Taking a bucket from the verandah, she went down the steps into the garden. Greg was stacking the wood in the shed. With a stab of guilt for sleeping in, she saw that he had already packed fruit and vegetables in the box for the family in the property over the creek. She began picking up the apricots, throwing any that were bruised or split onto the compost heap.
Greg came out of the shed as she was pulling lemons, oranges and grapefruit off the trees. “Stewed apricots for breakfast, lunch and dinner for the next two weeks,” he said. “And we can make some more jam.”
Tom and June were walking towards the house, carrying a pail of milk and a basket of new-laid eggs. Tom said something and June threw back her head and laughed.
“I bet he’s telling Juju his smutty jokes,” said Greg.
They finished picking up the apricots and went up the steps to the house. The table on the back verandah was set for breakfast. Three flies buzzed lazily round, waiting for the food to be put on the table. June picked up a fly-swat, killed them and tossed them into a spider’s web in the corner of the verandah. The spider darted forward, eager to devour its prey. Greg took a jar of stewed apricots out of the ice-box and filled each bowl.
When the phone rang, Eleanor went into the lounge to answer it because she was nearest to the door. “Hello?” she said, expecting it to be one of their neighbours.
“Eleanor?”
She recognized Virginia’s voice at once. “Yes,” she whispered.
“Keith and Gabriella’s mother died last night. Fiona’s coming up. She’s arriving tomorrow afternoon. I’m not sure how long she’s staying. It won’t be long – she’s got to get back to work. Alex and I are arriving the next day.”
She saw Tom come into the room and said in a stilted voice. “Thanks for letting me know,” and hung up the receiver.
“Who was that, Mum?” asked Tom.
She ran her sweating hands down her jeans. “Not one of your girlfriends.”
“You okay?”
Her cheeks flamed with agitation. “Yes. Go back to the table.”
Twenty-three years ago it had seemed so simple. They thought it was just a matter of Alex and Virginia staying away from Queensland. Then in December 1949 Laurence Clarkson’s son Keith was born and his daughter Gabriella followed two years later. The two families had gone to inordinate lengths to keep their children apart. Laurence sent Keith and Gabriella to a different school, and went to Sydney on holidays. Then Fiona had grown up and her parents could no longer control her.
The first panic had taken place seven years ago when Laurence had died. Fiona, then aged eighteen, had insisted on accompanying Alex and Virginia to his funeral. Two years ago Fiona was one of Gabriella’s bridesmaids. For the duration of her stay in Queensland Eleanor and Greg had been tense. Fiona’s two year holiday in England and Europe had been a welcome respite. But now she was back in Australia and coming up to the Darling Downs for another funeral.
Eleanor went back to the verandah and sat at the table. She ate her apricots in silence, ignoring the inquisitive looks from her children. She knew Greg would guess by her manner that Virginia or Alex had rung. Neil began to collect their empty plates, but Eleanor interrupted him. “I’ll do it.” She went into the kitchen and Greg followed.
“Keith and Gabriella’s mother died last night,” she whispered. “Fiona’s coming up.”
“What are you two plotting?” asked Neil from the doorway.
Eleanor jumped. “Nothing,” she snapped. “Go back to the table.”
Neil shrugged and turned away.
Greg broke eight eggs into a bowl and whisked them. “Act normal or they’ll get suspicious,” he said quietly.
She began chopping a handful of parsley. “I dread them finding out,” she whispered.
Watching the doorway, he said softly, “You know, the only time I feel that you’re with me, really with me and not on walkabout, is when there’s a crisis about Fiona.”
“I’m sorry, Greg. I can’t help it.”
He poured the eggs into the pan and stirred them. “I know. That makes it worse.”
She sprinkled the parsley over the mixture. “Are you sorry you married me?”
He shook his head. “I’m sorry about a lot of things, but not that. Never that. But I haven’t made you happy, have I?”
“It’s not you, Greg.”
“What do you want? Tell me.”
“Nothing,” she said. ‘Nothing you can give me anyway,’ she thought.
