by Tony Parsons
‘Yes,’ replied Eddie.
‘We’d love you to take some pictures of the parrots in the bird park. We’d like to print a brochure about the motel and park, and it would be great to include some photos of the rarer birds,’ said Ian.
‘No problem. I’d been thinking I’d like to take some photos next door,’ said Eddie.
‘Talk to Luke Weir. He’s your counterpart at the bird park. Welcome to Murrawee, Eddie and Kate,’ said Ian. He shook hands with the couple and then turned away to talk to the politicians.
For young Billy Landers the best thing about the day was the appearance of Luke Weir with Kolar the white cockatoo sitting on his shoulder. Luke had come across from the park for the opening and although Billy didn’t know it, Luke and Kolar would pass into legend.
‘G’day, minister,’ Luke said with due deference as he passed Alan Moore in the marquee and stopped to introduce himself, ‘Luke Weir. I look after the bird park.’ This important personage from Canberra looked with interest at the animated bird clinging to Luke’s shoulder.
‘G’day, Luke. So who’s this then?’ the minister nodded towards the bird. He didn’t point, because he didn’t like the look of Kolar’s beak, which appeared formidable enough to take off a finger.
‘This is Kolar,’ Luke said with obvious pride.
‘Are you pissed again?’ Kolar squawked.
Luke was mortified, but the minister was a good sort and doubled up with laughter.
It was typical of Ian Richardson that he didn’t let on about his twenty-first birthday until after the event. Fiona got it out of him, albeit with difficulty, about a week afterwards. She’d called in at Kanimbla on her way back from Murrawee and found Ian in his study. He was working on a science paper, and had asked her to stay and join him for lunch.
Over lunch she’d remarked that he hadn’t celebrated any birthdays since his arrival. ‘Surely you must have an important birthday coming up soon,’ she probed.
‘Mmm,’ he answered.
‘What does “mmm” mean?’ she asked with a smile.
‘It means I did have what you might call a significant birthday,’ he answered.
‘And what do you mean by “did”?’
‘It was last week,’ said Ian calmly.
‘Ian!’ exclaimed Fiona with loud exasperation. ‘Did anyone know?’
‘No. Nobody knows.’
‘Not even Judy or Mrs Heatley?’ Fiona pressed.
‘No one. I’ve got no close relations, so I knew I could get away without a big kerfuffle. You know how I feel about crowds.’
‘But we must have some kind of celebration for you, Ian. Even if it’s a little one.’
‘I’m not a party person, Fiona. Really I’m not.’
‘But we must have a dinner at least,’ Fiona said and looked up as Mrs Heatley appeared in the doorway of the study.
‘Mrs Heatley, Ian’s just told me that he turned twenty-one last week and that nobody knew! Isn’t that the limit?’ Fiona said with more than a tinge of outrage in her voice.
‘Mr Ian! How could you not tell us?’ Mrs Heatley scolded.
‘I thought you’d make a fuss, and I’m just not comfortable with fusses,’ he answered truthfully.
‘Well, you’ll not get away without a dinner at least, Mr Ian. With Leo and Judy, Fiona and her father, and perhaps Jim and Karen. Do you agree?’
‘I suppose so,’ Ian said, ‘if it’s not too much trouble.’
‘Will you listen to him! “If it’s not too much trouble!” Of course it’s not too much trouble. It would be a pleasure. And we must have a cake,’ said Mrs Heatley warmly.
‘Don’t go spreading the news around, will you Mrs H?’ Ian pleaded. ‘I was dead scared that if Mrs Donovan found out she’d want to do something big. It’s only a birthday after all.’
‘But it’s your twenty-first, Ian. You should have told someone!’ said Fiona. But what she meant to say was that he should have told her. Surely they were close enough for him to at least confide in her. She would have respected his wishes and not made a fuss. But Ian was Ian. He hated a fuss. He got his kicks from making things happen for other people.
