Dreamscapes

by Tamara McKinley

  No one knew what his real name was, and if they had ever known, it had been long forgotten, for he’d been here for ever. Cookie was of indeterminate age, with a fat red face which gleamed with sweat as he served steaming vegetables and freshly grilled steaks. His arms were the size of hams, the large stomach a testament to his fondness for his own cooking. His temper was legendary and the only person who could get away with any cheek was Rosa, whom he’d adored the minute she’d arrived on Belvedere as a skinny eight-year-old. ‘G’day, Connor, mate,’ he shouted above the noise. ‘How’s my girl? She ain’t been to see me yet. Tell her to get her arse in gear and come and visit her old uncle Cookie.’ He leaned forward. ‘Hear she brought Hattie with her this time?’

  ‘So what?’ he shouted back.

  The silence was instant. Connor was aware of every eye turned to him, every ear flapping for a scrap of gossip. ‘Stick the tucker on this tray,’ he muttered. ‘We’re all eating over at the house tonight.’

  ‘Keepin’ ’em both to your bloody self, then, mate?’ shouted one of the drovers.

  ‘Yeah,’ drawled Connor. ‘Wouldn’t let you bunch of mongrels anywhere near my flamin’ sister.’

  ‘What about the other one? Fair looker. Reckon you should share, Connor, me old mate. I’d show her a real good time.’

  ‘Not bloody likely,’ he retorted above the roar of laughter this statement elicited. He grinned as he realised the speaker was a little skinny bloke who had to be past fifty-five and lacked most of his teeth as well as any social graces. ‘Don’t reckon she’d go for an old bludger like you, mate. But I’ll get her gran’s phone number if you like.’

  This caused another shout of laughter and Connor hurriedly loaded up the tray and made his escape. Striding across the clearing to the homestead, he saw that Rosa and Harriet were waiting for him on the verandah. At least they were properly dressed, he thought thankfully.

  Rosa gave him a hug and a kiss. ‘What was all the laughter about?’ she asked as she held open the screen door and followed him into the kitchen.

  ‘What do you think?’ he muttered as he helped her put the food on the table. ‘It’s going to be flamin’ murder trying to keep that lot in order with you two here,’ he added, shooting a glance at Harriet.

  ‘Nah,’ said Rosa dismissively. ‘You know what they’re like, Con. All mouth and trousers. I bet if Harriet and I went over there right now they wouldn’t have a word to say. They’d shovel down their food and get out, quiet as lambs.’

  He grinned, for he knew this was true. The men of the Outback were unused to such exotic women as Rosa and Harriet; they were shy enough with the girls at Drum Creek pub, and more used to the masculine surroundings of the Station where they understood cattle and grass and the vagaries of the elements far better than the needs of any woman. They would see the educated Rosa and Harriet as a threat, as alien females from the city, and therefore unapproachable. Not that he was much better, he admitted silently as he tucked into his steak. Rosa he could understand, even though their lives were so distanced by her education and the life she’d made for herself in Sydney. But Harriet was a different matter.

  He’d kept up with her news through Rosa’s letters and although he’d known her since she was a kid, she had grown up into a very attractive young woman. It was unnerving, and made him feel uncomfortably aware of her sitting opposite him at the table. She looked so cool and sophisticated, and yet was obviously still totally at ease here on Belvedere.

  He glanced up from his plate and found he was looking into eyes the colour of a deep-water pool. He held her gaze for a long moment, before he grinned and looked away. Harriet was a cool customer, there was no doubt about that, but what did she really think of Belvedere, of him? It might be interesting to find out.

  *

  Harriet climbed out of bed and stretched. She’d dreamed deeply and now felt refreshed and ready for the day. Shivering a little from the chill, she pulled a sweater over the T-shirt she used as a nightdress, grabbed a thick pair of socks and looked across at the other bed. Rosa was buried in the blankets, only the tip of her spiky hair visible as the muffled snores came from within the pillows. It would be unfair to wake her.

  Harriet padded out of the bedroom and into the kitchen. The light was pouring through the window and she was amazed to find it was barely five-thirty, a time of the morning when she was usually dead to the world. She shivered again and garnered some welcome heat from the Aga. It was surprisingly cold, even though the summer was well into its stride, but she’d remembered her other visits over the years and had come prepared with the thick ski-socks which she pulled on as slippers.

