by Di Morrissey
The men settled down with their beers as Dingo declared, ‘Ah this is the life. Nice to have a bit of company to watch the sunset. I’ll get us a feed in a little while.’
‘So what’s for supper tonight, Dingo?’ asked Tango. ‘Surely we’ve finished that stew by now.’
‘And what’s wrong with my stew?’ demanded Dingo.
‘Nothing, it was just . . . a lot,’ said Tango, winking at TR.
‘And filling. I reckon I could go for something simpler tonight. Corned beef and salad. Or a plain grilled steak,’ said TR.
Dingo slapped his leg. ‘Steak, that’s it. I’ve got some buffalo steak out there you’re really going to hoe into. Who’s for another cold beer first?’
‘My arm could be twisted,’ said Tango.
‘Me too,’ joined in TR. As Dingo disappeared inside he looked at Tango and rolled his eyes. ‘God, how does he survive his own cooking?’
‘He’s outlived three wives,’ laughed Tango. ‘What I wouldn’t give for one of Mum Ryan’s dinners.’
Dingo returned with three cold bottles of beer. ‘Now, tomorrow I want to get you blokes over to the neighbour who’s got these alpacas. Wonderful creatures, fabulous wool, cost a bloody fortune each. But could be good. You’ll find it interesting.’
‘Yeah, I’ve heard about them. A lot of money tied up in one animal,’ said Tango.
‘I thought you said you were starting to farm ostrich and emu?’ said TR.
‘I am. But it doesn’t hurt to branch out into something new. Like Queenie. I like the sound of what she’s doing. In fact, I’m going to send her emu skins now that she has a tannery going that’s prepared to do something a bit different.’
‘Did you know they are also tanning cane toads and fish skins up north?’ said Tango.
‘You’re pulling our leg,’ said TR.
‘Straight up. Barramundi skin is beautiful. And I saw a cane toad lampshade in a souvenir shop on the Gold Coast,’ insisted Tango.
‘They’ll sell anything to the poor — or rather, rich — bloody Japanese. You sure it wasn’t a cane toad that’d swallowed a light bulb? They eat everything,’ declared Dingo, but he looked thoughtful, and TR and Tango burst out laughing.
‘He’s trying to figure out if there’s a quid in this that he might’ve missed,’ laughed TR. ‘What do you do with the big birds anyway?’
‘Sell the ostrich plumage, emu oil and eggs, plus tan the skins of both and sell the meat. That’s at the end of their productive breeding life. And don’t laugh, I have another scheme in mind too. Might get you blokes roped in on this one.’
‘Might have known there was a catch to his offer,’ grinned TR to Tango.
‘What now, Dingo?’ asked Tango.
‘Camels. But I’ll tell you about that over dinner. Ah, darkness has fallen . . .’ They sat in silence watching the day end. ‘I never get tired of watching a sunset, and I’ve seen more than my fair share,’ mused Dingo.
The three men sat in contemplative silence, each lost in his own thoughts. Dingo glanced at the father and son, thinking how alike they were. He said a silent prayer that TR would recover; it was painful to see him living in this limbo land.
TR felt an intense peace in the silence of the evening and he was able, for the first time, to contemplate a future for himself. He knew he was leaving Queenie and Jenni out on a bit of a limb and that it wasn’t very fair to them, but he needed this time alone to start piecing his life back together again.
Tango was thinking of Jenni, wondering how she was settling in at Harmony Hill. She drifted into his thoughts often these days; she was exerting a pull on him he’d never experienced from any other girl before. No wonder his father had relied on her so much. Despite her sweet softness, she was a strong woman and he liked that. Perhaps he’d pay her a visit soon to see how she was getting along.
Finally Dingo stood up, saying, ‘Right, work to be done. And on the morrow we venture forth.’ He headed for the kitchen and called behind him, ‘Dinner time!’
TR and Tango looked at one another and groaned.
Queenie was shaking slightly as the Regent Hotel doorman opened the door of the taxi for her. She walked across the spacious lobby to the house phone, lifted the receiver and asked for his room. She had barely been connected when the phone was taken from her hands and replaced in the cradle. She turned around slowly to find Henri smiling at her. He looked as handsome as ever, his warm brown eyes glowing with pleasure behind his glasses. His hair was shorter and elegantly cut, a hint of grey at the temples. He smiled his perfect smile and they embraced affectionately, Henri kissing her on both cheeks.
‘My beautiful Queenie. How is it possible you become more lovely with each year?’
