by Di Morrissey
‘Well, well,’ said Veronica. ‘Did Marta make the big time after all, I wonder? I’ve never heard of her, but she could have changed her name. And did she do it with Topov? And what happened to her friendship with Colin?’
‘The more you find out, the more questions you have,’ said Collette, who’d returned and was peering over Veronica’s shoulder. ‘Here, I found this.’ She opened a folder and delicately handed Veronica a leaflet.
It was a flyer for Marta’s show. Apart from listing times and ticket prices it didn’t say much more than the newspaper ad.
‘Oh, look here,’ said Veronica. In small letters was printed, ‘Produced by Colin Peterson’. ‘Well, they were still together, here in Darwin. Where were the others I wonder?’
The back of the flyer listed Marta’s show business credentials from Europe. ‘It looks quite impressive. I suppose Darwin would have been pleased to have someone of her calibre here.’
‘Actually a lot of entertainers and troupes travelled round Australia in those days,’ said Collette. ‘So you have some more clues. What do you do next?’
‘Eventually, I’d like to try to find Marta and I hope that she’ll talk to me, but for now I’d like to go to Brolga Springs. May I use your computer a moment longer, please?’
Quickly Veronica googled Brolga Springs NT to discover the word brolga was a popular trademark in tourism. But as she scrolled down, she found that there, in accommodation/adventure tours, was Brolga Springs Station. ‘Wow, it’s a commercial enterprise now.’
‘Check the newspaper reviews and articles linked to it,’ said Collette.
They both read the write-ups and looked at the photographs of the station, which now comprised of a large homestead, donga accommodation and safari-style tents. There was also a dining and entertainment area and a variety of tours and activities. A smiling young husband and wife were the hosts who promised visitors a true ‘Eco/indigenous Aussie experience’.
‘It’s owned by an Aboriginal corporation,’ read Collette. ‘That’s happening a lot as land goes back to the traditional owners. A lot of ventures have failed but this one looks very successful.’
‘Maybe because it’s got a great young couple in charge,’ said Veronica. ‘Look at their background, they’ve both grown up on stations. They’re running an indigenous training program for the staff and have included cultural activities with local community people. All under one roof, plus it’s a commercial cattle enterprise. Now that’s a good story.’ Veronica leaned back. ‘I have to go there. By the way, what’s a donga?’
‘It’s like a cabin, except you can lift up the sides, so that it’s open and lets the breeze through. I wonder what happened to Mrs Johns?’ Collette added.
‘I’m sure I can find out when I get there. Unless the end of her journal gives us some clue.’
‘Would you like a coffee before you start on the journal, Veronica? You have a bit of reading to do.’ Collette smiled.
Veronica found Annabel Johns’ journal an interesting record of her time at Brolga Springs, filled with the dramas of injuries, deaths, cattle musters, wet-season isolation and humorous interludes with her Aboriginal domestic staff, but it didn’t give Veronica much material for her story. Her husband seemed to be away more than not and when he was at the station he was gone at dawn and returned at dusk. Annabel didn’t have children so Doris seemed to be her companion, friend and surrogate child.
But at the end of the diary Veronica felt saddened as she read of the death of Annabel’s husband in a riding accident during a flood. Mrs Johns had to sell up and move south as she found the property impossible to manage by herself. She wrote of her struggle to find a solution for Doris. She was sure that without her protection, the light-skinned child would be taken away to the missions to be trained as a domestic. Faced with this prospect, she consulted Doris’s mother and grandmother and they decided that the best thing for the intelligent little girl would be for her to have a good education. Annabel Johns then approached the mission nuns and explained the situation and they managed to get Doris enrolled in a convent school down south.
There was a postscript, evidently written a few years later. It seemed that the new owner of the station was a businessman from Brisbane who didn’t live on the property. He put in a manager with instructions to double the carrying capacity of the station by introducing new breeds. He was not interested in the locals or their customs and the tribal families splintered and drifted away.
‘Oh, how sad,’ said Veronica.
‘Yet, look how it’s turned around. I think Annabel Johns would be pleased to see how Brolga Springs is being run today,’ said Collette when Veronica told her how the journal ended.
