by Tony Parsons
Rhona looked at the bottle and her eyes widened in surprise. ‘Grange Hermitage! Gee, I don’t know anyone I would describe as special enough to rate a drop of this. Are you sure you want to part with this? Thank you so much, Ian.’ She got up from the chair and kissed him on the cheek. ‘I think you’re pretty special. Don’t waste yourself here.’
It seemed to Ian that Rhona’s eyes were less steely now and her face softer. She turned, opened the gauze door and went down the steps and across the lawn without looking back. He watched her until she reached the road and then passed out of sight behind the homestead.
‘What’s that you’ve got there, Rhona?’ Judy asked when Rhona walked into the bungalow carrying the bottle.
‘It’s a present from Ian,’ Rhona said absently, her mind already on other things. ‘I just need to throw a few things together. I’ll be leaving in a minute, Mum.’
‘But I thought you were staying until Sunday …’
‘I swear if I stay any longer I’ll disgrace myself over that bloke down the road!’
‘What happened?’ her mother asked gently.
‘Nothing happened. It didn’t have to. Ian isn’t like that. He’s just the nicest fella I’ve ever met. I need to vamoose.’
‘Your father will ask why you had to leave in such a hurry,’ Judy said.
‘Tell him I’ve been called back to uni,’ Rhona said, almost running to her bedroom.
The next morning, unaware of Rhona’s departure, Ian drove to Nelanji to see Lachie Macdonald. The two men took a seat on the verandah.
‘You’re a woolgrower, Mr McDonald, and you also have cattle. How do you see the wool situation?’ Ian asked.
‘Well, it isn’t encouraging. Prices are down a lot and that wouldn’t matter if costs weren’t so high. I’ve tried to cut costs, but there’s a limit to that too. I don’t have any full-time employees now and Fiona and I do a lot of the routine work. We bring in contract teams for mulesing and lamb marking but I’m doing the cattle work, thanks to a better yard system. We have pretty good wool, but we don’t get the top prices they get in the tablelands. There’s only so much you can do in this country. It isn’t prime lamb territory and you’re really back to wool and cattle. If wool prices get any worse, we could dice the sheep and just run cattle, but I don’t like putting all my eggs in one basket,’ Lachie said.
‘What’s happened to the wool industry? Australia produces the best wool in the world but the Australian flock is down by nearly half. Is it because demand is down so prices are lower or is it because our costs are too high?’ Ian asked.
‘Probably a bit of both. There have been some mistakes made in the promotion and marketing of wool, no doubt about that,’ Lachie said.
Ian sat back and absently took a scone from the carefully prepared plate. He wondered where Fiona was. She must have baked these earlier that morning. ‘What disturbs me is that since 1950, when the price of wool went through the roof, the Australian wool industry has had a long period to get itself into a stable situation. But for all the money that’s been contributed via the wool taxes, we’ve lost market share and the sheep population is way down. Before I make any decisions regarding Kanimbla’s future, I want to be sure I’ve got a good picture of where we’re at,’ Ian said firmly.
‘I’m a grazier pure and simple. I’m not a marketer except of my own stock, and I don’t have the answers you’re seeking. There’s hardly ever a time that everything goes right for us on the land. And we’re all banking on the cattle market staying as good as it is now. What if it doesn’t? What if the wool market kicks and you’ve got rid of all your sheep? These are the kind of management problems we’re all faced with. But we’re still here and we’re managing despite the lower wool prices and the dingoes and the dry times. We’ve planted some areas of saltbush and that’s helped our wool and our carrying capacity,’ Lachie said.
‘Mmm. Thanks, Mr McDonald. I value your opinion,’ Ian said thoughtfully. As he rose to leave he caught sight of Fiona. She looked quite lovely, and despite himself he felt his pulse quicken. She walked towards him. ‘Are you staying for lunch?’
‘I’d love to, but I’m afraid I can’t,’ he answered. ‘There’s an important rep from the Department of Primary Industry coming for lunch. Mr Blake wants me to meet him. You’d think that, situated where we are, there’d be very few callers, but there’s hardly a day passes that someone isn’t there. Mr Blake says it’s my place to meet them,’ Ian said apologetically.
