hitched with all the palaver over Ruthie and Ernie’s wedding. She wants a big church wedding, being a mission girl, and he wants t’keep it simple. Course, he’s bin pullin’ her leg tellin’ her they is gonna do a full tribal corroboree and she’ll have to wear grass and white paint, no white lace dress and veil.’

Queenie laughed. ‘Tell Ruthie I’d be really happy if they used Tingulla’s church. We’ve all been married there and she and Ernie are family. We’ll make it a special day. Has she chosen the date?’

‘She’s asked Snowy to decide what’d be the best day. But it’s not far off. She’s gunna be real excited to git married in Tingulla’s church. Thanks, luv. Here, when you comin’ home? And what about TR?’

‘I’ll be home in a week, I guess. But I don’t know about TR. From what Tango tells me, the trip west is doing him good. He’s riding again.’

‘Goodoh. We miss ya, luv. Jim and everyone send their love. And, Queenie, try not to worry about Colin too much.’

‘Thanks Millie. Cheerio.’ Queenie put down the phone feeling buoyed by Millie’s warmth and optimism.

Queenie and Sarah made an appointment to see Countess Magda at her salon. The address they were given was in the inner-city suburb of Surry Hills. Silk House turned out to be an unprepossessing old red-brick building with paint peeling from dusty windows and a litter of company names, scrawled mainly on cardboard, at the entrance. A metal grille zigzagged across a dark and dingy lift and a wide flight of grubby wooden stairs lit by bare bulbs circled the liftwell.

Sarah and Queenie waited for the lift but the metal arrow floor indicator appeared to be stuck at the sixth floor. They looked at one another, shrugged and headed for the stairs. On the fifth floor they turned into a stark bare fluorescent-lit hallway, walking past Whizz-Kids Graphic Art to plain double doors identified as Suite 503. They knocked and hesitantly opened the door.

Inside was a tiny lobby with another set of doors. A small table featured a telephone, desk diary and a large fishbowl filled with tall white lilies. The room needed painting, but a good Persian rug covered the faded functional carpet and a heavy gold-framed portrait reminiscent of the Flemish school made a brave attempt at class. Sarah pointed to the tiny brass dinner bell on the table and Queenie picked it up and shook it.

Its tinkle had barely faded when the inner doors were flung upon and the countess appeared, pausing dramatically, a hand on each door. She looked stunning, dressed in a black dress with a deep folded cowl neckline with long slim sleeves and an embroidered fringed shawl draped over one shoulder and caught by a huge jewelled pin that matched her earrings. Her lipstick was deep scarlet, her dark eyes outlined in black kohl and her raven hair twisted on top of her head.

‘Welcome,’ she said, extending her hand first to Queenie then to Sarah. She could have been greeting them at the entrance to the inner chamber of a palace.

‘Now let me explain. I do not see clients here, well, very infrequently. I prefer to go to clients’ homes. We have a small fitting room over there but this is where the work happens. Follow me, I know that is what you wish to see.’

She swung about and they followed her through a rabbit warren of rooms housing bolts of fabric, supplies and finished garments, past a packing and consignment room and into a large open space that was clearly the main workroom. Light flooded in through floor-to-ceiling windows. Some pattern-cutters worked at long broad tables and several women fussed around a row of dressmaker’s dummies draped in outfits at various stages of completion. Half a dozen machinists hunched over large buzzing sewing machines.

‘We send out a lot to sewers and finishers, our girls here do the first samples and make the toiles. Detailing, hand-finishing, buttonholing, beading and so on are all done by piece workers.’ The countess waved a hand around. ‘The show at David Jones was good for us. It’s nice to be so busy again.’

They continued through the big work area into an office. It was dominated by a large desk covered in papers, order and invoice books, and swatches of fabric. A white-board on the wall was covered in notes and orders. An older woman sat at a second desk talking rapidly into the phone in a European language neither Queenie nor Sarah recognised.

‘This is the hub!’ exclaimed the countess with a bold sweep of an arm. ‘Now, we come through here, into the secret oasis and we shall take coffee.’

After the crowded beehive they had passed through, it was indeed an oasis. It was a small room, elegantly furnished with antiques and a few fine objets d’art; the walls were hung with photos of clothes and fashion sketches simply signed Magda. A fine old tapestry screen hid a tiny sink and bench where a Russian samovar and heavy Turkish coffeemaker stood. A selection of delectable patisseries was arranged on a Limoges serving dish.

‘Tea or coffee?’ asked the countess.

Sarah eyed the ornate samovar and coffee pot. She would be just as happy with a tea bag or instant coffee, but a glance from Queenie indicated she shouldn’t spoil the countess’s sense of drama and occasion. While the copper samovar was heating the water, the countess spooned Turkish coffee into an elaborate pot. ‘Please, try one of the pastries, my secretary makes them.’

‘Good grief,’ said Sarah picking up an eclair, ‘I’d get fat working here!’

‘How long have you been here?’ asked Queenie.

‘Since I began two years ago. Through a friend’s husband I was able to lease two floors of this building very inexpensively. So far the extra floor is empty. I hoped my business would expand,’ she shrugged.

‘You’re concentrating on a small and elite market,’ observed Queenie. ‘We’re developing a rather different concept. I’d like to explain Tingulla Fashions to you.’ Queenie carefully outlined her vision, sketching in the background of Tingulla. She explained they were looking at both the international and the domestic markets, and she emphasised the project aimed to promote the wool and merino leather industry as a whole.

The countess clapped her hands in delight. A magnificent concept, Mrs Hamilton. Magnificent.’ She turned up her hands in resignation and busied herself with the coffee. ‘Of course, I would dearly love to work with fine wool fabric, but the cost . . . the cost. It is so expensive to import from the European mills.’

Queenie and Sarah nodded in agreement but before they could tell her about producing their own wool textiles, the countess went on. ‘Still, I am doing very well with my old clientele. They are so loyal.’

‘And so old,’ put in Queenie gently.

The countess paused and looked Queenie in the eye, and for the briefest moment her exuberance and confidence seemed to disappear, but then it flashed back. ‘Ah true, true. But loyal, which is very important in business. Yes, the market I know is changing. My clients are from another era, perhaps not the one you had in mind.’

Queenie picked up the cue. ‘That’s right. We are aiming at a much larger and also younger market for volume production without sacrificing style and quality. I’m sure you would be comfortable with that.’

The countess smiled. ‘Of course. But that is your market, not mine.’ She placed the delicate cups of strong coffee before Queenie and Sarah.

Queenie leaned across the desk. ‘It could be yours too, Countess. To be quite blunt, despite all the activity out there in your workroom, you’re in what the economists call a sunset industry.’ She paused, holding the countess in her gaze. ‘We are what they call a sunrise industry. Would you like to be around for our dawn?’ Queenie leaned back in her chair and waited.

For a moment Queenie and the countess looked silently at one another. Then the countess slowly raised her hands and put her fingers together under her chin. ‘Are you inviting me to join you, to become a partner in this . . .er, sunrise?’

Queenie smiled. ‘It’s a good idea. I need a manufacturing base like this. I need a business headquarters and someone to run it, as well as contribute to the designs.’

Sarah joined in, concerned the countess might get the idea she would be the dominant creative force in the business. ‘Queenie has already done some of the design work — themes mainly — and we have other designers lined up.’

The countess gestured with both hands. ‘I am greatly flattered.’ She hesitated for a moment. ‘Yes it sounds most interesting. In my business I have tended to be dictated to by my clients’ tastes. But I have a gift for looking at a garment and knowing straight away what is wrong, you understand?’

‘Perfectly,’ nodded Queenie.

‘I really like to sell, to work the marketplace.’

‘That’s precisely what we’re looking for . . .someone to get out into the marketplace then make it happen back in the workrooms,’ said Queenie with enthusiasm. ‘Can we talk business then?’

As the countess delicately dissected a patisserie, Queenie made it clear that she must be prepared to make one sacrifice. ‘Your label would no longer be used, I’m afraid. Everything will be under the Tingulla label. It is a known name in the wool industry.’

‘Naturally I understand this,’ said the countess without hesitation. ‘Old-world titles don’t sit too well with the image of a sheep, though I rather feel the merino is the true aristocrat, yes?’

For the next few hours they discussed how the business would operate, its financial structure, development deadlines and distribution strategies. They parted, agreeing to meet soon after both sides had a chance to consider the details.

Queenie and Sarah walked side by side down the wide staircase, their steps echoing on the bare wood. ‘So what do you think, Sarah? Am I being rash? I know I’m like my father and tend to operate on my gut instincts.’

Sarah was as excited as Queenie, but she was trying to take a sensible approach, realising a lot was at stake. ‘Well, John is doing a company search on her and finding out as much as he can. And let’s face it, the over the top countess wouldn’t be everyone’s choice of business partner. But I think we both recognise half of her image is a sales pitch. Underneath is a hard-nosed business woman. And provided she doesn’t have a totally free rein, I think she’d be great.’

‘Yes, it has to be understood she’s working for Tingulla; we’re hiring her and her existing setup and it operates on a percentage basis,’ said Queenie firmly.

‘Actually, I think she’s rather glad to have the weight of running a company by herself off her back,’ said Sarah. ‘She has great overseas contacts, she’s a great saleswoman and very organised. She could be good selling the raw product as well as the clothes, Queenie.’

‘Right. But first things first, and the launch collection is number one priority.’ As they walked along the street to the car, Queenie started to laugh. ‘Hey, can you see Raylene and the countess as a design team? What will they make of each other?’

Sarah unlocked the car door. ‘From the sound of Raylene I think they’ll both get on fabulously, at heart they’re both no-nonsense practical people.’ She smiled across the car roof. ‘The cultural mix could lead to some exciting new ideas!’

They pulled into Sarah’s driveway and still chattering and tossing around ideas they both walked to the gate to collect the mail. A dark Citroën was parked in front of Sarah’s house and a man in a grey suit and dark glasses got out and walked towards them.

‘Mrs Hamilton?’ He looked from one to the other.

‘Who wants her?’ asked Queenie, not liking the look of the fellow.

He held out an envelope. ‘Special delivery from Braywood and Associates, representatives of Mr Colin Hanlon.’ He turned and got back in his car. Queenie turned over the official looking envelope, her hands starting to shake.

Sarah took it from her and took her arm. ‘Well, that saved us a trip into town. Let’s do a Millie and brew a pot of tea and see just what it is Colin wants.’

Queenie was grateful Sarah was holding her arm. She felt quite unsteady and she cursed Colin for his ability to make her feel so vulnerable. ‘Damn and blast him,’ she muttered. ‘Well at least his cards are on the table now.’

Chapter Thirty-Six

It was a walled garden, with neat flowerbeds, rosebushes, shady trees screening neighbours and an ornate birdbath. The laughter of Tim and Pauline playing with a frisbee on the crisp green lawn came faintly into the elegant sitting room.

But Queenie, staring through the bay windows overlooking this garden, saw a different scene. She saw the flat hot earth surrounding the house at Cricklewood where a garden struggled beneath the endless blue days. She saw her father riding round its barren acres with her, a small girl, clinging to his waist as he rode, and heard him voice his dream that one day fat cattle and good horses would graze there. She saw the tumbledown homestead where she and Millie had spent the lonely months of her secret pregnancy; and she saw it as it was today, cherished land carrying prize and stud cattle, the garden flourishing and the homestead restored and welcoming.

Queenie forced her attention back to Sarah and John sitting opposite her. ‘I won’t give it up. Cricklewood is part and parcel of my parents’ dream. We’ve all worked so hard to get it where it is. Colin hasn’t set foot on the place in years; he’s never cared about it. I won’t let him have it.’ Queenie’s voice trembled asshe spoke. After everything that had happened, she knew that losing Cricklewood would destroy her.

John lifted one of the papers from the coffee table. ‘I t seems your father wanted him to have it, Queenie. He obviously had a change of heart just before he died.’

Queenie took the copy of the document now held by Colin’s solicitor. Her heart lurched at her father’s familiar writing. Written just two weeks before he was killed, it contradicted his will and the letter he’d left for Colin in which he’d explained why he had left Tingulla and Crickle wood to Queenie, leaving only money and real estate to Colin. But in this later letter, he wrote:

. . .it doesn’t seem right or fair that my son, who was brought up on our land, should not inherit a share of it in order to continue the tradition of the Hanlons. After considerable thought I feel it only right you should own Cricklewood to do with it as you see fit and therefore I make this bequest to you which is in addition to my previous will and testament which remains unaltered. I will advise my solicitor to make this amendment, but I wanted you to know this is what I want for you, Colin.

With loving thoughts, your father,

Patrick Hanlon

‘I’ve read it, I understand the words, but it doesn’t make sense. It just doesn’t sound like my father,’ said Queenie angrily.

‘Are you sure that’s not because this is a shock and you don’t want Colin to have it?’ asked Sarah gently.

‘The bit that bothers me is where he says, “to do with it as you see fit”. Dad wouldn’t say that, there is no choice other than to work it and continue to run it as part of the family.’ Queenie picked up the letter and studied it for the umpteenth time. ‘This makes it sound like he’s giving him permission to put in a manager, chop it up into hobby farms, sell it, whatever mad thing Colin might think of doing. He’d do anything to make money without having to work.’

‘You don’t think this was a conciliatory gesture by your father, hoping to bring you two back together by forcing you both to work the two family properties?’ suggested John.

‘It could have been. But I just feel sure he would have discussed it with me. I was with him all the time, we worked Tingulla side by side after Mum died. Colin was away and had no interest in the place. Of course Colin will say Dad kept it quiet for fear I’d try to talk him out of it. He’s always said I influenced Dad’s decision to leave the properties to me.’

That’s not true, Queenie,’ said Sarah hotly. ‘I was around then too. I remember how concerned your father was about Colin — he talked to my dad about it once. Said it broke his heart not to feel his son would follow on building up what generations of his family had established.’

Queenie nodded sadly. ‘I know. He talked to me about it, which is why I can’t understand why he didn’t prepare me for this change of heart.’

‘How come this has just turned up after all this time?’ asked John suspiciously.

‘According to the solicitor, Dad sent Colin a book of poetry when he was in Sydney and the letter was in the book. Colin, not being a poetry reader, thought his father had just sent him a book and he shoved it in a bookcase. He never opened it so never found the letter. It’s been packed away all these years,’ explained Queenie.

‘Sounds like Colin, I have to admit,’ said Sarah. ‘So what are you going to do, Queenie?’ asked John.

‘Fight it.’

John sighed. ‘Queenie, a challenge in a case like this could drag on for years and cost a fortune. Is that wise? It seems pretty cut and dried. If Colin wants Cricklewood, let him have it and you run it for him.’

‘We know what a mess he made of running Tingulla when he conned you out of it,’ said Sarah. ‘And I can’t see Dina at Cricklewood at all. It’s not as grand as Tingulla. At least when she was there she could play queen of the country till the novelty wore off.’

‘Talk to the family first,’ suggested John with a kind smile. He hated to see Queenie burdened with this weight at a time like this.

‘Like who, John? I don’t want to keep worrying the kids and TR doesn’t remember anything about it. No, it has to be my decision.’

‘But you’ve always shared everything with TR,’ insisted Sarah. ‘Don’t shut him out when you need him.’

‘He’s shut me out, Sarah. There’s no point.’ Queenie picked up the papers and stood. ‘I’m going to talk to Colin about this. Face to face, without anyone else there.’

‘Is that wise? Talk to your solicitor first.’

‘Yes, I’ll call him tomorrow. But first I want to think it through in my own mind,’ said Queenie.

Sarah and John looked sadly at each other as she left the room. ‘I’d give anything to see Colin’s hide tanned and hanging in the shed,’ muttered Sarah.

‘He’s a callous bastard, there’s no other word for it,’ said John, his mouth hardening.

‘Oh, I can think of a few more,’ responded Sarah, plonking the cups and saucers on the tray. ‘I just can’t believe Patrick would have done this without telling Queenie.’

‘Oh, you know how men hate to make waves and be confronted. He knew he wouldn’t be around when his will was read, and coming from the bush myself I can understand his feelings of wanting his son to carry on.’

‘That’s a very chauvinistic attitude, John. Queenie was more of a son to Patrick than Colin ever was!’ Sarah marched from the room, leaving John wondering what he’d said.

Tango returned to Guneda, anxious to pick up the reins of the business. He’d discussed matters with TR but quickly realised he had little interest in a business, a place and people he couldn’t recall. Tango spent a lot of time with the horses, watching each one work and checking on the mares and foals, questioning all the staff in detail.

He was delighted with their new little colt who had developed a happy and mischievous personality since he’d been away. ‘You’re a special little fellow, we’ll have to find a very special place for you,’ said Tango as he smoothed the creamy white silk of the colt’s mane. His coat was the rich red-gold of his mother’s and the white star on his forehead stood out in clear detail.

Tango went through the office paperwork, marvelling at the attention paid to every detail by young Dennis, and the way in which Mick had followed through on all the training programmes. Tango called them into his office and, leaning back in his chair, said, ‘I guess I can take a break more often, you two have looked after things brilliantly.’

Dennis looked pleased and Mick quickly spoke up. ‘Well, talkin’ of holidays, I was gonna take one too. Now you’re back and there’s nothin’ pressin’. What d’ya say, Tango?’

‘Okay by me, Mick, except there is the matter of riding in the Gold Coast Cup.’

‘Y’ mean on Ambrosia?’ said Mick not looking at him.

‘Of course. Who else?’

‘Well, I was gonna say I don’ wanna ride for them Camboni mob, but they saved me the trouble. Said they wanted their own bloke.’

‘Really? Oh well, we’ve done our best with him, it’s up to them, they’re the owners.’

‘They’re comin’ down to git him and let their jockey try him out. Said they’d call ya.’ Mick changed the subject. ‘So, TR is ridin’ agin, eh? That’s real good news.’

Tango agreed. ‘It was great to see. Strange though, ‘cause he was really quite nervous about it. But he’s going really well now. In fact he seems to like it over there. Enjoys Dingo and is getting interested in all his schemes and things.’ For a brief moment Tango looked disappointed but he concluded, ‘In a way it’s easier for him, starting out fresh with new people and projects. He feels a sort of guilt thing about this place because he doesn’t remember how it was and how he was.’

‘What’s your mum say about him staying over there?’ asked Mick.

‘Not much. We all just have to keep things running as best we can and hope he comes good, eh, Mick?’

Mick nodded and Dennis turned his wheelchair towards the door. ‘Did you see the little colt? What a beauty he is.’ Dennis adored the horse he’d seen born and fervently hoped Tango wouldn’t sell him in the yearling sales next year.

‘Listen, you blokes,’ said Tango impulsively, ‘seeing you did such a good job holding the fort, I’m taking you up to the Gold Coast for the Cup weekend as my guests. Okay?’

Dennis was quite overcome and Mick looked a bit hesitant but nodded and muttered. ‘Beaut, boss, fantastic.’