‘Perhaps. When I get out there I hope I can get a feel for its history as well as what’s happening today,’ said Veronica. ‘Collette, I can’t thank you enough, this has been such a breakthrough.’
‘You’re welcome. And have you finished going through the newspaper files? Will you do that?’
‘I guess so. I’ve no idea how long they all stayed in Darwin. Right now I’m interested in Brolga Springs. At least it will give me some good vision.’ And at that thought she sighed. ‘I have to talk to the TV station about a cameraman.’
‘Good luck, Veronica. If I can be of any more help, do let me know. And I’d love to hear how you get on,’ said Collette warmly.
‘I’ll keep in touch. I owe you a coffee, lunch, really,’ promised Veronica.
Back in her apartment, Veronica poured herself a drink and phoned Murphy, the chief-of-staff at the Darwin TV station.
‘Ah, yes, Andy spoke to me. Was Dougie okay? Sorry our head camera guy was out of town,’ said Murphy.
‘Dougie was great – polite, quick and took directions, as well as thinking for himself,’ said Veronica quickly.
‘Good, good. Some of the young blokes can be a bit on the slow side.’
‘In fact, I’d quite like to keep using him. Keep the continuity going,’ said Veronica.
‘Ah, you need more stuff? What did you have in mind?’ asked Murphy cautiously.
‘Actually I’m planning to go out of town. Head out towards Katherine and go to Brolga Springs Station.’
‘Aw, that could be difficult. We need Dougie on call for the city stuff. He hasn’t done a big assignment out of town.’
‘Oh, I wouldn’t say this was a big job, a few scenics, touristy stuff,’ cut in Veronica.
But Murphy wouldn’t buy it. ‘Nope. No can do. You need someone who knows the area. I can’t send a new kid out with gear, a vehicle. He’s just not experienced enough. No, Eddie Jarman is the guy for the job. He used to work at Eleven in Sydney, surely you know of him?’
‘Yes, I know him.’
‘Then why quibble? Why would you want anyone else? He’s an ace cameraman. And if you’re worried about him being a city slicker, don’t. He’s become a real Territorian. But if you have a need to get out into that kind of country, he’d probably be the first to suggest you take a local with you.’ When Veronica didn’t answer immediately, Murphy asked, ‘What did you have in mind to shoot?’
‘I’m not sure. But some local knowledge would be helpful.’ She was clutching at a straw. The idea of going anywhere alone with Eddie was unnerving her, but a third person, some kind of guide, suddenly seemed a good idea. ‘Yes, yes. A guide, a local, would be excellent. Do you have anyone in mind?’
‘Are you looking at any indigenous stuff, or what? Andy said you weren’t doing anything fluffy, not a touristy piece.’
‘Absolutely not. I’d like someone who could fill in some of the gaps in the history of Brolga Springs between the fifties and the present. And some local cultural knowledge, some contacts with indigenous people, any old timers . . . That’d be great.’
‘Jamie McIntosh. He’s your man.’
‘Great, great,’ said Veronica.
‘Don’t you want to know about him?’
‘I trust your judgment, Murphy. Yes, su
re, fill me in,’ said Veronica, simply relieved there’d be someone else coming along to ease the tension of working with Eddie again.
‘He works for National Parks as a ranger and as an environmentalist and sits on the board of some community groups. Does media, radio, the occasional TV show, so he knows the kind of stuff you want. And he’s local, educated and articulate. He’s also pretty handy when it comes to boats, cars, crocs.’
‘That’s nice to know. He sounds perfect.’
‘I’ll give him a call. And why don’t you have a talk with Eddie. Tell him what you’re after. Catch up on old times?’
She took a deep breath. ‘Sure. Tomorrow morning?’
‘Come in after the production meeting, say nine-thirty am?’
‘Fine. Could you tell Eddie that I’ll be coming in to see him, please?’
‘Roger. And how long are you going to steal my chief camera guy for?’
‘Oh, I have no idea. Let me speak to Eddie and this Jamie. I’ll let you know.’
‘We’ll need to fix up the roster, you know how it is.’ Murphy hung up.
Veronica finished her drink as her mobile rang.
‘Hi Veronica, it’s Jim. You still on for dinner tomorrow night?’
