Snowy Summer

by Patricia Weerakoon

  ‘A prejudiced nice guy,’ Sheva mumbled to herself. She stood up. ‘So, what now?’

  ‘I need to dig more. Elvis is on to it. We need to set up another meeting between the two of you. See if he recognises you or is even remotely suspicious.’

  ‘There’s no need to set up anything. I’ll see him tomorrow morning in the medical centre. He’ll have to come back in a week to have the stitches removed.’ She paused. ‘What should I do if he recognises me?’

  ‘We have two courses of action: if he checks out, we can give him limited information about the reason you are here. Have an additional pair of eyes and ears.’

  ‘Dan! I don’t want him involved. It’s bad enough having you hovering around me, it would be demeaning to have Roy know the truth. No! What is the other?’

  ‘We relocate.’

  Sheva groaned. ‘Move to another place and get another persona?’

  Dan nodded. ‘Not an ideal situation, but we have a number of standby locations.’ He paused. ‘Would you like to be a barmaid in Broken Hill? Or run a café in Cabramurra?’

  ‘I’d rather be a prostitute in Perth,’ she grumbled.

  ‘Hmmm, that can be arranged.’ He laughed. ‘Seriously, Sheva, I’ve been told we will have closure in two to three weeks. I’m keen on keeping this location.’

  Gathering up his notes and wallet, Dan tucked his shirt into his trouser. ‘I’d better be getting home. You should be all right. Lock up after me.’

  She walked with him to the door. Dan placed his hands on her shoulders. The kiss on her cheek was feather light; soft and comforting. ‘Go back to sleep, Sheva. This will all be over soon. Then you can return to your world and your work.’

  She shut and locked the door behind him, thinking over her time in Jindabyne. Dan and Roy were two very different men. She thought of the people she had got to know over the last four weeks. They had accepted her as a friend and a doctor. She closed her eyes. Soon it would be over. She would say goodbye and return to the craziness and adrenaline-fuelled excitement of her work in Sydney. Her life.

  The clock ticked over to two am. She could squeeze in four hours of sleep.

  She dragged her feet upstairs and fell into bed, but she tossed and turned, unable to sleep. Her thoughts went to Sunil. She wondered how Sunil had explained her sudden departure to Palitha and his goons. She had no way of finding out.

  She drifted into a troubled sleep.

  Sunil was dragging her through the tea bushes. She screamed, but the tea pluckers only pointed and laughed. Then over the mountain rode a masked man in a black cloak, and she knew she was safe.

  ***

  Sheva woke to the cackle of kookaburras on the gum trees in the back garden. She lay in bed as the ringing call of the bellbird and the haunting whiplash cry of the currawong joined in the dawn chorus. The distant rumble of the occasional truck on Kosciuszko Road interrupted the symphony.

  Just a few minutes later, her radio alarm confirmed their morning call.

  ‘Good morning from Snowy Mountain’s radio. Welcome to another sparkling summer morning in the Snowies. Today we have a high of twenty-four degrees here in the plains. There are likely to be some high clouds in the alpine region, increasing in the afternoon. Winds tending westerly, 15 to 25 kilometres an hour. Expect some thundershowers in the high peaks later in the evening, with a minimum temperature of six degrees.’

  The announcer, Sam, was a patient. A week after she started work in the centre, his wife, Helen had approached Sheva to ask if she could give Sam the snip. It was only after she told Sheva they had six kids did Sheva understand what she wanted. Sam had taken some convincing, but a couple of weeks after the vasectomy, he seemed comfortable and the couple looked happy.

  All those years of training in London and Sydney and she was reduced to suturing gorgeous farmers and performing vasectomies on amateur radio station operators. Oh well, she’d better hurry, else the haughty man asleep in what passed for a ward in the medical centre would go all glacial on her again.

  Sheva slipped on a blue linen jacket over her regulation work costume of black trousers and buttoned up white cotton blouse. She combed her hair, and spent time on her eyes and lips, developing the sultry eyed, thin lipped look of “Sheva”.

  Her hand rested for a moment on the gold cross in the tray on her dressing table. She prayed for wisdom to get through today. The cross was a gift from her beloved grandmother, her talisman and link to the love that had surrounded her as a child. She had hated taking it off, but Dan had told her the jewellery was too distinctive and easy to recognise.

