by DIMORRISSEY
‘You might say that,’ she drawled, and fanned herself as she followed Millie along the verandah. ‘I’m Martine Hoxburgh. I was expecting TR to meet me. Is he here? It’s been quite an amazing trip. I had no idea the country was so … primitive.’
She sank into a cane chair. Tom joined them, handing the satchel of mail to Millie. ‘Chance of a cuppa, Millie?’
‘Of course. What about you, Miss Hoxburgh?’
‘A cold drink would be wonderful. I can’t tell you what this journey has been like.’
‘Aw, go on, tell her,’ laughed Tom.
Martine glared at him and said nothing. Millie excused herself and Tom followed her to the kitchen. ‘I’ll give you a hand, Millie. By crikey, Millie, she doesn’t know if she’s Arthur or Martha. She comes on like some hoity-toity glamour queen, nice enough, but obviously used to the finer things in life. She was so anxious to see TR she’s been on three mail runs. I picked her up only this morning. Everything that could have gone wrong, has. You wouldn’t credit it. She’s dressed to kill and on one trip they break down, on the other trip they hit a flooded creek and had to be winched out, and then they find a snake in amongst the mail. She’s had hysterics so often she can hardly talk. She made me stop in Longreach at a hotel so she could freshen up. She get’s all fancied up in the lav at the George Hotel — ’
‘The George! Why did you take her there? I wouldn’t let a dog in that scummy place.’
‘I had mail for them. Anyway, she comes out, picking her way through the drunks, when two Abos start a bloody blue on the verandah and stumble right into her, that sets the dogs off and they start fighting. She took off down the street in them high heels … laugh … I thought I’d die.’
Tom’s laughter dwindled away seeing Millie’s set face. ‘I don’t think it’s that funny, Tom Higgins. Here, take this tray outside and keep your mouth shut.’
Queenie had got used to strange people about the place with the film crew and cast drifting around. However, the house with Rose’s valuable paintings and pieces of silver was off limits unless it was being used to shoot a scene.
She was therefore somewhat surprised to arrive home and find a beautiful redhead in a cream linen skirt, a silk shirt and sunglasses, flipping through a magazine as she lounged on the verandah.
Queenie greeted her graciously. ‘I’m Queenie Redmond. You’re new — you must be an actress. I didn’t hear the plane come in.’
They shook hands as Martine lowered her dark glasses. ‘Plane? I have been to hell and back for three days on trucks. They told me the property was “Just up the track”. A quaint interpretation of distance, I must say, but apparently a very Australian understatement. And the men! My God, they’re unbelievable. If they are specimens of Australian males, I pity the girls out here.’
Queenie laughed, enjoying her Southern drawl. ‘You’re American. Yes, the fellows can be a bit rough and ready in their treatment of women, but they’re good men underneath. Why on earth did they send you up on the mail run? That’s scarcely star treatment. I’m sorry, what was your name? Or should I know you? I’ve trodden on a few egos, I’m afraid, as I don’t keep up with the movie business.’
‘I’m Martine Hoxburgh and I’m certainly not an actress. I’m in the fashion business, and I’ve come out to visit my … a friend. I thought I’d surprise him … it was a mad idea at the time. Seems even crazier now.’
‘I think that’s a lovely idea. You’re a friend of Roger’s , are you?’
‘No. TR Hamilton. Do you know him? He doesn’t know I’m here, he’s still filming in the wilderness somewhere.’
Queenie paused a moment. ‘Yes, I know TR. Martine, would you care for something to drink? If you’ll excuse me, I just dropped in to pick up some serum for a sick horse. I’ll be back shortly.’ Queenie strode into the house. ‘Millie …’
Millie hurried downstairs. ‘Oh, Queenie. Did you meet TR’s girlfriend? She’s just arrived. Poor thing. Had a dreadful trip. I put her in one of the spare bedrooms, was that all right?’
‘For the moment,’ Queenie called as she disappeared into the rear of the house
A short time later Queenie approached Martine. ‘Would you like to go down to the filmset and find TR?’
‘Oh, that would be great!’