‘Yes, I’m looking forward to it.’
‘Anyone you want to bring along, feel free.’
‘No, thanks. It’ll just be me. What can I bring?’
‘Don’t worry about it, love. Say, Reg and Bonza, the two blokes I told you about?’
‘Oh, yes, right. Are they willing to be interviewed?’
‘They’d like to meet you. So I invited them along tomorrow night. There’re a blast. Is that okay?’ asked Jim.
‘Why, yes, I guess so. If it’s okay with your wife,’ said Veronica.
‘She’s sweet. She’s used to people just turning up.’
‘That’s nice,’ said Veronica.
‘Yep. I reckon there’ll be a few people who might be able to help you. Oh, and I invited a couple of blokes from the TV station, including the head camera guy, Eddie. He’s made a bit of a name for himself since moving here. Says he knows you. So you can catch up. Righto?’
‘Terrific. Looking forward to it. Thanks for going to the trouble.’ Veronica tried to sound upbeat.
‘I’ll text you the address. See you round seven.’
Veronica sat on her balcony, feeling the shift in temperature as the heat of the day faded and a slight breeze came in from the ocean. She still felt sticky and hot and decided to have a shower. She shut the doors, turned on the air conditioning and ordered room service. Suddenly she felt tired. The thought of seeing Eddie again was stressing her more than it should. She admonished herself. She’d walked out on Eddie, not that he seemed to care, particularly as he had someone waiting in the wings. But she’d been hurt and while she had moved on in her life, professionally, there’d never been any passion since Eddie. She knew that there was no way she would ever let herself be swept away by Eddie again. But seeing him was going to be difficult.
8
VERONICA STOOD AT THE reception desk at the TV station gazing at the photographs of the local on-air staff as well as the glossy pin-ups of the national network stars. A young girl appeared and led her to the camera department. She was dressed in punk black tights and a ripped top. She wore goth-like eye make-up and carried a clipboard, her self important manner screaming, I work in teevee . . .
‘I’m Heidi. Can I help?’
‘I’m looking for Mr Jarman.’
‘Oh, Eddie. He’s so cute. He’s through there.’
With Veronica in tow, Heidi pointed out things of interest as they wove around the back of the studio. ‘That’s the main studio. Where they do the news and stuff. And in there are the OB vans and things, for when they cover sports matches and stuff. Now, down here, is the camera department. They’re back here ’cause of all their equipment and stuff.’
‘I understand,’ said Veronica.
The girl gave her a sideways glance. ‘Are you a model or something?’
‘Goodness, no. I’m a producer.’ Veronica didn’t know whether to be flattered or not.
‘Really? I’d like to do that sort of stuff. Are you going for a job? I didn’t know there were any vacancies. Will you be able to find your way out?’
‘I think so,’ said Veronica.
The girl stuck her head through the doorway, ‘Hey, Eddie, you’ve got a visitor.’
‘Thanks, Heidi.’
Eddie came to the doorway and grinned at Veronica. ‘She’s a hoot, isn’t she? All that “stuff”. Say, you’re looking great.’ He leaned over and kissed her cheek. Veronica felt herself stiffen and didn’t lean towards him, but he appeared not to notice and took her arm. ‘Come into our quarters. Want a cuppa?’
‘Don’t go to any trouble.’
He led her into the small tea room. ‘No trouble. Want a cold drink instead?’
‘Just a cool water if you have it.’ She sat down. ‘I see that the technicians are still at the top of the totem pole.’
‘Yeah, great little shithole isn’t it? I’m the big banana here and there’s no way I want to be in carpet land with the execs. What are you doing up here in Darwin? Hey, you won Dougie’s heart. He thought you were great.’ He handed her a bottle of water from the fridge, took out a Coke for himself and sat at the table.
‘Dougie is a nice kid. Keen and helpful.’
‘Andy told me you’re hunting down some story that might or might not go anywhere. Must have something going for it if you’ve come all this way.’
‘How do you like it up here?’ asked Veronica, changing the subject.
‘Suits me. I travel a lot. Getting up to Bali regularly to surf is a real plus and I like being my own boss.’ He took a swallow of Coke. ‘How are you doing, Vee?’ he asked. His tone was concerned, caring almost.