Elated with the progress of their syndicate and the enthusiasm of the farmer-trainer Angus Wellburn, Jenni and Saskia decided to go to the Gold Coast for an afternoon of shopping, a movie and a fancy dinner. A firm friendship had developed between the two young women and although Saskia was a few years younger, she was such a strong and mature personality, they both felt as peers.

They bought outfits to wear to the Gold Coast Cup, saw a Ken Russell movie and had coffee at the new Marina Mirage.

‘This is really great,’ sighed Jenni licking the froth from her cappuccino. ‘I haven’t done this sort of thing enough. I was always studying or on shift work or sleeping.’ She didn’t add that she’d spent a lot of the time around older people, being an only child. It suddenly occurred to her many of her boyfriends had been older men and maybe that accounted for her attraction to TR. But as Saskia whispered teasing remarks about the abundance of attractive young men who seemed to be drifting around as they window-shopped and strolled along the beachfront, Jenni began to think it’d be fun to go out with people in her age group, just to have fun without complications.

That evening they decided to go to Oskars On The Beach at Coolangatta for a seafood feast. They sat by a window looking out onto the floodlit sands and dim distant curl of white crested waves on the night sea.

Saskia studied the menu. ‘Hey listen to this — extra large green prawns, dipped in beer batter with macadamia nuts and shredded coconut with curry mayonnaise — that’s for me.’

Over the meal they chatted away, filling each other in on various episodes in their lives and continuing the fantasy they’d indulged in all afternoon — what they’d do with the fortune Toffee was going to earn them.

‘I want to travel,’ said Jenni. ‘I’ve always wanted to sail down the Yangtze.’

‘I’ll save that up and let my rich husband pay for some exotic honeymoon. No, I’m just joking. If I had a lot of money I’d love to go to the yearling sales and buy a couple of horses I think could be good and train them.’

‘And of course they’ll all be champions.’

They laughed together but then Jenni grew reflective. ‘I’ve been thinking about my future. For a while there I thought I knew what I wanted but now I’m not so sure.’ She looked faintly embarrassed. ‘Relationships are hard, aren’t they? It all seems so easy when you’re younger — Mr Right turns up and you live happily ever after. The problem I’ve found is recognising Mr Right.’

Saskia realised she wanted to talk. ‘TR? You thought he was Mr Right?’

Jenni realised Saskia was aware of how she’d felt. ‘Well, he is awfully dishy,’ Jenni smiled ruefully. ‘And older men can be very sexy. We did have a very close relationship for a lot of reasons. I’ve never been infatuated with a patient before. Of course, working so closely with him on a one-to-one basis might have a lot to do with it.’

‘Is that what it is — was — an infatuation?’ asked Saskia softly.

‘If I’m honest, I have to admit that I’m still feeling a bit confuse . . .’ She stopped for a moment, then went on. ‘Then there’s Tango. I find I like him a lot, but he is so much like TR I don’t know if I’m just transferring my feelings about TR onto him.’

‘Don’t think about it, or worry about that. Just go with the flow and see what happens. No matter what, Jenni, you’ll have two terrific friends — TR and Tango.’

Jenni brightened considerably. ‘Yes, that’s a great way of looking at it. You’re right. I’m just going to let things follow their own course,’ she decided.

Saskia glanced around the restaurant looking for a waiter, then suddenly stopped and said in a low voice. ‘Look out, Colin’s here. Talk about a bad penny. And he’s got the dreaded Dina with him. You’ve got to meet her.’

Jenni glanced in the direction Saskia was indicating. ‘We could spoil their evening, couldn’t we?’ grinned Jenni.

‘You could,’ agreed Saskia. ‘Just go over and flirt with him. Give him back some of his own medicine. Dina will throw an axe at his head!’

‘Well there’s no way we can get past them on the way out. We’ll have to say hello. Brace yourself.’

The two paused at the table as Colin was pouring wine into Dina’s glass. ‘Hi Colin, Hi Dina,’ smiled Saskia.

Dina looked at the two pretty girls and Colin half rose from his seat. ‘Hi Sas. Hi Jenni. Er, Jenni, you haven’t met my wife. This is Dina. Dina, this is Jenni Brown.’

Dina nodded and gave a brief smile as Saskia explained, ‘Jenni works with us at Harmony Hill.’

Dina’s smile faded and she gave the dainty blonde a penetrating look. ‘Do you look after horses too, dear?’

‘No, I look after people,’ Jenni forced a smile. ‘Wouldn’t you say that was a fair description, Colin?’ She turned wide eyes towards Colin.

‘She’s a health therapist,’ Colin explained quickly.

‘How nice,’ said Dina unenthusiastically. ‘I must learn more about Harmony Hill.’

‘Do come and visit. Dina, Jenni gives great massages, doesn’t she, Colin?’ said Saskia wickedly.

‘Saskia, we’ve got to go. Lovely to meet you, Dina. See you later, Colin.’ Jenni dragged Saskia away.

‘You’re dreadful, Sas,’ admonished Jenni when they were outside. ‘He’s in for the third degree.’

Queenie had one last round of meetings in Sydney with the bank to complete the financial structuring of Tingulla Wool and Leather Enterprises. The sale of the Kurrajong hadn’t covered the full cost of setting up the business, which was spread between the fellmongery and tannery, the mills, and the design and administrative base in Sydney. Sarah’s investment had been welcome and Queenie hoped it wouldn’t be long before the company returned a profit. Projections were difficult as so much depended on response to the first collection. John’s accountant had given Countess Magda’s business a clean bill of health and she’d been signed up. The first samples of merino leather had gone to tailor Leonard Osborne who was designing the leather jackets, pants and skirts, and liaising with the countess. Judging from their reaction to the soft and elegant leather, Queenie hoped the fellmongery and tannery would be kept busy once other designers discovered and started using merino leather too.

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.

Inside Colin’s car, Dame Kiri Te Kanawa’s glorious voice sprang from the speaker system at near full volume. Colin glanced in the rear vision mirror and put his foot down on the accelerator. It’d been easier than he thought. He was glad Queenie hadn’t pushed the Dina angle. His wife must not know about this little transaction. This was his passport to a new life. Without Dina.

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Queenie decided to stop in Charleville on the way home. She checked into a motel and was given the last room.

‘Town’s pretty full. There’s a public meeting about wool and beef prices, the drought, interest rates, you name it,’ said the wife of the owner as she opened the door to the modestly furnished room.

‘This will do fine thanks, I’m driving through to Longreach. Where’s this meeting by the way?’

‘At the community hall. Seven o’clock.’

Queenie kicked off her shoes and stretched out on the double bed covered in a brown and yellow bedspread, and dozed after her long drive. Later she took a long hot shower, changed clothes, made herself a cup of tea and flicked on the television, then turned it off, bored. She glanced at her watch and saw it was not yet seven, so she decided to call in at the meeting.

Workers, townspeople, farmers and graziers sat in rows on collapsible wooden chairs listening to the speakers. They blamed the drought, the politicians in Canberra, the bureaucrats everywhere, the banks, the trade unions and the marketing people. Sale prices were fluctuating at an alarming rate, pundits were predicting a coming crash. To most of the audience all solutions suggested by the boys in Canberra seemed inadequate and short-term.

The woman beside Queenie raised her hand and spoke up. ‘When are they going to realise people like us are valuable? People in the cities and on the coast haven’t a clue what goes on out here. It’s people on the land who keep the rural industries going through the good times and the bad, and worse times are coming, rain or no rain, no matter what they predict. We’re doing it tough and we don’t want handouts, but we need some support to help us get through. Good graziers are being forced to walk off their properties.’ This was given a round of applause and she sat down.

‘How long since you’ve had rain over here?’ Queenie whispered to her.

The woman looked despondent. ‘Going on three years. But it’s not just the drought, it’s been one thing after another. Couldn’t give our place away at the moment. Not that it’s been mismanaged,’ she added.

‘I understand — I’m on the land too,’ said Queenie.

‘Where’re you from?’

‘Tingulla Station. Queenie Hamilton.’ She held out her hand. The other woman took it and Queenie felt the roughness of work hardened hands.

‘Tingulla, eh? Well, you’re surviving all right.’

Queenie nodded. ‘For the moment. But I’ve done it tough too in one way or another.’

The other woman suddenly recalled the tragedy of the death of Queenie’s parents, her husband Warwick, and some family feud over Tingulla. She looked apologetic. ‘I know you have. Everyone knows of the Hanlons. Say, didn’t TR have a bad accident some time back, how’s he going?’

‘Slowly,’ answered Queenie.

‘By the way, I’m Marion Siddins. My husband Gordon couldn’t make it, he’s a bit crook. Not that this meeting seems to be achieving anything. It’s aways the same. I think I’ll go for a coffee.’

As yet another querulous speaker stood to give his views, Queenie rose and followed her. ‘Me too, I was going to eat at the Swagman Motel, would you care to join me? I’d like the company.’

Marion Siddins smiled at her and Queenie saw she must have been a pretty woman in her youth. She guessed Marion was only in her early fifties but a hard life on the land had aged her skin, and her hair was streaked with grey and had been left to its own devices. Queenie had no doubt a trip to the hairdresser in town would be a rare luxury.

Over coffee and cake they talked of the wool industry and how the present slump had affected so many.

‘You know, it’s crazy when you think of it, that we sit back and rely so much on “them” — the big wheels of politics and industry,’ said Marion. ‘We little people should get in there . . . if only we could. I tell you what, when I look at some of the money going to waste it makes me want to spit chips. If I had the money I’d be buying up old machinery, and getting that going.’

‘Old machinery that’s still functional is hard to find,’ sighed Queenie. ‘I know, I’ve been looking.’

‘Well, I tell you what, there’s a 1903 carding machine made in Birmingham and an American spinning machine sitting in a disused woolshed on a bloke’s property that I know down near Grenfell. I bet that could still turn out skeins of wool at a decent old rate. The pure fibre too, no nylon in it.’

Queenie was immediately interested and asked for more details. An idea was beginning to take shape in her head. If she could buy those machines and move them up near the fellmongery and tannery, they’d be able to use scoured wool to produce knitting yarn at a competitive price. They could use the yarn for their own knitwear as well as sell it to home knitters.

The talk then turned to shared experiences and funny anecdotes of life on the land. Queenie could tell this proud woman was avoiding talking about the harsher reality of her situation for fear of being seen as a whinger. She did discover that Gordon Siddins had been raised on Amaroo, their property, and they’d only had one child, a son, killed in a car crash four years ago.

‘We never thought we’d have kids, and along he came. Bloody beaut kid he was . . . worked with his dad, intended to keep the place going after we’d gone. Break his heart to see what’s happened to it.’ She changed the subject and Queenie insisted they have a second cup of coffee.

‘So are you off in the morning too?’ asked Queenie.

‘Yes, I’ve stocked up from the store, done what business I could. We didn’t even bother trying to sell our wool, put it in storage. But thought I’d come to the meeting, to see what’s going on. I don’t like leaving Gordon alone. He’s not well and he’s nearly killed himself shearing what sheep we’ve got left.’

‘Marion, could I come out and see your place? It’s not much of a detour and I’d like to see for myself how bad the drought’s been. Perhaps we women of the west could put our heads together and come up with an idea or two.’

‘Amaroo isn’t a pretty sight these days, but if you want to . . .’ Marion Siddins shrugged.

They met early the next morning and Queenie followed Marion in her old utility truck. Cocooned in the cool interior of her LandCruiser, Queenie listened to the strains of ‘Swan Lake’ as the scorched landscape rolled past in a never-ending expanse of heat, dust and scattered limp vegetation.

Forty minutes later they came to the fences of Amaroo and the grid that marked the entrance to the property. The circular fan windmill was motionless. Even if there had been a breath of wind to turn it, there was no water to pump. The wells were dry. Three gates later Queenie saw the roof of the homestead glaring in the relentless sun. She parked behind Marion and as she climbed from the car the side door opened and Gordon Siddins came to welcome them.

He was a brawny, russet-haired man with a shy smile and tired eyes. ‘Lo, Mum,’ he said as he greeted Marion, who introduced Queenie as a new friend she’d met in town.

They went into the kitchen and Marion made tea as they talked. It was Gordon who explained he suffered from organophosphate poisoning brought on by the backliner sprays and sheep dips — the very products used in carrying on his business. This debilitating illness drained his energy and meant he could only work a few hours a day.

Marion cut in, ‘It’s like leptospirosis, it’s a work-related health hazard. Farmers should have been told about it and provided with masks or protective clothing. It’s terrible to watch him trying to struggle on alone.’

‘Not alone,’ said Gordon quietly. ‘She’s worked with me in the shed, bringing in the sheep, dealing with the fleeces, classing and baling. She does a man’s job, plus looks after everything around the house.’

There was resignation and defeat in his voice that spoke of a proud, strong man who no longer had the physical ability to do his job and had to stand by and see his wife slave like a navvy. Yet the obvious affection between them and the caring and loving attention Marion showed towards her husband touched Queenie. ‘You have no help here?’ she asked gently.

‘Had four blokes full-time and got down to one fellow running the shed, but paying him kept pushing us even further backwards,’ said Gordon.

Later Marion took Queenie around the property. She took her rifle and put it behind the driver’s seat. ‘I have the unpleasant chore of shooting the sheep,’ she said matter-off-actly. But it was obvious the task affected her deeply. ‘We’ve bred these sheep and watched them grow into good animals and now they’re starving to death. We’re down to three thousand sheep and can’t afford to handfeed them. But what upsets me most is that Gordon feels he’s failed me, when he hasn’t at all.’

Marion pulled the truck over by a small dry dam where two thin sheep lay by its edge. Weakly they lifted their heads, the eyeless sockets in their heads seeping wounds. The crows had done their terrible work.

Silently Marion took the rifle and quickly fired a bullet into each skull. Queenie came up to her as she stood, the rifle held limply by her side, staring down at the two worthless carcasses, a tear running down her face.

‘Blasted crows,’ sniffed Marion. ‘It’s a bloody dreadful way to die. I generally come out early in the morning before the crows get to the weak ones.’

They stood in silent grief for a moment, then Marion sighed. ‘Sometimes I think it’d be easier to walk away from all this, but the thought of going over the grid for the last time is really impossible to contemplate. They’ll have to carry me off in a box first. Anyway, we don’t know anything else.’

Queenie nodded, she understood perfectly.

Marion continued, ‘People who’ve never been on the land don’t understand. All they know is the romantic side of it from the movies and the poems. The people in the cities don’t know what it’s really like. There’s no romance here.’ She turned back to the truck. ‘I’d like to show you something.’

They drove towards a small red hillock where a stark, sticklike sentinel of a dead tree was etched against the blue. They got out and walked towards the tree.

‘This is my special place,’ said Marion. ‘It generally gives me strength to come here, now I feel like one of them.’

‘Who’s that?’ asked Queenie gently.

‘The pioneer women who went before us. How they had to battle, and so often on their own.’

They’d come to a small grave marked by a bleached wooden cross which Marion had wired back together. On a rock at its base were etched the words Lucas Fogarty. Died 1902. Aged six years.

Both women stood, humbled before the little epitaph. ‘I don’t know anything about him or the family,’ said Marion. ‘But I felt I should look after it for his mother.’ She reached out and patted the little cross and they got back in the truck.

‘So you’ve still got your wool stored here?’ asked Queenie above the rattle of the engine.

‘Yes, we were hoping the price might go up. After throwing money at us the bank won’t talk to us now. The interest rates crippled us. Even the bank knows if they took this place it’d be an albatross. If they’d just help the owners to carry on we’d all get through and probably make a go of it.’

‘What if you sold this clip and had an ongoing private sale deal . . . would that change their mind about helping with the debt?’ asked Queenie.

‘Possibly. But no one would take a chance on a place like this in this economic climate.’

‘I would.’

‘What for? We don’t want charity.’ Marion’s chin lifted.

‘That’s why I’d be prepared to invest in you. You’re fighters and you’re honest. Look, Marion, this wool project I told you about last night means I need wool of various qualities, not just superfine merino. Especially if we got those spinning and carding machines you mentioned up and running. If I was to give you a letter of agreement that I’ll contract to buy your wool, starting with what you’ve got stockpiled now, would that help you out?’

‘I reckon it would,’ said Marion slowly. ‘Why are you doing this? You’re taking a risk.’

‘I don’t think so,’ smiled Queenie. ‘Everyone needs a hand along the way. Let’s just say we’re helping each other in the tradition of country women — in memory of a little boy called Lucas.’

A tear and the light of hope shone in Marion’s eyes. ‘On that understanding, I accept. We won’t let you down, Queenie.’

Toffee streaked along the now posted and well-worn track beside the river as Saskia, Jenni and Angus all watched with binoculars. Angus checked the stopwatch and gave the girls a thumbs-up signal.

Mick rode back towards them grinning broadly. ‘How was that?’

‘Excellent, you got a bit more out of him and that’s doing damned well,’ said Angus. ‘What do you think?’

‘Number one. He’s a beauty,’ enthused Mick. ‘You done a good job, Sas.’

‘Thanks, but can he beat Ambrosia?’

Mick unbuckled his helmet and pulled it off, shaking his mass of dark curls. ‘Mmm, well now, that’s a big question, ain’t it?’

‘Yes, it is, Mick, so what do you think?’ persisted Jenni impatiently.

Mick fussed with his helmet, then looked up. ‘It’ll be close,’ he finally decided.

Seeing the girls’ faces, Angus stepped in smoothly. ‘It’ll depend on the jockey. And we know who’s got the better jockey, right?’

‘You bet,’ said Saskia, her confidence restored.

Later as she helped unsaddle and brush Toffee down, Mick asked Saskia to explain in detail what Toffee’s problem had been and he listened intently as she told him of his cornering and crowding phobia.

Mick chewed his lip. ‘He seems good now, but how is he in a proper race with other horses and a different course?’

‘He ran a barrier trial last week and did just fine,’ revealed Saskia. ‘Only had an apprentice on board, so we didn’t push him. Angus has been taking him all over the place and Toffee is getting very confident about racing again.’

‘I’m goin’ to have to tell Tango. When are we gonna spring that little surprise?’ said Mick with a worried expression.

‘Leave it to me, Mick, I’ll handle it. I’ll explain I talked you into doing this.’ ‘We ain’t doin’ anything wrong, but I feel a bit uncomfortable.’

‘Why? Don’t worry. This is just a challenge between Tango and me. He doesn’t think I know enough about horses and I know I have a lot to learn, but I want to prove I at least have what it takes to be given a go on my own merit,’ said Saskia with a determined lift of her chin that made Mick smile.

‘You’re just like your mumma. Righto, Sas. I’ll be with Angus, he’s a nice bloke, straight too. We’re going to run Toffee round a few other courses in the next coupla days.’

‘Gosh, I wish I could come with you. It’s school holidays and it’s really boring plodding with the families on the trail rides.’ Saskia wrinkled her nose.

‘You gonna git your turn to be messing round with racehorses and doin’ what you want soon enough, Sas. Take it easy.’

