Secrets of the Springs

by Kerry McGinnis

  In contrast to the morning, the afternoon passed swiftly. I dressed the dining room table and then myself before repairing to the kitchen, reaching automatically for the table mats as I passed the fridge to set it for our meal.

  ‘Three places, Orla, not four,’ Marty admonished, looking up from the oven into which she had just slid a rack of potatoes. ‘You’ll eat with them.’

  ‘No, I’m waiting on them.’

  ‘You can take the meals in on the trolley.’ She pointed to the small-wheeled table that customarily served as a potplant stand. ‘And bring out the dirty plates when you collect the dessert. Of course you have to sit at table with them. They’ll expect it. You’re their hostess.’

  ‘Oh. I never thought – I’d much rather have my meal out here.’

  ‘Too bad.’ She glanced up from the beans she was stringing. ‘What are you worried about? You’ll be fine and you look very nice.’

  ‘Thank you, Marty.’ I glanced down at my jade jumper and black pants and returned to my room for earrings to add just a touch of dressiness. The PGs would probably be wearing jeans and shirts anyway. A low growl of an approaching engine broke the silence then, and by the time Mark swung past the homestead in the old green Rover, I was at the front gate, waiting for the second vehicle to pull up.

  In the end I found I had worried uselessly, picturing critical guests impossible to please. Adam and Kitty Jameson were the exact opposite, thrilled to be on ‘a real station’ and eager to learn all they could about the arcane workings of it. Their daughter, Heather, was a wide-eyed nine-year-old, disappointed not to find a dog but settling happily for No Name’s company in lieu. The cat certainly knew when he had found a soft touch and attached himself firmly to the little girl for the duration of her stay. Kitty’s father, Ray, whom Heather called Grandy, was an affable, friendly sort, less reserved than his son-in-law. Grey-haired but sprightly, he had moved easily to introduce himself, clasping my hand to say, ‘It’s great to be here, Miss . . . Mrs?’

  ‘It’s Miss, actually,’ I said shaking hands. ‘I’m Orla Macrae and I’m very glad to welcome you. You must be the grandfather?’

  ‘That’s me.’ His smile was friendly. ‘This is my daughter, Kitty, and her husband, Adam. And this is Heather, who’s thrilled to bits to be way out here – aren’t you, kiddo?’

  ‘Yes,’ she answered seriously. ‘When we won the competition Grandy said it was a Great Day.’ She gave the words capital letters. ‘You know what they are, Miss?’

  ‘Something really special?’ I hazarded, smiling.

  ‘They’ve got red edges,’ she confided, ‘and a big red ribbon tying them shut that God opens for you.’

  ‘Wow! That is special,’ I agreed. ‘Well, shall we go inside and find your rooms?’ Adam had the cases unloaded and Ray moved to take charge of one. ‘This way, Mr and Mrs Jameson, and I can’t tell you how pleased we all are to welcome you to Malvern Park.’

  ‘Oh, Kitty and Adam, please.’ Kitty was pleasingly plump with a scatter of freckles across her nose and a glint of red in her brown curls. ‘Has your family always owned the place, Miss Macrae?’

  ‘Do call me Orla. And yes, my great-grandfather was the first to hold it – though only for a while. It was his son Charles who returned later and laid the foundations for what you see today. The homestead was his work – with some additions since, of course. Mind you he was late in the pioneering game, by coastal standards that is, but all this country had to wait until they found a way to get water onto it before it could be used for grazing. The Park has bores . . .’ The practised phrases slipped easily from my lips as I led them up the shallow steps. Kitty and Adam had my parents’ old room, Heather the blue bedroom that Fiona had admired, and Ray had the last bedroom into which I had moved the desk from my father’s office. I had found a small mirror on a stand to set atop it to replace the original shabby dressing table. I showed them the bathrooms and led them through the dining room to the winter parlour, where I put a match to the kindling in the fireplace. ‘We’ll be glad of it later,’ I said. ‘The nights are quite cold but I’m sure you’ll be warm enough in your rooms. And there are extra blankets should you need them.’

  ‘It’s lovely,’ Kitty said, looking back at the dining room, which I decided did look rather splendid with the wink of silver and glassware under the frosted bulbs of the fancy ceiling lights. I had been forced to send to Broken Hill to replace the ones that had blown but it now seemed worth the effort.

