by Judy Nunn
Giovanni wished that Harry had asked Alice to the banquet instead of him and he hinted as much. ‘Perhaps it would be more correct if a lady accompanied you, Harry,’ he said.
The reply was polite but firm. ‘If my wife cannot accompany me then my partner should, Gee-Gee. And if my partner will not, then I shall go alone!’
Harry had realised immediately what Giovanni was hinting at. Good God, the man was naive. Alice was a barmaid and she looked it. Even dressed to the nines she looked it. Harry rather liked Alice, even found her attractive, and she was a damned fine worker, but he thought Giovanni was a fool for marrying her. With his newfound style he could go anywhere—why saddle himself with a liability? Harry did not for one moment think himself a snob, but he was fully aware that one had to be very careful to create the right impression with those who were.
‘Sure, Harry. Fine.’ He owed Harry a great deal, Giovanni told himself, and accompanying him to the banquet was the least he could do. Besides, he had never been to a grand affair before, it might be interesting.
Unaware of Giovanni’s attempt to include her, Alice seemed as excited by the prospect of him going to the banquet as if she were going herself and she insisted he accompany her shopping. She chose a smart new three-piece suit for him in charcoal black and a brand-new white shirt with high starched collar. And, as the evening approached, she insisted he remember every detail in order to recount it to her.
‘The food, Giovanni, don’t forget the food. And the decorations. And the ladies’ hats.’ And so the list went on.
EVAN JONES WAS dreading the banquet. He would be seated at Lord and Lady Laverton’s table along with a number of the managers from the larger mines and several visiting dignitaries. He’d been underground boss at the Midas for barely six months and he hadn’t expected to be invited. But, after due consideration, he thought he knew why. Kate. It had to be Kate. She had so impressed them at their mid-year party that Richard Laverton and his wife must have decided she would be an asset at their banquet table. Evan realised he should be grateful, knew such an occasion would help establish his position at the Midas, but he agonised at the prospect of the social chitchat which lay ahead.
At first Kate was reluctant to go.
‘But it’s because of you, don’t you see?’ Evan insisted. ‘You’re the reason we’ve been invited, I’m sure of it.’ The thought of facing the evening without her was unimaginable.
‘Who will look after the children?’ she argued.
Then the offer came from the Lavertons that their housekeeper would care for the children and Kate had no further defence. And when Evan insisted on buying her an exquisite new gown with a lace bodice and a bretton hat of the very latest fashion with wide upturned brim and soft blue plume, she couldn’t help but feel a flutter of anticipation.
‘You must take it back, Evan, it is far too expensive,’ she said as she held the dress up in front of her and looked in the bedroom mirror.
Evan ignored her. ‘Put it on, Kate.’
Several minutes later, as she held the hat to her head and twirled before the mirror, she laughed like a child. ‘Look at me,’ she said, fingering the satin lapels of the fitted jacket over the lace bodice. ‘Look at me. I am so grand.’
‘You are beautiful,’ he said. ‘Very, very beautiful.’
‘Forward two three, back two three, forward two three, back two three.’ Harry sat in his favourite red velvet armchair and chanted methodically as he watched Giovanni and Maudie waltz around the floor of the upstairs parlour.
Many big women were graceful when they danced, surprisingly light of foot, even nimble. Maudie was not.
‘Now the pirouette,’ Harry said. ‘Turn two three, again two three.’ Maudie knew the steps well enough and she didn’t trip over or tread on her partner’s toes, but she danced by rote, wooden and self-conscious. ‘Now the circular waltz. One two three, one two three.’
The two of them whirled around several times and finally Maudie broke away laughing. ‘This is ridiculous, Harry, Giovanni dances far better than I do.’
‘Yes, we are all perfectly aware of that, my dear. Giovanni is a natural dancer.’ He added mischievously, ‘Unlike some,’ and Maudie wasn’t the least bit offended. ‘But it is essential he learn the correct steps. You are comfortable with the Pride of Erin, Gee-Gee?’
Giovanni nodded vigorously. The Pride of Erin was his favourite. But then he liked them all, the Military Two-step, the Glengarry Waltz, the polka … Harry had been teaching him to dance for a fortnight now and Giovanni loved it.
‘One more time?’ Harry asked. ‘This afternoon is your last chance to practise.’
