‘You’re so full of crap,’ yelled Kitty.
Time stretched as Harry studied Tom’s face. ‘You never were a good liar. How about it, Kitty, did you see this gold for yourself?’
‘I sure did. A big seam of it, right across a cave wall. I dug samples out with a hammer, but Tom took them. Wants it all for himself, he does.’
Harry fixed him with a knowing smile. ‘Fool’s gold doesn’t come in seams.’
Tom’s mouth turned to sawdust. ‘It’s not how she says, Harry. I don’t care about the damn gold.’
But Harry wasn’t listening. ‘When did you know?’ Tom could see his brother’s mind working. ‘As far back as the funeral? Is that why you wouldn’t hand over my share?’ His voice broke with anger. ‘You’re a dark horse, little brother. I work my guts out trying to make things right, trying to restore our family legacy, and all the while you’ve been sitting on an easy fortune. You must have thought it a great joke.’
The disappointment on Emma’s face was hard to bear. ‘I can explain,’ said Tom, although he had no idea where to start.
‘I have a better idea.’ Harry opened the door to the front hall. ‘Why don’t you leave, before I throw you out.’
Tom pressed his lips together in a frown. ‘Come on, Kit.’
Kitty poured herself another drink. ‘Fuck off.’
Emma gave him his hat. ‘We’ll look after her.’
Tom nodded. What did it matter? The damage was done, and it would be a blessing, not having to deal with his wife tonight. He glanced back when he reached the door. Harry had laid a consoling arm around Kitty, who was leaning on his shoulder. Tom almost felt sorry for his brother.
Emma saw him out. ‘You should have told him, Tom. He’ll never forgive you.’
‘If you knew my reasons—’
‘Try me.’ She gazed up at him, green eyes wide pools of concern.
Tom bit his lip, dying to unburden himself, yet fighting the temptation. If anyone in the world would understand his dilemma, Emma would. But she lived with Harry, and Tom knew his brother. Right now her husband was filled with a dangerous rage. If he suspected Emma of keeping secrets ...
‘My hands are tied,’ he said with an aching heart. ‘Maybe one day.’
Emma’s eyes brimmed with tears. ‘Oh, Tom. One day might be too late.’
Chapter 37
Tom returned to Binburra without his wife. Mrs Mills and Old George didn’t ask questions.
He didn’t miss Kitty, as such. He could do without her contempt, rudeness and constant complaining. He could do without her drinking, sullenness and dissatisfaction. But he did miss the idea of being married, of caring for somebody else. Of putting someone else’s happiness ahead of his own.
Tom waited a week, but nobody rang; not Kitty nor Harry nor Emma. He didn’t ring them either. There was a finality about what had happened that couldn’t be fixed.
‘I’m going camping,’ he said a few days later over breakfast.
Mrs Mills stopped kneading bread dough and wiped floury hands on her apron. She came over and gave him a rare kiss, right on the top of his head. ‘Should you be going off on your own like that, Tom? When you’re feeling so down?’
He took her wrinkled hand in his own. ‘I go bush to stop feeling down. You should know that by now.’
She forced a smile. ‘Righto. I’ll tell Old George to check your gear and get some supplies in. Make a list of what you might need.’
‘I can do that myself, Mrs M.’
‘He’ll want to, Tom,’ she said with a catch in her throat. ‘George wants to look after you. We both do.’ She gave him another kiss. ‘Listen to me. I’ve come over all soppy. You make sure to be home for Christmas, you hear?’
* * *
Tom set out early next morning under a sky of perfect blue. What a pleasure, to just be. Be with the kookaburras, and bottlebrush and birdsong. With the ground and rocks and living forest. To feel and hear and smell the land as it had always been. But this wasn’t a mere pleasure trip. The rugged Binburra ranges were criss-crossed with many canyons, creeks and waterfalls, but he’d be foolish to underestimate his brother. Kitty had enough information for a helicopter to possibly identify the lost valley from the air. Underground minerals belonged to the Crown, not to the landholder. If Harry tried to stake a claim, Tom needed to stake one first.