  ‘The food,’ I said gaily, ‘is even better than its setting. Before I leave you to settle in, just come with me to the kitchen to meet Ellen Martin. She’s the best cook either side of the Barrier Range, as I’m sure you’ll agree once dinner is served. You too, Heather – you might ask her for a saucer so you can feed No Name yourself, if you want.’

  Afterwards while the family were unpacking and showering I returned to the kitchen, redolent now with the smell of roast mutton. Darkness reigned beyond the window, save for a vagrant gleam of light from Mark’s place that came and went as the wind moved the foliage of the pepper trees that normally screened it from view. The plates were stacked on the warming rack, the kettle simmering gently on the back of the large range.

  ‘I said you’d ring the bell when dinner was ready. So what do you think of them, Marty?’

  She looked up from the syrup she was boiling. ‘They seem nice enough. And the child’s well behaved, which is a mercy.’

  ‘Yes, a sweet kid. And I like the old chap. The husband doesn’t say much.’

  Marty greased the back of a tablespoon, then drizzled the syrup back and forth across it, creating a net of fine-spun sugar threads that set instantly into the shape of the spoon. ‘Usually means the wife can talk for two,’ she said, concentrating. ‘Swipe some butter over that other spoon, will you?’

  ‘What are you making?’

  ‘Decorations for the dessert.’ She glanced at the clock and took the prepared utensil from me. ‘Thanks, now this one. I’ve more to do, so keep buttering.’ Casually she added, ‘Have you heard from Ben lately?’

  ‘Not a word. But you can always give him a ring, you know.’

  She ignored the suggestion. ‘And have you found out about the wine – whether we can serve it or not?’

  ‘Afraid not, not without a licence. That’s why I got the non-alcoholic stuff in. I’ve been thinking, Marty. It might be simpler to auction off the cellar’s contents and put BYO on the adverts. Some restaurants do. That way it’s up to the PGs and we don’t have the bother.’

  ‘You’re probably right. Well,’ she said, standing back to study her work, ‘that’ll do I think.’

  ‘They look amazing.’ I was sincere. ‘Pity Ben’s not here to enjoy them too.’

  ‘Oh, they’re for the dining room, not the kitchen. Working men need substance, not sugar and air.’ She uncovered the resting joint and picked up the carving knife, glancing at the clock as she did so. ‘Another ten minutes and you can ring the bell for me.’

  ‘Yes, Marty,’ I said meekly and went to fetch the trolley.

  Chapter Twenty

  Dinner to my relief went well, with everyone appreciative of the food.

  ‘What beautiful lamb,’ Kitty exclaimed. ‘I’ve never had any as good in the city.’

  ‘That’s the saltbush,’ I said and failed to mention we were actually eating goat. Turning to Adam I learned that he worked as a metal machinist in Nuffield’s Engineering and that Kitty was his childhood sweetheart from next door. She had trained as a hairdresser, stopping work when Heather came along.

  ‘And what prompted you to come out here? It’s a long way from Darlinghurst.’

  ‘That was Dad,’ Kitty said. ‘He showed us the ad for the competition, said he’d always wanted to see the western side of the state. We couldn’t believe it, could we honey, when we got the phone call. The prize was for a family of four, so here we are. How long have you been taking guests, Orla?’

  ‘You’re our first.�
��

  ‘Really?’ Her eyes wandered about the room. ‘It’s a big house – it must need a lot of staff.’

  ‘Just me and Ellen but the men help too. You’ll meet them tomorrow. Joe’s going to shear a sheep for you, and Mark will take you out on the run and show you around. He’s worked here forever so he knows it all. You’ll have a great time. Ellen will make you a picnic lunch and Mark’ll boil the billy for you.’ I smiled at Heather. ‘Just the way the shepherds did it in the old days, when it was all horses and buggies out here.’

  ‘And the rest of your family?’ Ray asked. ‘Where’re they? I’m looking forward to catching up with your father. We served together overseas, you know. Well,’ he added, ‘I’m pretty sure it’s him, but yours is a popular surname. Henry McRae – that’s your dad, right? Married to Lillian, and with a sheep station out west. I guess you’re a younger daughter – second, third? You’re way too young to have been born before the war.’

