Catriona pulled the fur coat around her shoulders and shivered. It was cold tonight, but that had little to do with the chill of foreboding that swept over her, for Billy knew things far beyond the understanding of modern white men. He could see signs in the wind, could hear the voices that called from the other side and feel the draw of the singing that would eventually call them all to rest. Now, as she stood in the silence of the night she thought she too could hear that insidious whispering, thought she could feel the spirits draw closer, their fleeting shadows playing hide and seek across the pastures and beneath the trees.
She smiled at her own foolishness. The voices she heard were coming from the two men down by the river. Cookie was no doubt boring the pants off Tom as he boasted of his fishing prowess, and she hoped Tom would be patient with him. ‘Poor old Cookie,’ she muttered. ‘Doesn’t often get the chance to share his passion for fishing.’
Catriona watched the dancing light from the lantern as the two men moved around the camp by the river, and was sharply reminded of her childhood years. How long ago it seemed, how distant and strangely impersonal those memories had become – as if they had happened to another child, another Catriona.
Her thoughts were interrupted by the sharp ring of the telephone. ‘Who the hell’s ringing at this hour?’ she muttered as she ran back into the house. The screen door clattered behind her. ‘What do you want?’ she snapped into the receiver.
‘Is that Dame Catriona Summers?’ The voice was male and purposeful and didn’t sound familiar.
Catriona was immediately on guard. ‘Who is this?’ she demanded.
‘My name is Martin French and I have some very important information for Dame Catriona.’
‘Never heard of you,’ she retorted. ‘And I don’t appreciate being disturbed at this time of night.’ She was about to replace the receiver when his next words stopped her.
‘I’m ringing to ask you to comment on the article that will be appearing in tomorrow’s edition of the Australian.’
The chill of foreboding returned, and she gripped the receiver. ‘Go on,’ she ordered, her tone resolute.
‘We have received information regarding the murder enquiry being led by Detective Inspector Tom Bradley.’ He paused, whether for effect, or because he was searching for the right words, Catriona wasn’t sure, but it was certainly hitting the spot. Her pulse was racing and her legs were trembling so badly she had to draw out a chair and sit down. He carried on. ‘We understand you used to live in Atherton where the body was found, and are now helping DI Bradley with his enquiries. I wonder if you’d care to make a statement?’
Catriona’s jaw clenched and she took a series of deep breaths to calm her rising temper. ‘Where did you get this spurious information?’ she demanded.
‘We cannot reveal our sources, Dame Catriona,’ was his glib reply. ‘But I’m giving you this chance to clarify matters and give us your side of the story.’
Catriona slammed down the receiver and glared when it immediately rang again. She pulled out the jack, tempted to throw the infernal thing against the wall. ‘How dare they?’ she breathed.
She sat there for a while, her thoughts in a whirl. She instantly dismissed the idea that one of her family had done this, for none of them knew why Tom was here. But the police did and that had to be where the leak had come from. She was heartsick to think it could have been Belinda, tried very hard not to accept she could betray her like this after all the years they had known one another. Then there was Bradley. She’d been prepared to trust Bradley, had even begun to like him. Now it seemed the lure of big money from the newspapers had corrupted him, or someone close to him, just as it always did.
She shoved back the chair and wrapped the old fur coat more firmly over her night-clothes. Shoving her feet into well-worn boots, she stomped outside. The lantern still glowed down by the river, and Tom Bradley was about to experience the other side to Dame Catriona Summers.
*
Cookie had left half an hour before and Tom was enjoying a few minutes of silence before he turned in for the night. The beefy cook had been good company, and the two men had shared several cans of beer as they swopped fishing tales and made tentative plans to spend some time at a large lake nearby where Cookie kept his boat and the water ran deep.
The fishing tonight hadn’t yielded much, just a few tiddlers which they’d thrown back. But the very act of sitting by a river with a rod and line had been enough to relax him, and Tom was pleasantly sleepy and looking forward to his night in the tent when he was startled by the sound of someone’s approach. ‘Who’s there?’ he asked sharply, peering into the darkness beyond the lantern.
