by Di Morrissey
Bobby pointed out the famous old Sun Pictures open-air cinema, Chinatown, the original emporium that supplied the pearling masters and early Broome community, and the old headquarters of Streeter & Male. ‘They were early pearling families. Big time,’ explained Bobby.
As he drove past Bedford Park, Bobby pointed out where the remains of a Catalina that had been bombed by the Japanese could still be seen at low tide. ‘And there’s the old Conti hotel. It was the only place to stay back in the day. Got rebuilt in sort of the same colonial style, but it’s a motel now. Wouldn’t say it’s up your alley.’ Bobby suspected Cameron North liked high-end living.
At Town Beach he pulled over to watch people fishing and swimming.
‘You want something to eat now, Mr North? Or do you want to walk over the little headland? There’re some old graves there from the shipwrecks and some old pioneers’ graves, too.’
‘No. Keep driving, thanks. It’s all very . . . picturesque.’
‘Okay, we’ll go down to the port, lot of history there, then I’ll double back through the suburbs. Some nice old bungalows tucked away.’
They drove along the quiet streets with their established gardens of palms and massed bougainvillea, past boats parked in driveways while their owners sat in the cool behind latticed verandahs.
‘Is there much development happening?’ asked Cameron North.
‘Some. There’s lots of talk of how the town is gonna boom, so Perth people are buying up land like crazy,’ Bobby replied. ‘But not many of them have done anything yet. You hear talk of housing estates, holiday homes for millionaires, maybe big mining companies coming in. There’s always people willing to speculate, I guess.’
‘Where is there good land to buy?’
‘Out around Cable Beach. I’ll show you when we go out there. You in the market?’
‘I’m not thinking of settling down in Broome. Or building a holiday estate. But maybe you can drive me out that way when I’m ready.’
‘Now this is a nice hotel,’ said Bobby as he drove up in front of the Mangrove Hotel. ‘It’s got one of the best views over Roebuck Bay. Nice apartments round on this side too. You want to grab a beer from Matso’s? It’s down the hill. You can walk down if you stay at the hotel. Matso’s used to be a pearling master’s home in the old days. A lot of it is still original. The place has had several lives; family home, art gallery, restaurant, brewery –’
‘No, thanks. I’ll have a drink with lunch.’ North glanced at his watch. ‘Better head over to the radio station, I have an appointment.’
‘You talking on the radio?’ asked Bobby, glancing over his shoulder.
‘Just getting some information. I won’t be long,’ North said brusquely.
Bobby could tell his passenger wasn’t going to elaborate and wondered why he was being so secretive. ‘Righto. It’s next door to Red Coast Books, the local bookshop. I’ll get a coffee or a cold drink from them while I wait for you.’
*
Bobby stepped into the oasis of Red Coast Books. He wasn’t much of a reader, but he loved the feeling of calmness in the place. People took their time, browsing the shelves around the walls and the freestanding shelf sections in the middle of the shop that divided up the space. Steps led up to the entrance off the street, and sliding doors kept the air-conditioned cool inside. There was a long wooden table at one end of the shop, where customers could sit and read. One part of the shop had been turned into a small café, and customers could order a cold drink, milkshakes, tea or coffee and snacks like biscuits, homemade cakes, sushi as well as a selection of bread and cheese. In the shady alleyway that ran along the shop’s side entrance, next to a rambling old wooden building that housed the radio station, were three outdoor tables in direct view of the shop’s counter, where people could linger over their food and drinks.
‘Hey, Bobby. You working or visiting?’ called Jacqui as Bobby wandered into the bookshop.
‘Bit of both, Jacqui. Got a tourist in tow. I think he’s interested in local history. Wants me to take him up to Cape Leveque tomorrow.’
‘That’ll be a long trip.’
‘Yeah, but I’m having trouble with me AC in the beast.’
‘Better get it fixed, Bobby. Passengers don’t like driving around here without it. Especially up that bad coast road. What’s your passenger doing up there?’
Bobby pulled off his leather hat and wiped his brow. ‘He doesn’t talk much. Not that it’s any of my business, anyway. But I said I’d get the AC fixed before we leave in the morning.’
