by Tony Parsons
‘It’s beautiful at sunset when the murrayas release a lovely orange scent,’ Fiona said. ‘Well, we’d better go inside.’
After leaving school and deciding to stay on at Nelanji instead of going away to university, Fiona had become more closely involved in the day-to-day management of the property, which was no small operation. There were fifteen thousand sheep and seven hundred Shorthorn cows, requiring a great deal of stock work, though big jobs like mulesing and lamb marking were carried out by a contract team. A lot of the jobs could be done on horseback and this suited Fiona very well.
She’d found that she needed dogs to move the sheep and cattle and, until she arrived home from boarding school, the only dogs on the place were her father’s. Recently, Lachie had bought her a young kelpie, Glen, who she’d been working hard to train. She’d bought a couple of books on training sheepdogs and, as her knowledge increased, so did her interest. She had even wondered, occasionally, whether she might eventually work some dogs in trials. There were a few women trialling and they’d had their share of success.
After drinks on the verandah, Fiona took Ian to show him her horses and the shearing shed. There wasn’t a lot to show, but Fiona did want a chance to get Ian on his own again.
Her mother had told her that if a fellow was really interested in a girl, then his gaze would hardly stray from her. If she looked at him, his eyes would meet hers and both would know that something wonderful had happened. On this occasion, Ian was impeccably well mannered. He spent plenty of time looking at and discussing her horses, and once even took her hand to help her over a fence. But nothing more.
‘Tell me about the bay,’ he asked.
‘That’s Star. He’s a lovely natured horse – a thoroughbred and stock-horse cross. He’s got a great canter.’
‘And the brown one?’ Ian stroked the beast’s neck.
‘That’s Tex. I do most of the stock work on him. He’s an Australian stock horse. And the grey pony was one of my early horses. She’s retired, of course, but I could never sell her. I love horses.’
‘I can see that,’ Ian smiled.
He was so unlike other boys, especially compared to the boys she’d heard about from her friends at school. Fiona noticed that his eyes strayed all over the place, taking in the property and its facilities, and only looked in her direction occasionally. In blue jeans and a light shirt that didn’t hide her figure, she wasn’t dressed to kill, but she was definitely dressed to interest – and Ian seemed very uninterested. She returned to serve dinner deeply disappointed, and found it hard to concentrate on being a good hostess.
She’d gone to a great deal of trouble with the meal: they began with a salmon entrée that she’d tried out on her father the previous week, followed by a ham salad with chive-flavoured potatoes and then dessert. She’d tossed up between fruit salad and a meringue pie with ice-cream, and had finally settled on the pie because she knew that Mrs Heatley often served fruit salad. Also, meringue pie had been one of the last dishes her mother had taught her to make, and it was a favourite of her father’s.
‘How are the plans for the sheepdog trial coming along?’ Lachie asked Ian.
‘Well, I’ve been thinking we should aim to hold it in September. May would be better, but we won’t have time to organise things for May this year. Fiona has started making some calls and I’m hoping she will play a big part in its organisation.’
Fiona hesitated, ‘I love the idea, Ian, but seriously, don’t you think I’m a bit … inexperienced?’
Ian was very positive. ‘It’d be a matter of organisation, mainly – and I’m sure you’re good at that. I attended a trial in the Central West when I was working at Warren, and from what I can gather, the main elements are the venue, obstacles and sheep.’
‘Plus a judge, a timekeeper and some stewards,’ Fiona added. ‘There’d also be a few other details to arrange: trophies, for starters, and then there’s catering for the handlers and spectators.’
‘There you are. You’re on the ball already,’ Ian said with a grin.
Fiona had been struggling to hide her disappointment at Ian’s lack of interest in her, but with this warm encouragement, she began to feel better.
‘I dare say you could talk to a sheepdog person or two and find out the ins and outs of the business,’ Lachie said to Fiona. ‘There’s sheepdog cranks in both Longreach and Roma.’
‘Are you sure you won’t mind that it takes some of my time away from Nelanji?’ Fiona asked her father.
‘Absolutely not!’ exclaimed Lachie, ‘It’s a great idea and I’m right behind you.’