‘Me,’ snapped Catriona as she stomped into the light and stood over him, arms tightly crossed over the bulk of her fur coat.
Tom looked at her. The agitation fairly radiated from her. ‘What’s got you all riled up, Dame Catriona?’
She glared down at him, her face a mask of fury. ‘You,’ she said shortly.
He was startled by her vehemence. ‘How? Why?’ he blustered.
‘I don’t like two-faced liars,’ she retorted.
Her words shocked him, and he bristled as he got to his feet and towered over her. No one, not even Dames could get away with calling him a liar. ‘You’d better have a good reason for calling me that,’ he said quietly.
She glared up at him, her eyes hard in their contempt. ‘You promised to be discreet,’ she snapped. ‘Promised me anything I told you would remain confidential. It was the only reason I agreed to you coming out here.’
‘Yes,’ he said firmly. ‘And I stand by that promise.’
‘Liar,’ she said again, her voice acid with loathing.
Tom stuffed his hands in his pocket to stop them from shaking. He would not let her see how her accusations were affecting him. His thoughts were in turmoil as he searched for some clue that might shed light on this extraordinary attack. ‘What’s all this about?’ he asked finally.
She told him about the telephone call from the reporter. ‘So much for keeping my name out of the press,’ she snapped. ‘So much for your promises.’ She glared up at him, her eyes challenging. ‘The information was too detailed for it to have come from anywhere else but through you, or someone close to you. What have you got to say about that, Mr Detective Inspector?’
Although he was relieved to know the reason for her anger, Tom was tense with rage at the insidious betrayal of this woman he’d admired for so long. ‘It wasn’t me,’ he said firmly. ‘I give you my word.’
‘Prove it,’ she countered. ‘Otherwise you can get the hell out of here.’
Tom clenched his fists. He just didn’t need this right now. Catriona had begun to trust him, had even opened up enough to tell him something of her childhood. Who the hell had gone to the press, and why? What would it achieve? He ran his fingers through his hair in agitation. God, it was a mess.
He looked down at the woman who glared back at him, the loathing in her eyes making him uneasy. Strewth, he thought. If looks could kill, she’d have him as dead as a doornail. The whole scene was farcical, but to try and make light of it would ring the death-knell of any hope he might have of getting to the truth with Catriona. He had to prove somehow that he was not involved. As they squared up to each other his mind was racing.
Having dismissed the members of the family he was left with Wolff, the most likely candidate. His mouth hardened into a grim line. Wolff liked living on the edge, enjoyed the backhanders and perks of turning a blind-eye. He also had an expensive lifestyle and a fondness for the casinos; it was likely the paper was paying a huge sum of money for such a story. Then, with icy clarity he remembered the keys. He’d left them on his desk, had lost them beneath the paperwork, and had eventually found them in a drawer. He’d been puzzled at the time, now it was obvious. Wolff had used those keys to unlock the drawer and read through the file; he was making good his threat to get his own back and cause trouble.
‘I ha
ve to make some calls,’ he said tersely. ‘Why don’t you go back to bed? I’ll let you know how I get on tomorrow.’
‘You don’t get away with it that easily,’ she said firmly. ‘I’m staying right by your side until this is sorted.’
Tom eyed her with frustrated affection. She was a tough cookie, and quite magnificent in her rage. Yet he could see the fear beneath that anger and it made him want to protect her. They walked back to the homestead and he picked up the phone. He had a mate who worked on the sports pages at the Australian, and who owed him a couple of favours. It took four calls to track him down, and after half an hour of conversation, he hung up. ‘He’s got a few calls to make,’ he explained to Catriona who was still glowering at him. ‘He’s promised to get back to me as soon as he can, but it could be a while.’
Catriona dipped her chin, the anger leaving her in a long, drawn-out sigh.
He eyed her thoughtfully. ‘I really think you should go back to bed,’ he said kindly. ‘This won’t be resolved tonight.’
‘I don’t care what you think,’ she retorted. ‘If I want to stay up all night in my fur coat and wellingtons, then I will.’