Giovanni looked at Maudie who was sitting on the sofa, fanning her skirts to create a breeze. It was a stifling hot day. He shook his head. ‘I think no. I think Maudie has had enough dancing.’ Personally he could have danced all day.
Maudie smiled gratefully. ‘That’s very kind of you, Giovanni. Harry’d have me dancing all day if we let him.’ But the twinkle in her eyes belied the rancour of her words as she glanced fondly at her husband.
‘Nonsense,’ Harry retorted. ‘Sheer nonsense. I am going to this wretched banquet tonight purely for your sake and for the sake of our children.’
Maudie and Giovanni exchanged an amused look. ‘Oh? And how is that exactly?’ she challenged.
‘The business and political contacts I shall make, my dear. The advancements they could offer I view purely in the light of enhanced financial comfort and community standing for my family.’
Maudie laughed loudly and jumped up from the sofa. ‘You’re going to the banquet to show off, Harry Brearley, and that’s the truth.’ She crossed to the door. ‘And you’re going to love every minute of it. Giovanni, you’ll have a cup of tea before you go?’
‘Of course he will,’ Harry answered for him. ‘We have business to discuss, Gee-Gee and I.’ As Maudie closed the door behind her, she heard him continue. ‘Now you won’t forget your promise to shave off that beard, will you?’
Maudie smiled to herself as she walked downstairs. Harry had nagged the poor man for a week before Giovanni had finally agreed—and then only to shut Harry up, she was sure—to the loss of his beard. Despite her innate distrust of foreigners, Maudie had grown very fond of Giovanni. He was a good man, she thought, a kind man. And incredibly handsome. Alice was certainly getting a bargain with that one.
‘The moustache, too, don’t forget,’ Harry was saying as he and Giovanni drew their chairs up to the table by the balcony windows.
‘Yes, Harry, a promise is a promise. I shall not forget.’
‘By God, we’ll make an impression tonight, Gee-Gee, just you wait and see. Those flash city folk think they’re coming to a backwater but we’ll show them a thing or two. And we’ll dance their women off their feet, what’s more.’
‘That might not be such a good idea,’ Giovanni suggested, but Harry wasn’t listening. There was something he wanted to say and he wasn’t quite sure how to broach the subject.
‘The Clover’s doing well, Gee-Gee. All thanks to your hard work…’
‘And Rico’s,’ Giovanni added.
That was the subject. Rico. Harry wanted Rico out. The man was a timebomb awaiting detonation. He was dangerous. And even when he wasn’t posing a threat, he was an embarrassment. ‘Yes, of course,’ he agreed. ‘Rico’s a hard worker. A good worker.’ Giovanni nodded assuredly and Harry took a deep breath, deciding to get straight to the point. ‘But he’s not one of us, Gee-Gee. We could go a long way, you and I.’
As Harry Brearley turned and looked out of the window, determined to say his piece, he didn’t notice the change in the Italian’s customary good-natured demeanour.
Rico’s words were flashing through Giovanni’s mind. ‘He will betray us, Gio,’ Rico had said, over and over. ‘First me and then you. It is only a matter of time.’ Always Giovanni had defended Harry. ‘He is our friend, Rico; he has been good to us all. To you and me and Teresa and the chi
ldren too. You ask Teresa, she likes Harry, she is grateful.’ And Rico would snarl derisively. ‘You are fools, both of you. Harry Brearley is good to us only while we are useful to him, you wait and see.’
Now, as Giovanni watched Harry, he wondered if his brother could be right.
‘Rico’s certainly not afraid of hard work, Gee-Gee,’ Harry was saying, ‘and that’s admirable. He is an asset to any team whose requirements are pure physical strength.’
Harry was being genuine. He was fond of Giovanni and he wanted to share with him the success he sensed was within their grasp. But he also knew that, to attain success, one must at times be ruthless. One must focus on one’s assets and dispense with one’s liabilities. And Rico Gianni was a massive liability.
‘But you have moved on, Gee-Gee.’ Now was the time to lay his cards on the table. ‘I have plans for us and they cannot include your brother.’
‘What are these plans, Harry?’ The question was asked calmly. There was no edge to Giovanni’s voice and Harry, in his excitement to communicate, failed to notice the set of the Italian’s jaw or the fact that his hazel eyes had changed colour.
Rico had been right, Giovanni thought, his anger mounting. For a year now he had put his brother’s obsession down to the blind madness which he knew raged within. Now it appeared that it was he, Giovanni, who had been blind. A blind, gullible fool.