‘Henri, it is so good to see you.’ Queenie was filled with joy at the sight of this old lover, her staunch ally and friend. ‘You’ve come along at exactly the right time.’
Henri took her arm and led her across the foyer, the two unaware of what a stunning couple they made. ‘The right time to take you to dinner, or the right time to enter your life again?’
Queenie glanced at him. ‘Both.’
Henri pressed the lift button. ‘Sarah told me about TR’s accident. I am most distressed for you. For you both. But these memory lapses can often be just that — a lapse. I am sure all will be well. Have courage, dear Queenie.’
They stepped into the lift and Queenie linked her arm through his. ‘It has been a terrible time, Henri. I don’t know if it’s Murphy’s law or fate or what, but so many problems have come all at once.’
Henri squeezed her arm. ‘Bad luck is like a snowball, it gets bigger and bigger and rolls faster and faster downhill until boomph, it comes to the bottom of the hill and it is over.’
The lift chimed and the doors opened and Henri led Queenie along to Kables Restaurant. ‘Come, tonight we are going to eat superbly, enjoy some Bollinger and fill in the gaps between notes on Christmas cards.’
The maitre d’ showed the world-famous hotelier and his beautiful companion to a discreet corner of the lounge area and hurried away to send the waiter with the champagne and crystal glasses.
Queenie touched the perfect rose in the centre of the little table. ‘So, Henri, Sarah tells me you haven’t married. Anyone special in your life?’
‘There is only one special lady in my life.’ He reached out and touched her cheek. ‘But I have some nice companions from time to time.’ He smiled at Queenie. ‘My work . . . you understand.’ He gave a Gallic shrug and spread his arms.
Queenie smiled sadly. ‘Life doesn’t always turn out the way we think or plan, does it?’
‘No, so we must accept what the fates decree, mais non?’ He raised the crystal flute of champagne. ‘Here’s to friendship.’
Queenie lightly touched her own glass to his. ‘Sometimes friendship is better than love. To you, Henri.’
‘And to you, Queenie. Salut.’
The waiter handed them the menu and Henri glanced at it briefly, made his decision and put it down. ‘Now, Queenie, I am fascinated to know what is this plan you have that has driven you finally to part with the Kurrajong.’
‘Only to you, Henri. I need to finance a new plan for Tingulla.’
By the time they had finished their glass of champagne, given their order and moved to their candle-lit table in a quiet corner, they were deeply engrossed in conversation. The years apart evaporated as Henri listened attentively to Queenie’s plans, asking an occasional detailed and pertinent question.
After dinner they sat in the piano bar and Queenie listened to Henri tell her of his plans to open a new hotel in Eastern Europe and China. ‘I must tell you of my travels to these places, you know how I love to travel,’ he smiled. ‘But it is late, we shall continue this soon. What are your plans?’
Queenie glanced at her dainty Rolex watch. ‘It’s late. Sarah and John will be in bed. I’m dying to hear about your travels, you tell such wonderful stories. I get so involved with Tingulla
and the sheep and cattle and Cricklewood and the land that I forget there are lands beyond our fences.’ Queenie rose. ‘I’m planning to go up to the Kurrajong on the weekend. I want to tell the staff in person of my plans to sell.’
‘They will be upset.’
‘They won’t be when they find out I’m selling to you, to Montpelier.’
They walked arm in arm down the marble staircase to the foyer. ‘Then I shall accompany you to the Blue Mountains,’ said Henri. ‘Are you agreeable? Perhaps we could arrange a handing-over ceremony.’
‘What a delightful idea!’ exclaimed Queenie. ‘But in the meantime I have to go and talk to a few pooh bahs about my new business venture.’
‘Going into battle?’ Henri asked as the concierge signalled a taxi.
‘Sort of,’ laughed Queenie. ‘It depends which side you’re on as to whether it’s war or not.’ The doorman opened the taxi door and Queenie reached up and kissed Henri lightly on the mouth. ‘Thank you, Henri. It’s been wonderful. See you very soon.’
‘Bonne nuit, Queenie.’ Henri watched the taxi slide away and sighed deeply. He thought he had got over Queenie and had settled for their bond of friendship. Now, seeing her again, his heart told him otherwise — he would always love her.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Dina watched Colin surreptitiously, aware he was distracted, making plans that he didn’t want her to know about. She knew him well enough to know he wasn’t involved with another woman, and the only other interest he had was money. Colin was applying himself to work with a diligence that she found unusual. He spent time on the phone, he wrote copious notes and letters which he carried about in his locked briefcase. She knew very well that all this industry had nothing to do with Harmony Hill, although he tried to give her the impression that it did.