Saskia left Mick and returned to the resort and spotted Colin.

‘Hi, Colin, have a nice dinner the other evening? Oskars is good, isn’t it?’

‘I didn’t have as good a time as you two did,’ remarked Colin.

Saskia turned away. Dina must have given him a hard time over Jenni. However, he couldn’t have been in too bad a mood — he was headed for the office, whistling as he walked.

Queenie returned to Tingulla and closeted herself away in her office. Millie carried in a tray with a jug of lemonade and plate of pikelets.

‘You look worried, luv. Everything all right?’

‘I hope it will be, Millie. I have a . . .money problem with Colin.’

‘What! What’s that wretch been up to now?’

‘It’s a long story, Millie. Apparently Dad had a change of heart after he made out his will and sent Colin a letter telling him Cricklewood was to go to him, and the letter has just turned up. So Colin wants Cricklewood. Well, he doesn’t really, he wants money. Rather a lot, I’m afraid. He’s planning something, but so long as he gets out of my life, I don’t care.’

Seeing the anguish on Queenie’s face, Millie said, ‘But the price is pretty steep, huh?’

‘Very. The worrying part is, it’s not just my money. I have a lot of goodwill, friendship and faith at risk too. But I’m dammed if I’ll give up Cricklewood.’

‘And your dad never told you he was leaving Cricklewood to Colin? That don’t sound right to me, Queenie luv. You and your dad was so close.’

‘I thought so,’ said Queenie quietly. ‘Anyway, I’m trying to figure out a way to pay him out. But it’s going to put me in a very precarious position.’

‘Sounds more like blackmail t’me,’ sniffed Millie, pouring Queenie’s lemonade.

‘I just hope I’m doing the right thing, I wish I could talk it over with TR.’

Millie shook her head sadly. ‘P’raps you should have a yarn to Dingo. See what he thinks about what you’re doin’ and whether you should mention it t’TR.’

‘We’ll see, Millie. I’ll think about it.’ But Queenie knew she couldn’t mention it to Dingo — he’d offer her money straightaway and she was not about to risk anyone else’s money.

Queenie finished the last pikelet and stood looking at her father’s books lining one wall of what had been his office. How she wished a book would fall out of the shelf and inside would be a letter from him telling her it was all a dreadful mistake. She decided she would have to share this with her son.

Tango sat in his father’s office at Guneda holding the phone and frowning as he listened to Queenie. ‘Jeez, he hasn’t improved over the years, has he? What a sod. What are you going to do?’

‘What would you do, darling?’

‘Deck the bastard,’ Tango replied promptly.

Queenie couldn’t help smiling. ‘You forget about his in-laws. Camboni would send over several gentlemen to kneecap you, or worse.’

‘You’re right, Mum. Pay the bastard off; get rid of him for good. It’ll be money well spent in the long run, though it’s a bloody shame you have to do it.’

‘Do you think I should ask TR’s advice?’

There was a pause. ‘I don’t think so,’ said Tango carefully. ‘TR is pretty wrapped in things Dingo is doing. It’s like Tingulla and Cricklewood never existed for him. Give him a bit more time. But I’m sure he’d agree with me that you’re doing the right thing.’

Queenie knew Tango was right but his remarks stabbed at her heart. TR had probably relegated her to a life he didn’t recall and, most hurtful, didn’t want to recall. ‘It’s still hard to come to terms with not sharing everything with him,’ she said in a broken voice.

‘Give it time, Mum. It’s all you can do.’

‘How much more time? A year? Five years? What? This is living hell!’ Queenie couldn’t stem the tide of hurt and anger that burst from her.

‘Mum, there’ll come a morning when you’ll wake up and make a decision. To go on or to walk away. Only you will be able to decide that,’ said Tango quietly.

‘I don’t think I have that choice,’ said Queenie sadly. ‘I think TR has already decided.’

Millie was watering the ferns hanging along the verandah when Queenie charged upstairs, changed clothes and left the house. Inside, the phone rang and after a few minutes Ruthie came hurrying out to the verandah.

‘Telephone. I told her the missus was out riding, but maybe you’d better talk to her, Millie,’ she said breathlessly.

‘Who is it?’

‘Some lady called Auntie Maud. I didn’t know we had an Auntie Maud.’

‘Nor did I. Oh well, I’ll see what she wants.’

When Queenie returned from a long hard ride Millie was glad to have some news to distract her with. ‘I bin talkin’ to Auntie Maud. She was tellin’ me ’bout this and that. Anyway she wants to know if she can bring her next mob of kids out to camp back of Tingulla somewhere. Teach ’em the bush ways, you know.’

‘Sure, Millie. I offered that when I first met her. Did she say when?’

‘Nope. I didn’t ask. She said t’tell you the fashion stuff with Raylene is going like a rocket.’

Queenie managed to smile. ‘That’s good. Tingulla Fashions is certainly a mix of personalities.’

‘Maud said Raylene hasn’t changed a bit, in fact she’s changing the princess . . . countess, whatever she is. Dreadlocked her hair.’

‘What!’ Queenie burst out laughing.

‘Yeah, said she told her she was living in the fifties, braided her hair with beads and stuff and the old girl loved it.’

‘Sounds like you and Maudie had quite a chat. I’d better give her a call.’ Queenie was grinning as she threw her hat at one of the arms of the stand and headed for the phone.

‘Oh Queenie, there was one other call.’

Queenie turned back to Millie. ‘Who else?’

‘Mrs Dina Hanlon. “Would you ask Mrs Hamilton to call me back. Thank you very much”,’ mimicked Millie, giving a brief curtsy.

Queenie groaned. ‘Oh, no. What now? More trouble. Millie . . .’

‘I know, I know. I’m putting the kettle on.’ Millie went to the kitchen and Queenie went to her office. What the heck did Dina want? There was only one way to find out. Groaning inwardly, she lifted the phone.

Chapter Thirty-Eight

It was sundowner time. Tango was stretched out on a settler’s chair on the verandah at Guneda, a cold beer in his hand, the phone to his ear, his eyes on the sunset.

‘So, Tango, what’s happening?’ asked Saskia. At the other end of the phone she was sprawled out on her bed, the phone stretched the length of its extension cord. Jenni sat in the doorway watching the last rays of the sun filter through the banana and poinciana trees.

‘Well, I’m having a cold beer and watching the sun go down. I miss TR at times like this. What’s new at Harmony Hill?’

‘Er . . . that’s why I rang. I do have a bit of news,’ Saskia started nervously. ‘It’s about Mick. You know he’s up here on holiday . . . I sort of asked him — ’

‘Christ, is he all right? Hasn’t gotten into any strife, has he?’

‘No, no, nothing like that. Let me go back a bit. Remember I told you there was this horse here I reckoned I could train?’

‘Oh, yeah, the old racehorse. Is Mick — ’

‘Tango, just listen,’ said Saskia quickly. ‘I told you I wanted to be a trainer, that I didn’t want any handouts from you, that I wanted to prove to you I could work with horses.’

‘Hang on, Sas, I was prepared to give you a go. You are my little sister.’

‘And that’s just what everyone else would say. Don’t you see, Tango? I have to make my own mark first, then I can use my family.’

‘So, how’re you going to make that mark, Sas?’ asked Tango, dropping his teasing attitude.

‘I’ve worked with this horse. He was a bit broken down but I reckon I’ve sorted him out. Toffee is going like a beauty . . . So the bottom line is,’ Saskia took a deep breath and in a rush said, ‘Jenni and I bought him; a friend — an old trainer — is entering him in the Gold Coast Cup and Mick is riding him.’

There was a stunned silence, then Tango burst out laughing. ‘By God, you know how to wind a bloke, Sas!’

‘You’re not mad?’

‘Mad? I don’t think so. Surprised, I guess.’ Tango took a long sip of his beer. ‘So do you think your horse can beat Ambrosia?’

‘Maybe. I don’t know. Mick says it will be close. Now, Tango, Mick wants you to understand he had nothing to do with this. Camboni had hired this other jockey to ride Ambrosia so I figured if Mick thought Toffee was okay, then he’d give me the best possible chance.’

‘Yeah, you’re right. Well, it’s going to be an interesting Cup. I wouldn’t miss it for quids.’

‘Tango, I want to keep this quiet. The horse used to belong to Bannerman, a friend of Colin’s and Camboni’s, and they could just nobble him out of spite.’

Tango laughed. ‘Now you’re talking like a trainer. What does Mum say about all this?’

‘I haven’t told her what I plan yet. I wanted to straighten things out with you about Mick first. Mum saw Toffee when she was here and thought he looked good.’

‘Sounds like we’ll all be ringside. Where’s Jenni? I’d love to talk to her. She done anything like this before?’

‘No, I think we Hanlons have corrupted her. She’s here, I’ll put her on.’ Saskia waved Jenni to the phone.

‘Hi, Tango. Surprise.’

‘Yeah, snap. How come you’re buying racehorses? They must be paying you too much money at that retreat place.’

‘We work for love here, not money,’ joked Jenni. ‘That’s why Saskia and I decided to take the plunge.’

‘And what do you know about racehorses? Do you massage them too?’

‘I don’t know much . . . but I’m learning. Maybe massaging the horse isn’t such a silly idea.’ Jenni grinned at Saskia, giving her the thumbs up. Saskia raised her glass of mango juice.

‘What about me? I wouldn’t mind a massage from you sometime,’ suggested Tango.

‘Ah, you have to earn that . . . by doing something nice for me,’ teased Jenni.

‘You name it. I’m serious,’ said Tango. ‘Really, Jenni, I’d like to see you again. Just the two of us. I’d like to get to know you better.’

‘Why don’t you come up in the next few days and visit Harmony Hill before the Cup?’ suggested Jenni. ‘I’ll be your tour guide.’

‘Great, I’d love to. That’s settled then,’ said Tango warmly. ‘You keep an eye on my sister for me in the meantime, will you? I hope she comes through with this — for your sake as well. I don’t want to see her fall on her face here. She doesn’t have to prove anything to me, you know.’

‘She knows that. But she has to prove it to herself, Tango. Then it doesn’t matter what anyone else says,’ said Jenni gently.

‘So, you’re intelligent as well as pretty. I knew there was more than one reason I liked you,’ said Tango, and Jenni could visualise the lopsided grin on his face as he said it. The same smile as TR’s.

‘Tango, I’m really looking forward to seeing you. I’ll put Saskia back on now. Bye.’

‘So, Tango,’ said Saskia, ‘any words of advice for the novice?’

‘I didn’t think you wanted any advice. No, tell you what, Sas, don’t put a lot of money on the race. Save your money . . . just in case.’

‘We don’t need to make a killing on backing Toffee, we’ll have our winnings,’ said Saskia.

‘I like your style, girls. Tell Mick I’ll see him very soon. Good luck, kid. I’m really very proud of you.’

‘Cheers, Tango.’

At the other side of Harmony Hill Colin sat in his office, his briefcase open on the desk beside him. In the school exercise book he wrote down more figures, did some calculations, then leaned back with a satisfied smile. Glancing at his watch, he picked up the phone and dialled interstate.

‘Did the horse arrive from Guneda okay? . . . And everything is set? Right, sounds good . . . The Spook’s riding the favourite? Though it’s being overcautious if you ask me. Ambrosia is a straight up, good horse . . . Okay, okay why take chances indeed. Might even put some of my own money on him.’ Colin gave a light laugh. ‘Yeah, give me the last minute details on the day.’ He hung up. Whistling, he put the book and papers back in his briefcase and snapped it shut.

Queenie had tried to call Dina several times, but no one had answered. As she walked away from the telephone, it began to ring. It was Saskia, calling to tell her the news about Toffee.

‘Sas, that’s so exciting! I can’t believe you’ve done all this. Well, yes I can. You are the independent miss, aren’t you. Well, we’ll all be there with bells on. What did Tango say?’

‘He was surprised, but decent about my asking Mick to ride. Frankly, while Tango did his best in training Ambrosia, I don’t think Tango or Mick will be broken-hearted if he doesn’t win . . . seeing as Ambrosia is Camboni’s horse.’

‘Now, Sas, don’t be disappointed if Toffee doesn’t do well, you can’t expect to have a winner first time. The fact you’ve got him to this stage and qualifying is excellent. I think you’ve made a good buy there, he’s a beautiful horse.’

Saskia agreed. ‘Colin and his mates will be mad if he wins, having sold him to me. I think it’s just as well Mick is riding Toffee — if he rode Ambrosia and lost, I wouldn’t put it past Colin and his crew to claim foul play.’

‘I wouldn’t put anything past Colin,’ said Queenie with heat.

‘Gosh, Mum, does that mean he’s off the list for my twenty-first birthday?’ said Saskia trying to joke, unaware of the pain that lay behind her mother’s bitter comment.

‘Your party is entirely up to you. What would you like to do?’

‘Ria and Bruce offered to do something here if I wanted. Or there’s the Gold Coast . . . or even a big formal in Sydney at Sarah’s, I suppose,’ mused Saskia.

‘Henri would love to give you an elegant party at the Kurrajong, I know,’ added Queenie.

‘Mum, I’m not the elegant type. No,’ said Saskia, making a decision, ‘there’s only one place for my party — Tingulla. And I want TR to be there too.’

‘You ask him, Sas. Things are a bit strained between us right now. I’m just leaving him on his own for the moment, it seems to be what he wants. But you’d want Dingo to come too, wouldn’t you?’

‘You bet, so I’ll ask Dingo too, then they’ll both come for sure. My birthday is on the Friday, but I’d like the party to be on Saturday so all my friends can be there . . . And can we have a big woolshed dance and let the guests sleep in the shearers’ quarters?’ Saskia asked hesitantly, aware she was treading on sensitive ground. This was how Queenie had celebrated her own twenty-first — the night she’d met TR and her mother Rose had been brutally murdered.

‘If that’s what you want, Sas,’ said Queenie slowly, ‘then we’ll do it. Well, I guess I’ll see you at the races. Don’t you go putting a lot of money on Toffee, you’ve spent enough!’

‘Gosh, Mum, I have to show some faith in my horse — even if it’s only a couple of dollars.’

Queenie hung up, glad Saskia hadn’t sensed her deep anxiety about Colin’s claim on Cricklewood. Queenie had examined her finances over and over again; she had exhausted every avenue, but no one, not even the bank, could help and she had come to the conclusion that she couldn’t raise the money without losing Tingulla Fashions. And she wasn’t prepared to do that — it wasn’t just her money involved, lots of people stood to lose a lot if she pulled out now.

It made her feel physically ill when she thought about it, but there was only one answer. She couldn’t give Colin the money he wanted, so she’d have to give him Cricklewood. She held onto the faint hope that Colin might sit on Cricklewood for a bit before selling it, and maybe she could raise the finance to purchase it at that time. It gave her hope for a brief time, but in her heart Queenie knew Colin would flog it and strip it of its assets as fast as he could. He wanted cash. Well, she had to give him an answer soon. He’d be at the Gold Coast Cup. She’d tell him at the races.

The taxi wound up the drive to Harmony Hill and stopped outside the main entrance. The solitary male passenger paid the driver and stepped from the cab, hoisting his small bag onto his shoulder before going into the reception area. He emerged a few minutes later following the directions given to him by the girl at the reception desk, and set off down the path.

Jenni leaned back in her chair on the small front deck of her bungalow and laughed at the description of a racing camel being ridden by the indomitable Dingo. ‘What an amazing man he is,’ she smiled.

Tango reached for his drink, hooking his long legs up on the railing. ‘Boy, this is some pretty place, thanks for showing me around. So you’re feeling good about being here, huh?’

‘Yes, I’m enjoying the work. Colin is a bit of a pain, but it’s great having Saskia around. What plans have you guys made for dinner?’

‘Saskia’s busy with Mick, getting Toffee ready for the big race. I thought we might have dinner alone. I figured we could go into Surfers and paint the town red. What do you say?’

‘That would be nice. I’m dying to hear more about your trip to Dingo’s and all about how TR is getting on.’

‘Why don’t you ask him yourself?’ came a deep firm voice from the living room behind them.

Jenni swung around with a gasp and Tango’s legs dropped off the railing in shock as he struggled to his feet, tipping over his chair in the process.

Jenni and Tango stared in shocked surprise at TR standing in the middle of the room, a wry, lopsided grin on his face.

‘Surprise,’ he said simply.

Jenni hurried towards him. ‘TR, what are you doing here? Have you come up for the Cup? How did you get here? I mean, why . . . are you here?’ She reached up and kissed him lightly on the cheek but TR and Tango had locked eyes, each staring at the other.

TR answered her without taking his eyes from Tango. ‘Guess I’m here for the same reason he is — to take you to dinner.’

‘You’re a popular girl it seems,’ said Tango, continuing to gaze at his father. He had no idea TR was planning a trip to Harmony Hill. He thought he was still with Dingo.

Jenni looked from father to son. ‘Well come on in, TR, we were just sitting on the deck having a juice. Tango came up yesterday.’ She led TR out onto the deck. ‘I thought you were staying in the west for a while longer.’

‘Yeah Dad, so did I . . .’ said Tango testily. ‘I didn’t know you were coming back. Or planning on seeing Sas. Mum didn’t mention anything.’

‘She doesn’t know. It was an impromptu trip.’ TR turned to Jenni. ‘I wanted to talk to you.’

Tango rose. ‘Look, I’ll leave. Jenni, I’ll be at Sas’s bungalow. I guess dinner is off. I’ll see you, Dad.’ He left the room without looking at his father.

TR turned to Jenni. She looked at him with a mixture of curiosity, sympathy and wariness. ‘TR . . . why didn’t you call? Is something wrong?’

‘No. I didn’t expect you to be . . . that, Tango would be here . . . Why is he here?’

‘TR, he’s come up for the Cup . . . and to see how I’d settled in.’

‘I see.’ TR turned away.

Jenni went to him and put her arms around him. ‘No, TR, you don’t see. Please, don’t be like this. I’m really so glad to see you.’ She hugged him but he brushed her aside.

‘You must feel pretty pleased with yourself. You’ve not only got two men on a string, you’ve got . . .’

‘Stop! Don’t say it, TR!’ cried Jenni. ‘This is crazy. You’re both special. For God’s sake . . . you know how much you mean to me!’

‘And what about Tango? What does he mean to you, Jenni?’ demanded TR.

Jenni looked near to tears. ‘I don’t know. You both mean a lot to me.’

‘I needed you, Jenni. I thought we were going to sort out where we stood when I came back from the west. I decided this needed to be sorted out sooner rather than later, so here I am. I can’t stand my life as it is . . . this not knowing about things!’ TR rubbed his eyes, his face crumpled and Jenni’s heart lurched in despair at the desolate tone of his voice.

‘What about Queenie?’ asked Jenni slowly. ‘Where does she fit in? Where do I fit in? What do you want, TR?’ she asked quietly.