Chapter Twenty-nine
Ian sank into the reading chair in his study, relieved to have some time to himself. He glanced at the small pile of letters that sat unopened on his desk. Between the motel opening, his studies and the birthday dinner, he’d not had much time to keep up with his correspondence. He riffled through them – letters from the university, a couple of late birthday cards, a few bills – then one envelope in particular caught his eye. It was postmarked London, and Ian recognised the name of the prestigious legal firm that took care of his parents’ estate. He opened it carefully, and found a covering letter along with a slim envelope, yellowed with age, and with his name handwritten on the front. He knew at once that it was his father’s writing. Trembling, he released the flap, and took out the letter.
My dearest boy,
If you receive this letter, two things will have happened. The first is that I shall have passed away and the second is that you will have turned twenty-one. This letter is a safety measure because I am well aware that your mother and I often find ourselves in areas that pose great risks. Africa, with its terrible diseases and wild animals, is not a safe place, and that’s without considering the internecine conflicts and political upheavals that plague the continent.
You may have thought me harsh to advocate that you spend a period of your post-school career out in Australia. But I felt that you should have the opportunity to gain experience on an Australian property in case this kind of life appealed to you. I didn’t support the idea of you gaining this experience with my brother Jack because, quite frankly, he wouldn’t set you the right example. Jack is too fond of a good time. People say that your grandfather is too straight and autocratic, but if you go to him he’ll look after you well.
You should know that I think you are a very special boy. Remember how you used to say that you wanted to be a scientist when you grew up? With your intelligence and patience I have no doubt that this is exactly what you are pursuing. However – and this is my most important message to you, Ian – although your mother and I have spent our whole careers in the zoological field, I want you to know that we had always planned to transfer our attention to medical research. Through our work in developing countries, we have become painfully aware that more work must be done to search for cures for diseases such as AIDS and malaria, which continue to decimate their populations. Philanthropic organisations provide huge amounts of money for research, but the death toll is still intolerably high.
If you receive this letter it will mean that we did not get the opportunity to see our hopes realised. I would urge you, then, with all my heart, to consider working in this field, because you would have the opportunity to contribute very meaningfully to the amelioration of major health problems.
I want you to know what joy you brought us and how much we hated to be separated from you for even short periods. God bless you, my dear boy, in all that you do.
Dad
Ian put the letter to one side and sat with his head between his hands. Tears flowed down his cheeks and soaked the papers on his desk. To receive a letter like this so many years after the deaths of his parents and grandfather was a tragic reminder of how much he had lost. It was also a reminder of the choice he would now have to make. Fiona McDonald had walked into his life two years before, and while he had buried himself in his study, his responsibilities at Kanimbla, and the Murrawee projects, it had become harder and harder to imagine a future without her. But now his father’s letter had arrived, and while it reinforced his personal goal, the fact remained that he had commitments at Kanimbla and in Murrawee that he couldn’t walk away from.
His grandfather had often told him that one of the worst things that a man could be was a quitter.
‘You take on something, you finish it, Ian. You don’t quit. A fellow that quits isn’t a man
at all. It might be tough to keep going, but when you’re done you can hold your head high. Understand?’
‘Yes Grandfather,’ he’d answered. He hadn’t really understood the significance of this advice. Not then. But he understood now. There were still things to be done, things he’d initiated that weren’t quite finished. The motel units were done, but the swimming pools were not yet underway. There were changes to be made at Kanimbla, too. The shot was to take a different path – breed fewer, but even better rams and diversify as much as possible into the meat side of things. And that’s just what they were doing, but it was still early days. There was a lot to do. All of these things flashed through his mind as he read his late father’s letter.
There was also another disclosure in the same envelope. It explained that a safety-deposit box, the property of his mother, was now available to him, and that it contained some very valuable rings.
Mrs Heatley put her head around the study door to tell Ian that lunch would be ready in a few minutes. She noticed that he looked very strained and pale.
She glanced at the opened letters on his desk. ‘What is it Mr Ian? Bad news?’