‘Where’s your client now?’ asked Jacqui.
Bobby nodded over his shoulder. ‘He’s in the radio station. Told him I’d be in here. I think I’ll have a cold drink and go for a walk while I wait.’ He gave her a winning smile.
‘Good idea, go and ask Sylvia.’
‘Thanks, Jacqui.’ He strode over to the little café, paid, then collected his drink and went outside to wait for Cameron North.
*
Later that day, when the shop was empty, Jacqui spoke to her assistant, Sylvia.
‘While it’s so quiet, I’ll make myself a coffee and sit outside for a quick break. Yell if you need me.’
As Jacqui sipped her coffee she flipped through the morning’s local newspaper, but glanced up as she heard approaching footsteps. Damien Sanderson was strolling towards her. Jacqui smiled in surprise, and he returned her grin.
‘Well, hi. It’s nice to see you again, Damien.’
‘And you, Jacqui. I saw the bookshop and wondered if it was the one you work in.’
‘It is indeed. Do you have time for a coffee? Or something cold?’ asked Jacqui.
Damien glanced at her coffee. ‘That looks good. I’d love a short black. Does your shop make them?’
‘Yes, we do. The takeaway around the corner went out of business so we bought their machine and then decided to incorporate a small café into the shop.’
Jacqui quickly got to her feet, but Damien told her to stay put.
‘No, I’ll get it. That way I can have a quick look at the books.’
When his coffee was served, he joined her at the table. ‘Wow,’ he exclaimed. ‘This is what I call a bookshop. You’ve got a lot of stock.’
‘Yes. We do okay. The locals are loyal and the tourists come in to pick up their holiday reads and local material. I’m busy enough to need to have Sylvia almost fulltime. But tell me, how did your trip go after you left the Kimberley Sun? How is your film looking?’ asked Jacqui.
‘Oh, the trip was fantastic. As for the film, it’s too early to tell until we start editing. Got some glorious shots, though. Far more than we need. I’m heading back to Perth to meet with the marketing people and put it all together. After they’re happy with it, I thought I might mooch around up here for a while and look for something a bit more substantial to shoot.’
‘Plenty of stories here. I’ve already told you about Lily, and Lydia, my friend in the radio station just next door,’ Jacqui waved a hand at the building across the alleyway, ‘has covered some great ones. Some of her reports have even been picked up by the national station. She’s one of those people with a nose for a good story.’
‘Well, that’s the beauty of regional radio, I guess,’ said Damien. ‘It can delve into issues that the capital city stations don’t know about. It’s still one of the few outlets where you can hear an in-depth narrative.’
‘Yes, Lydia goes on about stations in the cities being owned by vested interests and pushing their own barrows, ignoring uncomfortable issues, especially those that might damage their owners’ and advertisers’ pockets.’
‘What are the big stories up here at the moment?’
‘Visitors might think this a sleepy, pretty little township snoozing on the edge of nowhere. But, according to Lydia, the serpent is stirring.’
Damien cocked an eyebr
ow. ‘Oh? What does she mean by that?’
‘Just that there have been rumblings in the town about further mining in the area. It’s controversial, of course.’
Damien nodded. ‘Yes, mining usually is. Always winners and losers.’ He glanced up at the bookshop. ‘At least you have a steady business to rely on. Do you and your husband own the shop?’
Silence stretched between them for a moment, and then Jacqui picked up her empty cup. ‘I own it, yes. Excuse me a minute, I think that man is looking for a specific book and Sylvia seems tied up with another customer. Enjoy your coffee. I’ll be right back.’
Damien thanked her, and wondered if he’d imagined the awkward silence. There was a cool breeze channelling down the alley from the bay. At the end of the alleyway, where it met the street, he watched a few locals walking slowly past. Then a couple of local Aboriginal men staggered by, clutching clinking supermarket bags, either still drunk from the night before or having already started on their lost journey for this day. Damien guessed they’d end up in the dunes, drinking and arguing till they passed out, or join the women and kids in the foreshore park until moved on by the local police sergeant. Maybe they would be picked up by one of the various church or welfare people.
