Then, ears pricked, he was up and they both tore down the hallway to the front door.
The familiar blue bus with the white lettering ‘Campbell’s Carriages – the best ride in town’ was inching its way like a fat wombat over the cattle grid as Nina arrived at the gate. The rain had cleared and the air was crisp. The scent of vintage roses floated on the breeze from the garden. An arm began waving frantically out the front passenger window.
‘Izzy!’ Nina called. There was no way she could be heard over Hamish’s reconditioned engine, but she couldn’t help herself. She craned to spot Maggie through a window.
Hamish pulled the bus up in front of the gate and in seconds Izzy was down the steps, red hair flying and into Nina’s embrace. Her hug was always so encompassing, just what Nina needed now that her sister had moved away, but Nina was in no state to appreciate it today.
‘So where’s Maggie?’
‘Well, hello to you too,’ said Izzy, as she tried to calm the excited Syd who was tugging at the hem of her green wraparound dress.
‘Sorry, but I’ve got to speak to her,’ Nina said, as she untangled herself from Izzy’s amber tresses. ‘I found her sketchbook.’
‘Oh,’ said Izzy distractedly. She beckoned the passengers down while Hamish unloaded bags. ‘Watch the mud, everyone,’ she warned.
Nina greeted the two grey-haired women who blocked the rest of the guests on the steps of the bus as they stood chatting to Hamish. Hurry up, she thought as they squeezed past, then checked herself. I have to calm down. This is business and I need all I can get. She smiled at the women.
‘Is that The Springs?’ asked one, shading her eyes and pointing to the homestead. ‘Gorgeous.’
Nina glanced with pride at the low, century-old, timber homestead, with its wraparound verandah. Yes, it was beautiful, but when she had come out from Sydney a couple of years ago it was a different story. Her new neighbours, now friends, had helped her bring it back from the brink.
‘I hope the road wasn’t too bad,’ she said to the women as they alighted. Nina turned back to the steps. Out came a blonde couple and a younger man, probably a student. Still no Maggie.
‘Just divine!’ A tall, thin, vaguely familiar woman in her 70s descended on Nina in a swirl of fabric. ‘My god, so authentic! I can smell the cow shit! Oh it’s fine, darling, I love cow shit. Six hours on that bus! I could kill for a cigarette.’ She winked.
The woman didn’t draw breath. ‘And a doggie! I adore kelpies!’ She leant to pat Syd amid a jangle of bangles.
‘And you are …?’ ventured Nina.
‘Now, I can see it on your face – it’s fine to be nervous. I’ll leave plenty of signed pics for you to put up in your … cow shed? No need to be shy.’
Nina stared, clueless. A TV star from long ago? A soapie actress?
Finally, Nina stepped into the bus. Izzy followed.
‘Maggie?’ she called. A snore from the back seat was the only response.
‘She was having the odd nip from a flask. Think she’s “over-tired”,’ said Izzy.
Nina sighed as she smelt the tell-tale whiskey. There was no way she would be able to find out anything for a few hours at least. So annoying – today of all days.
‘Maggie?’ called Izzy gently. ‘Maggie? We’re here.’
To Nina’s surprise and relief, the old woman stirred and then spluttered. A tangle of white curls flopped over a creased baby-face.
‘Where are we? Nina, hello! That salad sandwich I had on the flight must’ve been off.’
Nina prayed silently that the woman wouldn’t be sick over Hamish’s reupholstered seats. ‘We’ll help you down the steps and take you to your room to freshen up.’
‘Yes, good-oh,’ said Maggie, who rose unsteadily.
‘I’m just settling Maggie into her room,’ Izzy told the group assembled around the bus. ‘Nina – the star of our show – will sort you out.’ She smiled as she handed her the room list and a rundown of guest likes and dislikes.
What would she do without her? It was hard to believe Izzy was three years younger. So confident. So together for 25. The pair had clicked the minute they met a year ago when Izzy had called to find out about bringing her tour groups to The Springs. ‘The photo in that article when you won the Flynn Prize – the one of you in front of Durham House. I recognised it straight away. I saw pictures of it when I was little and never forgot it. It’s spooky – I’ve wanted to come out there since. And your artists’ retreat and gallery – just awesome, I had to call.’ Izzy was so excited, Nina loved her already. They had soon teamed up and the art tours had really taken off. Now, one week in every four, Izzy was a fixture at The Springs.