‘Good show!’ Ian beamed. ‘If we can’t get wethers closer in to Murrawee, we’ll use our cull maiden ewes. And I tell you what, you could have a couple of our Belted Trio to order about at the trial.’
‘Belted Trio?’ Fiona asked with raised eyebrows.
‘That’s what I call Peter, Ted and Gerald – our three jackaroos – because of their identical belts and pouches. They ought to get a kick out of being your offsiders.’
Fiona’s courage momentarily deserted her again. The thought of telling the men what to do was daunting. ‘Seeing you’re so au fait with what’s wanted, shouldn’t you be running the show?’ she asked.
‘Honestly, you’ll do a much better job than I would. And I don’t have the time. It will be a great occasion – perhaps the start of Murrawee’s rejuvenation,’ Ian said. ‘I’m looking forward to it already!’
‘So am I,’ agreed Lachie.
Seeing Ian and her father’s enthusiasm, Fiona suddenly wanted, more than anything else, to prove to Ian Richardson that she could do it.
Chapter Seventeen
When Trish Claydon heard by bush telegraph that Ian had been to Nelanji for dinner, she was determined to get in before anyone else extended Ian another invitation, and invited him for afternoon tea. She had no doubt that Fiona had her eye on Ian, and Trish wanted him unspoiled.
Ian wasn’t keen on going to the Claydons. Too many people had warned him about Trish for him to feel entirely comfortable in her company. But he could hardly decline a visit to Bahreenah after going to Nelanji. Visiting the neighbours was the kind of public-relations exercise Leo had told him would be part and parcel of his role as owner of Kanimbla. There was also the fact that Alec used Kanimbla rams. Anyone who spent as much money on rams as Alec merited at least one afternoon of his time. Besides, Ian quite liked him and respected his interest in merinos.
The surrounds of the Bahreenah homestead were not as well kept as Nelanji, but an expansive, faded green lawn gave some relief from the dry red earth that bordered it. The garden consisted of some large trees with dark green leaves that Ian couldn’t identify, and some rose bushes that were very much in need of pruning. The homestead was large, with the ubiquitous gauzed verandahs. A high fence surrounded the lawn and homestead, and outside the gate a wisteria struggled to climb the pergola beside a roofed carport.
Trish met Ian at the top of the homestead’s steps. Her strapless white dress was split up the side, as usual, revealing a fair proportion of one long, smooth thigh. It was a rather inappropriate outfit for a casual afternoon tea, Ian thought, as he tried to avoid looking at her cleavage. Trish wore just enough eye shadow and lipstick to subtract a few years from her age.
‘It’s lovely you could come, Ian. I’m sure you’ve got lots to occupy you at Kanimbla,’ Trish said as Ian walked hesitantly up the steps.
‘Thank you for inviting me, Mrs Claydon,’ Ian said in his usual well-mannered way.
‘You must call me Trish. We’re your closest neighbours, after all, and I expect that we’ll be seeing quite a lot of each other over the next few years,’ Trish oozed. God, but he is gorgeous, she thought as she looked at him in his light-coloured trousers and blue linen shirt.
Ian smiled wanly. ‘Where’s Alec, Trish?’
‘He’s in Roma Hospital. Nothing serious, just a small operation he’s been putting off for some time. The date became avail
able and I didn’t like to postpone your visit,’ Trish said smoothly. ‘And the girls, of course, are away at uni and school.’
‘Will Alec be away long?’ Ian asked, feeling a stab of concern that briefly overtook his nervousness at being alone with Trish.
‘Not very long. He’ll need to take it steady for a few days and then he’ll be as right as rain,’ Trish said. She led the way into a very comfortable lounge room with sliding doors that opened out to a verandah. The room was furnished with large leather lounges and a glass-top table. The view out through the doors was of a huge area of silver and green bushland.
‘Make yourself comfortable, Ian. What would you like to drink?’ Trish asked.
‘I’d like an orange juice, if you have one.’
Trish disappeared, to return a moment later with a jug of juice in one hand and a tall glass in the other. As she walked towards Ian, she appeared to trip and the juice splattered all over her white dress.