‘There’ll be another day,’ Lachie said, seeing the disappointment on his daughter’s face.
‘Absolutely,’ Ian agreed. ‘There are a few other things I want to discuss with you and Fiona. Thanks again, Mr McDonald. I appreciate your time.’
Lachie and Fiona watched from the verandah as Ian departed. ‘That is one bright young man,’ said Lachie.
‘A bright young man in an awful hurry,’ Fiona said.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Oh, perhaps I’m only imagining things, but it seems that he’s trying to do too much, as if he’s racing the clock.’
‘You think he’ll leave Kanimbla?’ her father asked.
Fiona sighed. ‘Oh, I hope not. Anyway, there’s one thing I am sure of – he didn’t come here this morning to see me.’
‘I don’t believe that for a moment. It might just take him a little while to work out what his priorities are, but I’m sure you’re up there in his thinking.’
‘I hope you’re right, Dad,’ Fiona said wistfully.
Chapter Thirteen
Fiona had heard that Ian was planning a party of some sort and, despite her disappointment in his apparent lack of interest in her, was delighted to receive an invitation. She knew Ian would be busy planning the event, and expected that this would be the next time she would see him, so his phone call came as a surprise.
‘Are you doing anything on Saturday morning?’ he asked.
‘Nothing really important. Why?’ she managed to ask calmly, even though she felt her heart thumping hard.
‘Can you be over here at about eight?’
‘Sure. Yes. Are we riding somewhere?’ Fiona asked.
‘Not this time. We’re going in to Murrawee,’ he said.
Fiona wondered why Ian would ask her to accompany him into town – and why he wasn’t more forthcoming. But she was very pleased and already couldn’t wait till Saturday.
‘Are we meeting anyone? I mean, do I need to get dressed up?’ she asked.
‘Nothing like that. You look very nice in jeans. I’ll expect you at eight,’ Ian said and hung up.
Fiona put the phone down and smiled.
‘What was that all about?’ Lachie asked as he finished a plate of lamb’s fry and bacon.
‘Ian wants me to go into Murrawee with him on Saturday morning,’ she said. He told me I look nice in jeans!
‘Did he say why?’ Lachie asked.
‘No.’
‘Funny. I wonder what he’s up to,’ Lachie mused.
On Saturday, when Fiona arrived at Kanimbla, Ian was waiting for her beside the Mercedes.
‘Hi,’ she said as she climbed down from the four-wheel drive.
‘Hi, yourself,’ Ian said with a smile. She thought he looked gorgeous in his white moleskins, blue checked shirt and wide-brimmed grey Akubra.
‘Can you stay for lunch when we get back?’ he asked.
‘Yes – I’ll just need to let Dad know,’ she said.
‘Great. You get in the Merc. I’ll duck in and see Mrs H and ask her to phone your father.’
Once on the road, they drove for a few minutes without speaking. Finally, Fiona broke the silence, ‘So how are things coming along for the reception?’
‘Fine. I’ve left it all to Mrs H and Mrs Blake. Parties aren’t really my scene. Do you like them?’ he said.
‘I haven’t given one yet. Mum was too sick when I came home from school and then she was in hospital and Dad was away with her a lot. He’s been saying t
hat we should start entertaining again, but it’s not the same without her.’
‘I know what you mean. I lost my parents when I was eight,’ Ian said.
‘Oh, that’s so sad,’ Fiona said. ‘I’m so lucky to have Dad.’
They travelled in silence again for a while, before Fiona could contain her curiosity no longer.
‘Tell me, do you enjoy being mysterious?’ she asked with a half-smile.
‘Mysterious?’
‘This trip to Murrawee – you haven’t said a word about why you’ve asked me,’ she said.
‘Sorry, but you’ll just have to be patient,’ Ian said.
‘Now you’re scolding me,’ she said, smiling again.
‘Oh. I don’t mean to sound scolding. I’m just a little distracted,’ Ian said as they arrived in the township, where a one-tonner parked outside the café and two other vehicles outside the pub represented Murrawee’s entire traffic fleet.