‘It’s a letter from my father. It was to be opened after my twenty-first birthday and only after his and my mother’s deaths. And there was a note about my mother’s jewellery. It’s all a bit distressing, Mrs H.’
Mrs Heatley walked to Ian’s desk and put a hand on his shoulder. It wasn’t the kind of gesture a housekeeper would normally make, but she knew that Ian had no one else to offer sympathy or understanding.
Ian looked up at her, ‘Thanks Mrs H. I thought I’d put my past behind me. But now it’s all come back. Have I told you about the day the police came to tell me that my father and mother were dead? There was a clear blue sky, a beautiful African day, except that I no longer had my parents. There was only Kinshi to look after me until good old Britain took over and got me to my Grandfather in Cambridgeshire. I never saw Kinshi again.’
Ian stopped and gazed out the study window.
‘You needed eyes in the back of your head, Mrs H. There were leopards, silent killers that could drop on you from trees. And lions, and a snake called the mamba. But my parents took me with them because they couldn’t bear to be separated from me. I don’t regret that.’
‘So what does your father say, if you don’t mind me asking?’
‘He wanted me to do medicine and medical research. That’s what I’d be doing if Uncle Jack hadn’t left me Kanimbla,’ said Ian with a sad smile.
‘Forgive my impertinence, Mr Ian, but the impression you give is that you’d rather not have Kanimbla,’ Mrs Heatley said.
‘Kanimbla has complicated my life, Mrs H. The wool industry is going down the gurgler what with low prices, high costs, and dingoes – dingoes and drongos if you listen to Leigh Metcalfe. He doesn’t mean that the growers are at fault, just that the administration has been less than efficient. Some of the blame has to be sheeted to agri-politicians who’ve kept too many fingers in the pie without agreeing on the best marketing strategy. I realise you don’t think much of Leigh, Mrs H, but he’s a clever man and he doesn’t have an axe to grind where wool is concerned.’
‘But what can you do?’ asked Mrs Heatley.
‘The easiest answer is to sell Kanimbla because I could get so much money for it that I wouldn’t have to work again, but that would be unforgivable. I’ve got to try to keep the place viable.’
‘But you’re doing that aren’t you?’
‘I hope so.’
Mrs Heatley was determined to cheer Ian up. ‘Would you like your lunch now? It’s a very nice piece of corned beef.’
Ian looked up at his dear housekeeper. ‘When things are bleak, there’s always corned beef,’ he joked.
‘That’s the shot,’ she said. She could have hugged him.
Chapter Thirty
‘How about we take a couple of hours off and throw a line in the river?’ Ian asked Leo Blake. They were in the shed looking through rams Jim Landers had set aside for a client.
‘Sounds like a good plan, though towards evening would be best for that,’ Leo replied. ‘What about bait?’
‘I’ll get Ben to take some time off stable duties to dig some worms and we can use them and the lures,’ Ian said. Leo knew that Ian rarely took time off to go fishing, and that when he did, he usually had something on his mind. He’d been looking pale lately – not his usual self – and Leo wondered what was bothering him.
‘What say I take something to eat and we boil the billy and have afternoon smoko there?’ Leo suggested kindly.
‘That sounds fine to me,’ Ian said. ‘I’ll pick you up about three.’
They drove down to what Ian referred to as Fiona’s Picnic Ground. It was where he had taken her on the first occasion he had invited her to Kanimbla. Ian had brought in some extra log benches and tables, and these had made it a popular place for picnics. The river was reasonably deep here, and there had been some good-sized cod and yellow bellies, or golden perch, caught in this very hole. The river here was clean and there seemed to be plenty of food for fish.
A squadron of wood ducks lifted off the river as Ian nosed his utility into the picnic area. Leo set about getting a fire going in the rock fireplace and Ian took the rods and fishing baskets from the back of the vehicle and placed them against the trunk of a red gum. When the billy was boiling, Leo threw in some tea leaves and then went to the front of the utility for the picnic basket that held their smoko supplies. There was milk in a small bottle, a tube of condensed milk, sugar, scones and Anzac biscuits.