It was a sad sight, and such a contrast to the hardworking Aboriginal people he’d seen in other parts of the country, like the indigenous rangers, or others who were running businesses for themselves or who worked on cattle stations and in tourist concerns.
Damien finished his coffee and went into the bookshop, and this time had a more thorough look at the well-stocked shelves.
‘See anything that interests you?’ asked Jacqui a little while later.
‘Indeed I do. I did some research before coming up here, but I had no idea about all these local writers and I love your heritage section. Where’d you find all the old books?’ He nodded at the ‘Collector’s Corner’ where Jacqui sold a few antiquarian books.
‘I love them, too,’ replied Jacqui. ‘The collection started by accident when an old fellow who’s lived here since the old days had to go into a retirement village. I’d just opened up and he said he had some old books that he didn’t want thrown out as he’d had such pleasure from them over the years. Of course, I was expecting a lot of crumbling paperbacks of no value, but I didn’t want to hurt his feelings, so I said I’d take a look at them. I nearly fainted when three huge cartons of seriously collectible books turned up. I not only paid him for his books, I also became his friend and I regularly visit him. He’s got some wonderful stories. I keep telling him he should be writing them down.’
Damien browsed a little longer then came to the front desk with several books. ‘Don’t think I can live without these.’
‘You’ll be well across the flora, fauna and history of this region if you plough through that lot,’ said Jacqui.
‘They might come in handy for this film. Besides, they might give me some ideas for other projects. By the way, I thought I’d take up your suggestion to interview Lily Barton. Other people have mentioned her to me and she does sound well worth talking to.’
Jacqui took Damien’s credit card then wrote out Lily’s number for him. ‘I’ll phone her if you’d like, and let her know you’ll be ringing. That way your call won’t come out of the blue.’
‘Thanks, that would be great, Jacqui.’ Damien gave her a grateful grin.
Jacqui watched him leave, thinking what a nice man he was, and felt pleased that he had not only found the Kimberley, but was also captivated by it, as she was. But then, she supposed, a creative, visual person like Damien would appreciate this part of the country. He’d be around her age, she guessed. Idly, she wondered if he was married. She guessed a personable man like Damien wouldn’t be on his own.
As she turned away she heard Bobby’s voice.
‘Hey, Mr North, I’ll be waiting for you out the front.’
Jacqui looked up from her computer, about to say something to Bobby, but her mouth snapped shut and she did a double take before saying in surprise, ‘No way! Cameron? Cam North? What the heck . . . ?’
‘Jacqui Mitchell? What’re you doing way out here?’
‘I could ask you the same thing.’ Jacqui came around from behind the counter, extending her hand, shaking her head in astonishment and glancing at Bobby, who shrugged. ‘You know it’s “Jacqui Bouchard” now?’
Cameron brushed her hand aside and lightly kissed her cheek.
‘Yes, yes, I know that, but you’ll always be Jacqui Mitchell to me. Good grief, of all the people to run into! You have retreated to the boondocks. How long’ve you been up here?’ he said.
‘Since I decided the city was full of money-grubbing, superficial schemers intent on lining their own pockets,’ she replied.
‘Still a rebel, eh, Jacqui? How long since we’ve seen each other? Must be years.’ He looked around. ‘Nice little place you’ve got here.’
She smiled. ‘You’re right on both counts. It is a nice little place I’ve got and it has been a long time,’ she said. ‘What are you doing with yourself now? Still working in law? And what on earth are you doing in Broome?’
Cameron shrugged and then smiled easily. ‘I’m just doing a bit of exploring up here. Checking out a few possibilities for a client.’
Jacqui studied him, aware that Bobby was hovering curiously at the door. She’d known Cameron since childhood, when they’d lived in the same street. Although she had not seen him since their university days, he had aged little. There was a line or two on his handsome face, a fleck of grey at the temple but, if anything, he was better looking now than when he’d been younger. Less bland, slightly more interesting. As though he’d lived a little. Well, haven’t we all, thought Jacqui.