TR stared at her, a passionate fire burning in his eyes and for a moment he looked as if he was going to grab her and sweep her into his arms. But like the flame of a match suddenly dwindling, he turned away, his shoulders sagging. ‘I don’t know what I want. I’m sorry for barging in like this. It was crazy. I’ll go back to Dingo’s. Tell Tango . . . Oh never mind.’

TR picked up his small bag and stepped into the sunlight and Jenni watched him walk back along the flower fringed path with tears spilling from her eyes.

Chapter Thirty-Nine

The Wednesday of the Gold Coast Cup was a perfect May day — fresh in the early morning then sunny with a comfortable balmy breeze in the afternoon. The Cup was race six, scheduled for three-thirty. Saskia, Jenni, Mick and Tango arrived early as Saskia wanted to make sure there were no last-minute slipups. They were given long odds of fifteen to one, despite Toffee’s good win in one of the lead-up races.

While Saskia settled Toffee into his stall, Jenni and Tango went off to scout around and see if they could find Ambrosia.

‘You all right?’ asked Tango gently as they wandered around.

‘Of course. Everything’s fine.’

‘Oh, I just thought . . . well, after, you know, TR dropping in so unexpectedly . . . Have you sorted all that out?’

Jenni spoke quickly, sounding a little strained. ‘There wasn’t a lot to sort out. It’s TR who has the sorting out to do.’

‘You don’t want to talk about this now, do you?’

‘Not really,’ said Jenni.

‘Listen, I reckon you’re going to need a bit of extra schooling in the horse-racing game. How about you get some time off after all this is over and come and visit Guneda? And me. Just a friendly social tour. What do you say?’

‘Well . . . I don’t know.’

‘Come on, Jen, you’ll love it there, I promise. No strings attached.’

‘I don’t know if I can get away . . .’ Her voice wavered.

‘Sure you can. If you have any problems with the mob at Harmony Hill tell ’em I have a bad back which needs urgent fixing.’

Jenni laughed a little. ‘I’ll look into it, but I’m not making any promises.’

‘Fair enough. But try hard, huh?’

‘I’ll see.’ Jenni was smiling broadly now.

When they got back to the others, Saskia introduced Tango to Angus Wellburn, who’d just arrived, then asked, ‘How’s Ambrosia looking?’

‘Only saw him at a distance, they had so many bods around, I didn’t feel welcome. How do you fancy your chances on this bloke, Mick?’

‘Pretty good, but we seem to be the only fellas that think so.’

‘Ambrosia still has pretty good odds, but the favourite is High Noon,’ said Angus. ‘He’s a better known horse than Ambrosia. The bookies say he’s the one to beat.’

Queenie arrived late in the morning and soon found the group camped about Toffee’s stall. She and Saskia hugged each other, Tango kissed her and held her at arm’s length. ‘Wow, you look great, Mum.’ She wore a straight fitting safari-green linen dress and a natural straw hat with a matching animal print green and brown chiffon scarf tied around its crown. Her burnished hair fell smoothly around her shoulders; her legs were bare and her feet slipped into soft emu-skin pumps she’d had made specially in Sydney.

But behind the lovely smiling face there was a tenseness, a weariness in her eyes, a hint of sadness about her mouth. ‘Tango, we have to talk when you have a moment . . .’ She glanced at Jenni, giving her a cautious smile. Queenie was unsure how to treat Jenni — as a threat or a friend. In a swift glance she took in Jenni’s sky-blue cotton skirt and matching short-sleeved jacket. She looked pretty and youthful and Queenie could see why any man would be attracted to her.

Tango touched his mother on the arm and introduced her to Angus who immediately launched into a long conversation about horses, Toffee, Sweet William and the chances of their girls winning today. Queenie listened to his enthusiastic chatter with half an ear, smiling and nodding, her eyes casting about for Tango who was talking to Saskia and Jenni. Before Queenie could catch Tango’s eye, Saskia excused herself, saying she wanted to find Ambrosia’s connections and check out the horse.

Tango took Jenni by the arm and waved to his mother. ‘We’re going for a coffee,’ he called and was gone before Queenie could say a word. With a sigh she turned her attention back to Angus Wellburn. She’d break the news to Tango about having to give up Cricklewood after the race.

Dressed in her riding clothes, Saskia thought she looked inconspicuous around the stable area, but many eyes followed the tall and strikingly lovely young woman in the figure-hugging moleskin pants and sleeveless silk tank top, her mop of thick curls shining in the sunlight. She didn’t recognise any of the people around Ambrosia’s stall, though a small dapper man was obviously the flash jockey they’d hired. The group moved away and Saskia, who’d been looking at a horse in a row further down, walked up and looked in Ambrosia’s stall.

A young strapper sat on a small stool, flipping through a magazine. He looked up as Saskia peered over the top half of the stable door. ‘Yeah, want something?’ he said.

‘No, just looking at the horses. He looks good,’ she said nodding towards Ambrosia. ‘You watching him for the owners?’

‘No, I’m watching the saddle for the jockey,’ he said, thrusting a boot towards the saddle in a corner.

‘Smartalec,’ said Saskia and moved away. She’d barely gone a few paces when she came across Colin, smartly dressed and carrying a racing form. He was surprised to see her.

‘So you’re here too, Saskia! I thought I saw Jenni and your brother a little while ago. How come you’re all here? A family reunion?’ He gave an ironic smile.

‘Yep, my mum’s here too.’

Colin looked a bit taken aback and none too pleased to hear that Queenie was at the track. This was not a major race, why were they all here? Surely not because a horse Tango had trained was running. He hoped they hadn’t got wind of Camboni’s betting plunge. But Saskia hurriedly explained, ‘I’ve entered Toffee in the race’.

‘Here? How come? He doesn’t stand a chance in any sort of a race. How’d you manage that?’ demanded Colin suspiciously.

‘He had a good record early on. I worked on him and thought he might come good again. No one else seemed to think so, or wanted him,’ she added pointedly.

Colin shook his head. ‘So that’s why you wanted to buy him. You should’ve told me and I would have advised you to save your money and energy. You won’t mind if I don’t back him then. You’re crazy, kid. Look I’ve got people to chat up. See you after the race. Hey,’ he was suddenly struck by a thought, ‘did Tango know about this? Has he had anything to do with your horse?’

‘No way. I trained him myself and the farmer down the bottom of the hill still has a trainer’s licence so he entered him.’

Colin gave a mocking smile. ‘Sounds like a bunch of amateurs to me. But full marks for trying, kid. You want a tip? Put your money on Ambrosia.’ He moved away.

Alfredo Camboni and daughter Dina, both dressed in white, settled themselves in an air-conditioned glassed box in the DA Hollingdale Members’ Stand. George Bannerman and Tony Cuomo from the casino syndicate sat with them and the men bent their heads together in frequent whispered huddles.

Dina, apparently bored, stood and smoothed her tight silk skirt down over her hips. ‘I’m going for a walk.’

‘Well eat lunch soon caro, find that husband of yours,’ said Alfredo as she left.

Dina knew very well what her father, her husband and their friends were doing. She hadn’t been around racetracks with them over the years for nothing. They had set up a big betting plunge where hired punters, placed at various racetracks around the country, would put large sums of cash on Camboni’s horse. High Noon, the favourite, ridden by Donny Spukis, was considered Melbourne Cup winner material and a shoo-in to win. Ambrosia was not a well-known horse and his odds were quite long. At the last minute, while his odds were still good, a heavy spate of betting on Ambrosia would catch bookmakers by surprise. Quite how her father and Colin were going to make sure he won instead of the favourite wasn’t clear. But Dina suspected they’d probably paid the jockey to pull up the favourite. He was a one-time high-profile jockey but had been suspended for doubtful rides over the years, though nothing was ever proven.

Dina was still deeply troubled about Colin. On an impulse she’d flown down to Sydney and made a few enquiries through her own network of friends and acquaintances, only to have confirmed what she already suspected. It had hurt her deeply when she realised the lengths to which her husband had gone to obtain enough money to leave her. This was no hidden pocket money he had accumulated, but a plan to amass a large amount of money so he could slip away from her. Well, she wasn’t going to let him get away with it. He was a fool to think he could outsmart her. She was a Camboni. As soon as she’d found out that he had lunched with Fredrico she had been suspicious. Colin’s surprise ‘find’ of a later letter didn’t convince her for a moment. Authentic as it appeared, she knew the forgery work of Fredrico’s connection was impeccable.

Dina had waited until she was sure of what Colin planned to do. She had thought carefully about her own moves. The predominant hold she had over her handsome and sexy husband was money, and she had to make sure that nothing threatened that hold. She knew she had to turn the tables on Colin. She had to turn to Queenie for help.

Dina decided to drop in to the Prime Minister’s Club Bar and order herself a glass of champagne. She stood sipping the bubbling liquid, staring across the course at the distant skyline of Surfers Paradise. A soft voice made her spin around.

‘Hello, Dina.’

Queenie stood there and the two women stared intently at each other for a moment or two. ‘You were trying to contact me?’

‘Yes. Then I went to Sydney. I wanted to talk to you.’

Queenie looked around. She couldn’t see Colin. ‘You want to talk now?’

‘Why not.’

Queenie picked up her glass and headed for a table in a secluded corner. Her mind was racing as she tried to guess what Dina wanted. Was she in on Colin’s blackmail attempt or was she trying to do a deal of her own? Queenie was at the end of her rope over Colin’s demands. He’d won. She had no more resources and no more fight left. How it would break her father’s heart if he knew what was about to transpire. He had given Queenie Cricklewood for safekeeping, and she was about to fail him.

The two women sat down and regarded each other, not with hostility but wariness. Despite the heavy make-up Dina looked tired.

‘Is this about Colin?’ asked Queenie.

Dina nodded. ‘He has shown you the letter from your father about Cricklewood?’

Queenie’s mouth tightened. ‘Yes, he has. I suppose you know I have discussed the . . . settlement with him.’

‘No, I didn’t. In fact, Colin has told me nothing of this matter. I happened to . . . find out.’

Queenie looked at Dina in surprise, then her eyes narrowed. ‘So you don’t know he wants me to give him a large sum of money — a very large sum — in order to keep Cricklewood myself?’

Dina shook her head. ‘It does not surprise me. I think he has ideas of . . . travelling.’ She paused and took a quick drag on her cigarette, adding with bitterness, ‘On his own’.

She suddenly looked very sad, and Queenie realised that despite being difficult and demanding, Dina did love Colin. Queenie said slowly, ‘I can’t raise the money, Dina. I’ll have to give him Cricklewood.’

‘Have you handed over the deeds?’ When Queenie shook her head, Dina added firmly, ‘Then don’t’.

Queenie sighed and took a sip of her champagne. ‘I wish I didn’t have to, Dina, but it’s the only way I can get Colin off my back once and for all. After this I want no contact with him. You know very well Colin doesn’t want to work the property. And I don’t imagine you want to go back on the land.’

‘I’m afraid it’s not my lifestyle. Nor is it for Colin, despite his upbringing. But, Queenie, I’m asking you not to give in to his demands. I’m telling you it is not necessary.’

Queenie could feel her body tensing as she stared at Dina. ‘Why?’

Dina shrugged. ‘The letter is a forgery.’

‘What!’ Queenie leaned forward. ‘Dina, please tell me everything you know. I’ve always had my doubts about it, even though it’s written in my father’s handwriting.’

‘If I tell you what I know, we must strike a bargain.’

‘What kind of bargain?’ Queenie suddenly felt a deal with Dina was going to be more to her advantage than one with Colin.

‘That you say nothing nor do anything against Colin. That the matter is laid to rest. We all go on as before. You keep Cricklewood and I keep Colin.’

Overwhelming relief swept over Queenie and she began to understand the whole scenario. ‘Colin wanted money in order to leave you. I know he has none of his own.’

Dina nodded. ‘This is not easy to admit to you or to myself.’ The brief glimpse Queenie had of Dina’s vulnerability was quickly covered up by steely determination. ‘But I am not going to let him leave. He had an acquaintance of ours get a certain gentleman to copy your father’s writing from an old letter. I can prove it if I have to. The men involved will not protect Colin against my father. So you see, as long as I hold onto this, Colin is mine.’

Queenie leaned back in her chair. Dina was not going to let her handsome husband abandon her. Even if she had to blackmail and keep him tied to her bed by economic threats, it was better than not having him at all. In her heart Queenie knew Colin was a weak man who would stay and then look for further opportunities down the track.

‘I need to see this proof, I have to be sure,’ said Queenie.

‘No, you don’t,’ said Dina. ‘Just tell Colin you are not going through with the deal. Just mention the name Fredrico. He won’t argue.’

Dina stood up. ‘That’s all I have to say.’

Queenie rose too, her legs shaking as she realised Cricklewood was still hers. ‘Dina, thank you for telling me.’

Dina gave a small twist of a smile. ‘I didn’t do it for you. I did it for me.’ She turned to move away, then paused, looking across the room. Standing in the doorway, his face white with shock, was Colin. He glanced at them both, then turned on his heel and disappeared.

As the main race approached, Colin walked the course placing bets with various bookmakers. He had avoided Dina who remained in the box with her father and friends, but he was deeply concerned, wondering what the hell Dina and Queenie had been discussing together. He prayed Queenie hadn’t said anything about his demand for money. Dina would be suspicious right away.

Everything was set, he didn’t want anything to go wrong now. Once he had the cash from Queenie he was on a plane to Mexico. He’d already lined up an agent to handle his finances as quickly and quietly as possible, with the rest of his money being sent to Mexico via a carefully arranged circuitous route. Today was supposed to be the icing on the cake. He was privy to a sure thing and knowing he’d soon have cash from Queenie to cover his debts, he planned to put a substantial whack on Ambrosia. He didn’t want anyone in the family to know the size of his bet and he certainly didn’t need Dina interfering at this stage. Damn her, why did she have a knack for stepping in right when he didn’t want her around? What could those two women be talking about? They loathed each other.

Jenni and Queenie sat in the general grandstand saving a seat for Tango. Saskia, Angus and Tango were down at the saddling enclosure watching the eighteen starters in the Cup parade slowly past.

‘Ambrosia looks good,’ said Tango. ‘They can’t say I didn’t bring him up to peak fitness for this race. I did my bit, the rest is up to the Cambonis’ jockey.’

‘High Noon is still the favourite. Looks pretty good too,’ said Angus.

‘None of them look as good as Toffee and Mick though,’ insisted Saskia. ‘They both look like they’re going on a picnic. They look as pleased as punch to be there.’

‘Let’s hope Toffee knows it’s a race and not a cattle muster,’ mused Angus with a grin. ‘Saskia’s methods are a little unorthodox,’ he added to Tango.

‘Whatever the outcome, she has a job with me anytime she wants — no nepotism involved. Sas has proved she’s got what it takes,’ grinned Tango, dropping his arm about her shoulders and giving her a quick hug. ‘Good luck, kid. I’ll head off to be with Mum and Jenni. I’d better put a bet on too.’

He found Queenie and Jenni and settled beside them as the horses were ready for the start. ‘The odds on Ambrosia have suddenly shortened madly. High Noon is still tipped to win, but someone is putting a lot of money on Ambrosia,’ he told them.

‘That’s because they know you trained him,’ suggested Jenni, giving him a proud smile.

‘Thanks, Jen, but I don’t think so,’ said Tango.

‘Camboni and his cronies must be involved,’ Queenie said.

‘You look pretty pleased about things, Mum,’ said Tango noting her happy smile and animated manner. ‘I thought you looked a little strained earlier. Now, what did you want to talk about?’

‘It doesn’t matter now, darling. I’ve just had some good news. And I intend enjoying the day, win, lose or draw,’ Queenie told him.

‘That’s good.’ Tango smiled at Jenni. ‘How’s the half owner doing?’

‘I don’t know how I’m going to be able to stand it. I’m shaking with excitement and the race hasn’t even started. This is the first time I’ve ever been to the races,’ she bubbled.

Tango took her hand. ‘I’ll hold you up.’

With the announcement of the main race, people left bars and found vantage places to view the running of the Cup. A certain excitement and expectation in the atmosphere was almost tangible. Binoculars were focused on the horses as they were locked into the starting stalls. Last minute punters hurried back from placing their bets to secure a position to see the race. The drifting, circling, colourful crowd were now all gathered around the track waiting for the start.

They were off before Jenni realised it. Saskia and Angus watched through their binoculars as the starting gun fired and the horses set out on the twenty-four-hundred metre race.

High Noon streaked to the front and the crowd roared. Over the loudspeaker the race commentator barked breathlessly, ‘The favourite ridden by The Spook has taken the lead from the start and looks like he intends to stay there!’

Ambrosia was bunched on the rails while Mick had Toffee well placed, waiting for his moment to make a break.

Alfredo Camboni and George Bannerman exchanged a satisfied look. This was just how they’d planned it, the favourite would take the lead showing every intention of winning, but then slowly drop back and Ambrosia would move through to overtake and win. The two jockeys understood their task.

Bannerman looked slightly concerned. ‘I don’t like the way Ambrosia is bunched in on the rails,’ he muttered. As if hearing the remark, Ambrosia dropped back and swept to the outside close to Toffee.

Tango gripped his binoculars. ‘Ambrosia’s lost ground. Now we’ll see if he is as good as I think he is.’

Jenni dug him in the ribs. ‘He’s not going to beat Toffee!’

But down below the grandstand Saskia was muttering to herself as she watched, suddenly worried. Several horses, including Ambrosia, had closed in around Mick and Toffee. She knew how Toffee had hated being hemmed in like this. But Mick pulled him back from the bunch then swept him to the outside and they began to move up as they approached the big sweeping bend.

Suddenly, to the crowd’s astonishment, High Noon began to drop back, surrendering his position. Bannerman smiled and looked relieved as Ambrosia started to make his move. Dina sat behind her father in their box and watched Colin. He too looked complacent, mirroring her father and Bannerman’s confidence, but she could tell that he was nervous — he must have bet heavily on Ambrosia.

As Toffee surged forward, striding out with ease and confidence, George Bannerman leaned forward and said, That horse, that looks like — ’

Colin interjected. ‘Yes, it is. The one you sold to Saskia. She says she’s retrained him.’

‘Shit. He used to freak on bends. Now look at the bastard go.’

Bannerman was not the only one to react to Toffee’s burst of speed. The Spook, holding High Noon back as instructed, saw Toffee begin to challenge and realised this was the horse he’d heard about just before the race, the one being ridden by the Aboriginal jockey who’d won the Melbourne Cup. Just ahead of High Noon was Ambrosia — this was going to be a real race. ‘Ah, bugger them,’ The Spook said to himself and began whipping High Noon back into the race. There was no way he was going to let the jockeys of Ambrosia and Toffee cream him. He’d done what Camboni had told him — ‘Grab the lead, then fall back and be beaten by a better horse’. Well in this instance, it would be the jockey as much as the horse that got the credit — or the blame. He suddenly thought of all those punters who’d backed the horse he was riding and how they might blame him for its surprising loss. Nah, the money wasn’t worth it. He’d just tell Camboni that High Noon was too good a horse and he couldn’t hold him back. The Spook kicked in his heels and urged the horse on. Suddenly three horses were fighting for the lead.