‘Oh, look at that. I’ll have to soak it straight away, Ian. Sorry. Will you unzip me, please? It’s down the back, here,’ and she turned her back to Ian so that he could do as she asked.
Unsure how to react, but not wanting to appear impolite, Ian stood up and pulled down on the zip. Trish’s dress fell away to reveal a tanned body devoid of any undergarments. Before he could think, Trish had turned to face him, glass and jug still in hand. Ian stood as if paralysed.
Trish felt she had him. When she saw Ian’s eyes rove over her, she was already imagining the hours of pleasure she would have with this gorgeous young man. She believed that, deep down, all men were the same, and that she could trap any man into sleeping with her.
‘I’ll put this dress in the tub to soak,’ she said calmly. ‘Here. Please take these,’ and she handed the jug and glass to Ian, who put them on the table. Then she walked away with the dress over one arm, confident that Ian would follow her. She threw the stained dress through the bathroom door and kept walking towards her bedroom.
When she discovered that Ian was not behind her, she walked back to the lounge room. The poor boy is probably very shy, she thought; so much the better. But Ian was not to be seen, and as she ran to the front door, she heard the car start up and then saw it go down their drive. She stood in her nudity and watched until the Mercedes was out of sight. For the first time in her life, Trish Claydon had been stood up. ‘You don’t know what you’ve missed, Ian,’ she spat angrily.
Trish didn’t remain angry for too long, however. She only had a limited time before Alec was back, and intended to make the most of it. If Ian wasn’t up for a bit of fun, she knew someone who would be.
After breakfast the following morning, Ian told Mrs Heatley that he needed to see Leigh Metcalfe but would be back for lunch to meet a ram client who was due at about two o’clock. He put Gus in the front of the ute and drove away to Top River.
Ian could never go past the rise above Leigh’s bungalow without stopping to enjoy the view of the river. This morning, he got out of the vehicle and leant against it as he looked down the slope towards the house. But instead of the usual tranquillity, he saw two people running down the terraced steps, yelling. It was Trish, with Leigh hot on her heels. Both were completely naked and Leigh held a leafy branch, which he was applying to Trish’s backside at frequent intervals. Trish’s squeals and cries of ‘Don’t, Leigh!’ carried clearly through the still morning air, and despite her protests, Trish was clearly enjoying herself. By the time she had fallen into the river, and Leigh had jumped in on top of her, Ian had started the ute, backed it across the road and was headed towards the homestead. Leigh had obviously forgotten Ian was coming and he could hardly interrupt.
‘You’re home early,’ Mrs Heatley said when he walked into the kitchen. ‘Yes,’ Ian said, sniffing the aroma of freshly baked biscuits. ‘Leigh was otherwise engaged.’
‘Don’t tell me – he had a “friend” there,’ Mrs Heatley said with a sigh.
‘Yes. They didn’t see me,’ Ian said, sampling a biscuit.
‘Lordy me,’ she uttered under her breath.
‘Mmm, these biscuits are good, Mrs Heatley.’
‘I’m pleased you like them. They’re a different recipe. There’s salmon patties for lunch,’ she said. She knew these were Ian’s favourite and was glad she’d chosen to make them today, as Ian seemed a little shocked by whatever he’d seen at Leigh’s.
‘Lovely,’ Ian said, reaching for another biscuit. Mrs Heatley put a cup of tea beside him.
‘What makes a woman behave like that, Mrs Heatley?’ he asked.
‘You mean like Trish Claydon?’ she asked. She needed a few moments to get her thoughts together on this question.
‘Yes. She has a husband, yet —’
What an innocent he is, thought Mrs Heatley, but how refreshing to find a young man who was honest enough to seek an answer to things he didn’t understand.
‘Well now, Mr Ian, I’m not sure I’m the person you should be asking about that.’
‘Well, I can’t ask my mother now can I, Mrs H? You don’t mind me calling you Mrs H do you? So if I can’t ask you, I don’t know who I can ask,’ he said.
Mrs Heatley was touched that Ian felt he could confide in her, and knew she had to try to provide an answer that made sense. She took a deep breath.