  Moving quietly around the kitchen, she made a cup of strong tea and settled down to read an old magazine Catriona had left on the dresser. It was lovely to have the time in the morning, to sit in the silence without the urgent ring of telephones or the clatter of typewriters spoiling the peace.

  ‘I hope there’s more tea in the pot?’ Rosa shuffled into the room, her hair on end, eyelids puffy with sleep. She pulled a face. ‘My, you do look attractive, Hat. Love the socks!’

  ‘It’s bloody cold,’ Harriet said firmly. ‘And I didn’t want to wake you by trying to find my clothes.’ She eyed Rosa’s pyjamas, which swamped her and made her look like a little kid. ‘You’re not exactly dressed in the height of fashion yourself,’ she countered. ‘Are those Connor’s?’

  ‘Yeah, found them in the bottom of a drawer. Left in such a rush I forgot to pack anything to sleep in.’ Rosa poured out a cup of tea and slumped into a chair by the Aga, the sleeves of the oversize garment dangling over her hands as she fumbled with her pack of cigarettes.

  Early mornings weren’t her thing, unless she was coming home from a club or a party, and Harriet knew it was best to let her wake slowly and leave her to her morning tea and cigarette. She left the room, washed and dressed in loose cotton trousers and a thin T-shirt, with a sweater slung over her shoulders to chase away the chill. Dragging a brush through her hair, she twisted it into a rough chignon and anchored it with a series of brightly coloured clips. She eyed her reflection in the tiny mirror over the basin and decided she couldn’t be bothered to put on any make-up – she had to wear it every day in the city, and going without it would make a pleasant change.

  When she returned to the kitchen some twenty minutes later, she found Rosa hadn’t moved, but was now awake enough to read the magazine. ‘Go and shower. I’ll do breakfast,’ said Harriet. ‘Have you seen Catriona yet?’

  Rosa ran her fingers through her hair. ‘She’s not in her room,’ she replied through a vast yawn. ‘Probably out for her usual morning ride.’ She hitched up the pyjama legs and shuffled off to the bathroom.

  Harriet made the tea and toast and listened to Rosa’s appalling singing coming from the bathroom. At least she was awake, she thought with a grin, but she shouldn’t ever contemplate giving up the day job. With a voice like that she’d never make a career out of it.

  She took her breakfast out onto the verandah and with her cup of tea balanced on the railings, stood and watched Belvedere come to life. There was smoke coming from the cookhouse chimney, and men were emerging through the doors, hands in pockets, strides slow and easy as they made their way across the clearing. The sound of a hammer on metal broke the early morning silence, and a thin veil of dust began to swirl and eddy in the corrals as the horses shifted and stamped in expectation of the day ahead.

  Connor came out of the cookhouse and waved before disappearing around the corner. Harriet finished her toast and sipped her tea. He was a nice man, she admitted silently. He obviously adored Rosa and Catriona, and although he gave the impression of being tough, she had been touched by the thought behind his jam jar of wild flowers. Connor obviously had hidden depths.

  ‘I’m going over to see Cookie,’ said Rosa through a mouthful of toast as she emerged through the screen door. ‘He won’t speak to me again if we leave it any longer.’ She finished her breakfast and look
ed across at Harriet. ‘Coming?’

  Harriet eyed the demure trousers, and the crisp cotton blouse. Rosa’s hair was brushed to a shining cap of pink and black and there was only a smudge of mascara and lipstick. The jewellery had been left in the bedroom but for the silver watch on her slender wrist. Rosa looked almost respectable. ‘Strewth,’ she breathed. ‘You look good, girl. I hardly recognised you.’

  Rosa sniffed. ‘Can’t hide behind the make-up and clothes out here, they all know me too well,’ she said. ‘Come on.’

  Harriet shoved her feet into comfortable loafers and they stepped down from the verandah and crossed the yard in the full glare of thirty pairs of eyes.

  Connor came around the corner, his arms loaded with saddles and bridles. He didn’t seem too pleased to see them. ‘The homestead’s that way,’ he said sternly to Rosa.

  ‘Lighten up, Con. We’re just going to say g’day to Cookie.’

