Desert Flame

by Janine Grey

  Mairi was sitting in her usual chair, already dressed and her hair brushed. She stared towards the far corner of the room though she held an envelope in her hand. He caught a glimpse of the handwriting and felt his gut twist.

  ‘Heard from the boy, Mairi, have you? How is he? Found anything yet?’ He forced a chuckle and plucked the envelope from her unresisting fingers. It contained a letter, and a photo of a hand holding a few small sparkling stones, and another of a stark vista of red earth and blue sky.

  As he scanned the letter, he saw it was an old one: all about opals, heat, dust, sunsets and silence. Nothing of interest.

  He looked at her, pretty as a picture in her soft peach blouse. Pretty, and far too young to be losing her mind and memories. ‘I don’t know what to do about that boy, old thing. I’ve tried to tell him it’s time he came home. He’ll be back in the summer but you’d like to see him sooner, wouldn’t you, love?’

  Did her hand tremble in response to his question? He scrutinised her. Probably not. She looked untroubled by everything, including her own predicament.

  ‘So what are we going to do, Mairi? We have to think of something clever. Any ideas, old thing?’

  She looked so serene, while Jerry had the weight of the world on his shoulders. Why didn’t anything work out the way it should?

  *

  Treloars Cottage sat about a half-kilometre out of town, a squat, whitewashed house, half dug into the earth. It was the quaintest thing Eliza had ever seen – and as far from gracious Edenholme as was possible. None of the rooms was square, the thin mattress on the old iron bed looked lumpy and there was a sinister-looking dark stain on the bathroom ceiling. She didn’t care.

  As she twisted the key in the lock and shouldered her way through a door inclined to stick, Eliza felt a little teary. It had been a day that even on her list of shockers ranked pretty high. Here it was charming, it was peaceful and it was a place to hide.

  That evening, she made do with the bottled water, banana and packet of chips she had with her, unwilling to face Chris, Mick and the rest of Helton at the pub. Not that they would intend to upset her, but in such a small community gossip was a valuable commodity and she wanted to avoid being the subject of more speculation at all costs.

  Soon after dark, she turned in for the night. If she’d anticipated a sleepless night, she was wrong. The sheets were crisp and sweet-smelling, the room was cool and well aired, and she was exhausted.

  Eliza woke to bright sunshine and someone hammering on the front door.

  Startled, she sat bolt upright, pushing her hair out of her face. She glanced at her phone. It wasn’t quite eight-thirty. Who could come calling this early?

  Tugging a cotton robe over her cami and French knickers, she opened the front door to find Mick’s cheerful face staring at her from the front porch.

  ‘Stone the bloody crows!’ he barked, looking more surprised to see her than she was to see him. ‘When I saw the curtains were closed, I thought Old Pauly must’ve decided he missed the place too much and moved back home. What are you doing here, love?’

  Eliza put a hand up to her face, not knowing quite what to say. Mick was a lot of personality to cope with first thing in the morning.

  ‘Well, never mind that,’ he said, not in the least put out by her lack of response. ‘I’ve got coffee and muffins from up the street. If you don’t mind black you can have Pauly’s coffee.’

  As Mick didn’t have the look of one easily swayed, Eliza took it and stood back to let him in, following him through to the kitchen at the back. It was dated but had the advantage of doors opening onto a breathtaking vista of earth and sky.

  Mick was more interested in the interior than the views. ‘Look at this place. It cleaned up a treat.’

  Feeling marginally more awake after a sip of the strong, hot brew, Eliza said, ‘Rae Turpin’s doing, not mine.’

  Mick sat down opposite her at the old kitchen table, laying out the muffins. ‘That explains it, although she might have let me know what was up.’

  ‘I’m disappointed in you, Mick,’ she told him. ‘I thought you were the Helton oracle.’

  He chuckled. ‘Need to have a word with that Rae, that’s for sure.’

  ‘To be fair, I only arrived late yesterday.’

  ‘So, where’s that McLeod fella? Still sleeping?’

  Eliza supposed it was no surprise that he thought Fin was with her after they’d turned up in town together yesterday. She shook her head and focused on her coffee.