As if you care, thought Veronica. ‘Good. Same old, same old. The show is doing well.’
‘I mean you.’
‘I know. And I’m fine. Look, Eddie, if this is uncomfortable, I’m really happy to work with young Dougie,’ began Veronica.
‘Hey! Who’s uncomfortable? Not me. Listen, I dig working with you. And I’d like to again. Water under the bridge, okay? Or are you still pissed off at me?’
For a moment she wanted to slap his cocky handsome face but she gritted her teeth and smiled. ‘Don’t flatter yourself. In fact I should thank you. You did me a big favour taking off with – whatever her name was. You and I were never meant to be together, Eddie.’
‘That’s for sure. But heck, we were a good working team. So where are we going?’ He was all business as he folded his arms on the table and leaned on them. ‘I’m all ears. We’re heading inland? How long you reckon?’
Veronica adopted the same professional attitude. ‘Couldn’t say. Depends what we find at Brolga Springs. You ever been there?’
‘Nah. But one of the travel shows did a story on it a year or so ago. It sounds a good set-up for tourists and they’ve got some indigenous training program running. The couple who manage it are apparently terrific.’
‘Yes, Vicki and Rick Hodge. Locals, not city people,’ said Veronica. ‘I read up on it.’
‘Well, that’s a story always worth updating, even if you don’t get anything else out of it. You only have to scratch the surface here in the Territory and you fall over a story,’ said Eddie cheerfully. ‘Helps if you have a local to show you around. You contacted the Hodges about borrowing one of their local boys?’
‘Actually, I’ve organised a well-known environmentalist to come with us, Jamie McIntosh. Do you know him?’
Eddie gave a short whistle. ‘You’ve got a top-notch bloke there. He knows his stuff, very well regarded. Very media friendly. He’s often used on TV as a spokesman for the environment. Quite well known as an expert, so he’s a good choice. So what are we doing?’
Veronica matter of factly gave him the bare bones of the story and what she was after.
‘Eddie, you should know I’m not a front-of-camera person. It makes me very uncomfortable . . .’
‘I see your point. Don’t worry, I won’t take any fat bum shots.’ He laughed. ‘I couldn’t take a bad angle of you if I tried. So when do we set off? How long do you intend being away?’
‘I’m really not sure. Travel there and back and two or three days at Brolga Springs.’
‘Sounds fair enough, but I’ll need a day or so to get square here. Sort vehicles and gear, make sure the others know what to do.’
‘That’s fine. I’ll check in with you tomorrow.’
‘You still got the same mobile number?’ he asked.
Veronica stood up. ‘Yes, I do. I’m staying at the Mantra. Talk soon.’
She retraced her steps, wishing she wasn’t so unnerved by the fact he had kept her phone number.
‘Veronica, it’s Jim at the Daily. Reg and Bonza. They’ll be at dinner tonight. You could film them tomorrow sometime, but you’ll get better stories after a few beers at the barbie.’
‘You’ve already asked Eddie to come, so I’ll get him to bring a camera,’ said Veronica.
‘Yes, with those two, I’d grab ’em while they’re in town,’ said Jim.
She rang Eddie and ran the idea of filming at the barbecue past him.
‘Bloody good idea, might not all be useable but it will give you a bit of local colour. We’d better get some release forms for them just in case. I’ll stick some in my bag. So I can’t get too pissed if this is a work assignment,’ he laughed.
‘Only for a short while, I expect.’
‘Right. Get in early. See you there. Unless you want me to pick you up?’
‘I’m fine, thanks. See you about seven-thirty,’ she said quickly.
Jim’s home was in a residential suburb of bright green lawns without fences, scarlet bougainvillea and cyclone-proof, airy houses. The smoke from the large brick barbecue built in the back garden was curling and the smell of frying onion infused the night air. Coloured lights were strung around the outdoor deck and a group had settled themselves in comfortable cane chairs and lounges. A knot of men in a semicircle before the barbecue, beers in hand, were laughing heartily. The chatter of the women and clatter of plates came from the kitchen. The front door was open so Veronica headed towards it.