‘Nope,’ said Ben, shaking his head. ‘Dartboard? Something Aboriginal?’
‘Lachlan said he’d research the symbols,’ said Izzy. ‘Shame he’s not here now.’
‘Ah well, someone had to take the tour group over to Wandalla,’ said Nina.
‘He’ll catch up on everything soon enough,’ added Heath dryly.
‘Heath,’ said Nina, rolling her eyes. She was getting tired of this. ‘Of course he’s interested in what happens today.’
‘Of course he is.’
‘So, let’s see this letter, Hilary.’ It was Ben.
Hilary pulled out the envelope. She removed the fragile paper and placed it on the table.
‘Read it, Neens,’ said Ben.
Nina’s voice was a little unsteady as she began.
The Springs
2nd May, 1906
Dearest Lillian,
I hope you and the family are well. I received your letter yesterday and thank you for your concern. James and I have just returned from Scone and have been settling into the new house that we have named The Springs, although it is not quite completed. It is more difficult than I anticipated. I find myself continually drawn to the burnt ruins of Durham House. I cannot bear to walk through the gate of our old home, but stand there foolishly. James says I must stay away as he feels it is not good for me to dwell on this loss. But I miss my little Lewis so much, his smiling face and tireless energy. Not to mention all our other memories. We could save nothing.
The strangest thing occurred this week and I must share it. Annie, who is now eight, was approached by our neighbour Mr. Barnaby Larkin while she played in the orchard. He presented her with a very fine gold locket which seems newly-made and must be reasonably valuable. It is a pretty if unusual piece, with strange engravings inside – numbers, circles and the like.
‘So, this little Annie becomes Grace Morphett’s mother, right?’ asked Heath.
‘Yes,’ said Izzy.
‘Keep reading,’ insisted Ben.
Mr. Larkin has railed against our family ever since my father-in-law laid formal claim to the land years ago. The Larkins had been squatting here and to this day, he believes he is the rightful owner. When he gave Annie the locket he said ‘take good care of this’. Do you not agree it is odd? Of course, James went to see him. He tried to give it back but Larkin wouldn’t hear of it. The old man has all but lost his mind. In fact, some, rather cruelly, now call him Barkin’ Larkin!
For years, rumours have abounded about his gold mining days. He and his partner were said to have unearthed a massive gold nugget in the 50s, but when he returned home, there was no sign of it. And more interestingly, his mining partner was never seen again. Frankly, I do not trust the man and I cannot stop wondering why he would have given my daughter such a gift. I put it to James that perhaps Larkin had something to do with the fire but he says that is just my nerves talking. However, I just cannot shake the idea. And strangely, Annie has drawn some comfort from the locket as if it were some kind of memento of her brother’s death. She misses Lewis very much. For me though, it holds only grief and sadness.
Finally, I must also tell you that I am again with child. I am well but melancholy and seem to have no strength for even the simplest of duties. James has been wonderful but is already thinking it may not be such a good idea to remain so close to the cause of our sorrow. He proposes that we build some miles west of here, closer to the river and let Larkin have this cursed part of the property. The thought of another move exhausts me. But I believe it would raise all our spirits.
It is my heartfelt wish that we meet in the not too distant future.
You are my dearest friend.
Yours,
Sarah Blackett
‘Oh my god. How sad,’ said Izzy, looking from the letter to the locket in Hilary’s hand. Hilary placed it back on the table.
‘So obviously,’ Izzy continued, ‘Annie gave the locket to her daughter, Grace – Miss Morphett.’
‘And then she left the locket to your mum,’ said Nina. She caught the gratitude in her friend’s eyes. It was only a white lie.
‘Mac says nobody out here remembers either of them,’ said Ben. ‘Even though Grace was his first cousin, he never knew her – she was decades older. He thinks his aunt, Annie, must have moved away when she married. And Mac doesn’t have any recollection of a locket in the Blackett family.’
‘Because it moved to the mountains,’ said Izzy. ‘Along with some of the story behind it.’
‘Is that all?’ asked Ben. ‘Nothing in this letter tells us anything that we didn’t know. Seems like you got the better end of this deal, Hilary.’