‘Go for it Toff’ shouted Saskia breathlessly.

The beautiful bay suddenly found new energy and streaked into the lead alongside Ambrosia who responded to the challenge. Closing in on them came High Noon. It was a three-horse race and Jenni grabbed Tango’s hand screaming at Mick, ‘Go! Go! Go!’

In the Cambonis’ box there was silence as they watched, not believing what was happening, but all were on their feet as the three horses headed down the final straight.

‘What the hell is that bastard Spukis doing?’ muttered Camboni.

‘Trying to goddamn win, if you ask me,’ said George Bannerman as he peered through his binoculars at High Noon being whipped into a frenzy.

Ambrosia and Toffee were well matched in size, fitness and handicap. But Mick suddenly felt a quiver ripple through Toffee, which later he would describe as feeling like the horse had decided he wanted to win.

Toffee stretched out and flew ahead of his rivals, the combination of power and energy giving him a speed that was breathtaking. Ambrosia rose to the challenge as Toffee overtook him, but Toffee had found his stride and with Mick sitting easily, a grin on his face as he leaned in close to the big horse’s neck, he went to an unbeatable lead. Ambrosia was hot on his heels but too late to make up the ground.

The crowd were on their feet, cheering, and they didn’t stop until Toffee flashed past the post, winning by a length. Jenni was jumping up and down and squealing, hugging Tango, then Queenie, then Tango again.

Saskia gave the grinning Angus a hug and realised her knees were shaking and her eyes full of tears. She collapsed in a seat, still holding his hand.

‘Looks like you girls have got yourselves a couple a hundred thousand dollars,’ grinned Angus.

‘Ten per cent is yours, Angus. But better than money, I’ve got myself a career!’

‘And a job, I reckon,’ added Angus. ‘Let’s get downstairs fast. Come on.’ They hurried towards the saddling enclosure.

In Camboni’s box ominous silence reigned. There were shocked expressions on every face.

‘This was not supposed to happen,’ said Alfredo Camboni angrily. ‘I thought matters had been taken care of. A lot of people have lost a lot of money. Including me. Who stuffed up?’ He glared around the now very nervous group.

Colin and George Bannerman began talking at once, George blaming Colin. ‘Listen, I took care of things,’ said Colin defensively. ‘I didn’t know Saskia’s horse was any good. You said he was broken down, you sold him.’

‘You sold the winner to Saskia?’ asked Dina incredulously, then she began to laugh. Everyone stared at her.

‘Shut up, Dina!’ roared her father.

Colin too glared at his wife. He couldn’t believe what had just happened. He’d lost. First Queenie, all those years ago, now her daughter had ruined his plans. But if he could stall Fredrico and the bookmakers long enough to get Queenie’s money, he’d be able to pay them off and then he’d be free. Free of this claustrophobic life and free of Dina.

Saskia and Jenni posed for yet another newspaper photographer. The story of two pretty young girl owners and Saskia’s dreams of becoming a trainer made good copy.

‘Enough!’ cried Queenie. ‘Let’s go and celebrate.’

‘I’ll be there soon,’ said Saskia.

‘I’ll organise the champagne,’ said Jenni, grabbing Tango’s arm.

Saskia led Toffee back to the stables with Mick and Angus beside her, excitedly going over details of the race.

‘I thought you’d done your dash when you looked a bit boxed in before the bend,’ said Angus, recalling how Mick had dropped back to get out of the scrum.

‘Yeah. It could have been real bad if some of the jockeys in that race had been taking us seriously. Luckily they didn’t know our form. I reckon there were a couple of bought jockeys in that event. I got some nasty comments from the jockeys on High Noon and Ambrosia when we were riding back to the enclosure.’

‘Adds up, mate,’ said Angus brightly. There was a big interstate betting plunge on Ambrosia at the last minute. High Noon ran a very peculiar race. Now who do you think spread the money around?’ He raised an eyebrow and looked across at Saskia.

Saskia acknowledged the remark with a smile. ‘Sticks out a mile, doesn’t it? I just hope Colin didn’t plunge too heavily on Ambrosia.’

Colin emerged from the men’s public toilets and hurried across the patchy grass littered with betting slips. As he rounded the pavilion building, Dina stepped out in front of him. ‘Where are you off to in such a rush, caro?’ she asked.

Colin was momentarily taken aback at seeing his wife here and was about to brush her off, but something in Dina’s expression made him pause.

A mocking smile curved at her scarlet lips and as she slowly removed her sunglasses she gave him a cool and challenging stare. ‘So, dear husband, your plan has gone off the road a little bit, no?’

‘What are you getting at, Dina? What plan?’ Colin was brusque and didn’t change expression, though his heart was beginning to race.

Dina studied him and saw how little he gave away. He was clever, practised at hiding things; she would have to watch him more carefully in the future. ‘You lost a lot of money on this race?’

Colin shrugged. ‘We all did.’

‘But for you it was money you didn’t have, si, Colin?’

Colin narrowed his eyes as he looked at her. She was playing with him, like a fat cat prodding a ball of string. ‘I can cover my debts, Dina.’

‘I don’t think so, my darling. Don’t count on Queenie’s money.’ She smiled broadly as she saw him recoil as her remark hit home.

Colin waited, trying to figure out exactly what she knew.

The smile left Dina’s face. ‘Let me put you out of your misery, caro mio. I know you had Fredrico have his man forge that letter from your father. I know you used it to blackmail Queenie for a vast amount of money. I know you intend to take the money and run . . . away from me.’ She allowed a faint sad smile to hover briefly. It was the look of a mother admonishing a silly child for thinking he could outsmart the grownups with his childish prank. ‘Where do you think you could go to hide from me, from my family, Colin? Even with so much money?’ He still stared at her in stony silence and she answered her own question. ‘There is nowhere in this world. But it is all a moot point now. I have told Queenie not to pay you. She keeps quiet and keeps Cricklewood and I keep you — a fair bargain I thought.’

‘What are you going to do, Dina?’ asked Colin in a low hoarse voice.

‘We are going to put this episode behind us. I have taken the precaution of keeping certain documents in a safe place — I have a letter from Fredrico revealing everything you asked him to do. He agreed — we didn’t want to drag Pappa into this and upset him. So, should it be necessary at any time, I can give Queenie or any interested party the proof of your little effort here. You are also implicated in other, er, business dealings that you might not want scrutinised. So, Colin, come along now and be a good husband.’ She pouted triumphantly at him. ‘I’m not so hard to live with, am I?’

‘How did you find out?’ Colin’s eyes were hard; they looked like glass that could splinter into shards at any second.

‘A chance conversation at the hairdresser about a lunch date, a little noseying about here and there. You’re really not very clever you know, my sweet.’

‘Dina, I need that money. I was planning to set us up, away from your father . . .’ Colin made a desperate stab at convincing her, but Dina held up a manicured hand. ‘Don’t bother, Colin, it’s too late.’

He glared at her, then his body, which had been stiffly held, seemed to soften and sag. ‘Dina, I do need money. I sunk all my cash and then some more on this race. I’m already in deep shit with these bookies . . .’

‘Don’t worry, sweetheart, Pappa will take care of it. Like he always takes care of business. Come now,’ she linked her arm through his and turned back towards the grandstand, ‘let’s join the others for a glass of champagne to commiserate. And we can make plans. I was thinking Greece sounds nice . . .’

She talked on as Colin walked slowly beside the woman he’d married and was now tied to more strongly than any marriage certificate could bind them. Queenie, Saskia, Dina . . . women, he cursed them all. Of all the endings to the saga of his life he had not envisioned this punishment: being tied to Dina, being watched, manipulated and blackmailed. The angry bile in the pit of his stomach rose into his throat and he thought he was going to vomit. He swallowed hard. Someday he’d get what he wanted. Somehow he’d show them all.

Chapter Forty

As she walked around the tiny Tingulla church, which had been restored from ruin by her mother, Queenie made mental notes of work that had to be done for the wedding — grass to be cut, paths to be fixed up, roses to be pruned and flowerbeds to be tidied up. However, other than a good spring-clean inside the church, there remained little else to be done.

Ruthie, motivated by her Christian childhood at the mission, wanted hymns and a proper churchman in robes to perform the ceremony. Queenie smiled to herself, wondering how Ruthie was ever going to contain her excitement.

Despite this excitement and the feelings of good will and laughter the wedding had generated, Queenie couldn’t look forward to the celebrations as much as she wished. She was anxious about seeing TR again, in her heart she felt coming back to Tingulla was some kind of turning point for him. Somehow they would have to go forward as best they could; not for a moment did she give up hope that TR would recover and be restored to her.

Queenie rode back to the house and found Millie. ‘The church won’t need much fixing up. Now what about the catering side, the food? Any special requests?’ she asked Millie.

‘Well, Queenie luv, we might want to rethink this party,’ began Millie.

‘Oh no, I don’t like the sound of that. Don’t tell me Ruthie and Ernie have had a spat and called things off!’

Millie laughed. ‘No, nothing of the kind. But she says she and Snowy have worked out the date for it and I have just realised it’s the same day as Saskia’s birthday. Ruthie says it’s bad luck to change her date and we can’t ask Sas to move her birthday . . .’

‘What’s the problem, Millie? We’ll make it a combined party. I bet Sas and Ruthie would love that.’

‘Well if you say so, and they agree. Yeah, it would be nice, eh?’ decided Millie with a big smile. ‘An’ everyone will be here. Yeah, it’s a perfect idea.’

‘I’ll call Saskia and tell her that the birthday party celebrations are starting with a wedding.’

However, before making any phone calls, Queenie opened her mail and came out holding a letter and grinning. ‘Amend the guest list, there’ll be more. There’s a note from Auntie Maud, she and the kids plan to arrive that same weekend!’

Millie threw up her hands. ‘The more the merrier. I’m kinda lookin’ forward to chattin’ again with Maudie. We get on real well on the phone, prob’ly got a lot in common.’

‘I think they’ll be going bush,’ said Queenie. These camps she takes her street kids to aren’t social events but traditional learning experiences.’

‘Socialism’ is a learnin’ experience. I coulda done with some help in that direction when I first went out t’work myself,’ sniffed Millie. ‘The nuns showed me how to set a table and cook, but they didn’t pass on any social graces stuff. Course, we weren’t expected to mix with the white folk so they didn’t think we needed it.’

‘Maybe you should suggest it to Auntie Maud. Anyway, she says that “my” kids are going great guns. Raylene is working full-time with Magda and she’s also hired Zero and Ado as what she calls “foot soldiers”. And Lois has a job in a nursing home. Isn’t that excellent? Well, I’ll go tell Ruthie and Saskia the celebrations have expanded.’

It had become a gathering of the Tingulla clan with friends old and new reuniting for the double celebration. Millie spread the word that Ruthie and Ernie would welcome any practical gifts for setting up house and Saskia let it be known she wanted unusual presents for her twenty-first.

Saskia was working at Harmony Hill until the week before the party, so Queenie and Millie took charge of the presents as they began to arrive. The first were from Dingo and TR. TR sent Saskia one of Dingo’s paintings of Tingulla and its landscape — which several galleries had been wanting to buy — which arrived courtesy of a truckie friend of Dingo’s. Also on board was her present from Dingo.

‘I’ll need a hand,’ said the driver with a wink. When he dropped the back gate of the truck a young camel stood blinking its large doleful eyes at Queenie.

‘Millie!’ called Queenie. ‘I need a hand here!’

‘Oh my gawd!’ exclaimed Millie. ‘That Dingo, he’s a card. What are we gonna do with it?’

‘Stick him — her? — in the paddock near the stables I suppose,’ said Queenie, taking the lead rope from the amused truckie.

‘It’s a quiet little thing. I took it out for a stroll in Texas and tied it up to the pub verandah, was as happy as a lamb. And she’s not averse to a beer,’ he informed them blithely.

‘I ain’t givin’ her any beer. Just what we need round here — a dipso camel.’

The little camel trotted obediently between Millie and Queenie, who was trying not to look cross about this new arrival. Millie gave it a pat. ‘It’s a pretty little thing really.’ She glanced at Queenie and they both began to laugh.

‘You know, Saskia is just going to adore this,’ laughed Queenie. ‘Oh well, at least it won’t mind the droughts.’

The Quinns from the neighbouring property came to lend a hand with setting up the big marquee and while Millie and Ruthie cleaned the little church, Jim organised a work party to get the old woolshed in order for Saskia’s dance. Tables and chairs were hired and the massive old barbecue and spit were cleaned for the sides of beef and lamb.

Alf flew in from Neptune Island with crates of fresh tropical fruit and flowers. ‘These flowers — the white ginger and the moonflowers as well as the lilies — will all be in full bloom by Saturday and the perfume will blow your heads off,’ he promised. ‘Now lead me to the kitchen, as chief cook I need to check on things.’

‘You’re in charge of the meat and Saskia wants potatoes done in the coals and I don’t know what you can do with all that fruit,’ said Millie, ‘but the kitchen is my territory!’

The following morning Millie came bustling along the verandah to find a group standing at the front door, smiling patiently. ‘Door was open, but we figured someone would come along soon enough. I’m Auntie Maud, you must be Millie.’

The two Aboriginal women shook hands and Millie took in the gear and bags by the front steps. ‘You lot walk in?’

‘Yep, we got a lift along the road, so we hiked up the drive. Pretty amazing place. Sorta what I expected though,’ said Auntie Maud. ‘This lot have had their eyes out on sticks a’ course.’ She grinned at the four silent youngsters who were regarding Millie with expressions of wonder, surprise, and shyness.

‘Righto, pick up your stuff and follow me. I’ll find Queenie, she said if you turned up to put you in the shearers’ quarters till you go out bush. There are a couple of buildings, I’ll put you in the one furthest from Saskia’s mates — the boys’ll be noisy. We gotta wedding and a twenty-first on,’ said Millie leading them around the house.

‘By crikey, we didn’t know that, we’ll head out first thing in the morning. We don’t want t’git in the way,’ apologised Auntie Maud.

‘Listen, please yourselves, but it’s my bet Queenie will want you to stay,’ said Millie. ‘P’raps it might be a different sorta learning time for these kids if you spent the weekend,’ said Millie, noticing the two girls were nudging Auntie Maud to agree.

‘I’ll have t’talk to Queenie ‘bout that. We’ll see, we’ll see,’ Maud told the eager young people.

Jenni had asked Bruce and Ria for a week off before Saskia’s birthday and when they had agreed she flew down to see Tango. Mum Ryan welcomed her to Guneda with warmth and more than a dash of curiosity. She showed her to the guest wing with its own sitting room where bay windows overlooked the picture postcard grounds. Behind the manicured lawns, flowerbeds and shady oak trees, white fences crisscrossed the lush pasture where thoroughbreds and their foals rested and played together. Jenni gazed around the blue and white rooms with Regency wallpaper hung with antique equine watercolour prints.

‘This is lovely. Who did the decor?’ Jenni asked.

‘Queenie and Saskia redecorated a couple of years ago. TR and Tango designed the viewing room, you’ll see that later,’ she smiled. ‘You freshen up and there’ll be coffee or whatever you want on the side verandah. Tango said he’ll see you there when you’re ready.’

Tango had changed from the casual clothes he’d worn to meet her at Scone airport into moleskin pants and his old riding boots. ‘We’ll do the tour after we’ve had morning coffee, okay?’

‘Whatever you say. I can see already Guneda lives up to its reputation as one of the most beautiful studs in the country.’

Tango agreed. ‘I like the way TR designed this to look as though it’s been here for generations, when actually it was built from scratch by him for Clayton Hindmarsh. A lot of people would probably have done it in mock Kentucky style, but TR has kept to Aussie traditions and taste.’

They set out on foot for the stables and the foaling boxes where a mare had recently given birth. Jenni was fascinated with the streamlined and high-tech facilities and found the beautiful horses quite breathtaking.

‘There must be a lot of money tied up in these animals,’ she remarked.

Tango nodded. ‘You bet. Another reason we don’t take any chances with hygiene, safety or comfort for them. Let’s get in the truck and I’ll take you down to the racetrack and round the back of the property. Tomorrow well go riding.’

‘Not on a racehorse I hope,’ laughed Jenni. ‘But Tango, I don’t want to take you away from your work. I’m sure you’ve got a lot to look after with TR back in the west.’

Tango dropped his arm around Jenni’s shoulders and gave her a small hug. ‘Don’t you worry about that. You showed me Harmony Hill, now it’s my turn.’

In the late afternoon when she’d showered and changed into a skirt and jumper, Jenni joined Tango, Dennis, and several friends and neighbours in what was known as the viewing room. After introductions and drinks had been served, Jenni settled herself on one of the long couches that faced the floor to ceiling glass windows that ran almost the length of the room. An open fire blazed at one end, and at the other several of the men had gathered around the bar.

Jenni turned to one of the young wives seated next to her. ‘Why do they call this a viewing room? I mean, it is a lovely view out there . . . ’ She waved at the neat green lawn, shrubs and trees.

‘It’s an idea of TR’s for selling and showing his horses, look there,’ and she pointed through the glass wall.

Two strappers came into view leading two Arabians across the lawn where they paraded and stopped in the middle of the grassy ring as the group gathered inside admired and discussed the two horses.

‘Beats standing out in the cold,’ said Dennis to Jenni. ‘Though of course, clients still spend time at the stables and the track. But this makes a good first impression.’

‘It certainly does,’ said Jenni. ‘I’m impressed.’

‘Can I get you another drink?’ offered Dennis, turning his wheelchair towards the bar.

‘No thanks, not for the moment. I think I’ll just ogle the horseflesh and pretend I know more than I do,’ said Jenni.

Dennis grinned at her. ‘After the Sweetheart Syndicate’s success at the Gold Coast Cup, next time you’re here it’ll probably be to view and buy another winner.’

‘Wouldn’t that be something,’ laughed Jenni.

Tango came and joined them. ‘Thought you’d like this. At night we floodlight the grounds out there and it looks pretty spectacular. Queenie wants to put in a similar thing at Cricklewood to show off the bulls.’

The buffet dinner Mum Ryan laid out was a superb blend of old-fashioned shepherd’s pie and an exotic version of beef Wellington with truffles. Fresh key lime pie and passion fruit mousse followed for dessert and Jenni sighed to Tango, ‘Do you eat like this all the time? I’m surprised you and TR aren’t the size of a house.’

Tango spooned the last of the mousse from his plate. ‘It’s true. If we let Mum have her way she’d cook up a storm. We try to keep her to simple stuff during the week, but Sunday lunch is always something special. We generally have company, but even if it’s just us, her baked dinners are out of this world. I missed them heaps when I was over with Dingo and TR in the west.’

As they were sitting apart from the rest of the group Jenni asked quietly, ‘Tell me about what happened with TR while you were over there.’

‘What makes you think something happened?’ asked Tango.

‘Because of the way he suddenly rushed over to Harmony Hill, as if he’d come to some decision then changed his mind.’