After breakfast Eleanor went to tidy the tack room. Neil, who was on home rota, made sandwiches for June’s, Tom’s and Greg’s lunches. He packed them in the saddlebags with oranges, apples and thermos flasks of water.
“Is Mum okay?” Tom asked as they saddled their horses.
Greg tried to look puzzled. “Yes.” He took his horse’s reins.
June opened the paddock gate. “She’s jittery, Dad. So are you.”
Greg wanted to relieve their worry and wished he could concoct a plausible reason for his and Eleanor’s behaviour. Now that Fiona’s visits were becoming more frequent it must only be a matter of time before their luck ran out. He felt the burden of foreboding.
“Dad?” asked June.
“It’s nothing, Juju. We’re both getting old and a bit grumpy.” He turned his horse in the opposite direction. “See you tonight.” He didn’t hear their horses and knew they were watching his retreating figure. ‘We’ve got to tell them,’ he thought, as he rode over to the wheat fields to supervise the harvest. ‘Before they find out themselves. The silly thing is that none of us expected Laurence to get married again. Not even Laurence. We never thought this through properly. If we had, Laurence would have moved out of Queensland when Keith was born. After he lost Acacia there was nothing to keep him here. I’m sick of worrying. All I ever wanted was to live on Eumeralla. To experience the joy of waking up with Eleanor. Just peace, and the pleasure of my children and the land.’
Eumeralla was his life. He did not own it. Eleanor had never suggested putting his name on the deeds as joint owner, and he, worried that she would misinterpret his motives, had never mentioned it. One day his children would own it and that was enough for him.
His father had been a drover and by the time Greg was five he had travelled over most of the Queensland outback. When his mother, fed up with the impermanence and craving for a settled life, had left them and taken the job of a cook on a cattle station, Greg stayed with his father. He missed his mother, but not the arguments that erupted every time she tired of life on the road. Six years later arthritis had slowed his father down, and, when they arrived at Eumeralla they stayed. His father had found a companion in the widowed owner and Greg had made friends with his daughter Eleanor Osborne and the Clarkson children on Acacia. Eleanor’s black hair, brown eyes and olive skin had been a foil for the blondeness of Virginia, Jonathan and Laurence.
Although Eleanor and Virginia had been feminine in appearance, their dispositions had made them androgynous. They had climbed trees, vaulted fences and ridden horses and bicycles as well as Laurence, Jonathan and Greg did. It had been impossible to impress them with feats of male superiority. Greg knew that, compared to the Clarkson boys, he had looked insignificant. He was stocky and only five feet six inches tall with coarse brown hair and hazel eyes. Jonathan and Laurence had been over six feet with thick silver-blonde hair that shone in the sun. Unlike many very blonde people, they had black lashes and brows that added definition to their handsome faces. They had confidence and charisma. Greg was awkward and had lacked the social graces that had come naturally to the Clarksons.
‘In those days Eleanor was as passionate about Eumeralla as Johnny, Laurence and Virginia were about Acacia,’ he thought.
When Eleanor had married Jonathan in 1936, he would have left the district, but he was the assistant manager of Acacia and William Clarkson depended on him. The outbreak of war in 1939 gave him the excuse he needed.
Greg had never been able t
o understand why Eleanor had been intending to divorce Jonathan. ‘Did she use me to get back at Johnny for leaving her? If he hadn’t been killed would she have taken him back?’
His thoughts returned to the present and he tried to gauge their reactions to the truth. ‘June? I hate to think. Can’t imagine Tom and Neil getting angry. As long as it didn’t interfere with her life in Brisbane, Hazel wouldn’t care. What if we’d told them that Eleanor was a widow before I married her? Would they have wanted to know who he was and all about him? Or would they have just accepted it? Neil and Tom might have, but Juju and Hazel would have been curious. They would have asked questions and we would have forgotten what lies we’d told and contradicted ourselves. That would have got them interested.’ He remembered Hazel’s enthusiasm for detective stories. ‘She would have been beside herself with excitement if she’d found out that her mother had been married to the heir to Acacia.’