‘How was I to know how much you all knew?’ she answered smugly.
‘But we didn’t know Barkin’ Larkin maybe had something to do with the fire,’ added Nina. ‘I’d call a double-murderer lurking in my family tree something. The question is, why two lockets – one for each family? There has to be more to it.’
‘Hate to be a wet blanket,’ said Heath, ‘but if the old man had the lockets made out of that nugget, that’ll bring its value down, right there.’
‘Who cares,’ said Nina. ‘It’s not about the value anymore. The question is, why the two lockets with different engravings? Are they meant to be read together?’
Everyone was buzzing with speculation, as Hilary picked up Izzy’s locket and studied it once again.
CHAPTER 16
The cotton field stretched out to the top of the canvas, white fluffy circles and jagged leaves creating an undulating pattern. Almost abstract. Nina stood and stretched. Her paintbrush dropped a khaki dollop on the wooden floor of the studio and she hastily scooped up what she could with a finger. Wiping her hand on her overalls, she stepped in to complete the delicate shadows in the foreground. Finally, the balance between the white and green was working. Or was it? The morning light through lace curtains stippled the canvas. If it worked out, this could be the centrepiece for her exhibition. While the others managed the arrival of the new agisted cattle on The Springs, she finally had uninterrupted time to concentrate on her painting. But the solitude also gave her the space to doubt herself. She couldn’t produce anything that satisfied her.
Nina splodged brown paint onto the tin plate she used as a palette. She rubbed a finer brush on the side of her overalls, ready to add the intricate dark stems. Not quite there – not yet …
Ben watched Izzy as she briefed the artists on how the cattle would be unloaded and where best to capture the action. Her long hair swung glossy across her shoulders as she pointed to the wooden ramp the livestock would run down and the old timber stockyards that would hold them while they were counted and checked. Izzy seemed so at home. Since their night at the pub, he had looked out for opportunities to see her.
The stout upright posts, joined by weathered split rails, were the perfect spots for the students to perch – close to the stamping tumult of the animals but out of harm’s way.
‘Keep your legs on the outside and be ready to jump if they come too close,’ Ben called. ‘They won’t mean to brush you off but they’re dumb. We’re talking steaks on legs here. And no sudden moves or you’ll freak them out!’
‘How dangerous could a bunch of cows be?’ asked a skinny blonde girl.
‘Pretty bloody dangerous,’ grunted Lobby, propped against the gate with a cigarette seemingly glued to his bottom lip. ‘And they’re called cattle.’
Lachlan emerged from the direction of the house carrying a clipboard and pen. ‘Lobby – I want you over there by the ramp to make sure they get down safely,’ he called.
Lobby rolled his eyes at Ben and ambled towards the cattle chute. ‘Heath’ll direct the unloading,’ continued Lachlan, gesturing at Heath who sat in his ute. He’d been there since they’d arrived.
‘Are we all clear on that? The truck will connect with the top of the ramp here and he’ll be in charge of making sure that happens smoothly.’
The guy was a festering
pile of bullshit, thought Ben. Poncing around as though he knew the first thing about cattle. He eyed the khaki-clad Lachlan as the idiot attempted to reorder the seating arrangements of the art students. Izzy ignored him. One day he was going to make that creep pay for the way he had treated her. She was too good for him by a mile and he didn’t even realise it.
‘Ben,’ began Lachlan, moving towards him. ‘You can …’ He eyed the wheelchair dubiously. ‘Just stay there, I guess.’
In response, Ben swung himself out of the chair and, using the fence’s wooden rails as support, edged around the enclosure towards Lobby. Fuck you, mate.
In hospital after the plane crash, visitors had constantly told him how lucky he was to only have ‘incomplete’ paralysis. He still had some feeling in his lower body and could stand and move around for short periods with crutches and other support. At the time, their comments had infuriated him. Lucky was the last thing he was feeling. But in time he had learned to be grateful for the things he could do.
There was a roar of engines and Ben saw a cloud of dust head up the road towards them. No, two clouds of dust. What?
Heath must have noticed too because he stepped out of his ute and stood glaring at the approaching vehicles.