‘If something happened, I don’t know about it, but I guess he did a lot of thinking out there. So how do things stand between you two?’ asked Tango bluntly. ‘I was going to add, you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, but frankly, I do want to know.’

‘Why is that, Tango?’

‘I want to know if you’ve got my father into the right perspective in your life. Because I’m getting quite fond of you, Jenni.’

‘Tango, don’t rush me. TR is special to me. And I’m just coming to terms with where he fits into my life. I want to keep him as a friend. I realise we couldn’t have the sort of relationship we both might have wanted at one stage . . . it wouldn’t work and wouldn’t last.’

‘How does he feel?’

‘I think I know how he feels now, but we haven’t talked at length. Perhaps you should talk to him.’

Tango looked unsure. ‘I’ll see. Have to pick my time and see how he feels about you, about Mum, about his life. He’s still not a secure or happy man.’

‘Can you blame him?’ asked Jenni softly.

‘No. But until he straightens out his life one way or another, the rest of us can’t get on with ours.’

‘Let’s give it a little time, Tango,’ said Jenni. ‘And I hope you and I stay friends, no matter what.’

Tango reached out and took her plate from her and kissed her swiftly on the forehead. ‘We will, Jen, we will.’

The next few days passed in a blur of excitement for Jenni. She couldn’t remember when she last spent such active days or laughed so much. Tango had her playing tennis before breakfast, riding and swimming, and following him around the stud as he checked on training sessions and monitored mares in foal.

As the days went by, Jenni and Tango relaxed more and more with one another and Jenni began to put her feelings for TR into perspective. The more time she spent with Tango, the more she realised that her feelings for him were intensifying. The confusion of the past few months fell away and Jenni finally understood where her future lay.

Towards the end of the week, Tango announced that they were going to a polo match. Mum Ryan packed them an elegant picnic which Tango put in the back of the LandCruiser with the ice cooler of champagne, water and soft drinks, and all his gear. They joined several of Tango’s friends and their families and Jenni, who’d heard so much about the polo social set, found herself amongst a delightful group.

During the lunch break Tango put down his orange juice and asked Jenni to come and see some of the horses with him. ‘I’m changing ponies for the next game, so I want to check some girths and bandages. How did you enjoy the morning’s play?’

‘Fabulous. It was really exciting. Though it seems hard on the horses. Congratulations on your goal, by the way.’

Tango brushed the compliment aside but he looked pleased. ‘My pony turns fast, he put me in the right spot at the right time.’

Even though Jenni didn’t know the intricacies of the game, she had been able to appreciate Tango’s fast and deft nearside cut shot that clicked cleanly against his mallet, shooting the ball straight through the goal as the chukka ended. The crowd had cheered as the score levelled.

‘And what do you think of my friends?’ asked Tango. ‘Some are business people in the district, most own properties around here. I think they all like you.’ He gave her a glad smile.

Jenni blushed slightly. ‘They’re really lovely. I feel so at ease with them. They’re not the snobs I’d heard about at all.’

‘Ah, this is a real game, not a social one. We all come to see the match, not be seen by others,’ chuckled Tango. He linked his arm through hers as they walked, and gave her a friendly squeeze. ‘Reckon you could cope with life round here?’

Jenni looked up and gave him a quick smile. ‘Depends. On quite a few things. But I’m having a lovely time. Thank you.’

Impulsively Tango leaned down and kissed the tip of her nose. Then he drew her face to his and kissed her lightly on the mouth. It was a tender kiss that lingered like a butterfly on a flower, but it was sensual too, with a hint of arousal kept in check. It was a kiss that sealed a friendship. Aware they were approaching people near the horses, they drew apart. Jenni knew something had happened between them, but there was no rush. They had lots of time to explore this delicate, new awareness that had begun to blossom.

Saskia drove home in her new Toyota LandCruiser bought with her race winnings and flew through the house like a tornado. She fell in love with the baby camel and named her Lalla, then she phoned Dingo, who said he and TR were flying over and they’d see her tomorrow night.

That night Henri phoned from New York and spent a long time talking to Queenie and caught up on the progress of her fashion enterprise.

‘There’s tremendous interest already,’ she told him. ‘There was a preview in the Australian colour magazine and we’re getting orders and enquiries from everywhere. It seems to have captured everyone’s imagination. The nostalgia attached to the wool industry is tremendous and there seems to be a feeling that wool will come good again. Australia and wool are synonymous and the loyalty goes from graziers to mums who knit. We’ve tapped into a nerve that runs from the city to the country. If we lose our wool industry we lose part of our heritage, so Tingulla Fashions has come along at the right time. It’s not just us making wool and leather gear, but offering a way out and forward for lots of others involved in the industry,’ said Queenie, then laughed lightly at her passionate speech.

‘So your company offers new and practical solutions. No industry can continue living in the past, doing things as they’ve always been done,’ agreed Henri. ‘And I would say having your Countess Magda up front is a terrific PR coup.’

‘Sarah has outdone herself again,’ said Queenie. ‘She’s got a film crew coming up here to film me and Tingulla as well — the source of the inspiration, she calls it! And tickets to the launch are like hen’s teeth. Which is great because the money raised is going to Auntie Maud’s Kui House project. In fact, Maud’s here now with some of her kids.’

‘Sounds like you have your hands full. And TR?’ asked Henri gently.

Queenie sighed. ‘He and Dingo arrive tomorrow. I’m hoping all this togetherness will bring back some of the happy times. He wanted to be on his own. And now that physically he is almost better I’m hoping we can get on with our life together as best we can.’

‘I hope things work out for you, Queenie. You know I’m here should you need me.’

‘I know, thank you, Henri. You are such a dear friend.’

Henri changed the subject. ‘Now, get me the birthday girl, I have to tell her what her present is, I can’t send it exactly.’

‘I’m glad to hear that! You wouldn’t believe the stuff that has been turning up here. Dingo sent a camel and two girlfriends sent her a canoe for paddling up and down the river!’

Saskia spoke to Henri and then danced into the sitting room, clapping her hands together. ‘Mum, listen to what Henri has given me — a month in New York! Flying me over, I can stay in his apartment, and see the sights and some shows. Can you believe it?’

‘Darling, how wonderful,’ said Queenie smiling at her exuberant daughter.

‘And I suppose we get to babysit Miss Lalla?’ said Millie with a wink.

The next morning Tango and Jenni drove in from Guneda. Tango rushed into the house to find Saskia. Hugging her, he announced her present was round the back with Jenni. Calling Queenie he led them out to where Jenni waited with his gift.

They all stopped and stared and Saskia was speechless. Jenni was holding the most beautiful little colt she’d ever seen. His red-gold coat glinted in the morning sun, his long creamy mane and tail looked like spun silk, and in the centre of his forehead was a perfect white star.

‘Happy Birthday, Sas,’ said Tango gently as Jenni led the little horse forward. Saskia hugged her brother tightly, too overcome to speak.

Queenie went to the horse and stroked him. ‘You’re a beautiful creature,’ she said softly.

‘I love his long legs, he looks like a ballet dancer. Everyone at Guneda says he has champion written all over him. Young Dennis made Tango promise he could come and see him whenever he liked,’ said Jenni.

Saskia was so overwhelmed by excitement, surprise and happiness that she was almost in tears. ‘He’s just so beautiful and has such loving gentle eyes. Oh, Tango, are you sure you want to part with him?’

Millie appeared behind them with her hands on her hips. ‘What’s this? This place is gettin’ like a zoo!’

Guests began to assemble at Tingulla and there were people everywhere. Millie and Auntie Maud made endless batches of tea and scones and the house was filled with laughter and young people. Ruthie and Ernie drifted shyly through the groups, both nervous about the coming nuptials and being the centre of so much attention.

The arrival of Dingo and TR was low key. They drove up in the early evening and walked into the house. Jenni spotted them and hurried over to give them both a hug. Millie pounced on them at the same time and Queenie turned at the sound of Dingo’s hearty laugh. Her heart constricted at the sight of TR and she went towards them. Dingo kissed her and was dragged away by Millie to meet Maud.

TR gave a half smile and kissed Queenie on the cheek. ‘Looks like a bit of a full house. You got everything under control?’ he asked. She nodded and he gazed about him. ‘I’ll just drop my bag and get into the thick of it,’ he joked, moving away.

He dropped his bag in the room downstairs and while Queenie had hoped he might have gone to their bedroom upstairs, she realised she mustn’t push matters right at the moment. There wouldn’t be any point in talking to him about their future until after everyone had left. A knot formed and stayed in the pit of her stomach as she wondered just what TR planned to do about their future.

After their initial greeting, Queenie and TR were never alone, and Queenie wondered if he had made sure this was the case. She caught him watching her from time to time, but she couldn’t read the expression in his steady blue eyes.

The Friday night turned into Ernie’s bachelor farewell party and what was dubbed the preparty party. Tables were set along the verandah for a cold supper of ham, roast beef and salads. Alf had insisted on doing it all with help from the four Aboriginal kids and had given Millie and Maud the night off. ‘I’ll have these kids trained as sous chefs before you know it,’ he declared.

Jim settled down with a beer where Dingo was holding court, commenting, ‘Millie and her new mate haven’t stopped talkin’ since they met’.

Indoors Saskia, Jenni and Tango began playing the old Pianola, singing all their grandparents’ favourites. Snowy sat quietly in the shadows, nodding and smiling to himself and occasionally dropping off to sleep. TR sat halfway along the verandah between the main group and the young people in the music room. Queenie moved between all of them, attending to last-minute details, too tense to relax.

Coming downstairs after helping Ruthie lay out her wedding gown and pack a bag for the honeymoon — a week on Neptune Island courtesy of Alf — Queenie saw TR drift into the music room. She went in after him and, going to the little set of drawers next to the games table, she took out a small silver harmonica and handed it to him. He stared at it blankly then looked at her, puzzled.

‘See if you can play it,’ she prompted.

He shrugged and nestled it in his hand and lifted it to his lips as Tango started to pedal the Pianola and the strains of ‘Danny Boy’ filled the room. The harmonising sweet sounds of the little harmonica blended with the music as TR closed his eyes and played with the natural skill and gift he’d always had. In his mind’s eye he saw this scene again — he was playing this same song at the piano, and standing opposite him was a young Queenie in a silvery dress with jasmine flowers in her long hair.

He opened his eyes and saw Queenie watching him, a loving smile about her lips, her face still beautiful, just softened with time. Her hair was piled on top of her head and a diamond clasp shone in her upswept hair. A look of such hope and desire burned in the depths of her emerald eyes that he couldn’t bear the intensity of her gaze and turned away guiltily.

Her heart aching, Queenie walked outside into the garden and paced across the dark grass. She passed Jim and Millie’s cottage and saw a light burning there. Through the window she could see Millie and Maud at the kitchen table. How well they were getting on together, she thought, but suddenly Millie dropped her face into her hands and appeared to be crying. Queenie rushed through the screen door without knocking. ‘Millie? Is everything all right? I was just passing and couldn’t help seeing in . . . ’ She stopped as Millie and Maud sat staring at her. Both looked teary.

‘Sit down, luv. I’ll put the kettle on,’ Millie rose and went to the sink to fill the kettle. Queenie looked questioningly at Auntie Maud who pointed at the chair and Queenie sat down. ‘Millie and me bin talkin’ a fair bit as you might’ve noticed,’ began Maud with a slight smile. Taking a deep breath she continued as Millie made a pot of tea in a somewhat distracted manner.

‘We figured being mixed-blood girls we probably had things in common and we started tellin’ each other ‘bout our childhoods an’ young days, y’know . . . ’ Maud glanced over at Millie and Queenie wondered where Maud’s usual insouciance had gone. She stumbled over her words as she spoke. ‘Well ya’ see, it seems we have the same story . . . me ’n’ her . . . ’ She looked at Millie again.

Millie put down the cup and turned to face Queenie. ‘What she’s sayin’ is that we is sisters. I don’ mean sisters under the skin. I mean real sisters.’

‘We got the same mumma,’ explained Maud.

Queenie’s jaw dropped. ‘What! Are you sure? Positively sure? I mean, how?’

‘We know all the names and little stories, Queenie.’ Millie moved over to stand beside Maud, putting a hand on her shoulder. ‘From what we both remember when we was taken away from our mother and the tings we bin told by the nuns, we know.’

‘We was split up right away. I was a bit younger and we was sent different places. We kin check all this but we know, fer sure, who we are.’ said Maud with conviction, adding, ‘It’s a bit of a shock, but.’

Suddenly, looking at them both, Queenie realised how similar they were. She hadn’t paid much attention before, they were both mature plump ladies of mixed Aboriginal and white descent. But now she knew what it was about Auntie Maud’s smile she’d always liked — it was the same as Millie’s. She knew too that these women shared a common bond of family and kinship, of hardship, of good-hearted devotion to others.

Queenie rose and went to Millie who had been so much a part of her own family and whom she regarded as her spiritual mother. She hugged her tightly and Millie burst into tears.

‘Never thought, after all these years. So alone . . . lost everyone, never had any kids . . . just me ’n’ Jim . . . ’

‘Oh Millie . . . ’ Queenie was crying too as Maud came and embraced them both. Millie was first to wipe her eyes with the back of her hands. ‘The kettle’s boiling . . . Oh my.’

Queenie smiled at seeing the efficient Millie in such a dither. ‘This is going to beat all Saskia’s other birthday presents.’

Chapter Forty-One

Queenie had left most of the details of the wedding to Ruthie, Ernie and Millie while she concentrated on Saskia’s party. Briefly she’d stopped Millie to ask whether everything was under control.

‘Don’ worry, love, you look after your bits, we’re staggerin’ along okay,’ grinned Millie.

So when Saturday morning came, clear, bright and sunny, the events came as a delightful surprise to Queenie. Most of the guests were gathered in the church as Queenie, holding TR’s arm and followed by Saskia and Tango, walked down the aisle to take their places in the front pew. The sun sparkled through the stained-glass window, which Rose had designed, illustrating the twenty-third psalm in an Australian bushland setting. It was in Queenie’s mind, as well as many others present, that the last wedding held here had been hers and TR’s.

To the strains of Mendelssohn’s ‘Wedding March’, Ruthie made her entrance. She had bought her gown, which Queenie had insisted on paying for as part of her present, and it fulfilled every dream she’d ever had when flipping through the bridal magazines. The dress was a white Scarlett O’Hara crinoline ruched in beribboned folds and liberally sprinkled with fake pearls. A small diamanté tiara held the short lace veil over her hair that had been lacquered into a smooth French roll.

Millie and Queenie were both thinking the same thing — where was the gawky stick-legged figure who dashed to the clothesline with flying black curls, and danced up and down the stairs dusting as she went? In her place was a serious faced young woman, walking slowly through these moments of glory and relishing every second. Befitting the sombre occasion, Snowy walked with pride beside her, Ruthie’s arm tucked through his, every inch the patriarch in a suit and new white shirt carefully ironed by Millie.

He had a spray of wattle in his buttonhole and Ruthie carried a bouquet of native flowers surrounded by pink-tipped gum leaves. Ernie, self-consciously wriggling around in an unaccustomed suit, collar and tie, turned and gaped at the apparition that floated down the aisle towards him, then a proud and delighted grin spread across his face. His duty done, Snowy stepped back, sliding in between Millie and Queenie who smiled at him as Millie gave him a pleased nudge.

The formal church ceremony over, Ruthie and Ernie paraded to the door and stood on the steps as everyone milled around for the next part of the ceremony. In front of the church a troupe of a dozen Aboriginal boys began a foot-stomping dance. They were well rehearsed and wore the traditional red triangular loin-cloths, their wrists and ankles festooned with gum leaves, white pipeclay designs on their chests, legs and faces. Each wore a headband of woven grass, hair and small bird feathers. They clapped and sang and Ernie explained it was a dance to wish them good spirits for a healthy life and lots of children. With a shout and a stamp the dance ended and they formed two lines, arms about each other’s waists, to escort the bridal couple from the church to the waiting horse-drawn sulky.

Ruthie and Ernie waved and were driven off and everyone began following to the homestead for the wedding breakfast.

By lunch time the newlyweds had left for Neptune Island, waved off by owner Alf who said he’d see them there when he got back on Monday. People changed clothes, relaxed and lazily greeted the string of Saskia’s friends who began arriving for the party that night.

‘I can’t believe we’re so organised,’ said Queenie to herself. Millie, Maudie and Alf had the food under control. Jim, Dingo and TR had the bar set up and drinks stacked in the cold room with kegs of beer. Countess Magda, helped by Raylene, had decorated the house and tables. Magda had brought yards and yards of pale yellow tulle which she draped in soft big bows around the tables, which had centrepieces of wattle and freesia sprays. Tango, Jenni, Saskia and various groups of young people had toured the property on motorbikes and four-wheel drives and were off horse riding.

Queenie went looking for TR. ‘We seem to have everything under control,’ she said when she found him. ‘Alf said he’d start the spit about four o’clock.’

‘You’ve done a fantastic job, Queenie,’ said TR.

‘Thanks to all the help we’ve had,’ she smiled. ‘I’m glad to see you’re so much better.’

He patted his hip. ‘Still a bit stiff and gives me a bit of trouble, but I can get on a horse without having the poor wretch sit down,’ he attempted to smile, but instead turned his face away so she didn’t see his discomfort.

‘And your memory? Anything?’ asked Queenie gently.

He shook his head and didn’t look at her. ‘Sometimes I get . . . what I call flashes. Images and scenes come to me, obviously moments stored away there. But that’s not much help, is it?’ he said ruefully.

‘But it’s something, TR,’ said Queenie positively. ‘I think that’s a good sign. A very good sign.’

‘Queenie, please. Don’t hold out so much hope. We have to resign ourselves to the fact this might be all there ever is,’ said TR bitterly. ‘And we have to consider dealing with that.’

‘We’ll manage, TR,’ Queenie smiled brightly and touched his arm. ‘You’ll see.’ Alf was calling her and she moved away.

TR watched her go. ‘No, Queenie, you don’t see,’ he said quietly to himself.

The evening was clear and star-studded and Alf and Millie breathed a sigh of relief knowing food and guests wouldn’t have to be moved indoors.

Small festive groups were scattered through the house, along the verandah and in the gardens as Queenie hurried upstairs to change into her dress for the party. After a shower she wrapped herself in a towelling robe and stood before her long mirror brushing her hair. Memories of her own twenty-first came back to her as she remembered how she had stood before this same carved cedar mirror wearing her mother’s favourite oyster satin Jean Harlow dress after she’d ruined her own emerald gown by climbing out on the roof to pick jasmine for her hair. That moment at the mirror was when Rose had clasped Great-grandfather Ned Hanlon’s opal necklace around her throat. And though Queenie had lost so much and had had to sell so many precious possessions during the years of struggle to regain Tingulla, she’d always promised Saskia never to part with the necklace.