When he heard the noise from the harvesters, Greg urged his horse into a canter. Pushing his thoughts away, he dismounted when he reached the wheat fields and smiled at the men, hoping his apprehension was hidden.
After June and Tom finished checking the sheep and water tanks on the northern section, they rode to a coppice of gum trees by the widest part of the creek. When they dismounted they let the horses wander to the water to drink.
Tom spread out a rug. “What do you reckon is wrong with Mum?”
“Her age.” June pulled a face. “I’ll go like that one day,” she said, unscrewing the top of the thermos flask and pouring out a cup of water.
“No, Juju, it was the phone call. She might be having an affair.”
June almost dropped the cup. “Tom!”
“Well, she might be.”
June shook her head. “She’s too old.”
“But she looked so guilty. Why?”
June shrugged and unpacked their saddlebags.
“Hell, Juju. I’ve just thought of something.”
“What?”
“She could be planning to sell some of Eumeralla behind our backs. What if it was someone from Acacia on the phone?”
She stared at him. “I’d rather she was having an affair.”
“So would I.”
CHAPTER 3
Gabriella tried to escape into sleep, but Keith’s voice was insistent.
“Gabby.” He shook her. “Gabby, wake up!”
She heard the alarm in his voice. ‘He thinks I’ve overdosed,’ she thought. ‘If only I had the guts.’ She was too conscience-stricken to tell him she had upset their mother the day she had died. He thought it was grief that kept her in bed all day. It was grief. And guilt. She opened her eyes and stared at him. His tanned face was too thin and his green eyes were troubled. There was blood on his chin where he had cut himself with his razor. His blonde hair was wet from the shower. He smelt of soap, deodorant and toothpaste. She knew she stank of body odour and cigarettes.
“Gabby, have a shower.”
She frowned. “Why?”
“Because I’m going to the airport to get Fiona. We’ll be back in five or six hours.”
“So?” She yawned and he recoiled from the smell of her breath.
“Please, Gabby. Don’t let her see you like this. Have a shower – it’ll do you good. You’ll feel better.”
She sat up. “You reckon?”
“Yes.”
She noticed that he looked at her less gently than usual.
“You reckon? Gabby has a shower and feels better? Gabby goes and sees her friends and feels better. Gabby does this and Gabby does that and it will make her feel better?”
“Yes,” said Keith. “Better than lying in bed all day. What are you achieving? You’ve lost a husband, but I’ve lost a brother-in-law. He was a great bloke and I miss him. Not the same as you do, but I miss him. Like I miss Dad and like I’ll miss Mum. And I miss you too.”
For the first time since Brett’s death he was challenging her. He was no longer terrified she would kill herself. A new sorrow had blunted the old.
“Will you have a shower?” he persisted.
She took her cigarettes off the bedside table and lit one. “I might.”
He left her and went outside. She heard him drive away in her car. When she had finished the cigarette she stubbed it out and went back to sleep.
Keith drove through the bush towards Brisbane, wishing he was on his motorbike. He wanted to feel the wind on his face and hated being cooped up in Gabriella’s car with the air-conditioning. Imagining his sophisticated cousin on the back of a bike made him smile briefly. He had not seen Fiona since her return from overseas. The letters and postcards she had sent them when she had travelled through Europe were absorbing with observations about the differences between Australia and whatever country she was in. His mother remarked that the letters were unlike her. Keith agreed. Fiona was an uncomfortable person to be around. On the rare occasions that she stepped out of the shadows into the light, she was fun. Then, as suddenly as her sunny self emerged, it vanished, leaving him bereft and confused. ‘How,’ he often wondered, ‘can someone slip from one mood to another without warning?’
As the towering gums of the bush gave way to the suburbs, his sensation of claustrophobia increased. He glanced at the neat front gardens. “There’s no wildness. It’s as if people in cities are frightened of nature. Clipped lawns and hedges that look as if they’ve been cut with a scalpel. Do people go round with a spirit level?”