‘Here they come,’ called Izzy behind him. ‘Brace yourselves!’
The double-decker cattle transports had slatted wooden sides, allowing the animals crammed inside to get fresh air. The first truck began backing towards the loading ramp.
‘That’s a lot of machinery for 20 heifers,’ Ben called to Heath. This did not look good.
A stocky man in a blue singlet climbed down from the first truck’s cabin and Heath charged towards him. Ben couldn’t hear their conversation over the noise of the bellowing cattle but he could see it was heated.
‘What’s the hold-up?’ called Lachlan, joining Ben at the fence.
Heath and the driver walked over to them.
‘There’s been a mix-up. This guy thinks we’re bringing in 120 cattle, not 20.’ Heath stood, jaw clenched, arms folded.
‘No – 120 head, that’s right,’ replied Lachlan, checking his clipboard.
‘I’ll get ’em out now if youse are ready,’ said the driver.
‘Is there a problem, Heath?’ asked Lachlan.
‘Problem?’ shouted Heath. ‘There’s no way The Springs can handle another hundred head. She’s already got three hundred. The place’ll be grazed out in less than a month.’ He turned to the driver. ‘You’re gonna have to take them back, mate.’
Lachlan looked surprised. ‘Heath, we thought it made more financial sense to get a good number since the carrier was coming. Four dollars a head a week – that’s an extra 2K a month.’
‘Look, mate, I can’t stand round here arguing,’ interjected the driver. ‘We got two loads and they’re staying here. I got a manifest that says so. If you want to arrange to send ’em back tomorrow, you’ll have to do that on your own time.’ He pulled himself up the side of the truck and opened the back sliding door, then moved along the outside, whacking the cows through the slats with a piece of PVC piping. ‘Come on, ladies, get a move on,’ he yelled at the disorientated cattle. The first of them inched down the ramp into the yards, the pace increasing as the rest sensed freedom from the confines of the truck and began jostling from behind.
Ben saw that the artists, oblivious to the conflict, were fascinated by the scene. They scratched frantically at their sketchbooks while the huge, red Droughtmasters, with their Brahman-type humps and glistening hides, cautiously checked out this strange, new place.
Ben moved down the fence, settled in his chair and wheeled back to where Heath stood, hand on hips.
Heath moved towards Lachlan. ‘Does Nina know about this?’ he demanded.
But Lachlan waved him away, his eyes on the truck.
‘C’mon, you great big idiot,’ the driver yelled down as the last cow lowered her head and edged down the ramp and into the yards. Lobby opened the gate to the second yard and began counting them through.
‘What was that again?’ said Lachlan.
‘Nina. She knows about this?’
‘Of course. We discuss everything.’
‘Sorry, you blokes, we’re going to move the next lot in while you sort it out,’ called the truck driver, turning and stepping up into the cabin.
Heath moved forward. ‘We’ve got enough winter feed for now, but we’ll be fucked in a month or so,’ he yelled into Lachlan’s face.
Lachlan shrugged.
Heath took a deep breath and turned on his heel. ‘Ben, I’m going to see Nina,’ he called, striding towards the house. ‘Try to keep this idiot under control until I get back.’
Heath stormed up the front steps and into the studio. Nina turned from the canvas, her warm smile fading as soon as she saw his face. She pulled off her headphones, her hair springing out in all directions.
‘Heath, what’s happened, what’s the matter?’ Her green eyes were wide with concern.
‘You do realise you have 120 head of cattle being unloaded out there, don’t you?’ he asked.
She paused for a moment blinking, the tinny headphone music the only sound. ‘There’s some kind of mistake,’ she stuttered eventually. ‘It’s supposed to be 20. That’s what I thought.’
‘Well, Lachlan says you both agreed “it would make the place more viable”, quote, unquote.’
‘What the hell is he doing? We didn’t agree to this. How bad is it?’ Nina’s face was flushed.
‘Unless we can find someone else to take them off your hands, we’re going to have to suck up some major costs,’ said Heath. ‘Either pay for hay to feed them or break the contract and send them back. It’ll cost a fortune any way you do it. But if you just let them go they’ll make this place a dustbowl before you know it.’