‘Real estate, my friend.’ Harry’s eyes burned with a child’s greedy excitement. ‘The pipeline, don’t you see? With the pipeline, the price of land and property will skyrocket.’
Harry stood up and paced the floor, unable to contain his enthusiasm. ‘Kalgoorlie will become a city of substance, a city in its own right, not dependent on gold alone. Already it’s a centre for the outlying sheep stations and wheat farmers and, with the pipeline, local business will expand, people will flock to buy property. Kal will never die, Gee-Gee. Even if the gold ran out, she would never die. Not like other towns. Coolgardie will; I see a ghost town there some day. But not Kal. Never Kal.’
Harry stopped pacing and pulled his chair up to the table once more. ‘I tell you, Gee-Gee, Kal will prosper and we will prosper with her…’
‘We. You and me. It is you and me who will prosper, yes?’
‘You and I, yes.’ Harry automatically corrected Giovanni as he always did. ‘You and I. We are partners.’ Still he did not read the danger signs.
‘Rico. He is a partner also.’
It was only then that Harry noticed something was wrong. Never had he seen such a look in Giovanni’s eyes. They were the eyes of another man. A man Harry did not know.
He realised it was time to backpedal.
‘Of course Rico is a partner, Gee-Gee,’ he said, quickly, his smile pure Brearley charm. ‘But he’s a partner of a different kind. He is…’
‘You shake his hand the same way you shake mine.’
‘Of course I did. We all shook hands. Partners. And it was the right partnership for the right time. But when we sell the mine and move on…’
‘We will not sell the mine, Harry.’ Giovanni stood slowly and, although his voice was not raised, the edge to it was chilling. ‘We are partners. You and me and Rico. Three partners.’
‘Of course we are.’ Harry felt vulnerable sitting so he also stood, keeping his amiable smile in place while he pretended to ignore the Italian’s anger. ‘It was simply an idea I thought I would put forward to you. If we decide to move on we…’
‘If we move on, we move on all three of us together.’
‘Of course we do, Gee-Gee, of course we do. I merely thought you and I could discuss the possibilities first before approaching Rico.’ Giovanni remained impassive, his eyes still searching Harry’s, seeking the truth. ‘Come along, my friend,’ Harry put a comradely arm around the Italian’s shoulders. ‘You know yourself how irrational your brother can be. I simply considered that a discussion between the two of us would be more productive.’
Giovanni allowed himself to relax, just a little. ‘Next time we talk, we talk as three. I will look after Rico.’
‘An excellent idea.’
‘And we talk soon. On Monday we talk.’
Harry realised it was an ultimatum. ‘Why not? Monday then. Tonight the banquet, tomorrow a day of rest and Monday we talk. Excellent.’
The door opened and Maudie arrived with the tea tray. ‘I have some of your favourite lemon cake, Giovanni,’ she said. ‘Just the way you…’
‘I am sorry. I cannot stay for the tea. I promised Alice.’ He crossed abruptly to the door.
Ignoring the query in Maudie’s eyes Harry followed him. ‘A silly misunderstanding, Gee-Gee. I’m sorry, I voiced myself badly.’ He held out his hand. ‘To the partners of the Clover. You and me and Rico. What do you say?’
Giovanni nodded. ‘To the partners.’ And they shook hands firmly.
‘Don’t you forget now.’ Harry grinned and slapped Giovanni on the back. ‘That beard goes.’
‘A promise is a promise, Harry.’ But Giovanni did not smile in return as he closed the door behind him.
‘What was that about?’ Maudie asked. ‘He looked so strange—did you say something to anger him?’
‘Ah who knows?’ Harry shrugged. ‘These Italians are a volatile bunch, even Giovanni. Maybe there’s a touch of his brother in him. No matter, he’ll get over it. A storm in a teacup is all it is. Speaking of which,’ he looked at his fob watch, ‘pour the tea, my dear. I must have an hour with my babies before the procession.’
Maudie smiled as she poured. Harry doted on little Victoria and James. Even when the twins were asleep he would sit beside their bassinets gazing at them adoringly and touching their tiny fingers.
‘Just think, Harry, in less than three hours we’ll be witness to one of the great wonders of the world.’ Having followed the progress of the pipeline to date Maudie no longer had doubts as to its success. ‘What a tragedy that O’Connor shouldn’t be here to reap the honours.’