On a sudden impulse Queenie took the grey chiffon dress she’d planned to wear and hung it back in her closet. In her dressing room she pulled open a deep cedar drawer and found, wrapped in tissue, her mother’s satin gown. ‘I wonder . . . ’ she mused. Dropping the robe to the floor, she pulled the oyster-coloured dress over her head. The silky satin folds slipped over her body like water, skimming her still slim hips, falling from tiny slim straps over her bare breasts to flare in a curve around her ankles. It was a classic gown, dateless and breathtaking and it still fitted her trim but curvy body perfectly. For her father it had brought back memories of how much he’d loved her mother in this dress. Maybe it would bring back for TR the memory of the night they fell in love. Slipping it off, she called over the bannister for Millie and began applying her make-up.

There was a tap at the door and Millie stuck her head in. ‘What is it, luv?’

‘Why, Millie, how smart you look,’ said Queenie, looking at the black linen dress with cream lace over the bodice.

‘I was going to wear me red, but I’ve loaned it to Maudie. Saskia and Jim have loaned her kids outfits too. Everybody is scrubbing up very nice. What about you? Whatcha wearing to this shindig?’

‘Mum’s dress that I wore the night of my twenty-first. Remember? It still looks all right. Would you mind ironing it for me, I’m running late as usual.’

Millie carefully picked up the dress from the bed. ‘Oh yes, I remember this dress.’ She gave Queenie a shrewd look. ‘Is there a particula’ reason you’re wearin’ this?’

Queenie shrugged. ‘Thought it might give TR a bit of a jolt.’

Millie smiled but didn’t say anything and left the room. ‘Be back with it in a jiff.’

Saskia came through the door as Millie left. ‘Well, what do you think?’ She twirled around in front of her mother in a midnight blue water-silk dress that set off her dark curly hair and grey eyes. It had been designed by Countess Magda as her birthday gift.

‘Oh, darling, you look gorgeous, you really do. You’re like a sparkling sapphire. Your father would be very happy to see you like this,’ she added softly.

Saskia went and lifted the silver-framed photograph of herself as a little girl perched on Warwick’s shoulders. ‘I wish I had more memories of him, I just remember little girl things. But they’re all happy things.’

‘You were a very happy little girl until he died, then life changed so much. For both of us.’

‘But then there was TR. He really has been my father and my best friend, along with Tango, of course. But it seems as if TR has always been in my life. He was such a comfort after Daddy died. I remember him telling me Dad would always be there and I was to talk about him and hang onto all the good memories.’ Saskia suddenly clung to her mother. ‘I miss TR. I want things back, the way they used to be.’

‘I do too Sas. But it’s out of our hands,’ said Queenie, close to tears, her voice strained. She pulled away and smoothed Saskia’s hair, looking into her sweet wide eyes. ‘This is your night, you enjoy yourself. Be happy always, my precious.’ Queenie kissed her and turned away, hiding the tears that welled in her eyes. ‘I have to get dressed. Go start playing hostess, darling.’

Queenie came slowly down the staircase, feeling slightly nervous, wondering what TR’s response might be. But it was Tango who came bounding up the stairs and stopped on the landing, gaping at her. ‘I was just coming to get you . . . Mum . . . You look . . . like an angel. Just beautiful.’

She smiled at her son and took his arm as he escorted her down the stairs. ‘Everyone is gathered in the main room, overflowing onto the verandah a bit. Saskia wanted all the speeches and boring stuff over with first,’ he said. ‘Just the cake cutting later.’

‘A smart idea, not that we’d planned anything too formal,’ added Queenie as they headed for the double doors into the drawing room.

They came through the doors and the older people present fell silent at the sight of Queenie and her son. In the sylphlike romantic dress, her long hair falling simply about her shoulders, and in the soft light from the chandelier, Queenie looked like a young woman. And Tango was so like his father that they reminded them of the young Queenie and TR. Glowing at Queenie’s throat was the magnificent opal necklace.

Someone turned on soft music and from the verandah came Saskia holding onto TR’s hand. The four met in front of the white marble fireplace and Dingo stepped forward to speak. He talked of the heritage of Tingulla, its tradition being upheld by its women — which brought a cheer from the girls in the room — the loving memories they all held of the Hanlon family, of Warwick Redmond, Saskia’s father and, despite the sadnesses that had befallen Tingulla from time to time, its future was now secure in the hands of the family. Then he turned to Saskia and spoke lovingly and humorously of the daughter of Tingulla who was carrying on the tradition of ‘being beautiful, being strong minded yet feminine, and a bloody good horsewoman’. This brought a round of applause and Saskia blushed.

Dingo then turned to Queenie. ‘And now perhaps Queenie would like to say a few words?’ He took Queenie by one hand and Saskia by the other and drew them together, stepping to one side as trays of champagne-filled glasses were circulated.

Queenie smiled at Dingo. ‘I think you’ve said it all, Dingo. I know Warwick would be very proud of Saskia tonight,’ and turning to Saskia, she continued, ‘as we are all proud of you, Sas. I think the greatest thing I can say about you is that while you will always be my precious baby daughter, you are also a young woman I respect and admire, and I consider you my very best friend. The good wishes and love of everyone here tonight goes with you, my darling, as you spread your wings and fly high and free to chase your dreams. To continue a family tradition, it’s now your turn to take the gift from Great-grandfather Ned.’ Queenie lifted her hair and turned to TR, indicating the necklace. He unclasped the opals and as Queenie smiled he stepped forward and locked them around Saskia’s throat.

Saskia’s hand flew to the magnificent milky fire opals and tears filled her eyes as she touched the necklace. TR kissed her and Queenie raised her glass. ‘To Saskia, go forward with our love, darling.’

‘To Saskia,’ echoed the crowd and followed with a cheer.

‘They’re beautiful opals,’ TR whispered to Queenie.

‘You don’t remember them?’

TR looked distressed. ‘Oh dear, should I?’

Queenie could hardly speak. ‘It doesn’t matter,’ she whispered. Guests crowded around, and Queenie and TR were separated in the crush.

Saskia extricated herself from the well-wishers to give Queenie a hug. ‘Thank you, thank you. You know I always loved these opals.’

Queenie hugged her back. ‘We’ll save Grandma Rose’s pearls for your wedding. Off you go and have fun, darling.’

‘You too. By the way, I’ll make a speech when we cut the cake — Millie’s made me a Pavlova.’

Alf had done a grand job at the barbecue and spit and with many willing hands, a feast was spread along a massive buffet table. Guests helped themselves to salads, quiches, vegetables, side dishes and condiments, then carried their plates to Alf for lamb or beef from the spit. Fresh tropical fruit, Millie’s fruitcake and Tingulla cream and pastries were laid out for dessert with the promise of the birthday Pavlova to come with the coffee later in the evening.

During the woolshed dance that followed, the band leader declared a ladies’ choice. Jenni tapped TR on the shoulder. ‘Shall we?’

He smiled warmly at her and held out his arms. ‘I’m much smoother on my feet since last time we danced.’

They circled the floor without speaking, then TR looked down into her face. ‘You okay?’ It was a question that implied a lot more than it asked.

She nodded. ‘And what about you?’ TR nodded and they turned round one more time before Jenni asked, ‘And what conclusions have you come to? You left Harmony Hill before I could really talk to you. Have you made a decision?’

‘About myself? About us? About what I am going to do with the rest of my life?’ His voice had a hard edge to it.

‘You don’t seem happy about things,’ said Jenni wondering what was in his mind and his heart. She took a deep breath. ‘TR, about us . . .’

He interrupted her, drawing her tighter to him. ‘Jenni, you will always be terribly important to me. You have seen me through some rough times. But I realise I’ve been leaning on you and using you and that’s not fair to you. I don’t want to hurt you, but our relationship kind of got off on the wrong foot . . .’ He hesitated and Jenni smiled at him.

‘TR, don’t worry about me. I’m all right. Really I am. I’ve made a lot of adjustments to my life. I’m enjoying being out in the world away from the hospital. And I think I know where I’d like to end up.’ She stole a swift glance across the room to where Tango was dancing with Queenie. Tango smiled at Jenni over Queenie’s shoulder.

‘You reckon you can do a lot better than being tied to a bloke with a bad leg and confused head, eh?’

‘I have to confess I’ve been enjoying Tango’s company. He reminds me of you.’

TR stared down into the young woman’s clear and honest eyes and for a moment a flash of jealousy flared then just as suddenly died. He nodded, ‘I understand. You’re definitely part of this family now. But I have to sort my life out on my own, Jen. And you and I will always be friends.’

‘I still worry about your happiness though.’

‘Don’t do that. I have enough people worrying about me. But I’m glad you’re friends with Tango, and mates with Saskia.’

‘And business partners,’ Jenni laughed. ‘I thought I was going to collapse when Toffee won the race.’

TR laughed with her and from across the woolshed, Queenie saw the two so at ease together and Tango felt her stiffen as she looked away.

‘She’s been a good friend to Dad. And I hope she’ll always be a good friend to us,’ said Tango softly.

Queenie nodded but didn’t answer. Tango debated talking to his mother about Jenni, but decided tonight was not the time or place. He didn’t want to lay anything else on Queenie right now and he was still unsure about how she felt towards Jenni. Telling her he was falling in love with Jenni might stop her feeling so threatened, but equally his mother might feel Jenni was coming between her and her son. Best to let things ride for now and grow gradually.

Tango found Jenni after the dance and led her out into the cool air and darkness. The lights strung around the woolshed sparkled like a multicoloured jewelled necklace. The song was a romantic ballad and Tango took Jenni in his arms and they reached immediately for each other’s lips. Their bodies pressed together and Tango felt the softness of her tiny figure moulding to his own and it aroused a deep passion in him. ‘I want you, Jenni,’ he whispered against her ear.

‘Oh Tango.’ She was overcome with the rush of emotion and desire that welled up in her. ‘I’ve never felt like this before.’

‘Me neither. Jenni . . . when I said I want you, I meant want you as a person, to spend time with you, but I also want to make love to you. I’d love to sneak into your room tonight, but I won’t. I don’t want any sneaking between us. I’ve spoken to TR about my feelings for you, and I think he understands now. But I want to make sure you and I do things right. Do you know what I’m saying?’

Jenni nodded, her eyes shining, her heart touched at the words Tango spoke with such feeling. A mischievous smile danced at her mouth. ‘Do I get another invitation back to Guneda?’

He hugged her. ‘You bet. But you’d better warn Bruce and Ria you might not be back. I think I’ll keep you all to myself.’

As soon as Saskia had cut the cake and the woolshed rafters had rung to the strains of ‘Happy Birthday’, Queenie discreetly went around bidding people goodnight. Sarah took her hand. ‘I’ll come up to the house with you. Let’s have a nightcap and leave these youngsters to it.’

‘Youngsters! Dingo is still holding forth around the keg with Alf and your father,’ laughed Queenie. But she was grateful for the support. She knew Sarah was also thinking back to the night of Queenie’s twenty-first when she’d slipped away early and walked into the nightmare at the homestead and found her mother’s broken body. The two old school-friends went back to the house where they found Millie and Auntie Maud talking in the kitchen, making plans to get together on regular visits.

‘We’ll go back down and start clearing up a bit more in an hour or so,’ said Millie. ‘Don’t you girls worry about anything. Maudie and I are talkin’ about going back to the convent and mission schools to try ’n’ piece together what happened to us and the rest of the family.’

‘Millie, that’s a wonderful idea,’ said Queenie. ‘Sarah and I are going to have a drink in the library. Do you want to join us?’

‘No, I’ll be off with the kids first thing in the morning,’ said Maud. ‘So I’ll say hooroo for now. Goin’ bush is gonna be a bit of a change after this weekend, but it’s done them good in lotsa ways.’

‘I’m glad, Auntie Maud. Please come any time you want. You’re part of the family too now. Goodnight.’ Queenie gave the two sisters a hug.

Settled in the library, Queenie and Sarah talked about the past, their children, and the future of Tingulla Fashions. Then Sarah asked, ‘What news of Colin?’

‘From what I hear from Saskia via the Gadens, it seems he bet heavily on the race, and couldn’t meet his bets, so Camboni bailed him out, though he lost a lot of money too. Apparently he was involved in some casino project and that’s fallen through as well, lack of funds or something. Anyway, now Dina has a certain hold over Colin, and she has decided they are going back to Europe for six months each year. I wish I’d been a fly on the wall when Dina confronted him. Poor Colin, in a way I feel sorry for him. He’s just weak. I often think back and wonder where things changed for him, or was this always how it was going to be?’

‘It’s always been his nature,’ said Sarah thoughtfully. ‘I don’t understand why when I think of your wonderful parents, but that’s how he is. Accept that, don’t lose any sleep over it and who knows, one day he might become a new man — though I won’t hold my breath.’

‘Speaking of new men, how do you think TR is coming along?’ asked Queenie. ‘It’s not going to be easy settling back down to life here, but we can only press ahead.’

Sarah chose her words carefully. ‘He does seem concerned, and withdrawn, but I sense he has come to some sort of decision in his mind. I just hope it’s the right decision. But all you can do is get on with your life, Queenie, and hope for the best. Well, I’d better go rescue Mum and Dad and John and head home. Tim and Pauline are staying here tonight with the rest of the gang.’

She stood and the two hugged each other. ‘You did a lovely job, Queenie. It’s been a great party, a lovely wedding and Millie finding Maud has been the icing on the cake.’

‘I am tired now though, I’ll talk to you when you get back to Sydney. And thanks for all you’re doing, Sarah.’

‘Hey, I’m a shareholder in Tingulla Fashions. I’m not doing things purely out of the goodness of my heart!’

Queenie didn’t bother turning on the lights in the bedroom as she slipped out of the shimmering dress which dropped to the floor and lay on the rug like a pool of moonlight. Wrapping her robe about her, she stepped out into the darkness of the upper balcony and stood staring into the night. In the distance she could still hear the revelry from the woolshed. How familiar was every shape and shadow of this place. The darkened stables, the trees and shrubs, the deeper line of the Blue Hills against the night sky. Clouds obscured some of the stars and a watery ring around the moon was a good sign of rain. Yet despite the apparent tranquillity, she had a feeling that the spirits of Tingulla were restless. She thought of Snowy and realised she hadn’t seen much of him this evening. He had disappeared quietly during the festivities. But looking out over Tingulla, she knew he was close by. She drew a deep breath and spoke aloud, talking to the stars, ‘TR, please come back to me, so we can be as we were. I miss you, my darling.’ Sighing, she went inside and closed the French doors and slipped into her cold and lonely bed.

The next day after a massive breakfast of sausages, chops, bacon and eggs cooked on the barbecue by Alf, the goodbyes began. There were hugs, jokes and a few tears.

Tango found Jenni and pulled her into the deserted library and gave her a lingering kiss. ‘When are you coming down to see me at Guneda again?’

‘When are you coming to see me at Harmony Hill?’ she countered with a smile.

‘Well, Saskia is coming to work with us once she’s found a replacement to run the trail rides up there, so I’ll have to get you down to Guneda regularly.’

‘I’ll miss Sas when she goes,’ said Jenni sadly. ‘But now that Ria and Bruce have a free hand running Harmony Hill they shouldn’t have too much trouble finding the right staff.’

‘Yeah, Colin did a bit of a moonlight flit, didn’t he? Dina couldn’t wait to drag him off to Europe.’

Jenni grinned. ‘With creditors hot on his heels we hear. Bruce and Ria have bought Harmony Hill for a near peppercorn fee from Alfredo Camboni. He was glad to get rid of it, I think.’

‘Yeah, he has more than a few problems with that casino scheme, which has fallen over in a heap.’

‘Too bad,’ said Jenni and they both chuckled.

Millie’s voice could be heard calling for Tango, so he kissed Jenni quickly, whispering, ‘Think of me. I’ll call you soon.’

‘Bye, Tango.’ She pulled him back towards her and kissed him hard on the mouth. She’d be thinking of him more than he knew.

Tango ran outside and threw his knapsack into the back of the Toyota and turned to Saskia. ‘Have a good birthday, kid?’

‘Yes. Thank you for my horse. He’s so beautiful and I’m sure he’s going to be a winner. I’m off back to Harmony Hill but I’ll be at Guneda as soon as I can. I feel like my life is finally really starting.’

Tango looked into her sparkling eyes and grinned at his half sister. ‘I know I tease you, and I’ll probably give you a hard time occasionally, but never forget I love you, Sas.’

She hugged her tall and handsome brother. ‘Me too. If only things were working out for Mum and TR, everything would be perfect.’

Tango squeezed her hand. ‘They’ll be fine. We can’t do it for them. Just let them know we love them both.’ Saskia nodded and Tango withdrew his hand and gave her a wink as he slipped in behind the wheel.

Dingo appeared beside Saskia and dropped an arm around her shoulders. ‘Cheers, Tango. I’ll be heading west again, why don’t you come and visit. Bring Sas and Jenni next time. There’s always something going on. You know me.’

‘You’re on, Dingo!’ Tango gave a cheery wave and headed down the driveway. He glanced up at the upper balcony and seeing Queenie standing there, blew her a kiss.

‘Now, you look after that camel of yours,’ said Dingo turning to Saskia. ‘She’s a little beauty, even if I do say so myself.’

Saskia hugged him. ‘You’re the best friend any family could ever have, Dingo.’

He smiled and touched her curly head. ‘Now don’t you worry about your mum and TR, these things have a way of working themselves out.’ He sighed, ‘It’s too bad TR isn’t himself. He’d be so thrilled to have both his kids working under his wing. Well, I’d better find Millie and tell the old girl hooroo.’

He ambled off and Saskia watched the grand old man square off the brim of his battered bush hat as he walked with bandy-legged jauntiness back into the house.

By late afternoon Saskia and Jenni were packed up and Saskia found TR helping Jim pack away the last of the equipment. She said goodbye and thanked Jim who discreetly melted away as she turned to TR.

‘You girls all set then? Drive carefully.’

‘We will.’ She wanted to say how good it felt to leave knowing TR and her mother were together at Tingulla. Instead she kissed his cheek and said softly. ‘Thanks for everything. Hang in there, TR.’

He nodded and Saskia turned and hurried away, finding it just too painful to see the sadness and lost look in his eyes.

Slowly Saskia went upstairs and found her mother sitting in a wicker chair on the balcony outside her bedroom.

‘We’re off in a minute, Mum. Millie and Jim are going to come into Longreach with us and stay overnight.’

‘Good, they need a break.’

‘It’s been wonderful, Mum. Thank you for making it all so perfect for me. And I love the opals. That meant such a lot.’ She crouched by her mother and dropped her head into her lap and Queenie softly stroked her hair.

‘I’m glad, darling.’

Saskia looked up at her mother, her eyes damp with tears. ‘I wish I could make everything perfect for you and TR.’

‘Oh, Sas . . . don’t upset yourself. Now that he is here and we’re alone together, I really believe things will come good.’ Queenie smiled at her daughter. ‘You are going to have a wonderful life, you are going to be successful and make TR and I very proud of you. You just laugh and be happy. That makes me feel good.’