‘Okay, everyone – the tour.’ The Springs homestead housed the communal kitchen and dining area, Nina explained, as the guests took in the bright mismatched chairs and the eclectic mix of retro and modern crockery and stainless steel appliances. ‘The other rooms are sort of off limits,’ Nina said. ‘There’s just my office, the sitting room, a bedroom. And my studio. Though I do tend to work outside.’
‘Just like her father,’ said the bangled woman in a loud whisper. ‘I’m a bit of a Jim Larkin fan.’
‘I’ll show you the gallery later – plenty of Jim Larkins there,’ said Nina, with a hint of a smile. ‘But first to the shearers’ quarters, your home for the next few days.’
The group filed out through the back door and, herded by Syd, picked their way across the yard to the long weatherboard building with a corrugated iron roof. Nina threw open the first door to reveal a double bed covered in cushions, white shutters and a plump lounge chair in a Japanese print. There were more ‘oohs’ and ‘aahs’ as the guests inspected the eight bedrooms and two bathrooms. The renovation had been a risk, consuming a large part of the income when she sold her flat in Woolloomooloo.
Izzy appeared. ‘Before you unpack, a reminder that there’ll be plenty of time for location work. We’ll be painting at the waterhole on Wednesday with Auntie Moira Inchboard. She’s a local elder with loads of stories about the country around here. And then of course we have master classes with Possum Brody and Nina.’
At the demand of her guests, Nina sourced lactose-free milk, insect spray and a book on the history of how The Springs, Kurrabar and Paramour were originally one huge property – Durham Station.
Later, Izzy joined her on the old leather sofas in the guests’ common room.
‘Please tell me Maggie’s okay,’ said Nina.
‘Out to it,’ said Izzy. ‘What did you need to see her about? If it involves a clear head, it might be best to leave it till morning – or possibly next year.’
But Nina couldn’t return her friend’s smile. ‘I’ll fill you in later. It’s complicated.’
‘Sure, sounds interesting,’ said Izzy as the guests appeared. She clapped her hands and addressed the visitors. ‘Okay, everyone. Tonight we have an outback, lamb-on-a-spit campfire dinner. The fire gets going at five and dinner’s at 7.30. So you’re free to wander about, do some sketching. Your hosts tonight will of course be Nina Larkin here and her “hold-your-breath-ladies-cos-he’s-a-hunk-and-a-half” better half – Heath Blackett.’
‘God, Izzy,’ laughed Nina.
The flames of the bonfire were like dancers throwing their orange arms into the purple dusk and scattering sparks among the stars. Nina’s mind drifted to Tim Storrier and his genius for replicating magic moments like this. The guests seemed happy. Most of them were around the fire, but a couple had wandered over to the telescope which was surrounded by deckchairs and a beanbag. She should join them and show them where to look for Saturn, but there was no way she could concentrate. She’d had only one thing on her mind all afternoon.
‘Maggie still sleeping it off?’ she asked, as Izzy plopped beside her on a stump and handed her a cold beer.
‘That is, let me see, the fifth time you’ve asked. She’ll be up soon. I just checked on her and there was movement. And she was breathing, which is always
a plus.’
‘Sorry. Ugh, I know I’m a pain but you can understand why.’ Nina had managed to get Izzy aside earlier to show her Maggie’s sketch.
‘Understand? I’m as desperate as you to find out about it,’ said Izzy.
Nina wrapped her blanket tighter and took a swig of beer.
The handmade spit turned above a bed of glowing coals and the lamb fat hissed in drops onto the embers, sending up a delicious incense.
Gazing into the fire, Nina let herself imagine what she would say to her father if he really were alive – which he definitely wasn’t and couldn’t be. But still. The first thing would be to ask why he had pretended to be happy with her adoptive mother Julia for all those years when it had been a lie. It was a man, Wandalla solicitor Harrison Grey, who had been his true love. Even more than that, how had he come to sleep with Hilary of all people when everyone said he couldn’t stand her?
But if her father were alive – which was impossible – those questions would wait until she had flung herself into his arms.
‘So, how about some interpretive dancing round the fire to distract you then?’ asked Izzy dryly.