  I dropped my napkin and bent to recover it, using the action to hide the shock I knew must be imprinted on my face. ‘That sounds like Dad,’ I managed and cleared my throat. ‘What a coincidence you should know him.’ My voice sounded thin and high and I rushed the next bit, hoping it would forestall further discussion. ‘In that case I’m sorry to have to tell you that he’s dead – both my parents are. They were killed in a car crash when I was twelve.’

  Kitty gasped. ‘How dreadful! You poor thing! To be orphaned at that age.’

  ‘Yes,’ I agreed. I had never known how to respond to others’ reactions to my history.

  ‘I’m sorry to hear it,’ Ray said. ‘I have to admit seeing Henry again was half the reason I came. We were good mates once. And your mother gone too.’ He clucked his tongue, saying gruffly, ‘It must’ve been rough for you. Did he ever tell you how he met his Lillian?’

  Numbly I shook my head.

  ‘Ah, you wouldn’t have been old enough to care about it,’ he said. ‘It was on a ferry on Sydney Harbour. Her hat blew off and was heading straight for the rail, when Henry jumped and caught it. That’s how they met; prettiest sheila on the deck, he said. He could jump like a flaming roo, your dad. I remember once up the desert at Mersa Matruh the brass organised these sports for the troops —’

  ‘Oh, Dad, not your war stories,’ Kitty protested. ‘They won’t interest Orla and we’ve heard them all before. So your father came home – out here, I mean – after the war, Orla? Did he have brothers, and did they join up too?’

  ‘Only one brother, and he stayed to work the place with my grandfather.’ I wrinkled my brow. ‘I think there was some sort of edict in force that automatically excluded some men from army service.’

  Ray nodded. ‘You could be “manpowered for essential services”. A lot of country blokes were. Meant you were needed and couldn’t enlist. Henry could’ve stayed out too, if he’d wanted, but he reckoned there was more to life than sheep.’

  ‘So what was he doing in Sydney? After he married?’

  ‘What did any of us do?’ Ray raised his shoulders and let them fall. ‘It was the tail end of the Depression so you took whatever came along. Me, I was stacking trolleys in the markets, icing down fish and opening oysters till the stink got to me. As for Henry,’ I gritted my teeth – the repetition of Dad’s real name was getting to me – ‘he could’ve been driving a brewery wagon, I know he did at one time. See, once you were overseas all that life was done with. Finished, behind you. You worried about the future, not the past. Did he never talk about the war?’

  I shook my head and Kitty rolled her eyes. ‘Lucky you,’ she murmured.

  ‘I’ve finished, Mummy. What’s for sweets?’ Heather piped up then and Adam, who had said little to date, frowned at her.

  ‘Don’t be rude, Heather. Sit quietly and wait to be served.’

  I sent a swift glance around the table and saw they had all finished, ‘You’re going to love it,’ I promised. ‘It’s something quite special – just wait and see.’

  The butterscotch net perched upon the mound of crème caramel, with a drizzle of raspberry syrup at the base, delighted them all. Even the silent Adam approved, pushing aside his empty dish to declare, ‘That alone was worth the drive.’

  ‘I’m glad.’ I smiled around the table. ‘There’s a fire in the parlour and some comfortable chairs. And coffee shortly – how does that sound?’

  Ray rubbed his hands. ‘Pretty damn good, young lady. That was a wonderful meal.’

  ‘I’ll tell Ellen,’ I said and, loading the trolley, made my escape.

  Mark and Joe had left the kitchen and Marty was readying the coffee tray. ‘Compliments all round,’ I said. ‘It was a superb meal, Marty, you’ve got fans for life. I’ll just take this through and come back and help.’

  ‘Shouldn’t you stay?’

  ‘No – they can pour their own coffee. And they probably want to talk about the place.’ I looked at her across the tray. ‘The old fellow Ray – he served with Dad in the war.’

  She raised her brows. ‘Did he? What a coincidence.’

  ‘In a way. Part of his reason for coming was to catch up with Dad.’

  ‘Ah, well,’ her voice was kind, ‘maybe there’ll be things he can tell you about him.’

  My voice was suddenly brittle. ‘He already has, Marty. He said Dad had a child with his first wife. It seems I have a half-sister.’

  ‘Oh,’ she said inadequately. ‘I see. How do you feel about that?’