As he parked the car at BrisbaneAirport he hoped that Fiona’s flight was on time. When he walked into the terminal and looked at the board, he was relieved to see the plane from Melbourne had landed.
Fiona was waiting for her luggage. She was wearing an ice-blue sundress in fine cotton, and white sandals. The dress showed off her long suntanned legs. Her shining platinum- blonde hair was twisted into a loose knot on top of her head. Several men were looking at her admiringly, but she was oblivious. As he walked towards her, Keith compared her freshness and vitality with the wreck that was Gabriella. She had just grabbed her cases from the carousel when she saw him.
Abandoning her luggage, she dodged the crowds and threw herself into his arms. “Keith.”
The intensity of her embrace surprised him. She usually avoided kissing and hugging. He held her, relishing the smell of her clean hair. “I’m so glad you’re here. Let’s rescue your cases before someone takes them.”
They walked out of the airport into the dazzling sun.
Fiona put on her sunglasses. “How’s Gabby?”
“Worse.” He opened the passenger door and she slid into the seat. After putting her cases in the boot, he got into the car and turned on the air conditioning.
When they were out in the bush he sighed gratefully. “That’s better.”
“I’m dreading seeing Gabby,” Fiona admitted. “I’m hopeless with grief – I never know what to do.”
“You wrote her a comforting letter when Brett died.”
“Writing’s different – I wasn’t there. I didn’t have to … do anything.”
“How’s Melbourne?”
She fiddled with her delicate silver necklace. “All right. I miss Sydney.”
“Why do you live there then?”
“To get away from my mother.”
Wanting to avoid a catalogue of Virginia’s shortcomings, Keith did not respond. He slowed down as two kangaroos hopped across the road.
“Oh, look!” she exclaimed.
“Townie. Have you got a boyfriend at the moment?”
“No.”
“What about the airline pilot?”
“We broke up. He bored me.” She sighed. “Am I incapable of loving anyone? I’ve never been in love. Have you?”
He nodded. “A couple of times. At least I thought I was. You will one day. You love your dad.”
The bush gave way to farmland and the road stretched ahead straight and deserted. Half an hour later Keith pulled the car off the road. “Guess where we are.”
>
Fiona looked at the fields of wheat. “Not Acacia?”
He nodded. When she opened the door hot air rushed into the car. She got out and stood at the wire fence.
Keith joined her. “The gates are just up there – the homestead’s a mile away.”
“Have you ever seen it?”
“Only in photos.”
“It should be yours,” she said bitterly.
They had never discussed the paternal side of Fiona’s family. Keith had felt that it was too awkward, but now he decided she had opened the subject. “But you’re a Lancaster – Margot’s your aunt.”
She hesitated, as if considering how to reply. “Doesn’t matter. She stole Acacia,” she said finally.
“Does that cause problems with your dad?” he asked, feeling that she had been about to tell him something.
“No. It wasn’t his fault.”
Keith looked thoughtful. “If it hadn’t been for Margot your father and mother would never have met and you wouldn’t have been born.”
She didn’t reply, but again she looked as if she wanted tell him something, but her expression changed and it was obvious she had decided against it.
“Oh, Fiona, I don’t want to be like Dad. I want to have plenty of money. It’s my ambition to buy Acacia. I’ve heard rumours that they might have to sell up. I don’t know if it’s true. They’re so unpopular in the Darling Downs it might be wishful thinking. If it is true I’d give anything to be able to buy it. What’s the bloody use. I’ll never have enough money.”
“You might one day.”
“How? Apart from winning the lottery? Being a postman won’t make me a millionaire.”
“You enjoy gardening, don’t you?”
“That didn’t make Dad rich. He couldn’t even afford to buy a house.”
Fiona shook her head. “You’ll never get rich working for someone else. I went to school with a girl whose father started off as a cleaner in a hospital. Then he began working for himself, cleaning houses of the rich. Now he’s got his own cleaning company and he employs lots of people. You could start your own gardening business. Mum and Dad have got a man to mow their lawn and pull out the weeds once a week.”
Eumeralla - Secrets, Tragedy and Love Page 4