‘So, what sort of law do you practise?’ asked Jacqui.
‘Did I say I was with a law firm?’
‘I seem to recall you graduated with a law degree.’
‘I seem to recall you graduated with an arts degree,’ he countered, smiling at her. ‘Last I heard you were in Sydney thinking about being an English teacher. Someone did tell me you’d got married, but I lost touch with a lot of the old group.’ He shrugged. ‘I move around a lot; hard to maintain old links.’
His phrase, ‘lost touch’, struck her as ironic. He had been the one in their group to move on and cut all ties with their loose circle of friends who’d been bound together by association and various common interests; friends, university, family connections and neighbourhood ties. ‘Yes, I guess I could say much the same thing,’ said Jacqui. ‘So, do you have clients up here?’ she asked curiously.
‘Business opportunities.’ He smiled. ‘Don’t think it would interest a bookworm.’
‘I’m very involved with what happens in the community,’ said Jacqui swiftly.
There was a brief silence.
‘How long are you going to be in Broome?’ she prompted.
‘Moving on tomorrow. If I’d known you were here, we could have had dinner,’ he said casually. ‘But I’m sure I’ll be back. Next time I’ll give you some warning.’
Remembering what Bobby had told her about his trip the following day, Jacqui was about to ask why Cameron was going to the remote tip of the coastline at Cape Leveque, but changed her mind. Cameron didn’t seem very forthcoming, and she recalled he’d always been someone who played his cards close to his chest, mostly to imply that he was doing something important, she had always thought. Anyway, it was none of her business.
‘Enjoy the visit. If I can help at all, let me know . . . I mean, as much as a bookshop owner in a sleepy spot like this can be of use.’ She shrugged self-deprecatingly.
‘As I said, now I know you’re here I’ll be sure to give you advance notice, should I pass through again.’
‘Please do. Good luck with your travels. You’re in good hands with Bobby,’ she added.
&nbs
p; ‘That’s good to know. Nice to see you, Jacqui.’
He turned and sauntered from the bookshop. Sylvia watched him go and looked at Jacqui.
‘Just an old acquaintance from my Sydney days,’ Jacqui explained. ‘You never know who you’re going to run into in Broome.’ She turned away and busied herself at her computer.
*
‘I’ve got a fellow who’ll look at my air conditioner while you’re having lunch,’ said Bobby as he headed out on the Cable Beach Road with Cameron in the back seat. ‘Perhaps you might want to stay at the Club? The Cable Beach Club. It’s famous for its Sunset Bar. Lot of east coast people like to watch the sun sink into the sea on this side of the country. And the camel ride along the beach is a popular thing to do.’
‘I’m not fond of camels. They bite and spit,’ said Cameron.
‘Ah, these have been bred from old Farouz’s mob. He probably still has some of his old ones working.’
‘Who is Farouz?’
‘Farouz is a descendant of the old Afghan camel men who opened up this country. There’s thousands of them camels running wild in the outback.’ Bobby chuckled. He turned around and gave Cameron a quick grin. ‘There’s good business in camels, if you’re interested. Meat and milk, eh?’
‘Not my line,’ said Cameron.
‘So, what’s your business, Mr North? If you don’t mind my asking,’ said Bobby conversationally.
‘I’m just a hired hand. Bit of legal and business advice for clients.’
‘Ah.’ Bobby had no reply to this and realised none was expected. He changed the subject. ‘Here’s where a lot of new houses are going up,’ he said, waving a hand towards the developments they were passing. ‘Some housing estates, but some big private properties if you can afford them. A few smaller resorts and accommodation places too. Everyone wants to be near the beach. I’ll run us past the main beach before we go into the Club.’
Bobby stopped the car along the grassy verge where a restaurant overlooked the length of shimmering white sand which stretched into the distance. Families were picnicking, taking selfies against the stunning backdrop of the bright blue sea, or relaxing on the grassy lawns. Colourful bursts of shady umbrellas and beach shelters dotted the sand. Bobby turned off the engine and leaped out to open the rear door.