‘Sin city of the west it isn’t. Can you imagine a deader place?’ Fiona remarked dryly. Every school holidays, when she had come home from boarding school, Murrawee had seemed a little more dilapidated. There was always one less business in operation, or one more vacant house, until all that remained were the bare bones of the original township. It made her sad, but nobody had tried to do anything to stem the exodus. If you couldn’t get something you needed in Murrawee, it was easier to drive somewhere else.
Ian bypassed the neglected railway station, drove over the railway crossing at the edge of the village and down a gravel road that led to the river. Here, he stopped the vehicle. They got out and looked up and down the length of its wonderful gum-lined waters. To one side of them was a paddock in which ghost gums and a species of acacia grew.
‘A lovely spot, isn’t it?’ Ian asked.
‘It is. So is this what you’ve brought me to see?’ Fiona asked.
‘Not exactly. In the middle of that paddock there’s a capped bore. You can’t see it for the grass. It was one of the first bores ever sunk in this area, but nobody knows why. Maybe it was a test bore for Murrawee in its early days. You wouldn’t think they’d have needed bore water with the river so close, but maybe there was a drought at some stage. The point is that it’s a hot bore. I’m having it tested for mineral content,’ Ian said.
‘Why?’ Fiona asked.
‘What do you think of this paddock?’ Ian asked without answering her.
‘Um, it’s nice and flat, with some good trees on it. What would it be … twenty acres?’ she suggested.
‘Thirty-five, apparently. I’m going to buy it. There’s been no rates paid on it for years and council is happy to sell it,’ Ian said.
‘But why would you want to buy thirty-five acres here when you own Kanimbla?’ she asked.
Again, Ian dodged her question. ‘Would you describe yourself as an imaginative person?’
‘Well … ’ she began.
‘Never mind. Just try this. Imagine a caravan park close to the river, with people fishing, and next to it hot and cold swimming baths. Then further back up the road near that biggest ghost gum,’ Ian pointed, ‘imagine an aviary with native Australian birds. How’s that for starters?’ he asked, grinning broadly.
Fiona looked at him, puzzled. Her first thought was that he was having her on. And then she realised that Ian was not a person given to that sort of joke. As fantastic as his proposal seemed to her, Ian was apparently deadly serious.
‘What do you think?’ Ian asked.
Fiona was lost for words. ‘It sounds great …’
Ian was on a roll. He was excited to be sharing his ideas with his new friend, and happy that she seemed to be on the same wavelength. ‘Later, I think the district should look at building a small motel, even if it’s just a few units. Tourists could break their journeys here, maybe stay a day or two.’
Ian’s enthusiasm was infectious and Fiona joined in. ‘Yes! And if we held a sheepdog trial in Murrawee, it would help the pub and the café, and the garage would probably get some business too.’
‘You’re right,’ said Ian, ‘and it’s something we could do right away.’
Fiona smiled. This shared project meant she would see a lot of Ian – a prospect that gave her immense pleasure. ‘You know I love sheepdogs,’ she said. ‘Could I help with the organisation of the trial?’
‘I was hoping you would. Murrawee could be a very different place to live with just a few small changes,’ Ian said enthusiastically.
Fiona’s face suddenly dropped. ‘Oh dear. Here we are planning huge changes to the town without even knowing what anyone feels about them. How would you put your ideas to people?’
‘From what I can gather, people are more concerned about whether Kanimbla intends to grow cotton on the Big Plain. I think my uncle suggested this once when Kanimbla was short of cash, but I never want to see cotton growing here. I understand why people grow cotton, but I couldn’t consider it with every one of my neighbours running livestock. I’d like to have a public meeting to put the cotton issue to rest, and I could use the occasion to broach these ideas for improving the township,’ Ian said.
He’s worked it all out, thought Fiona. Aloud, she asked, ‘What does Mr Blake think?’ Like most people in the district, Fiona regarded Leo Blake as the lord high priest when it came to just about anything.
‘At first he thought I was off my head. Then I think he talked with Mrs Blake, and he agreed that this sort of complex might be able to attract people to Murrawee. I won’t be using Kanimbla money to buy this paddock – it will come out of my own pocket. If the district goes along with me, I’ll transfer the title into the name of the “Murrawee and District Development Association” or something similar,’ Ian said.