  ‘I don’t know. What difference can it make how I feel? She still exists.’ I hefted the tray distractedly, saying, ‘Look, they’ll be waiting for this. Don’t you start cleaning up till I get back to help.’

  The following morning I took my breakfast in the kitchen before the PGs were up. Mark glanced up at my entrance. ‘Morning, Orla. How’s it going?’

  ‘Well, I think,’ I said cautiously. ‘Bit of a change of plan. Do you think you could take them out say, half eleven, and make a lunch stop somewhere? Don’t rush, the longer they’re out the better. We’ll give them a picnic lunch and if you wouldn’t mind, could you boil the billy?’

  His lips quirked. ‘The Complete Bush Experience, eh? You want me to knock up a damper for them too?’

  ‘I don’t think it could compete with Marty’s sandwiches,’ I said, feeling a little leap of gladness to be even momentarily back on our old footing. ‘So maybe not. Having them out of the way will give me a chance to get on with things here. Hopefully you’ll wear them out enough that they’ll want an early night. And then tomorrow, Joe, you can do your stuff in the shearing shed, and I’ll give them the tour, and maybe I can talk them into going for a drive. They could explore the town properly, and have a look at the old minefield, see what they can find. Aren’t old bottles supposed to be worth something these days?’

  Mercifully I was too busy all day to have time to brood. I put fresh linen on the beds, changed the towels and cleaned the bathroom, and put on a load of washing. Marty had packed the PGs a sumptuous supply of sandwiches and cake and was now making croissants for tomorrow’s breakfast. I swept and polished anew before starting in the garden. Next year, I thought, spreading water around, I must renew the veggie patch. My mother had always cultivated vegetables: fresh lettuce, carrots, and beans – what a help they would be for catering, and I could grow herbs as well. At the moment there was only mint. I went off to feed the hens and discovered a clutch of newly hatched chickens in the history shed, the hen clucking furiously at me as she called them to the shelter of her wings. I made a mental note to bring Heather down for tonight’s feeding. She would love them, probably Kitty too. Wondering how Mark was coping, I put the feed tin back in its drum and returned to indoor chores.

  Joe joined Marty and me for lunch in the kitchen, muttering direly about a tyre he had been changing on the three-wheeler. ‘Bloody nuts might as well be welded on,’ he grumbled, pulling his chair out. ‘So, what yer reckon to the tourist business, so far?’

  ‘It’s okay,’ I said
cautiously. ‘Depends on whether they find today’s outing interesting. If they’re happy with that then we’re in business. Mind you we’re probably lucky with these particular guests. I don’t suppose they’ll all be so easy to please. From what I can gather it’s this lot’s first time out of the city, except for Ray. He mentioned visiting Coober Pedy so he’s obviously travelled a bit. I think I’ll wait and evaluate the next booking before deciding if it’s easy money.’

  ‘When’ll they be comin’? Only Mark said somethin’ about mustering the Saltbelly paddock in a few days.’

  ‘I don’t know, Joe. But the station work has to come first. So let’s just hope the timing’s right.’

  ‘Would Ben have the dates?’ Marty asked when Joe had gone.

  ‘Why should he? The Tourism office has the Park’s phone number and address.’

  ‘You could ring him and ask,’ she persisted.

  I lowered my cup and looked at her; her face had pinkened and her gaze wouldn’t meet mine. ‘Marty,’ I said firmly, ‘if you want to speak to him you’ll have to make the call yourself. You can’t have it both ways. If you’re not interested it’s not fair to keep him hanging around. If you are, then for God’s sake tell him so.’

  ‘You make it sound so easy,’ she flared with uncharacteristic heat, ‘but it’s not! He wants me to marry him, and I can’t.’

  ‘Why not? Are you already married? No – then what’s the problem? He’s not, so – what? Is he gay?’

  ‘Orla!’

  ‘Well, why then? I’m sorry, Marty but it seems to me you’re just creating obstacles. He’s obviously besotted, judging by the way he’s been dancing attendance on you ever since I got back. And I know you like him.’

  She was smoothing and folding a tea towel, her ringless hands pressing it into an ever smaller square. ‘It’s more than liking,’ she said quietly. ‘I love him – have done for years. But marrying me would ruin him and I can’t – can’t do that to him.’