This trip to Tiger Pass was very different from the one he’d taken a few weeks ago. Travelling at his own pace, no Kitty to worry about, he could relax and fully appreciate the grandeur of the bush. His wife had complained that these mountains were a million miles from anywhere. She couldn’t have been more wrong. Binburra’s wilderness was at the centre of what mattered. Huon pine seedlings that could live for three thousand years, sprouting from their mossy beds. The purest air in the world. Devils and tigers, soaring eagles and crystal streams. Ghosts of the first people to roam these primal forests. This was a world older and greater and more important by far than the human world. This was a world of marvels. This was home.
On the third morning Tom reached Tiger Pass. Twice he’d heard the loud, whup whup whup of helicopter blades and hidden in the undergrowth until it passed. But today all was quiet. He made the descent, wondering as always who’d carved the ancient steps. Wishing he could go back in time to see.
Tom hadn’t come solely to stake his claim. He’d come to map and record as much as possible, to continue the work his grandparents had begun. The lure of gold and timber would always attract greedy men. To properly protect the thylacines, Binburra must become a national park.
Tom had been reading the backlog of magazines, scientific journals and natural history publications that still arrived for his grandmother. Generous donations to organisations such as the Royal Society, Hobart Walking Club and the Tasmanian Field Naturalists, had given her life member status. She’d somehow remained on their mailing lists long after her death.
Tom spent hours in the library discovering the accomplishments of a small band of naturalists that had gone before him. Conservation stalwarts such as Evelyn Emmett, Leonard Rodway, Clive Lord and his own grandparents. Dedicated men and women who’d put the case for, and achieved, Tasmania’s first national parks: Mount Field, Freycinet and Cradle Mountain.
Tom learned about the burgeoning American conservation movement pioneered by John Muir. Muir had founded the Sierra Club, with the goal of establishing nature reserves and preserving California's coastal redwoods. Glacier, Mount Rainier and Yosemite National Parks soon followed. When a dam threatened Yosemite, Muir argued the valley must be preserved for the sake of its beauty, as much as for anything else. No holier temple has ever been consecrated by the heart of man. He could just as well have been talking about Tiger Pass.
As Tom read through these inspirational accounts, an excitement built within him, as well as a purpose. Here was a mission every bit as important as any wartime battle. A fight for Binburra’s forests; a fight his great-grandfather Daniel Campbell had begun, and one that he would finish and win.
* * *
Tom found what he was looking for when he climbed down into the valley and reached the waterfall — tiger tracks in the sand, leading to the mouth of a large cave. He took out his notebook, carefully sketched each print and photographed them. He planned to record and document everything.
Tom took his torch, put on his head lamp and ventured in, further and further, moving slowly, eyes peeled. The tracks continued, the musty smell grew stronger and a rustling noise came from the darkness. Tom stopped and trained his torch towards the sound. A low growl startled him. There, in the shadows, the red eyeshine of two large animals. He was about to move when it happened. A native tiger loomed from the gloom.
It bore little resemblance to Karma, the sad, half-starved creature with matted fur and staring ribs that Tom had met in the Hobart Zoo. This animal was powerfully built, as big as a mastiff and with a chunky head. Sleek of coat, well fed, striped fur gleaming with good health in the pale torchl
ight. How he wished Emma was here to see.
The tiger yawned wide in an intimidating display of threat. Tom stood transfixed. Here was more than stories and tracks and cries in the night. Here was a living, breathing thylacine, an animal that had walked the earth for millions of years longer than humans had. An animal the world believed to be extinct.
Tom took the tiger pendant from around his neck. ‘You lot need good luck more than I do,’ he whispered, and hung the silver chain from an exposed tree root in the cave wall. ‘Here’s an ancestor to look after you.’
A snarl rumbled in the back of the animal’s throat.
Tom exhaled and backed away, wishing he could properly assess how many tigers lurked at the rear of the cave. But he was here as protector, not tormentor. Time to leave them in peace. He’d spend the afternoon pegging out Fortune Cave, then head to Hobart to register the claim.
Chapter 38
‘It’s high time that awful woman left, Emma. Making eyes at Harry and drinking all day long. It’s a disgrace.’