Queenie wanted to be there when TR saw Martine. She reversed the Land Rover with unnecessary force.
Roger Ambrose hurried to the two women and Queenie introduced Martine. Roger’s eyes flicked appreciatively over the elegant Southerner. ‘TR is just over the rise. They’re filming him galloping and jumping the creek. He’s doubling for Ty, the main actor,’ explained Roger.
From the Land Rover they watched the sequence go smoothly for three takes and when the director called ‘Print’, TR reined in his horse and dismounted. Roger called to him and TR turned and came towards them. Before he could react to the sight of Martine, she ran forward to embrace him.
‘Good lord, Martine! What a shock! How did you get here?’
‘Honey, don’t ask.’ She lifted her face to be kissed. TR kissed her lightly and came towards them with Martine holding his arm. ‘You’ve met Martine?’
‘Yes. We’ve been hearing how she decided to surprise you at Guneda and when she found you were filming out here, she just set off into the wild. A nice surprise, huh, TR?’ smiled Roger Ambrose.
‘I am surprised.’
Martine smiled and TR looked at Queenie. ‘I hope this won’t put you out?’
‘There’s room at the house. You’re welcome to stay as long as you wish, Martine. Well, I have work to do.’
Queenie turned away and got back into the Land Rover. She knew it was unfair to feel so jealous. TR was entitled to have a woman in his life — but not under my roof, she thought furiously.
That night at dinner Roger Ambrose raised his glass to make a toast to the three beautiful women gracing the table. ‘Our new guest from the States, Martine; Babette, our beautiful star of Red Jack; and our hostess, the lovely Queenie.’
TR, Warwick and Roger sipped their Bollinger, but Queenie rose, disguising her discomfort, murmuring, ‘I’ll see to the dessert.’
‘I’m sure Millie has everything under control,’ called Warwick, but Queenie had left the room.
As soon as she could excuse herself she fled to her study and the friendly sofa, hoping to avoid Warwick until the morning.
Queenie was asleep when Warwick came in and flung himself into the armchair beside her. ‘You awake, Queenie?’
‘I am now.’
‘That was rude, leaving early like that.’
‘Rubbish. They were all having a good time talking about life in America. I was tired. Goodnight, Warwick.’
‘TR’s got himself a real elegant lady. Can’t see her settling into our life style though.’
Queenie didn’t answer, and Warwick reluctantly left her alone.
‘TR, when are we going to be able to be alone? This is awful, me staying in the house and you in that bunkhouse. I came out to see you.’
‘Martine, I’ll be finished here in two days. Then we can go back to Guneda. You’ll have to face driving, though.’
‘It will be different with you. To tell you the truth, darling, I can’t take the manners of these Australian men. They don’t know how to treat a lady. You certainly are the exception to the rule. But even you seem a bit on edge. The sooner we get away the better.’
‘Why did you come, Martine?’
‘Why, honey, I hadn’t heard from you in so long and I missed you. Besides, you always talked so much about Australia I wanted to see it.’
Martine had her arm around his waist as they walked towards the stables. ‘Martine, you really shouldn’t be walking about in those high heels, you’re going to break an ankle.’
‘TR, I was going into town with Roger. I thought I’d have a look around and maybe get my nails and hair done.’
TR stifled a grin. ‘Martine, I don’t think there’s a women’s hairdress
er in town. There’s a barber. And I know there isn’t a manicurist for a few hundred miles. Ask Roger if the film crew girls can fix you up.’
‘Well, I could do my own hair, but my appliances don’t work out here. Wrong power system. No wonder the women are so plain. Not Queenie, of course. Y’know, maybe that’s why the men don’t have any manners. The women don’t bother, so the men think why should they? A beautician would make a fortune out here.’
‘I doubt it. Women’s priorities in the bush are a bit different. Don’t worry about it, you look just fine.’
TR had always admired how well groomed American women were, but here it all seemed rather silly and superficial. He couldn’t help comparing the two Americans with Queenie. The movie star was either swathed in a scarf and no makeup, hiding from the world, or else she was in full war paint for the cameras. At home Martine always looked fashionable and immaculate, but here he felt she looked all wrong.