  Sheva glanced at the clock. Just past six thirty. She punched in Dan’s code on her mobile.

  ‘Good morning Sheva.’ Dan picked it up on the first ring. ‘Are we still on for dinner tonight.’

  ‘Dan, it’s not like I get too many invitations around here.’ She laughed. ‘I’ll be at the Clancy at the usual time.’

  ‘I thought Roy Knight might have made you an offer, given the length of time you two spent together yesterday.’ Dan’s voice was teasing and she responded likewise.

  ‘Hey, I haven’t seen him yet. He might ask me still. I’d better get over to the centre and sign his release forms so he can go home.’

  ‘No need to hurry, Sheva. I don’t think Roy is waiting in the ward to wish you good morning.’

  Sheva paced to her front window. ‘What the heck! His car’s not there.’

  ‘It’ll be back at his farm. I passed him on Kosciuszko Road about half an hour ago. He was driving like a bat out—’

  ‘—Of all the idiotic things to do,’ she fumed. ‘I asked Peter to watch him. Roy’s had strong painkillers. I told him he would be groggy. He could’ve lost consciousness and crashed his monster truck.’

  ‘Calm down, Sheva.’ Dan was his usual relaxed self. ‘The monster truck, as you call it, is a Range Rover Sport, well suited for country driving. We will hear about it at the office if he rolls it.’

  ‘He could’ve ripped the stiches. Started bleeding again. And he hasn’t got any antibiotics. I spent almost an hour suturing him up.’ She grabbed her handbag and keys. ‘I’ll kill him if he destroys my handiwork.’ She glanced at the clock again. ‘I guess I’ll have to do a house call. I have a couple of hours before surgery. Do you know where he lives? And is it okay that I go?’

  ‘You’ve got plenty on your plate without adding murder of a reclusive farmer to it, Sheva,’ Dan said, no longer amused. ‘From what I hear, he doesn’t like visitors. I had another update this morning. He comes up as an antisocial, wealthy businessman who owns his own airplane. Lives on an alpaca farm. Checks out totally trustworthy so far.’ He paused. ‘No, wait a minute. I can get his number from the Fire Station. I’ll call his mobile and check how he is. I’ll let you know. Hang in there till I call you. Don’t do anything rash.’

  Dan was protective; Sheva could read between the lines. What he meant was, ‘I don’t want you to rush off to Roy Knight’s house.’ Four weeks of speaking with him daily, and frequent dinner and coffee meetings, meant they both knew how to judge each other’s moods. Much as it riled her, she would have to agree to his requests, which were more like instructions or orders. It was part of the deal.

  ‘Okay.’

  Dan’s voice took on an edge. ‘Listen to me, Sheva. I want you to sit tight till I give you the go ahead.’

  ‘I hear you, Dan.’ Sheva forced herself to sound compliant.

  She heard him mutter, ‘Obstinate flaming w-,’ just before he cut the line.

  Sheva dropped her phone into her bag, thinking of her first meeting with Dan at Sydney airport. Daniel Cooper, a ranger with Kosciuszko National Parks authority. He had escorted her to Jindabyne and her life had been turned upside down. It was his kindness that had helped her endure life these past four weeks.

  A few weeks, he had told her. After that, s
he could return to Sydney and the life she loved.

  Chapter 16

  The voices from the medical centre sliced through the morning tranquillity of Jindabyne.

  ‘How was I supposed to know he would sneak out in the middle of the night?’ Peter yelled.

  The thump that followed was probably Rosie slamming her bag down on the clinic table.

  A couple of early riser residents stopped walking their dog and looked at her. ‘Is there a problem, Doc?’ Elaine ran the news agency next door to the medical centre and had probably been watching what happened last evening. She was an inveterate gossip. Rumour had it, Elaine could give you the latest news before it got into the Monaro Times.

  Sheva smiled back at her. ‘Just another day in paradise, Elaine.’ She hurried across the road, and slowed to a stop at the door.