‘We can’t just throw her out.’
‘Why not?’ Mum scowled. ‘If she tells me about how she lunched with Bob Hope one more time, I’ll murder her myself. Let her go home to her husband where she belongs.’
If only it was that simple. Emma finished brushing her mother’s hair and twisted it up in a neat bun. She didn’t want Kitty back with Tom. He didn’t deserve that, but she didn’t want her living here any longer either.
Emma kissed her mother. ‘See you tonight, Mum. Say goodbye to Elsie for me. I’m off to my course.’
It was three months now since Kitty had dropped her bombshell; setting Harry implacably against his brother, and unleashing in him a boiling hostility that frightened Emma. Kitty showed no sign of either remorse, nor of wanting to leave. She swanned around the house all day, taking endless bubble baths, reading movie magazines and drinking champagne. Full of condescension and veiled insults. Complaining about everything from the food to the brand of toilet paper. Waiting for Harry to get home from work.
Little wonder, for Harry was besotted with Kitty. He brought her chocolates and wine. Escorted her on walks along the waterfront. Laughed at her lame jokes. Listened to her stupid stories. Wanted to be in her company all of the time, even if it meant being late for work or missing meetings. When Emma demanded to know why he was so slavishly at Kitty’s beck and call, Harry argued that he was merely consoling a broken-hearted woman.
‘Kitty’s devastated about the breakup,’ he said. ‘Tom’s a heartless bastard. Hasn’t rung her once.’
‘Has she rung him?’ Emma asked. ‘Surely there’s blame on both sides?’
Harry didn’t see it that way. Blind to Kitty’s faults, defending her at every turn, reproaching Emma for meanness and jealousy if she complained. So far she’d witnessed nothing physical between Harry and Kitty, but if he expected Emma to believe his fixation was mere concern for a troubled sister-in-law, he was mad. Emma might indeed have been jealous, if she wasn’t already numb inside. Her marriage was over.
* * *
Emma recognised what had happened to Harry. She’d seen it before at Hampton Hall, the compulsive hold some girls had on particular men, and there was nothing platonic about it. It was a bond of powerful erotic attraction, strong enough to banish reason and make its victims act like fools. Abandoning families, losing jobs. Martha loved telling stories about men who’d been driven mad by their obsessive passions. Killed for them. Died for them. One client hanged himself from the wrought iron balustrade of the second floor verandah. A second kidnapped the object of his desire, hurled her off the high lift-span of the Hobart Bridge, and threw himself after her. Another dug up the grave of his dead lover, stole her decomposing corpse and kept it for months in his bedroom.
Her husband’s erratic behaviour, combined with the fact that Kitty oozed sex appeal whenever he was around, convinced Emma that they were having an affair. Harry coveted whatever his brother had, and there were plenty of opportunities for the two of them to be alone together. It was a big house, and Mum couldn’t manage the stairs. Or Kitty might be meeting Harry somewhere during the day.
Emma was determined to find out. She got ready for university as usual, packed her books, and said goodbye to Kitty in the sunroom.
Kitty looked up from her beauty magazine and Emma took time to study her. Looking gorgeous, as usual, with her hair already set, although she wasn’t yet dressed. Wearing a bias-cut, sheer black negligee that showed off her voluptuous figure – Elsie was feeding her too well. A matching robe trimmed in lace and ribbons – and lipstick. Lipstick, for God’s sake, and perfume, and winged eye-liner that made her look like a hungry cat.
‘I might go into town today to do some shopping,’ said Kitty, showing Emma a glossy advertisement for a new Revlon nail varnish called Savage Thrill. Kitty was always buying new things: clothes, hats, makeup. Where did her money come from? ‘Will this colour suit me, do you think?’
‘I’ve no idea.’ Emma neatly stacked up the magazines that were strewn all over the table. ‘I’ll be home around five.’ But Kitty had already gone back to her reading.
* * *
Emma went out the front door and shut it loudly behind her. She waited a few minutes before slipping quietly into the house again, and locking the back door, to which Harry had lost his key. If he wanted to get in, he’d have to use the front entrance. Then she waited in the upstairs sewing room with a good view of the street.