There was no answer to that, and Tom looked across at her in frustration. What was it about women of a certain age that made them think they could be rude, acerbic and downright awkward? He grinned. Because they could get away with it, he realised.
‘What are you grinning at?’ she said, a smile tweaking at the corners of her mouth.
‘The thought that when I reach your age, I too can be as rude as I like and speak as I find, and get away with it,’ he said softly. ‘Come on, Catriona. It’s late, it’s cold, and we both need to get some sleep.’
She smiled at him and looked at him thoughtfully. ‘You’re a good man, Tom Bradley,’ she said. ‘But I won’t apologise for my accusations. This Wolff you mentioned on the phone. One of yours, is he?’
Tom nodded. ‘If it was him, then he’ll lose his job,’ he muttered. ‘I’ll make sure of that.’
*
The telephone call from the reporter had unsettled Catriona more than she’d thought. Once Tom had left, she’d made a cup of tea to ward off the chill, and with Archie close behind her, went into her bedroom. She sat in the old wicker chair, the cat curling on her lap, his purr vibrating like a well-oiled engine. She wrapped the moth-eaten old fur coat around her, the teacup cradled in her cold hands as she thought about the consequences of that call.
She might have been living like a hermit for the last few years, but her career and reputation had surprisingly lived on in the great outside world through the records and tapes that were still being sold. Because of her charity work and the foundation of the Music Academy, she was obviously still newsworthy. No doubt the gossip-mongers would have a field day, and the Pandora’s box of secrets would finally be spilled for all to see.
With an angry sigh, she realised she’d lost control of the situation, and although Tom seemed a decent enough young man, there wasn’t much he could do to stem the tide of speculation now the dam had been breached.
She closed her eyes and silently acknowledged that the truth must now be told. She had held the secrets for too long, had spent her life pushing away the dark memories until they were faded snapshots of a ghostly past that could no longer hurt her. Now she must find the courage to speak out, something she should have done many years before. There had always been a price to pay – a penance owed for the terrible things that had happened – now it was time to acknowledge it, and free herself of the shackles of the past.
Yet her concern was not really for herself, but for her daughter. How to protect her, to keep her name out of this? Catriona’s eyes misted with tears of regret, and her sigh came from deep within; it carried the weight of regrets for things undone, and the lost chances of making them right. She’d spent her life running away and in denial – yet no matter how fast or how far she ran, the past had always been two steps behind – now it had caught up with her and she would have to face it.
Fragrant steam rose as she put the cup to her lips and sipped the brew of tea and eucalyptus. There was no milk, and only a few grains of sugar to sweeten it, but it was an old habit to add a eucalyptus leaf to the pot, one she’d learned from a very early age when the tea had come in a smoke-blackened billy from a camp fire. The moon was glowing through the window, the overhanging branches of the tree dappling the light on the counterpane. Yet her thoughts were far away from this little room. Like the moving-picture shows that had destroyed her parents’ way of life, the memories of yesteryear flickered in her mind’s eye, each scene a tiny cameo of who she was and how those days had moulded her into the woman she had become.
*
Harriet nudged Rosa and nodded towards the figure emerging from the homestead. ‘I thought he was supposed to be going fishing?’ she muttered, as she gathered up the tack and closed the corral gate.
‘He was,’ replied Rosa, her eyes dark with suspicion. ‘But I reckon he was angling for more than a few fish. I wonder how long he’s been up there with Mum?’
‘If Tom said he was fishing, then that’s what he was doing,’ said Belinda defensively.
Harriet and Rosa eyed her in silence and Connor snorted in derision before loping away to see to the horses. Rosa had filled him in on the situation during the ride home, and his suspicion of Tom had been justified.
‘Why don’t you ask him, if you don’t believe me?’ Belinda challenged. ‘He’s coming over.’
Harriet moved the saddle from one arm to the other and waited as Tom strode across the cleared yard to the corrals. He was a handsome man, with the moon sparking in the grey hair at his temples, and his masculinity radiated from him in every stride. He hadn’t struck her as being devious, just rather uneasy with the situation in which he’d found himself, and she was surprised how disappointed she felt at the thought that he’d been questioning Catriona while they were all occupied elsewhere.