  ‘We’ve concluded our business.’ He could assume whatever he wanted from that.

  Mick frowned. ‘Sorry to hear that. Another crazy miner but I guess the guy can look after himself. It’ll be nice to have a pretty face around town. Are you staying a while?’

  ‘Just a couple of days. I can’t get a flight to Sydney until Thursday so I thought I might as well hang out around here rather than Tamworth.’

  Mick took his empty takeaway cup to the bin. ‘Well, if you need anything, just give us a shout. If I’m not at the pub, Chris’ll know where to find me.’

  ‘Thanks, Mick.’ She walked him to the door.

  It was past time to kickstart the day, so she went to shower. The best way to stop thinking about Fin McLeod was to think about something else. Business was starting to ramp up after minimal effort. Today, Eliza would follow up on any leads, having put the feelers out the other week. She’d need a website, too. The KinSearchers website had come down months ago with the demise of the business. To her mind, it was hopelessly dated.

  The new KinSearchers would be different. Despite the scandal, the Mayberry name was still probably more asset than liability, given its long legacy. But there was an innate sexism among some of the stuffier law firms KinSearchers dealt with. She couldn’t rely too much on their business now that her father wasn’t around to wine, dine and golf them, so she would align herself with newer, more dynamic firms.

  In the probate research business, as in every area of commerce, online marketing was becoming a core element of corporate promotion. Fortunately, she had some idea of where to start, having worked with the marketing manager at the Historic Homes Foundation on several projects.

  Before the day became too warm, she wandered up to the local café, ordered breakfast and used their wifi connection to put in a solid couple of hours’ work. She had a close look at Probate Investigations’ online marketing presence and two of the other larger firms. Solid but uninspiring was her verdict, verging on dated in one case. None of them said personal, responsive service. That would be her point of difference, along with her gender. Her mother had told her once that women were often better at building the trust needed to ferret out information. She would play upon that strength.

  After picking up some groceries, Eliza walked back home – strange how that word came so easily after less than a day at the cottage – and put together the outline of a business plan, setting out the number of cases she’d need to work and the fees she’d have to charge to make her company sustainable. In black and white, the figures were intimidating, but she could do it. She would do it.

  Late in the afternoon, she glanced up in shock as the setting sun shot red rays across the kitchen. She had been working on the business all day! It was too late now to make those calls but she would tick that job off her list first thing tomorrow.

  More importantly, she had put Fingal McLeod out of her mind for much of the past seven hours. Pouring herself a glass of wine, she wandered out into the little verandah that led on to a neglected garden and out to the striking bush vista that extended to the distant horizon.

  Red landscape and blue sky, starkly empty yet teeming with life, dangerously unpredictable and enduringly consistent – this was a place of dramatic contrasts. The sense of being on the edge of the world was terrifying and yet exhilarating to Eliza, and it was exactly the same feeling that rose inside her when she looked at Fingal McLeod. For twenty-six years, she’d had a clear idea of who she was, what
her life would be, how the world worked. Within weeks, all her old certainties had turned to dust.

  Shaking away her introspection, Eliza poked around at the garden. Somebody at some point had made the effort to landscape and plant but judging by the dried-up clumps dotted throughout the garden beds, it didn’t appear that Old Pauly had had much of a green thumb. A large, shady tree provided some protection from the fierce outback sun but still, only the hardiest, water-wise plants would be likely to survive.

  For a brief instant, Edenholme, with its sweeping banks of daphne, gardenia, lavender and veronica crossed her mind. The spring-flowering shrubs and flowers would be at their best at this minute. But they were somebody else’s now. Still, she could try lavender here. It was a tough, hardy, sun-lover —

  What was she thinking? She’d be gone within days. Back in Sydney, she would pick up a plant or two for the apartment, maybe an African violet for the kitchen windowsill.

  Her stomach rumbled, having missed lunch. Eliza thought about going to the pub for dinner, but she knew she’d attract speculation and she didn’t want to spend the evening fielding questions that she didn’t have the answer to.

  Mind you, what did it matter if people were curious? She could make small talk with the best of them – a half-truth here, an amusing anecdote there and people were easily diverted. The company would keep her mind away from Ruin Flat.