Time ticked by, measured by the longcase clock in the corner. Nine o’clock. She couldn’t read her anatomy textbook, or she might miss Harry coming in. Nine-thirty. Her pharmacology lecture was half-way through. Ten o’clock. Was that his car? Ten-thirty. Madness, missing classes to sit alone in a room, waiting for something that might never happen. She’d give it one more hour. Eleven o’clock. She needed to go to the toilet.
Emma took off her shoes and crept down the hallway to the bathroom at the end of the landing. She froze as she shut the door. Footsteps coming up the stairs. Opening it a crack, she heard whispered voices. Harry and Kitty, and they were right outside.
Emma waited for them to pass, barely breathing, then took a peek. There they were, down the hall. Harry pushed Kitty against the wall, as she shrugged off her robe. His hands all over her, hungry lips on her mouth, her neck. He slipped the straps from Kitty’s shoulders, exposing her breasts. She moaned as he cupped them roughly, teasing her nipples with his teeth.
Emma could take no more. She burst from the bathroom. ‘Scraping the bottom of the barrel, aren’t we, Harry?’ She marched right up and slapped him hard. ‘How stupid do you think I am?’
Kitty pulled up her straps, eyes wild. ‘Leave him alone. Harry’s with me now, so get used to it. He wants a divorce.’ She stroked his reddened cheek. ‘Don’t you, babe?’
‘Well, Harry, is this true?’ Emma asked. ‘Or don’t you speak for yourself any more?’
At least he had the decency to look ashamed. ‘Sorry Em. I love her.’
‘More fool you then. Did you think you could keep us both? Get out,’ she yelled. ‘The two of you.’
Harry hung his head. ‘I’ll look for a place today.’
‘Oh no, you won’t. I don’t mean leave later. I mean leave right now, or I’ll turf your things out the window for all the neighbours to see.’
The pair of them stood staring, as if they didn’t understand. Emma ran to the main bedroom, snatched an armful of Harry’s suits from the wardrobe, and went back into the hall. ‘You think I’m joking?’ She shoved open the sash window at the front of the house and tossed the clothes onto the street.
‘Stop it, Em. You’re making a spectacle of yourself.’
‘Me?’ Emma managed a hollow laugh. ‘I wasn’t the one with my face buried in her tits.’
‘You’re such a prig,’ said Kitty. ‘Just lie on your back, do you? Open your legs and read a book. No wonder he’s leaving. You wouldn’t have the first idea how to satisfy a man.’
Emma did not dignify her words with a response. Thank God Kitty didn’t know about Hampton Hall. She turned her back and returned for more of Harry’s clothes, saving time by simply tossing them out the bedroom window this time. A pair of long johns landed on the head of a woman walking along the street below, making her scream.
‘You don’t need to do this, Em.’ She felt his hands on her shoulders and spun to face him. ‘Kitty and I will leave immediately.’
She’d expected some sort of argument, some sort of foolish rationalisation to defend the indefensible. It wasn’t like Harry to go down without a fight, however hopeless the odds. Yet her usually self-assured husband seemed uncertain. It was only when Kitty appeared in the doorway that he regained his confidence.
‘You poor bugger,’ said Emma. ‘Kitty really does have you by the balls, doesn’t she?’ She dropped the bundle of shirts onto the floor. ‘You have until one o’clock.’
* * *
An hour later, they were packed and ready to go.
‘Why are you home?’ asked Mum, coming out of the kitchen. The front door was open and a dozen bags and suitcases were lined up in the hall. ‘What’s all this?’
‘Kitty’s moving out,’ said Emma.
‘Good riddance.’
‘And Harry’s going with her.’ Mum’s face went white, and she put a hand on the wall. ‘Come and sit down, Mum. I’ll explain as best I can.’
A little while later, Harry came into the parlour to say goodbye.
‘How dare you!’ Mum’s voice quivered with anger. ‘How dare you dishonour my daughter this way.’
‘I’m sorry, Eileen.’ He was close to tears. ‘You’ve been like a mother to me.’
The Lost Valley Page 28