‘So that’s why you asked me about improving Murrawee for young people last week!’ Fiona exclaimed.
‘Your idea for a park was great,’ Ian said. ‘I took that one step further to include an aviary. Now, would you like a drink of something? We could drop in on Mrs Donovan.’
‘That’d be nice,’ Fiona agreed. She felt so close to Ian just then, and fought the urge to take his arm. It just wouldn’t do to be so bold and possibly embarrass Ian in public.
Helen Donovan greeted them warmly. ‘You might have told me who you were, that day when you arrived,’ she said, feigning irritation.
Ian smiled. ‘I owed it to Mr Blake to tell him first. Besides, you couldn’t have looked after me any better than you did.’
Fiona noticed with pleasure the effect he had on Helen Donovan; she was putty in his hands.
‘It’s very nice of you to say so. I hope you’ll be very happy at Kanimbla. Good to see you too, Fiona. I’ve known Fiona since she was a baby, you know, Ian. She used to hold my skirts and ask for sweets.’
‘And you always gave them to me, even though it made my mother quite cross. She didn’t approve of lollies,’ Fiona smiled.
‘Well, I must say they haven’t done you any harm, Fiona. What brings you into town?’ the shopkeeper asked.
Ian looked at Fiona and rolled his eyes and Fiona knew this meant he wasn’t ready to talk about his ideas with the rest of the township. ‘I wanted to have a look at the river,’ he said to Mrs Donovan. ‘Mr Blake told me it was the best stretch of water for a long way.’
‘So what did you think?’ she asked.
‘I agree with him. By the way, do you stock birdseed? Is it something that’s easy to come by?’ Ian asked.
‘You can buy birdseed in small packets or in big bags. We stock both. It’s mostly made up of millet, sorghum, corn and grey-stripe sunflower seeds. Queensland grows most of Australia’s millet. Are you planning on getting a cockie or a budgie?’ Helen asked.
‘No. I was just wondering if Kanimbla could grow some seed, but if those grains are in good supply there’d be no need to,’ Ian said.
Helen wondered what Ian had in mind. Perhaps he was looking at diversifying into cropping. Glenda Heatley had told her that he was very bright. He certain
ly hadn’t taken long to work out that Fiona McDonald was the pick of the girls in the district.
Mrs Heatley brought their lunch out to the verandah – cold corned beef, green salad, potato salad and a refreshing jug of lemon squash.
‘This is a great spot, Ian. Whoever picked out this site for the homestead knew what they were doing, with the river just over there and those lovely trees. And there are so many birds here,’ Fiona said.
‘It’s very pleasant, isn’t it? To me it seems so Australian. The gums and the blue sky and the song birds … even this verandah,’ Ian said.
‘You haven’t told me a thing about England, about Cambridgeshire,’ she said.
Where would I start? Ian wondered. ‘Well, it’s dotted about with villages – some of them hundreds of years old and quite beautiful. It never gets as hot as this. If we were having lunch at Lyndhurst instead of here, we’d probably be sitting on the side verandah that Grandfather added to the old place. We’d be looking down at the willow-lined River Ouse. If it was summer, there’d be young cattle on lush pastures. Or maybe ewes with lambs. At the back of the house there’s quite a large orchard – I used to love to sit there … ’
‘And I suppose Cambridge University is its crowning glory,’ Fiona said.
‘Oh, yes. It has picturesque colleges and lovely old bridges that span the River Cam. It was a Roman town and has a fascinating history. There are many historic homes with beautiful gardens,’ Ian said.
‘And you own one of them,’ she said.
‘Yes, thanks to my grandfather,’ he said.
‘I hope you don’t think me rude for saying so, but knowing you have Lyndhurst makes it hard for me to understand why you’re here, and why you’d want to spend your time trying to resurrect a dying Australian town,’ Fiona said.
‘That’s easy, Fiona. From what I can gather, my Uncle Jack didn’t do much for Murrawee. I wouldn’t like to be left all this and put nothing back into the community,’ Ian said.