Rosa spoke before he had a chance to greet them. ‘How was the fishing?’ Her voice dripped with sarcasm.
His welcoming smile faltered and he looked in puzzlement at the three women. ‘Good,’ he muttered. ‘Nothing for the pot, though, all too small.’
Rosa glared up at him. ‘I wasn’t talking about fish,’ she snapped. ‘I was alluding to your angling for information from Mum.’
His jaw dropped and he stared at Rosa. ‘I didn’t,’ he gasped.
‘Then explain what you were doing coming out of the homestead,’ she challenged, arms folded. ‘And don’t deny it, because we saw you.’
His jaw firmed and his eyes hardened. ‘I don’t have to explain anything to you,’ he said coldly. ‘But if you’re so concerned about my honesty, why don’t you ask Catriona?’ He turned from Rosa and looked at Belinda. ‘A word,’ he said. ‘Now.’
Harriet saw the anger in him, and the way Belinda shot Rosa a confused glance before following him into the deeper shadows of the farm buildings. She turned to Rosa. ‘That was a bit strong,’ she said. ‘What’s got into you, Rosa?’
Rosa looked into the darkness as the two figures stood close together deep in conversation. ‘I don’t trust him,’ she said. ‘And I bet he said he couldn’t ride just so he could get to Mum while we were out.’
‘Fair go,’ she replied. ‘You don’t know that for certain, and there could be an innocent explanation for his being in the homestead.’ Harriet shifted the tack in her arms and began walking to the barn to put it away. ‘I’ve never seen you like this before, and it worries me, Rosa. Perhaps you’re too close to be objective – it’s not like you to be so … so catty.’
Rosa dumped the saddle and hung up the bridle. She turned and eyed Harriet for a moment, then grinned. ‘And I reckon you’re feeling sorry for him,’ she declared. ‘The cow-eyes he’s been making at you have started to have an effect.’ Her smile faded and her gaze was thoughtful. ‘But I wouldn’t trust him as far as I could throw him.’ She turned to Connor who had just come i
nto the barn. ‘What do you think?’
He stowed the tack and leaned against one of the sturdy roof-bearing posts. ‘I reckon Harriet’s right,’ he said. ‘You’ve lost it, sis. The man’s a copper, what did you expect?’ He dug in his pockets for the roll of tobacco. ‘If you want the truth, why don’t you do as he suggested and ask Ma why he was in the house? The light’s still on over there, so you won’t be disturbing her.’
Harriet decided it would probably be best to let Rosa work off some of the head of steam she’d raised by going alone. ‘I’m going to raid Cookie’s store and fix us some tucker.’
‘I’ll come with you,’ muttered Connor. ‘I’m starving after that ride.’
‘I’ll be back,’ muttered Rosa crossly before she headed out across the yard.
‘God,’ sighed Harriet. ‘She sounds like a pint-sized Arnold Schwarzenegger.’
*
Tom looked at Belinda and his relief was immense, for if there had been even the slightest possibility Belinda was behind the leak, then their work here would be at an end. ‘I had to ask,’ he said by way of an apology.
‘I thought you trusted me,’ she replied. ‘I wouldn’t even have suspected you, let alone grilled you the way you did me just now.’
He took a deep breath and slowly let it out. The night was still relatively young but it felt as if he’d been arguing with one woman or another ever since he’d put a foot on the place. At this very moment he would have preferred to be facing a line-up of hardened villains. At least a man knew where he stood with them, whereas women were a whole different ball game. ‘I’m dealing with a complicated issue here,’ he explained. ‘I may have the only living witness to a murder that happened over half a century ago, and all the time she mistrusts me, I’ll get nothing from her. On top of that she sees this leak as my fault, and I promised to deal with it, and keep it secret. You are not to tell the others about this, OK?’
‘If you say so,’ muttered Belinda. ‘But they only need to read a paper or listen to the news to find out. Don’t you think this whole situation is difficult enough without keeping secrets?’
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