‘Sorry?’ said Nina, shaking herself back to the present. ‘Oh, okay,’ she smiled. ‘And if you’re going all hippy dippy on me, Izzy, why don’t we do it topless?’
Izzy held up crossed arms as if warding off a vampire. ‘You know that stuff still freaks me out,’ she said. ‘I don’t think you understand the trauma of growing up in a yurt.’
‘It can’t have been that bad.’
‘Have you ever tried sitting on an outdoor long-drop dunny in the Blue Mountains in the middle of winter? My wee turned to icicles before it hit the bottom.’
Nina laughed.
‘Stop it!’ said Izzy. ‘The day I got my first period Tulip … Mum made me dance around a fire, just like this one, while my sisters banged drums. Humiliating.’
‘What are their names again?’
‘You really love this, don’t you?’ Izzy obliged, ‘Okay. Honesty, Storm and Calliope. Satisfied? They got worse with time. That’s the only way I was spared. Just think, I could’ve been Vanilla.’
Nina chuckled then sighed wistfully. ‘You’re lucky you still have a family.’ She glanced down at the portrait in her lap.
Izzy put an arm around her. ‘Look, Nina – I’m sure there’s a logical explanation for that sketch. There has to be.’
‘I can’t stand this waiting.’
‘Won’t be long. Here’s your man.’ Izzy nodded towards Heath’s ute as it bumped up the track.
But Nina immediately saw that Alfie was driving, not Heath.
‘He was held up with some business stuff on the phone and then one of the cows started to calve,’ Alfie called through the window as he pulled up. ‘Says he’ll try and come later. Here’s some Kurrabar home brew.’
‘No worries. Ta, Alfie,’ said Nina, but she felt disappointed. They watched him carry the carton inside.
‘Shame,’ said Izzy.
‘Yeah, I wanted Heath to hear Maggie’s explanation.’
‘My explanation? It was the salad sandwich!’ It was Maggie, dressed in fishermen’s pants, a Hawaiian shirt and a terry-towelling hat. ‘Is that lamb? I’m starving.’
The welcome dinner had all the trappings that visitors loved. The rare saltbush lamb was accompanied by potatoes roasted in foil, baked pumpkin, warrigal greens and gravy.
Izzy was busy capturing snaps of the guests around the campfire. It was time to update Painted Sky’s Instagram and Facebook page. Nina stood at the serving table wondering how quickly she could scoop out the dishes without appearing impolite. When she finally joined Alfie at the fire, the actress appeared by his shoulder.
‘Umm, excuse me,’ she said, her smile stretched. ‘We want to do some traditional dancing later and we’d appreciate it if you could teach us some of the … um … the moves you people do on such occasions. With the fire and all.’
Alfie tilted his head towards Nina and rolled his eyes. She turned to cover a laugh and spotted Maggie putting down her fork. She swooped.
‘So, Maggie,’ she said, sitting next to her and opening the sketchbook.
‘Oh, my book!’ cried Maggie, pleased.
‘It’s about this,’ Nina said pointing to the man’s face. She had tried to keep her voice low but her excitement betrayed her and everyone turned to look.
‘What?’
‘This!’ said Nina, holding the sketch in front of her. ‘It’s my dad, isn’t it? Isn’t it?’
The chatter grew quiet. ‘Where did you meet him, Maggie? How well did you know him? Did you talk to him much?’ The questions tumbled out.
‘Pardon?’ asked Maggie, puzzled.
‘Very handsome,’ said one of the older women, peering over her glasses. ‘He looks familiar.’
‘Familiar! It’s my father,’ said Nina.
‘But you’re not sure. I mean, are you sure?’ asked Izzy.
‘Of course it is!’ said another guest moving closer. ‘Well, it bloody well looks like him. The Sydney Stir’s biggest stirrer. It’s a dead ringer.’
‘At first I thought it must’ve been a long time ago. Until I saw the date. Dad died in 1997.’ Nina pointed to the lettering under Maggie’s signature at the bottom right-hand corner of the image. Man at Café, 2017.
‘This says it was drawn this year,’ said Izzy. ‘But that’s impossible.’
‘I realise it seems impossible …’ Nina felt her words trail off as other emotions began to swamp her: disappointment and fear. ‘Maggie? Maggie?’