‘Women have different reasons for wanting men. Of course it might be that she simply wants to experience sex with another man, or it might be that it makes her feel good to seduce a man away from his wife. I suppose there’s a feeling of satisfaction and power that comes with that. Then there are women who like to seduce and manipulate young men because they offer so much in bed. Trish Claydon might be one of those women.’
Ian was still looking puzzled, so she went on.
‘Basically, it’s quite apparent that Trish enjoys sex. It’s a great shame you had to be exposed to that behaviour,’ she said.
‘Exposed is the operative word,’ he said and laughed.
Mrs Heatley smiled at Ian’s joke. ‘Some people just aren’t satisfied with their lot in life. There are plenty of women who work closely with their husbands or partners. But from what I can gather, Trish has never been very keen on property life, except what it can give her in the way of material things – expensive clothes and holidays in fancy places. You do have to feel a bit sorry for her and the fact that she gets her kicks with other men. They’re like a drug she’s got to have. It wouldn’t surprise me if she gets a rude shock one of these days. It wouldn’t surprise me at all.’
‘She hasn’t shown any interest in my proposals for Murrawee,’ Ian said.
‘Trish doesn’t have much to do with the community. She leaves all that to Alec. So how is the Murrawee project progressing?’ Mrs Heatley asked.
‘Slowly,’ Ian said with a wry smile. ‘There’s still some opposition. Well, that’s not exactly right. There’s a mixture of apathy and timidity. And a kind of xenophobia, if you know what I mean …’
‘So some aren’t warming to the idea of tourists traipsing about Murrawee?’
‘That’s exactly what I mean,’ Ian said. ‘You’d think that people prepared to live in Western Queensland would be more adventurous.’
‘You’ve got to bear in mind that there’s a lot of older people, some retired, in the area. You’d hardly describe them as get-up-and-go types. They’ve worked hard and they’re probably fairly set in their ways,’ Mrs Heatley pointed out.
‘Yes, I know, but I’m still surprised that they can’t see the benefits of a more prosperous township. It will be a lot easier to attract a retired nursing sister or ambulance officer if we can inject some new life into Murrawee – and closer medical help would surely be a great benefit to everyone.
‘Anyway, we’ll keep working. The few remaining business-people are all for my suggestions and the younger people in the district would agree to just about anything that livens the place up. Once we get something actually started – and that’s not far off – I’m hoping some o
f the doubters will come to the party,’ Ian said.
‘And how is Jim doing with his pilot training?’ Mrs Heatley asked.
‘Remarkably well, by all accounts. He’s been flying solo for several weeks. His night flying clearance is his next objective. He’ll be bringing our new Cessna home very soon.’
‘Is Karen coping with the idea, do you think?’
‘I know she’s been apprehensive about the whole thing, but I think she sees the sense in it. One thing you can be sure of, Mrs H, is that’s that I won’t be going in that plane. Not unless I’m in mortal danger. I still remember, as clearly as if it happened yesterday, how I felt when the ranger came and told me that my father and mother had been burnt to a crisp in that damned plane. I still miss them,’ Ian said.
‘I’m sure you do.’
‘They explained everything to me,’ he continued. ‘They never left me groping for answers. I know that they were proud of me. But I also know they would have loved me whoever I was – that’s an amazing thing, don’t you think?’
Mrs Heatley nodded.
‘I used to have nightmares when I was at Harrow. They were about how my father and mother must have felt when the plane began to dive towards the ground and they knew I would become an orphan. Can you imagine the agony they would have suffered in that death dive?’ he asked.
‘I believe I have some notion,’ she said, thinking of her son and his motorbike accident. ‘But for an eight-year-old boy, the sudden loss of both parents is especially tragic. They were both very clever too, weren’t they?’
‘Oh, yes, they were. My father had begun to talk to me about his dream of working in a different field, of saving people from disease. I think my parents felt it was a kind of luxury to be spending so much time and effort on dogs,’ Ian said reflectively. He felt as if he was looking down a long dark tunnel and trying to imagine what lay at its end. He was learning a lot more from this Australian sojourn than he had ever imagined.