‘Shit. I guess we’ll have to find the money from somewhere,’ she said.
Heath sighed and dropped on to the sofa. ‘People’ll be lining up to have a go at me about this. Mr Sustainable presiding over the massive overstocking of a marginal property. And all for a few bucks. Geez.’ He shook his head. ‘I’ll never live it down.’
Right now what he really wanted to do was go back to the stockyards and thump Lachlan’s simpering face. But he wouldn’t.
‘I should’ve been paying more attention,’ said Nina ruefully. ‘I’m responsible and I just let things slip.’
‘It’s not your fault. I can see how it happened,’ he replied. ‘I’m going to take Lachlan over to the McNallys’ this afternoon and see if they’re right to take some of the extra cattle on. We might be able to sort it out without too much damage.’
‘Except to your reputation.’
‘Yep. Except that.’
CHAPTER 17
‘Here, let me help you with that,’ said Lachlan as he grabbed the bottle of wine and the corkscrew from Hilary’s hands.
‘No, I’m fine,’ she said immediately, as he knew she would.
Their eyes locked for a split second and she softened. ‘Sure. Go ahead.’ She released the bottle. ‘I must’ve picked the one remaining red in the cellar that has a cork rather than a screw top.’
Lachlan pulled the cork with an expert flourish, and filled their glasses before joining her on the lounge. I could get used to this, he thought. He didn’t often get to enjoy Hilary in chill mode. Her white silk robe skimmed her creamy curves, allowing occasional peeks of her breasts.
‘Well, this is a nice change,’ he said. ‘Cheers.’ They clinked glasses.
‘What do you mean?’ asked Hilary before she sipped her wine.
‘This. Us. Here. In the lounge, dinner, settling in for a drink. I was starting to think I’d never see anything of Paramour but the bedroom. Not,’ he added, ‘that that would ever be a bad thing.’
Hilary smiled. ‘You’re right. It is nice being able to relax for once – not having to worry about someone at the door, or one of the farmhands putting two and two together. Though I appreciat
e you still being careful with the car.’ She took another sip, put her glass on the table and turned to face him.
‘I know you think I’m too cautious,’ she said, her voice almost apologetic. ‘It’s just that you’re the first … the first man I’ve been with since Phillip. All of Wandalla’s just waiting for my next big blunder and there’s Nina and me. Well, it’s complicated. I’m not ready to let everyone know about us – whatever “us” is at the moment.’
‘No need to explain,’ said Lachlan as he smoothed a stray blonde lock from Hilary’s cheek. He kissed her softly on the lips. ‘I’m just glad we could manage this one night, at any rate. I’ve been dreaming of waking up with you.’
Hilary put his hand to her lips. It was a simple gesture but one that would have been unthinkable just a week or two ago. There was no doubt they had gotten closer, and this, their first full night together, would seal the deal, Lachlan hoped. Hilary’s station hands were at a wedding in Brewarrina this weekend and it had been easy to convince Nina he had pressing business in Dubbo. Too easy. In fact, the minute he suggested he might head off for a couple of days she had almost offered to pack his bags.
Lachlan frowned. He really needed to smooth the waters after that cattle business. He hated the idea of that particular door closing.
‘Something wrong?’ asked Hilary.
‘No, just torn with so many options. Do I ravish you here in front of that gorgeous woman in the portrait?’ Lachlan smiled. ‘Do I throw you over my shoulder and we have our way with each other on the kitchen table, or do I carry you up the stairs again for old times’ sake?’
‘Ha! I say all of the above. Though don’t look too closely at the portrait if we go for the first option. That was painted many, many years ago.’
‘Could have been yesterday,’ whispered Lachlan. ‘You haven’t changed a bit.’
Hilary laughed. ‘Seriously, do you watch old movies? I wish it was like the picture of Dorian Gray and it would do the ageing for me. But flattery will get you – well, somewhere. Which reminds me, I have a surprise.’ She reached around the side of the couch and pulled out an expensive-looking shopping bag.
The Shifting Light Page 17