‘Hands. They’ve always been a weakness of mine. Can never quite get the lines right. What do you all think of them?’ Maggie asked as she bent over the portrait.
‘Maggie!’ Izzy fumed. ‘Nina needs to know: who is this person? Was it Jim Larkin? Did you paint him from memory? From a picture?’
‘Now …’ said Maggie, her eyes narrowing as she tried to remember. ‘It was in a café. In the Hills.’ Her face became animated as she remembered.
‘The Hills?’ asked Nina urgently.
‘Surry Hills. Sydney. Irish coffee, that’s what we’d have. And maybe pancakes – or was it banana hotcakes? He was very vivacious. Always laughing with the café woman. And it struck me that he was a lot like the painter fellow. Your father,’ she said to Nina helpfully.
‘Like him?’ asked Nina. ‘But not him?’
‘And I told him. I said, “You look a lot like Larkin.” And he said there was a reason for that.’
Nina took a calming breath. ‘Go on.’
‘And I asked if I could sketch him. He was so handsome. So engaging. An excellent subject. My only disappointment is the hands …’
Izzy’s voice was calm but firm: ‘Did you ask him, Maggie, what he meant by saying, “There’s a reason for that”?’
‘No. Sorry, dear,’ Maggie said as she registered Nina’s crushed face. ‘I plain forgot once I got drawing. I never thought to ask.’
‘How old is he?’
‘Oh, everyone looks young to me. Let’s see, maybe he was 30, 35? I’m confused. Could be around 50.’
Nina swallowed, almost painfully. ‘It’s all right, Maggie. I just thought – I don’t know what I thought actually,’ said Nina. ‘Maybe that you’d captured a ghost.’ She tried to laugh but there was a catch in her voice.
‘Well, my dear,’ said Maggie. ‘There’s no reason why you can’t ask him.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘He used to be there every Saturday. But that’s not to say he still goes there. It’s called “plarce”, place with an accent thingo, rhymes with arse. Crown Street.’
‘Okay,’ said Izzy, hands on hips. ‘Looks like I’ll have to drop in there for a coffee on the weekend.’
‘Would you?’ Nina’s voice was almost a whisper.
‘I’ll find him,’ Izzy replied, hugging her friend. ‘I promise.’
CHAPTER 4
‘Six kilos of sausages, some o
f those loin chops we had last time would be great, maybe three kilos – and two of bacon. And four dozen eggs,’ said Nina down the crackling phone line. ‘No, Wally – four, not 14. Four.’ She put a finger in her free ear and paced around the kitchen. ‘Yes, I’m still here. Can you see if you have any shanks? Yep, I’ll hold on.’ Nina sighed. She hated doing the ordering almost as much as she hated doing her tax statements. She frowned at the Formica table covered with piles of papers she’d brought home from The Springs.
‘Great, Wal. Can you read that back to me?’ Nina said as the screen door banged. She turned in surprise. It was Heath.
‘What! What are you doing here?’ she smiled.
‘I’m trying to sort the bloody order – what do you think I’m doing?’ said Wal.
Heath laughed. ‘The Drummonds, the Gilgandra ones, you know? They had to call off the visit. Got a problem with a bull or something, so I thought I’d head back home. And see you.’
His arms tightened around her.
‘So, just the 14 dozen, was it, love?’
‘Yes. No. Just four. Dozen! Thanks, Wal,’ said Nina.
‘No worries. So, when are we going to get a wedding order? Keep expecting it, but it never comes.’
‘Look, Wal, are you able to deliver this as usual on Wednesday? I’ll meet you at The Springs then. Thanks.’
Nina put the phone down and turned in Heath’s arms. He kissed her lightly on the nose, the eyelids. ‘Missed you,’ he muttered.
‘Me too,’ Nina whispered as his warm breath caressed her ear. She sighed. ‘I wish I’d known you’d be coming back so early,’ she said disentangling herself. ‘It’s great to see you but …’
‘But what?’
‘I’ve got so much to do here and I have to go to …’
‘Where?’ He pulled her back towards him and ran a finger slowly down her neck.
She felt his heart quicken. His mouth was now on her neck, his hands tugging at his fly. He lifted her onto the kitchen table. She lay back on her elbows as his hands searched slowly under her shirt and then moved to the inside of her thigh.
The phone jangled again.
The Shifting Light Page 3