  ‘Well, you were in charge here overnight.’ Rosie fumed. ‘One patient, Peter! One patient for one night, and you let him get away. The man didn’t take his antibiotic script. He has probably ripped his stiches. You can explain everything to Sheva. You’ll have to deal with her now. This is how you prove your competence as an attendant. Don’t be surprised if Sheva fires you.’

  Sheva opened the door to the centre.

  Peter stabbed a finger at the file on the counter. ‘I called the number he had listed. No one picked up the phone.’

  ‘Relax, you two.’ Sheva raised her hands, palms facing out between Peter and Rosie. ‘Roy Knight is a patient, not a prisoner. He took a risk with his life and health by walking out of here at sunrise. Neither of you is to blame.’ She smiled at Rosie. ‘I am angry, but at Roy Knight, not at either of you.’

  Rosie took the file from Peter and slapped it on the clinic table. ‘He lives out in the boondocks, Sheva.’ She flipped the file open. ‘Look at his address: twenty-six Mowamba Way, Moonbah. It’s way out in the bush. No road lights. No nothing. He’s probably lying injured somewhere in a ditch.’

  The ping of an incoming message interrupted them. Sheva grabbed her phone and read out the message from Dan: “Cowboy safe at home. Told you so.”

  Rosie’s face relaxed. ‘Good.’

  Her phone pinged again: “Call me.”

  ‘Give me a minute—’ she looked from Rosie to Peter— ‘I need to take this.’ Sheva walked into her office and shut the door.

  Dan picked up on the first ring. ‘Sheva, if you were a regular country GP, what would you do in this situation?’

  ‘You mean when I am furious at a patient for behaving like a pig-headed, arrogant idiot and messing up my surgical work?’

  ‘Professional hat, please.’

  ‘I would pay a house visit to check on the wound and make sure the patient has his antibiotics.’

  ‘Okay, do it.’

  ‘Go visit the Alpaca farm?’

  ‘We supplied you with the most up-to-date portable surgical kit, supplies and surgical instruments, just as you insisted. I taught you off-road driving. Do you feel up to testing it out?’

  ‘Of course, I can do it, Dan. I learnt driving on Colombo roads when I was eighteen. Country roads in Jindabyne are A1 grand prix circuits by comparison.’ She paused. ‘What if he recognises me as Annie?’

  ‘You’re smart, Doc. Improvise. Go there and push his buttons. If you think he suspects who you are, treat him like the idiot you say he is, get out of there, and let me know. We’ll take over.’

  Rosie and Peter were huddled in discussion when Sheva opened the office door.

  ‘I’m going out on a house call, Rosie. Hold the fort at the clinic.’

  Sheva opened the cupboard and pulled out the bag with drugs and surgical dressings. She flicked it open and ran her eye over the contents. She unlocked the drugs cabinet and picked up a packet of Amoxicillin antibiotic tablets.

  Rosie stared at her. ‘You’re going to Roy Knight’s farm? I didn’t know you did house calls?’

  ‘I was so excited when reading the job contract, I didn’t bother with the small print.’ Her voice dripped with sarcasm, but Rosie and Peter wouldn’t understand the reason. ‘House calls are part of a country GP practice. I have to start sometime. Why not today?’ She picked up the file labelled ‘Roy Knight’ and walked out of the clinic before Rosie or Peter could say anything further.

  The new car smell tantalised her nose as she opened the door to her silver Subaru XV. Sheva slid into the driver’s seat and pulled her seat belt on. She turned the key in the ignition and glided away from the clinic.

  She punched ‘26 Mowamba Way, Moonbah’ into the GPS navigation system. The tracker registered 18 Mowamba Way, and nothing after. Frustration grated at her nerves. ‘Great, trust Mr Arctic eyes to live off the map,’ she growled in frustration. Well, Subaru advertised the XV as an all-terrain vehicle. Dan had trained her to drive on country roads. Today, she would test her skills and the car.

  Soon she was out of Nuggets Crossing and cruising along Kosciuszko Road. Winding the window down, she filled her lungs with crisp mountain air, revelling in the difference from the pollution of early morning Sydney traffic, or the belching old vehicles and dust-filled Colombo streets.

  Her mind flickered back to Dan. He understood Sheva’s Sri Lankan heritage and culture, the importance of family and the obligations of being an only child. It was probably why he had been assigned to be her carer. She wasn’t sure what today would bring, but, she was glad to know he was available if she needed help. She drew on her mindfulness training and relaxed.