Leo put his mug of tea to cool on one of the rough log tables and took up his rod for a quick cast. He chewed an Anzac while he watched the line drift sideways with the slight current. Presently, he came and sat beside Ian. ‘I know something has been gnawing at you lately, Ian. What’s the problem?’ he asked.
Ian hesitated, testing his line before answering.
‘Mr Blake, I’m going to have to go back to England.’
Leo could never get over the fact that his boss refused to call him anything but ‘Mr Blake’, even though he had asked him repeatedly to call him by his Christian name. Ian had replied just as often that he was entitled to the respect he had earned.
‘Well now, what’s brought this on? I was beginning to hope you might be staying, especially now that you and young Fiona seem to be such a team,’ said Leo.
‘Fiona’s a good friend, Mr Blake. Because of the respect I have for you, it is important that you of all people understand why I have to go back to England,’ Ian said. He took his father’s letter from his shirt pocket and handed it to Leo. ‘Maybe this will help,’ he said.
Leo took his time to read the letter before he handed it back to Ian. ‘I reckon your father must have been a fine man. But still, I don’t understand why you need to go back to England. Couldn’t you do medicine in Brisbane or Sydney?’
‘There’d be too many distractions in Australia. I’ve got automatic entrée to Cambridge because of my pass at Harrow and I’m on the way to getting my science qualifications. I don’t want any distractions. I need to go at this medical course full bore and hopefully, if I finish up with honours, I’ll be offered the best opportunities in research. It’s important I don’t think about anything or anyone else, Mr Blake.’
‘When you put it like that …’ Leo began.
‘By the way, I think you’ve got something on your line,’ Ian interrupted. Leo’s rod, which he had stuck in the bank while they were yarning, was headed for the river.
Leo retrieved it, and after a few minutes of effort landed a cod that he put at almost ten kilograms. ‘Look at that! I’ll split it with you,’ he said to Ian.
Ian smiled half-heartedly, ‘That would be great,’ but he was clearly still distracted. ‘Actually, Mr Blake, there was something else I wanted to talk to you about. I wanted to make sure that you didn’t mind me offering Rhona the use of the flat at Lyndhurst.’
Ian pau
sed, waiting for Leo’s response. He had expected an argument, even an outburst, but was surprised when Leo said calmly, ‘Don’t worry about it. Judy has explained everything. Rhona’s leaving for England next week. She’s seemed a lot happier the last few times we’ve spoken.’ Leo cleared his throat before continuing. ‘Er … there’s nothing between you and Rhona is there? I mean, because you’re going back there and she is too?’
‘Oh no, Mr Blake. Nothing like that. Rhona might not even decide to study at Cambridge, she’s keeping her options open for the moment.’
‘Well, I reckon it’ll be good for her, Ian, and I can’t thank you enough for helping her out in this way. She might be a bit of a rough diamond, but Rhona will do right by you and pay back anything she owes.’
‘I have no doubt about that,’ said Ian.
‘Well Ian, now it’s my turn to share some news. I know this probably won’t come as a surprise given my age, but it’s time I retired. I’ve got a block of ground over on the coast and I want a few years fishing before I become too useless to do anything. To be honest, I probably should have done this a few years ago, but I couldn’t walk out and leave you in the lurch either.’
‘Mr Blake, the last thing I want is for you to leave Kanimbla but I appreciate that there comes a day in every man’s life when he realises it’s time to let go. I’m very appreciative of the extra work you’ve done here. It’s meant a lot to me,’ Ian said.
‘Actually, I was ready to retire when your uncle and aunt were killed. I couldn’t run off after that happened. I felt I owed it to your family to wait a while. And then you arrived and somehow I didn’t want to leave any more. Not for a while anyway. I wanted to see what decisions you’d make for Kanimbla and then you got started on Murrawee. There are things I want to do before I get any older. I’ve had fifty odd years in the bush and I reckon that’s long enough to be in this game. Some of it hasn’t been easy on Judy. She wants to have a trip or two and I reckon I owe her that.’