‘You’ve both given me so much . . . I just wish TR knew how much. I love you, Mum. You’re so special, I hope I can be a mother like you one day.’

‘You will, Sas . . . Do you know, I used to say the same thing to Nana Rose. Now, off you go, I won’t come down. There have been too many goodbyes today. And wish Jenni good luck for me.’

By dusk Tingulla was deserted. For the first time Queenie and TR were truly alone, and it gave Queenie a feeling of great comfort and peace to see him moving about the yard and house. He seemed to be tidying and sorting through the party paraphernalia. Queenie made a cold meat and salad meal and opened a bottle of Grange Hermitage she’d been saving for a special occasion.

After dinner TR helped her carry the plates into the kitchen, poured the last of the wine into their glasses and handed her one.

‘Come and sit on the verandah, I want to talk to you.’ His voice was gentle and he gave a small smile.

Queenie gave an inward sigh of relief. He was relaxing at last. Over dinner they had discussed the wedding and Saskia’s party and TR had asked questions to fill in some of the gaps about their guests and their background. It had been companionable, yet slightly formal. There was still a reserve about him which distressed her, but she hoped in the coming weeks this would fade away. This evening, alone together, she’d hoped would be their bonding time when they’d re-establish contact with each other. Queenie’s sexual drive and her longing desire for TR was burning inside her. She’d been dismayed by his coolness but had kept her emotions in check.

Now they settled themselves in the evening light and Queenie peered into the clouded sky.

There’s rain on the way, for sure.’ She turned to TR and lifted her glass to his and clinked crystal against crystal. ‘Here’s to the future, TR.’

He sipped the rich smooth wine then put down his glass. ‘That’s what I want to talk to you about. Queenie, there’s no easy way to say this . . . I want a divorce.’

Queenie closed her eyes as everything went black for a second. She was winded as if from a hard physical blow. ‘What do you mean? I don’t understand, what are you saying?’

‘This hasn’t been an easy decision and I’ve thought about it for a long time. We have to assume I’m not going to get any better and —’

‘Why? Why assume that? But anyway, it doesn’t matter,’ Queenie cried, almost shouting, despair colouring every word.

‘I can’t go on living in this limbo. We both have to get on with our lives and start over and not lead half a life together. I realised this when I was away with Dingo, I felt I was alive because I was making a fresh start. Without a past I didn’t know.’

Queenie’s hand shook as she put down her glass. She stood up and began pacing frantically in front of TR. ‘No! Never! I can’t let you go and just start over. You don’t know what we’ve been through, how much we love each other!’ Tears streamed down her face. She stopped in front of him and looked down into his eyes. ‘This is madness, TR. You don’t know what you’re saying!’

TR stood. ‘Please, Queenie, please try to stay in control. I know this is a shock, but you’ve been hanging onto a dream that’s gone.’ He paused, then said with finality. ‘And we can’t bring it back!’

Queenie slumped back into her chair and sat there frozen, numb and disbelieving. ‘I can’t live my life without you.’ She sobbed and covered her face with her hands. After taking several choking breaths she again looked at TR and announced firmly and quietly, ‘I’ll wait for you’.

‘No! That’s exactly what I don’t want!’ exclaimed TR angrily, going to the verandah rail and gripping it in an effort at self-control. ‘You’re suffocating me. Let me go!’ He turned to her and said more calmly, ‘Queenie, I know this is the best way. We have to break free of this and let each other go and get on with our lives. This way we can stay friends at least. Look, let’s not talk about it anymore. Sleep on it and we’ll talk in the morning.’ He spoke gently, knowing how he’d hurt her. But for the moment he was fighting for his life and he couldn’t see himself tied to a past that was lost. It was stopping him moving forward.

Queenie sat motionless, tightly gripping the arms of her chair, tears still running down her face. ‘What would you do? Where would you go?’ She turned to look at him and the anguish on her face stabbed at TR. ‘Is there anyone else?’ she asked hoarsely.

‘No, Queenie. I just want to try to get myself together by starting afresh and making a new life, seeing as I’ve lost my old one. I’ll go back to the west and work with Dingo.’

‘I see.’ Queenie stood. ‘You seem to have thought this through. At least allow me a little time to do the same.’ She walked away from him without looking back, a fierce dignity masking the turmoil and emotions churning inside her.

TR rubbed a hand across his eyes. This was hell, but walking away seemed the only way to pick up the pieces of his life. She’d adjust, she was strong, and somehow out of this they might be able to forge a new and different kind of relationship. But his head spoke above his heart, telling him the only way they could survive would be to have no contact at all. At least not until they’d both started separate lives.

Chapter Forty-Two

Queenie couldn’t sleep. She felt like she had been attacked in the cruellest way possible — by the man she loved. How could this be happening? She couldn’t cry, she felt only a suffocating pain, as if a blanket had been thrown over her, smothering her, and if she could only pull it off, daylight and sunshine would reveal it had all been a bad dream.

She got out of bed and looked at the clock. It was four in the morning. Slowly she dressed, moving like a robot, unsure of what she was doing or why. She pulled on moleskin pants, her riding boots, one of TR’s shirts that still hung in their shared dressing room, and slung a wool sweater over her shoulders.

She went quietly outside and walked around the garden. A chill wind blew and the sky was clouded. She couldn’t make any sense of it all and the more she thought, the more hurt and confused she became. Her mind conjured up images of her and TR together; it seemed impossible this was the end. The denial in her mind and heart was replaced by a sudden surge of anger, and in a wild burst of anguish she wished he had died. His death would be easier to deal with than this torture.

But then the love she still felt for him, which she knew would never leave her, welled up and swamped all other feelings. She needed to think, to seek some guidance, some help. Surely there had to be another way. She must come to some understanding and acceptance, impossible as it seemed. As if in part response to these questions, it came to her where she might find the answer. She went to the stables where Saskia’s colt was sleeping peacefully in a stall between Honey and Star. Honey pricked up her ears but remained calm as Queenie hurriedly saddled her, filled the water bag and hung it on the saddle. Queenie returned to the kitchen to pack basic food supplies and left a short note for Millie. TR will explain. I need to be on my own for a little while. Q.

At lunch time the following day, Millie returned and began stoking the fire in the Aga. Still puzzling over Queenie’s message, she checked she wasn’t in the house. When Jim came into the kitchen she showed him the note and he hurried outside to look around.

Millie was making tea and toast when Jim returned and shook his head. ‘She’s gone off on Honey. D’you think she might’ve gone to the Quinns’?’

Millie shook her head. ‘She says in the note she wants to be on her own. I have a terrible feeling in my bones, Jim.’

‘You better find TR and ask him what’s going on.’

By early evening Millie was frantic. Across the ranges she could see a storm slowly gathering and instinctively she knew that was the direction Queenie had taken. Now that TR had told her what had transpired between them, she realised Queenie would have been broken-hearted and would, as usual, have taken flight on her horse. She knew Queenie couldn’t contemplate life without TR and she was terrified that she might have done something stupid.

‘TR, you have to find her, bring her back,’ Millie pleaded tearfully. ‘I know something bad is gonna happen to her.’

Jim tried to calm her down. ‘Millie, we don’t know where she went.’

TR looked wretchedly from Jim to Millie, knowing this was his fault. ‘I’ll go and look . . . but she could be anywhere by now.’

‘Get Snowy, he’ll be able to find her. He found her before. Find him, TR, and take him with you.’

TR couldn’t bear the sight of Millie’s tears. ‘Please, don’t cry, Millie. I’ll find her. I’ll talk to Snowy first.’

Jim followed TR as he dashed outside and headed for Snowy’s small cottage. He rapped on the door and when there was no answer, glanced at Jim, who nodded and pushed the door open. In the dim and eerie light of dusk they saw Snowy stretched out on his bunk. He didn’t move and Jim hurried towards him.

‘Snow? Wake up, mate, we gotta problem.’

Snowy didn’t move and fearfully Jim stopped and looked at TR, who rushed to the old man.

‘Snowy?’ He felt for a pulse and lifted Snowy’s bony wrist.

Jim edged over to the bed. ‘Is he . . . ?’

‘He’s still with us. There’s a faint pulse. Snowy, can you hear me?’

Slowly the old man’s eyes opened and he turned his head towards TR and Jim. ‘Queenie . . . she’s out dere agin,’ he whispered.

‘Take it easy, Snow. Go slowly,’ said Jim, taking his hand and giving TR a questioning look.

TR shook his head slightly and bent closer to the old man’s face. ‘Snowy, I’ll find her. Where do I look?’

‘The cave, where you first come t’gether.’

TR looked desperately at Jim. ‘I don’t remember. I don’t remember any cave.’

Jim held his old friend’s hand between his own. ‘Snow, you’re gonna have t’tell TR where it is. I’ll help him.’

Snowy’s eyes closed, but his voice became a little stronger. ‘On the eastern hillside above the dead end of the creek between Tingulla and Ambush Hill.’ Jim nodded at TR, understanding the directions. ‘Halfway up . . . big rock overhang . . . little cave under it. That’s where she’s makin’ for. It’s your special place. You go by y’self, TR.’

Jim went to protest, but glancing at TR’s and Snowy’s faces, he knew better. Snowy still had his eyes closed as if seeing something in some other place. ‘I’ll sketch it out for you,’ said Jim to TR.

‘Snowy, do you want Millie to get the doc for you?’ asked TR, knowing that the old man would refuse.

Slowly the old Aborigine’s eyes opened, and he struggled to focus, but his face was peaceful with the hint of a smile about his mouth. ‘No, but mebbe she might wanna come ’n’ sit with me . . . You git on yer way, TR.’ He reached up and TR clasped the old man’s hand, struggling to hold back his own tears. ‘You tell her, TR, you tell her old Snowy bin lookin’ out fer her.’

‘I will, I will. I’ll find her, Snowy, we’ll be right.’ He patted his hand and turned away as Snowy’s words came strongly with sudden energy. ‘You keep followin’ that mornin’ star, him see yer right.’

TR went straight to the stables and began saddling Star as Jim handed him a torch and explained the directions. ‘You gonna be okay, TR?’

‘Get Millie to throw some tucker in a bag and I’ll need a coat,’ said TR. Jim pointed to the peg on the wall where TR’s old Driza-Bone hung beside an empty peg.

TR swung into the saddle, wincing slightly with pain, and took the canvas bag Millie handed him. Jim stood beside her, holding her arm.

‘You watch out for the old man,’ TR said, reaching down to shake Jim’s hand.

‘Travel safe, TR. I know you gonna find our girl,’ sniffed Millie.

‘I’ll do my best.’ TR swung the horse around and cantered into the fading light.

Queenie had ridden through the day, making camp once and eating a simple meal. She knew where the riverbed was, the gully where they’d herded the brumbies, but finding the cave would be more tricky. She camped the night, sleeping fitfully, and set off into a clouded dawn. Through the morning she and Honey rode towards the gathering storm and by midday it had caught up with them, overtaking and sweeping around them in a battering volley of rain and wind. There was nowhere to shelter so Queenie continued through the streaming rain as the storm intensified. Honey was nervous and in the terrible conditions she stumbled more than once. Queenie tried to soothe the horse, but her own fears were growing. Honey sensed them and twitched fretfully.

Soon the storm and blinding rain blotted out all but a step or two ahead of her. Queenie had worked her way down into the gully and crossed the creek bed, now she was working her way to the cave that had sheltered her and TR one special night long ago. But Honey was not sure-footed in the rain, and as a spear of lightning struck a tree next to them, she reared and her hooves hit a log and she lost her footing.

Queenie came off, and Honey sprawled and rolled onto her back. Suddenly everything around Queenie was happening in slow motion and history was repeating itself — a small girl falling from her crashing horse in a storm.

Queenie screamed aloud, ‘Snowy . . . Snowy . . . ’

TR rode all through the night and by the middle of the next day he could see the storm to the north gather strength and explode. After a few hours he rode into the tail end of it, the rain lashing him and the horse. TR was exhausted and in agony — in the cold and the wet his injured leg had seized up — and it was difficult to see the landmarks Jim had given him. But by dusk the rain had eased and TR found his way to the creek as night fell. The water was running fast but not deep. TR splashed across it and looked up at the sloping hillside. Somewhere up there was an overhanging rock and a cave, and hopefully Queenie, dry and safe.

Slowly and painfully TR dismounted and looped the reins over his arms and began to lead the horse in a zigzag pattern up the muddy, slippery hillside. Why had Queenie taken off for this godforsaken spot, why couldn’t she have worked out her problems closer to home? What was he going to say to her when, hopefully, he found her? He had a lot of respect for this beautiful woman but he couldn’t change anything he’d said to her.

Queenie dragged herself up the hill, her ankle throbbing, sending spasms of pain shooting up her leg. She couldn’t see Honey anywhere, which meant she had been able to move and had headed for safer ground. Operating on instinct, Queenie moved slowly towards the shelter of the cave.

In the moonlit night, with the help of the torch Jim had given him, TR could make out trees and boulders. Shining his torch on the bush around him, he didn’t notice where he was walking and he stumbled slightly. He fell to his knees and jerked on the reins, bringing Star down to his knees, knocking TR to the side. It was a small fall but TR hit the ground hard. Cursing, he shook his head as Star struggled to his feet in the slippery and muddy undergrowth.

TR felt dizzy as he sat up, groping for the reins. He put his fingers to his temple where a throbbing pain had begun. He grabbed the reins and hauled himself to his feet. Doggedly TR set off up the hill leading his horse. He had barely gone a few metres when he felt like someone had come behind him and slammed a fist into the back of his head. He recoiled in shock, reeling and confused. His head felt as if it would explode and he put both hands to his forehead to ease the pain. Suddenly he saw a series of different coloured lights flick on and off, but he quickly realised they were not before him, but inside his head. He could hear a faint hum. He shook his head to clear it and everything stopped. All was silent and for a second he thought he was deaf. Then the sounds of the wet bush and storm returned. He felt light-headed but okay, and he moved on.

It took him ten more minutes until he spotted the overhanging rock and picked his way towards it. It was cold now the storm had passed over. The dripping bush was still as if all about was holding its breath, waiting for the dawn and the warmth of the sun.

TR stopped suddenly. Rushing towards him was a tree . . . the sound of galloping hooves . . . He felt himself falling . . . The picture before him went black. Then he saw Queenie’s face . . . a serious youthful face, shaded by an Akubra hat pulled low as she sat on a splintery railing watching young people on buckjumpers.

TR stared at the entrance to the cave. He hesitated before going forward and then to one side he heard a twig crack. Star lifted his head, staring intently at the cave. TR shone the torch in an arc and Honey walked into view, her reins dangling. TR hurried forward and stopped again. He felt dizzy and scenes and images spun before his eyes like the unravelling of a swift and confusing movie. He waited until the spell had passed and went to the cave entrance. He caught Honey and tied her and Star to a nearby branch. He was shaking and his legs felt as if they would barely support him.

The cave was pitch-black and TR shone the torch round the entrance then hunched down and moved into its depths. He shone the light around again and then saw, in a far corner, the dark shape lying on the floor. In the flickering beam of light, Queenie lay on her side, both arms clutching a leg. There were scratches and dried blood on her face. He reached down and felt her face and pulse and she moaned slightly. She was unconscious and in some pain. He ran his hands along her body and found that her ankle was badly twisted but nothing seemed to be broken. She must have crawled in here and passed out.

TR hurried outside and brought in his small bag and the swag Queenie had on Honey. He unrolled it and threw the thick blanket across her, and headed back outside to try and find some wood that was dry enough to light a fire. He pulled strips of paper bark from a tree, to get to the dry layers to use for kindling and by the mouth of the cave, protected by its overhanging rock, he found a solid dry branch which he dragged inside.

Queenie stirred and lifted her head, thinking she must be dreaming. A small fire crackled in the cave and beside it sat TR, hugging his knees and watching her. She started to sit up and TR was quickly at her side.

‘Take it slowly, you took a bit of a spill by the looks of it. Seems to be a family habit these days.’ He smiled tenderly at her. ‘How do you feel?’

‘My ankle is very sore. My head aches a bit. My shoulder is stiff.’ She stared at him, unsure of his mood. ‘Why are you here? How did you find me?’

‘When Millie found you’d gone, she went into a tailspin. Said it was all my fault you’d taken off, we were both being stupid and the very least I could do was get out and find you. I had no choice, you can’t argue with Millie,’ he grinned.

Queenie looked at him curiously. ‘How did you know where to look?’

TR’s face clouded. ‘Snowy knew. He described this place, how to get here like he could see it. Queenie, I don’t think Snowy is going to make it. He seemed to be fading away. It was like this was his last task,’ added TR gently.

Tears sprang to Queenie’s eyes. ‘Oh no! I must go to him.’ She flung back the blanket and struggled to get up, but sat back down with a painful gasp as her ankle caved in under her.

TR went to her and put his arm around her shoulder to support her. He spoke quietly. ‘Queenie, I don’t think you’ll make it in time. I think he was hanging on until he knew things would be all right.’ Queenie turned her head away and bit her lip as TR spoke with difficulty. ‘He told me this was our special place and it is. Queenie, something happened out there . . .’ He closed his eyes and paused for breath.

Queenie touched his hand. ‘TR . . . do you remember this place?’

He looked at her, his deep blue eyes filled with the love she always knew was there. ‘How could I forget . . . the rainstorm, the flooded river, losing the brumbies, dragging ourselves in here, how cold we were.’ Queenie began to shake as he spoke and he wrapped his other arm about her. ‘How I held us to keep warm and how I kissed you for the first time . . .’ Here he lowered his face and touched his lips to hers, then went on. ‘How I made love to you . . . and how I knew I would never, never, let you out of my life.’ He paused again, crushing her to his chest, his fingers tangling in her hair as he began to cry.

‘Queenie can you forgive me . . . to think I nearly lost you, that I nearly walked away from the love of my life . . . I’m stunned how close I came. Forgive me, Queenie, I didn’t know, didn’t remember anything. Now I see it all. It’s like all these long months have been telescoped into seconds. How hard it has been for you, yet you stuck by me, loyal and loving. Oh, Queenie . . .’

Queenie drew back, her deep green eyes full of tears as she studied his face. Gently she wiped away a tear from his cheek with her finger. ‘You remember. Do you remember . . . everything?’ Her voice was a whisper.

TR nodded. ‘Just out there, such a small bump I took, and I felt dizzy and then it was like a warm flush spread through me, like I was filling up and suddenly it was as if a light had been turned on. Everything was back in place. I was totally calm, it’s like waking up I suppose.’

Tears were spilling from Queenie’s eyes as she smiled at him. ‘It won’t go away again? We’re going to be all right?’

TR drew her to him again. ‘Yes, my darling, everything’s going to be all right.’

As their lips found each other, Millie, sitting by Snowy, saw him smile and sigh and become still. She patted his hand. ‘G’bye, Snow. You done good, old man.’

And above Tingulla, above the cave where Queenie and TR clung together, the morning star shone in the pale lilac sky like a jewel.