  Connor glowered, eyed Harriet and glanced across at the men who were now standing about doing nothing. ‘Make it quick,’ he muttered. ‘We’ve got a lot to do today.’

  Rosa pecked him on the cheek. ‘You know, Con, you’re getting to be a real old bludger. No wonder no woman will have you.’ She ducked away before he could retort and Harriet could only shrug and grin as she was left to trail after her.

  *

  Catriona hadn’t slept well again, and she’d left the homestead before sun-up for her morning ride. Billy Birdsong had been down by the corrals and she’d invited him along. They had forgotten the time as they cantered across the great sweep of land, and as they talked together and discussed their plans for the place, Catriona found her cares diminishing.

  She returned to see the girls disappearing into the cookhouse. The men were standing about, staring after them and she smiled as they realised she was watching them and hurriedly got on with their chores. It was amazing how the presence of two attractive girls could bring life to a grinding halt.

  ‘Reckon them girls betta watch out,’ said Billy with a broad grin. ‘Fella’s watch ’im good.’

  Catriona grinned back. ‘I think those two are perfectly capable of handling themselves, Billy. Don’t you worry.’ She waved goodbye to him as he strolled off to see what his wife and family were up to.

  Billy’s family had had an encampment here since before her time, but they still refused to live in the shacks she wanted to build for them, preferring the humpies and tents that were gathered on the western side of the clearing. This encampment was unhygienic, cluttered with rubbish and the remains of their fires. Dogs and kids played in the dirt and the women sat most of the day under the trees, suckling their babies and swapping gossip.

  Catriona turned her back and began to rub down her horse. She’d tried to teach them the rudiments of cleanliness, and had eventually coaxed them into seeing the doctor when he came out, and to inoculate their babies, but that was as far as she’d got. Billy had come to her finally and had told her his people didn’t need the white man’s medicine and that they preferred to stick to their tribal ways.

  She set the horse free in the paddock. Billy’s extended family were surprisingly healthy, most of them well behaved and useful about the place; the only problem was with alcohol. She and Billy had discussed this, and he’d brought in the other Elders and made it a rule no one was to touch the stuff. But every now and then one of the young jackaroos spent his wages in the pub and would return to the Station ready for a fight.

  She sighed. With ownership came responsibility, but she wouldn’t swop any of it for a life in the city. She turned her back on the corrals and headed for the homestead and breakfast. She was starving.

  Archie complained long and loud that it was way past his breakfast time, and as he wound himself around her legs and got in the way, Catriona trod on his paw and almost fell over him as he shot through her feet. Grasping the rail in front of the Aga to steady herself, she burned her hand. ‘Damn and blast the bloody thing,’ she hissed as she ran her hand under the cold tap. ‘As for you, Archie. You’ll be the bloody death of me.’

  Archie’s yowls were louder now and more demanding. He was being kept waiting and he didn’t like it.

  ‘There,’ she said as she slammed the bowl on the floor. ‘Eat that and for God’s sake shut up.’ Her head swam as she stood upright too quickly, and she grasped a chair to steady herself until the blackness cleared.

  ‘Mum? Are you all right?’

  She looked up at Rosa and Harriet through the swirl of darkness. ‘I’ll be right,’ she breathed. ‘Just need to sit down for a minute.’ She allowed Rosa to help her into a chair and accepted the cup of strong tea. ‘I’m all right, really,’ she insisted. ‘Just done too much on an empty stomach, that’s all.’ She sipped the tea and grimaced. Rosa had put a lot of sugar in it.

  ‘You need sugar to boost your energy,’ said Rosa firmly. ‘So don’t pull faces at me. Go on, drink it all up.’

  Catriona raised an eyebrow at Harriet. ‘Bossy little thing. Never could take orders herself, mind. Now she’s making me feel as if I’m her naughty child and have completely lost my marbles.’ She glared at Rosa over the lip of the mug, grimaced again and drank her tea. It was foul, but she had to admit it went a long way towards reviving her.

  ‘I’ll get you some breakfast,’ said Harriet. ‘What would you like?’

  ‘A bit of toast and some bacon and eggs, please.’ The darkness had been banished and she felt much better.

  Rosa started banging the flying pan about as Harriet searched the fridge for the bacon. ‘Sugar deficiency,’ she stated. ‘You really should eat before you go out, Mum. Cookie would be only too pleased to feed you. He told me so this morning.’