  Nevertheless, as she took a quick shower and changed into loose harem pants, a silky top and strappy sandals – just because she wanted to: if the pub had a dress code, it was the shorts-and-thongs type – she couldn’t help wondering if Fin had a camp fire tonight. But that led to scorching images that had nothing to do with camp-fire flames, and she wasn’t ready to go there. In time she might be able to chalk it up to experience but, right now, reconciling the brazen lover with the cool-eyed man was impossible. It was easier just to pretend it had never happened until she no longer cared that it had.

  The Helton Hotel certainly provided the distraction she was after. The long gleaming bar and tables were packed, the volume switched to high. She winced slightly as a fierce-looking man in an earth-stained singlet hurled an insult about the parentage of someone at the far end of the bar. A brief moment of silence followed, and then an explosion of laughter.

  Eliza relaxed. No one took themselves too seriously. She spotted Mick on the far side of the bar. He caught her eye as she hesitated inside the door and waved her over. But before she could move in his direction, she was scooped up – at least that was how it seemed – by Rae Turpin from the real estate agency.

  ‘You don’t want to listen to those old blokes for the rest of the night, love,’ Rae warned Eliza, leading her over to the corner of the bar, where Maggie, the baker from the café, was pulling up another stool. Rae signalled to Chris, who appeared to have the arms of an octopus as she flew to keep up with orders, and another glass appeared.

  ‘Sparkling okay with you?’ Maggie said, not waiting for an answer as she filled the glass.

  ‘Er, yes. Thanks,’ Eliza managed, bamboozled by how efficiently the two women had taken charge of her.

  ‘Cheers!’ Rae said, her smile as ebullient as her auburn hair. She clinked her glass to Eliza’s, then Maggie’s. ‘Now, isn’t this cosy?’

  Maggie nodded solemnly. She was dark and so lean she didn’t appear to have ever been tempted by her own delicious creations.

  The women were so different in appearance and personality that Eliza looked from one to the other, trying to work out the connection.

  Her expression must have given her away because Rae gave one of her booming laughs. ‘In a town that’s 90 per cent men, us women have to stick together.’

  ‘She likes to talk; I like to listen,’ Maggie chimed in.

  ‘Don’t you pay any attention to her,’ Rae retorted. ‘Best source of gossip in this town is our Maggie, although Chris runs a close second.’

  ‘Taking my name in vain again, you tosspots?’ Chris asked, coming over. When a man waiting to be served grumbled about the delay, she sent him a quelling look. ‘You’ve had three in the last hour, Rocket. You can just wait.’ She leant on the bar. ‘So, what’s new? Be quick. Only two of us behind the bar tonight.’

  ‘I was just saying no one sneaks anything past Maggie here,’ Rae said.

  ‘That so?’ Chris narrowed her eyes. Evidently, there was some serious competition to be Helton’s chief gossip.

  ‘There’s a third contender, from what I’ve heard,’ Eliza said. When they turned curious eyes to her, she raised her eyebrows. ‘Mick seems to think he’s got his finger on the pulse.’

  Chris snorted as she gave Mick a glance before turning back. ‘Well then,’ she replied, ‘it’s about time someone put him straight.’

  As one, all three pairs of eyes turned to Eliza.

  ‘What?’ she asked, feeling as if she was on a runaway train with no idea where the brakes were.

  ‘You,’ Maggie said. ‘You are the solution. A juicy morsel or two about Helton’s most interesting new arrival would do it.’

  Eliza shook her head. ‘Nothing to say.’

  ‘Which just makes you more intriguing,’ Maggie said, smiling. ‘We won’t stop digging.’

  Eliza tipped her glass up and drained it, took the bottle and refilled her glass. She needed every bit of help to counter the triple, if good-natured, threat.

  ‘You’re wasting your time. There’s nothing interesting about me.’

  Pale blue eyes sparkling, Chris wagged a finger at her. ‘Now that’s a straight-out lie. A city girl who looks like she’s straight out of a magazine turns up in town for reasons unknown – not once but twice – and gets very friendly with one reclusive yet very handsome opal miner. In my humble opinion, there’s nothing more interesting for miles.’