Queenie looked beautiful without any effort. She seldom wore makeup, except for the occasional touch of lipstick, and never painted her nails which were oval and naturally pink. Her face had a soft glow from the sun and her thick hair shone, falling in heavy waves when it wasn’t pulled back or braided. Some evenings, when she had pinned it on top of her head and tucked a flower in one side, she looked almost regal.
TR couldn’t imagine Queenie fussing with hair curlers and coloured nail polish. He had seen little of her since Martine arrived and felt uncomfortable. He was anxious to get back to Guneda.
Queenie was also restless. The constant problems and confusion with the film were claustrophobic and she wished she could disappear and leave it all to Warwick whose enthusiasm hadn’t dimmed. He joined in the crew meals, knew everyone’s name, revelled in the ‘in’ jokes, shared the camaraderie and helped smooth over petty jealousies and tantrums.
Roger, Warwick and Martine had become a friendly little unit while TR and Queenie went about their work.
When one of the stock agents rang Queenie to tell her there was a mob of good cattle for sale, her spirits rose. ‘Warwick, we have to get them. They’ve been fattening out in the Channel Country after the rain. Seven hundred head. A good price, too. We put them with the Brahman bulls at Cricklewood to breed up and we’re in business.’
‘And where is the money coming from? You’re the one always saying we can’t afford to spend.’
Queenie’s voice was brisk. ‘Warwick, this opportunity is too good to miss. We will have to cut corners or sell something to raise the money.’
‘Like what, Queenie?’
‘Like the plane.’
‘No!’ Warwick was about to argue but recognised Queenie’s stubborn expression. ‘All right, I’ll talk to the bank about increasing the overdraft.’
‘I’m going to walk them down to Tingulla,’ continued Queenie. ‘I’ll take Ernie. You, Jim, Millie and Snowy can run things here.’
‘That’s a helluva cattle drive. You’ll be gone for weeks. You’ll miss the wrap party. Contract a droving team to bring the cattle down,’ he protested.
‘We can’t afford it. And I’ll miss the what?’
‘The end of filming party. It’ll all be over by the time you get back.’
‘Let’s hope things can then get back to normal. I’ll say goodbye before I leave.’
Once she had made up her mind and the deal had been sealed, Queenie and Ernie began getting the droving plant together. They’d be on the track, sleeping in swags and on their own, as they slowly walked the cattle out of the remote Channel Country down the stock route to Cricklewood. Queenie estimated they’d be gone six to eight weeks.
They would need a cook who could double as a farrier as the horses would go through many shoes. The cook would take the one supply vehicle and go ahead, setting up each night’s camp. The rest of the gear would be carried by three packhorses.
Queenie had her own reasons for doing it herself. She was looking forward to being in the open air and away from the world. Ernie would be company round the campfire at night and invaluable if they struck any problems in the outback. But she knew there would be long quiet days in the saddle plodding along behind the cattle. It all seemed immensely appealing compared to the turmoil created by the film makers.
Before he left, TR found Queenie working in the tackle room at the rear of the stables.
‘Sorting out the gear for your drove, huh?’
‘Yes. I’m really looking forward to it,’ Queenie replied.
‘I can understand why. Been a bit of a circus around here, hasn’t it?’
‘Yes. Thanks for your help. You and Martine are leaving?’
‘Yes. I just wanted to say goodbye and …’ TR ran his fingers through his thick golden hair, a habit Queenie recognised as an indication that he was feeling uncomfortable.
They gazed at each other. TR wanted to tell her Martine meant little to him, even though in Kentucky she had seemed more important in his life. Perhaps because she was secure and confident running her own business. However, she was a fish out of water in the Australian bush. But there was something more important …
‘Queenie, you can tell me this is none of my business, but I feel I have to say something. You’re my …’ He was going to say friend but it seemed so inadequate. ’I know how much you love Tingulla and I don’t want to see you get into trouble …’
‘What are you talking about, TR?’
‘Please don’t get your back up. It’s about Warwick. The way he gambles … Queenie, I just wonder if you know how much money he’s losing at the racetrack. And other places.’