It was the talk on everyone’s lips and had been for the past eleven months. Ever since Charles Yelverton O’Connor, the designer responsible for the goldfields water scheme, had suicided. Conjecture was rife as to the reason. Stress and overwork, some said. A result of his being hounded by the press, said others. But it was common knowledge that the brilliant man had never doubted the successful outcome of the Kalgoorlie pipeline. So why, on March 10th, 1902, while enjoying his early morning gallop along the sandy shores of the Indian Ocean, had he ridden his horse into the sea and shot himself? No one knew.
As Maudie chatted away, Harry nodded and murmured agreement but his mind was elsewhere.
Giovanni’s reaction had shocked him. He obviously did not have the Italian in his pocket as he had presumed. Why was the man behaving like such a fool? Oh, of course a promise was a promise and blood was thicker than water—Harry recognised all of that. But not where Rico Gianni was concerned—the fellow was a madman. Besides, a deal was a deal when all was said and done and Harry would certainly have offered Rico generous compensation. His had been a genuine offer, Harry thought defensively, and Giovanni’s reaction had been irrational. The man, through his misguided sense of family honour, was obviously blind to reason.
The more Harry thought about it the more he felt insulted, misunderstood. Yes, his offer had been heartfelt, he told himself, the offer of a friend. The offer of position, fortune, a whole new life. And Giovanni had refused. Well, so be it! One could not be responsible for fools. Especially where money was concerned.
He’d done the right thing by Giovanni—now he must move quickly. It was just as well he had covered himself from the very outset.
GIOVANNI DID NOT go home as he had intended. He needed to be on his own, away from the noise of the family. He needed to think. Anyway, it was only two hours until he must return to Maudie’s and meet Alice as he had promised. They were going to join the procession to Mount Charlotte to watch the ceremonial release of the water into the reservoir. He bought a copy o
f the Evening Star and went to the Sheaf, a hotel frequented by Italians.
‘Buonosera, Giovanni.’
‘Buonosera.’
The group of timbercutters at the far end of the bar beckoned him to join them but he declined, saluting them with his newspaper. He bought a beer and pulled a chair up to a small table in the corner by the window. There were no miners in the bar. Despite the fact that it was the afternoon of the most important celebration in Kalgoorlie’s history, it was work as usual at all the big mines. Harry had been the one to insist Rico and Giovanni take the day off. ‘You deserve it,’ he’d said. ‘You work too hard as it is.’ Giovanni had half expected to see Rico in the bar but he was glad to discover his brother wasn’t there.
In the walk from Maudie’s to the Sheaf Giovanni’s fury had abated. He was glad. He had lived with such anger during his years on the docks of Genoa and during his first few weeks in Fremantle. He did not like to feel anger.
He sat, pretending to read the newspaper, but churning over and over in his mind every word of his exchange with Harry, wondering whether he had overreacted.
Harry was right, of course: Rico was utterly irrational. It was perfectly understandable that Harry should not wish to discuss business until he had first consulted Giovanni. But all plans included Rico whether Harry liked it or not. They were equal partners, all three.
Giovanni sipped his beer and decided to put aside all thoughts of animosity. If Harry had indeed wanted to buy Rico out, and who could blame him, he was now certainly aware that no such option existed. In any event, such an offer did not amount to betrayal. Yes, Giovanni decided, he had overreacted. Harry had been a good friend and friendship was a thing to be valued. He would apologise to him tonight.
IT WAS A remarkable sight. Never in the history of Kalgoorlie, nor in the history of any other Australian inland town, had there been such a spectacle. And possibly there never would be again. Thousands upon thousands of people—up to twelve thousand, the newspapers later reported—walked through the blistering heat towards the tiny reservoir of Mount Charlotte. Men, women and children. The people of Kalgoorlie and Boulder were joined by the hordes who had arrived by train from the city, and in traps and carriages from other country towns, and on horseback from near and distant farms. Together they climbed the steep, winding tracks through the searing heat. The elderly who knew they would never live to see such a spectacle again. The very young who simply believed it was a huge party. Mothers carrying babies, fathers piggybacking their sons. All wended their way up the slopes through the one-hundred-and-six-degree heat to witness the miracle. And amongst them were the nation’s leaders, the men of vision destined to leave their imprint upon the pages of their country’s history.