  Eliza groaned at her persistence. ‘It’s just business.’

  ‘And what kind of business might that be?’ Maggie chimed in.

  Eliza couldn’t help but smile. These three were incorrigible. Why had she ever thought she’d be safer in the pub than alone with her thoughts?

  ‘The private kind, I’m afraid. If you want to know, speak to Fin McLeod.’

  Rae, Maggie and Chris sighed in unison.

  ‘The man’s got a mouth like a steel trap,’ Chris said.

  ‘Come on,’ Rae pleaded. ‘Give us something. If it gets out to Mick first, we’ll never hear the end of it!’

  Eliza held up her hands. ‘Sorry.’

  ‘Well.’ Chris looked so crestfallen, Eliza laughed out loud. ‘You’re a big disappointment to us, Eliza.’

  ‘If it helps to lift me in your estimation, I’ll shout you a bottle of bubbly.’

  The three let out a cheer, and Chris moved away to find another.

  ‘So,’ Rae huffed. ‘No spilling of business secrets. I get it, I really do.’

  Maggie leant in to whisper conspiratorially. ‘But that doesn’t mean we can’t talk pleasure.’

  Eliza felt her face heat. ‘I don’t know what you mean,’ she said desperately. Never had she encountered women quite this determined – and she barely knew them! Charlotte could be direct, but they’d known each other since primary school.

  ‘That is so not true,’ Rae admonished as Chris came back with a fresh bottle of champagne and a large bowl of sweet potato chips. ‘If it is, there’s something seriously wrong with you. Out there alone for three nights with Helton’s totally hot man of mystery.’

  Eliza huffed out a breath. ‘Okay, it’s not true. But I’m not one to kiss and tell. I’ll have to leave it to your undoubtedly excellent imaginations.’ She refilled everyone’s glasses.

  Rae pretended to fan her face. ‘I have a pretty wild imagination. You may regret it.’

  Eliza felt a little light-headed. ‘I’ll tell you one thing, you’ve cheered me up. I kind of got dumped earlier today.’

  ‘No! You?’ Chris looked amazed. ‘He dropped you?’

  ‘Sort of. For reasons known only to hi
m, although it was originally only a short thing. A fling. Oops, I didn’t mean to say that.’

  She put her glass down on the bar before her mouth ran away any further.

  ‘I guess that’s the point of a fling,’ she went on. ‘It’s short, hot and then it’s over. Oh, no, I didn’t mean to say that either, the hot thing. Forget I said it. I need to leave before I say any more.’

  Maggie made a zipping motion with her fingers. ‘Not a word to anyone.’

  ‘Men,’ Rae commiserated. ‘Who’d have them?’

  ‘Fuck the lot of them,’ Chris said stoutly.

  ‘I’ve tried that,’ Rae replied. Elbows on the bar, she put her head in her hands and looked glumly at her friends as they fell about laughing.

  Eliza nearly choked on her champagne, and then she was laughing too.

  As she watched the women ribbing and commiserating with each other, she thought that in Sydney her path would never have crossed with theirs; certainly, they never would have shared the last half-hour or so. Maggie, who looked about late-thirties, was the closest in age to Eliza; Rae and Chris were somewhere in their forties. She had little in common with them, at least on the surface.

  But she liked them – the no-nonsense blonde barmaid, the rambunctious red-headed property agent and the reserved baker. They were funny, friendly, supportive – even when she hadn’t given them grist for the gossip mill.

  ‘Are you all single?’ Eliza asked.

  ‘Depends on my mood,’ Chris said. ‘Excuse me. That’s my break over. I’d better get some beer poured before there’s a riot.’ A cheer went up as she went back to work, and the other server sent her a smile of relief.

  ‘She’s kind of dating George,’ Maggie said, pointing towards Mick’s group. ‘The two-metre bald beanpole over there. His real name’s Jim Clooney.’

  ‘Two divorces are enough for me,’ Rae declared. ‘I’m never getting serious again. But I’m happy to say yes to a man who wants to take me to dinner from time to time.’