  Catriona closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Rosa sounded like a bossy schoolmistress. ‘When I want his help I’ll ask for it,’ she said firmly. ‘My appetite is fine, always has been, and I’ll thank you to mind your own business, Rosa.’ She opened her eyes. ‘I know you mean well, but I don’t need Cookie running after me just yet.’ She smiled at them to take the sting out of her mild rebuke. ‘Archie and I are both getting older and less agile, we’re too set in our ways for change, and we like cooking our own meals.’

  ‘That damn Archie’s a spoilt brat,’ muttered Rosa as she eyed the fat ginger tom preening in front of the Aga. ‘He does nothing but sleep and eat and get under your feet.’

  ‘He’s my mate,’ said Catriona. ‘And if I don’t mind him sleeping on my bed and getting under my feet, then neither should you. Leave him alone.’ She ignored Rosa’s muttering, finished the tea and stood. ‘If you want to help, you can make me another cup of tea with less sugar, and bring my breakfast into the lounge.’ She waved away Rosa’s protest. ‘Harriet, you come with me. I’ve got something to show you.’

  *

  Harriet followed her into the lounge, wondering what on earth Catriona was planning now. She had more colour in her face, and seemed quite herself again, but it had been a shock to come into the kitchen and find her so obviously out of sorts.

  Catriona pointed at the roll-top desk as she sat down on the couch. ‘My will’s in there,’ she said. ‘And all the papers Rosa will need when I’m gone.’ She must have seen the denial on Harriet’s face, for she shook her head impatiently. ‘Don’t look like that Hattie. I’ve always been a realist, and one day you’ll need to know these things.’

  Harriet hovered and bit her lip. ‘Don’t you think it would be better if Rosa …?’ She didn’t get a chance to finish the sentence.

  ‘If I’d wanted Rosa to sort them out, I would have asked her,’ she said firmly.

  Harriet bit her lip. ‘Those documents should be lodged with a solicitor, not left lying about where they could get lost or destroyed.’

  ‘I know. That’s why I wanted to talk to you. Will you fetch them, dear?’

  Harriet walked over to the desk and opened the lid. A waterfall of papers and old theatre programmes slid out and floated to the floor. She bent to retrieve t
hem, her attention caught by the brightly coloured programmes from London, Paris and New York, play bills from theatres renowned the world over and a collection of letters from admirers.

  ‘That’s only a part of my life,’ said Catriona from the other side of the room. ‘The rest is in that damn trunk, but then you know that, you and Rosa have tried on the dresses often enough.’ She laughed. ‘I suppose I ought to go through it myself and sort it out once and for all. Most of it is junk.’

  Harriet swept everything together and put the pile to one side. Sifting through the collection of memorabilia in the desk, she finally found what she was looking for. She handed them to Catriona who swiftly looked through them and handed them back. ‘Read them and make sure everything is in order.’

  Harriet read through the deeds. Catriona had signed Belvedere over to Rosa and her brother ten years before, thereby avoiding inheritance tax. ‘Do they know they already own this place?’ she asked.

  Catriona shook her head. ‘My accountant advised me to do it, and they don’t need to know until I’m dead.’

  Harriet sifted through the rest of the papers. Her eyes widened as she read down the long list of properties and stocks and shares Catriona had in her portfolio. Widened further as she noted the amount of valuable jewellery she had amassed. ‘I hope this jewellery is somewhere safe,’ she breathed. ‘It must be worth a fortune.’

  ‘Most of it’s in a safety deposit box in Sydney. There should be a letter there from the bank confirming it’s in trust for Rosa and Connor’s children – if they ever get around to having any,’ she added. ‘The paintings are on permanent loan to the Victorian Art Gallery in Melbourne.’

  Harriet looked at her in admiration. Catriona was a clever, resourceful woman. She had put her affairs in perfect order and the tax man would find very little to get his sticky hands on. The will was the last document, and Harriet read through it swiftly. It had been drawn up twenty years ago, signed and witnessed by two board members of a well-known bank. There was only one codicil, added five years later. She read the words, read them again and for a third time. She looked over at Catriona. ‘This codicil,’ she began, her voice husky, hands trembling. ‘Are you sure …?’