  Lake Jindabyne shimmered in the light of the rising sun; the wind whipped up silver-tipped waves. The mountains surrounding the lake were luminous in the dusky blue of eucalyptus droplets mingled with morning dew. White splashes glistened on the peaks, the remnants of winter’s snow cover.

  Dan had explained how in the Snowy Mountains the seasons were clearly demarcated, with summer sweat and winter freeze. She glanced back at the white-capped remnants of snow on the mountains. She wouldn’t be here in July to see them in their wintry splendour.

  ***

  ‘Turn left after 500 metres,’ droned the dulcet female tone on the GPS.

  Sheva glanced at the sign on the side of the road. Barry Way — Dalgety. She swung left at the roundabout.

  The road pulled away from the lake. Contented cows and sheep grazed, separated from the road by barbed wire fences. Yellow signs with black icons of wombats, emus and wallabies warned her to take care on the road. Dan had told her they came out at dusk, but she kept a watch out, just in case she met one.

  The GPS piped up again, ‘Turn left in 2 kilometres.’

  She crossed the bridge over a little stream named, perhaps optimistically, ‘Mowamba River’.

  ‘Turn left in 500 metres. Turn left in 30 metres.’

  There was no road sign. Trust the man to live in some outlandish, unmarked location. She glanced down at the address on the admission file. This must be Mowamba Way. At least it was a sealed road, so far.

  Five minutes later, the road ended at a cul-de-sac. A small sign, reading “18 Mowamba Way”, was stuck on a stunted gum tree to point down a mud path. ‘You have arrived,’ the GPS droned.

  Sheva stared down the gravel and mud track continuation of Mowamba Way. The idiot man was determined to be hard to find. Well, she hadn’t driven all this way to give up now. Sheva jumped back in the car and rolled the windows up. She glanced at the fuel gauge. It was a good thing she had filled the tank up yesterday.

  ‘Okay, baby—’ she patted the dashboard of the car— ‘show me what you’re made of.’ She inched forward, her hands firm on the steering wheel. Her foot was poised on the brake. Sheva didn’t know much about motor mechanics and she didn’t want to break something in the undercarriage, or whatever the bottom of the car was called.

  Dan had said she would have cover. She glanced at her rear view mirror, but there was no evidence of Dan’s Silver
SUV. She would have to trust him.

  Although she steered clear of the larger potholes along the mud path, the occasional deep furrow she couldn’t avoid jarred the car and her. It took her back to the rutted tea plantation roads in Watakälé. She briefly wondered what was happening with Sunil and his evil mates. The thought of her mother sent a shiver down her spine. She pushed the thoughts away and concentrated on her task for today.

  Mr Arctic Eyes better show some appreciation.

  The opening notes of Mozart’s Horn Concerto filled the car. Sheva glanced at the mobile phone on the seat beside her. It continued the classical ringtone Dan had set for her.

  She punched on the speaker.

  ‘Okay so far?’

  She glanced over the paddock to the sheep grazing in the distance. A couple of horses dozing under the trees. She squinted. There were wallabies in the distance. ‘The only danger I am in here is from a sheep attack or maybe a wallaby assault. The dirt track is a bummer, but I’m putting my driving skills to the test. I’m okay. I don’t need to be mollycoddled or wrapped in cotton wool, Dan.’

  His barked laugh brought a smile to her lips. ‘Okay, Doctor Intrepid, country GP, I guess you can’t get into much trouble out there. Call me when you finish the house call and are heading back.’

  After the call ended, she took her foot off the brake and gripped the steering wheel to keep the car from sliding into a rut. Gritting her teeth, she started inching forward again.

  It felt like an age. Glancing at the dial, she guessed she’d travelled just half a kilometre.

  She squinted and peered into the horizon. It was either a farmhouse or a figment of her optimistic imagination. There was only one way to find out. She pressed her foot on the accelerator.

  The red brick single storey building was almost completely hidden by the ring of tall poplars. Between the green branches, she could make out large, shuttered windows, a wrap-around veranda with wooden posts, and a green corrugated iron roof.