‘Gambles? For godsake’s, TR, the man has a few bets now and then. That doesn’t make him a gambler. Why are you telling me this? What are you trying to do?’ demanded Queenie angrily.
TR spoke softly and calmly. ‘Queenie, listen to me. I happen to know Warwick has lost a lot of money at the races this past year. A lot. He’s in hock to several SP bookies. I know you’ve had a hard time at Tingulla with the drought, and it worries me that Warwick has a tendency to spend money he hasn’t got. When the day of reckoning comes along I don’t want to see you hurt.’
‘TR, you’re mad. And out of line. How dare you march in here with such wild stories, insult my husband and infer I’m some dumb female who doesn’t know what’s going on …’
‘That’s not what I meant, Queenie, and if you don’t want to listen to a friend, then more fool you,’ retorted TR.
‘Keep out of my business, TR. And keep out of my life.’ Queenie was shouting, her throat tight, a pain constricting her chest, tears springing to her eyes.
‘All right, I will. Don’t say I didn’t try to help you — or warn you.’ TR strode from the stables hurt and angry. He left Tingulla a few hours later without seeing Queenie again.
From a corner of the upper verandah Queenie stood by a jasmine-covered post watching the Range Rover carrying TR and Martine, and towing the horse float, head for the boundary and the road south. Soon they were just a smudge of dust on the horizon and Queenie turned inside with a heavy heart.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Queenie had her droving team well organised. The plant consisted of six stockhorses, three packhorses and Tubby, the cook and farrier, with his four-wheel drive wagon that carried food, cooking utensils, water and gear to shoe the horses. He would travel ahead of Queenie, the cattle, Ernie and the horses.
Ernie was now in his twenties, still shy, but his infectious humour remained as effervescent as ever. Knowing that he had a multitude of tribal skills — many learned from Snowy — and that he was a good stockman, made Queenie feel secure. Ernie could survive off the land if needed but, above all, he was regarded as part of Tingulla’s ‘family’. Together they made an easy-going and professional team.
Queenie paused in her packing preparations to smile at the activity around her. Here she was following in the tradition of the overlanders and first settlers who opened up the outback with a horse, a dream and a spirit of adventure; wh
ile all around her the twentieth century technicians buzzed frantically in the bizarre, confined world of the movie set, artificially manufacturing dreams and stories.
Snowy, working beside her, read her mind. ‘Them fellas take lotsa trouble to tell a story. Much better to just sit round the campfire and sing stories. Or mebbe paint them on bark. This white fella’s way — look like too many bosses. Which one’s the storyteller?’
‘It’s true, they seem to have all chiefs and no Indians. It’s like a lot of little kingdoms with their own rulers. The cameraman is a boss, the director is a boss, the light man is a boss, the designer’s a boss. . . ’
‘Stan is a boss too,’ added Snowy.
Queenie laughed. ‘You’re not wrong, Snowy … a big boss.’
Stan, the shearers’ cook, had proved a key element in the smooth running of the filmset. If the food wasn’t up to scratch, there was an outbreak of grumbling and tantrums. The film people were unaware or didn’t care about the difficult conditions under which Stan and Millie performed miracles at mealtimes.
‘If they get the same meal twice in a week, they whinge. How do you reckon they’d get on out in the bush?’ Stan asked Millie.
Millie paused in her scone making. ’Stan, can you see any of these people lasting one day out there? They’re going to be so happy to get back to fairyland or wherever it is they come from.’
‘Disneyland. They told me all about it. Can you imagine grown-ups spending good money to troop around a huge place that’s like a cartoon? Even got flamin’ Mickey Mouse and Donald Duck walking about. And as for them orgies in bloody mansions … America sounds a strange place to me.’
Half the fun of mealtimes for the Los Angeles crew was telling Stan outrageous stories of tinsel town.
Millie’s workload would be even heavier with Queenie away, so Sarah and John had offered to take their goddaughter, Saskia, back down to Sydney with them while Queenie was droving. She and Warwick talked it over and agreed it seemed like a good idea.