One Friday Dina called Harmony Hill to see whether Colin was coming back that evening or the next day, but Bruce told her Colin had already left. ‘He said he had a lunch appointment in Brisbane, Dina.’
‘I see, very well. Goodbye.’
‘And thank you too,’ muttered Bruce, hanging up the phone. He too had noticed that Colin was preoccupied. He mentioned it to Ria. ‘Do you think he has a girlfriend? Sometimes he looks quite pleased with himself.’
‘No, I think he’s doing some business deal,’ said Ria. ‘And he doesn’t want Dina to know about it, if you ask me. He’s been getting mail sent here too from various countries, tourism and consulate people. What do you suppose he’s up to?’
‘Arranging a surprise trip for Dina? Running away from Dina? Planning on robbing a bank? Who knows. So long as he keeps out of our hair and lets us get on with running this place, I don’t mind,’ said Bruce a trifle curtly. Colin’s charm had worn a bit thin with the Gadens. They had hoped he would mellow and blend into the lifestyle and philosophy of Harmony Hill, but they now realised he was still only interested in himself and he’d probably never change.
Bruce was right, Colin did have a lunch appointment but not in a trendy restaurant. He drove to a small terrace house in the Brisbane suburb of Paddington. He took his briefcase with him, locked the car and rapped the brass knocker, looking up and down the street as he did so.
Inside, Fredrico greeted him and called, ‘Bettina, bring us coffee’. He gestured to the chair. ‘So, how is Alfredo’s casino coming along?’
‘I’m not up to date with the latest developments,’ said Colin. ‘I’m involved in other business dealings.’
‘Just as well. I hear there are problems, certain opposition from some quarters. Certain officials getting a little greedy . . .’ He paused as his red-headed wife, dressed in tight hot pants and a white T-shirt embroidered with colourful sequins and beads, carried in the tray with two cups of short-black espresso coffee. ‘Put it down there and leave us, Bettina, we’re talking business,’ said Fredrico gruffly.
She seemed unruffled at his tone. ‘Okey-doke, I’m going to the beauty parlour anyway. Byeee.’ She tottered out on the high gold heels of her clear plastic sandals.
Fredrico shook his head. ‘If I didn’t know the hairdresser was a fag I’d think she was having it off with him. She’s always down there.’ He noisily sipped his coffee and reached for a folder and slid it across to Colin. ‘I think you’ll be pleased. My man has excelled himself, even if I say so myself.’
Colin took out two sheets of paper and glanced from one to the other. He rubbed the paper between his fingers and held each sheet up to the light, even sniffing each one.
‘I believe the paper is an identical match. Worth the exorbitant sum he charged me.’
Colin glanced at him. ‘We had agreed on a price.’
Fredrico shrugged. ‘Subject to the man being able to do the job. He says it took more time and trouble than he anticipated. And considering the matter involved . . .’ He spread his hands in a helpless gesture but his eyes were alert and hard.
Colin put the papers down. ‘You’re telling me the price has just gone up?’
‘It is negotiable.’
‘No, Fredrico, we had a deal.’ Inwardly Colin was cursing. It was perfectly obvious to Fredrico what Colin planned. He was wide open to blackmail now. He kept his expression unconcerned, knowing there was nothing else he could do. ‘All right, how much? Bearing in mind, I am not . . . er . . . inheriting cash money here. I am merely claiming what is rightfully mine in the first place.’
‘You and Dina plan to go back to the land? I don’t believe so,’ Fredrico smiled. ‘Come, come, we are reasonable men.’ He wrote a figure on a piece of paper and slipped it to Colin.
Colin glanced at it and recoiled. ‘This is outrageous, you’re a hustler, Fredrico.’
The other man drained his coffee cup. ‘I have an expensive wife. And I am very sure your lovely wife does not know of this transaction . . . and you would prefer to keep it so, si?’
He had Colin there. Dina was one of the reasons he’d decided to put this whole plan into action. ‘If I agree to this, it has to be on a deferred basis. I can’t come up with this sort of cash immediately.’
‘I trust you, Colin. Naturally we would like to put a reasonable time limit on your payment falling due. How long do you anticipate before you will acquire the necessary funds?’
‘Give me two months — and don’t even think of charging me interest.’ Colin was prepared for things to be tricky — he was taking a gamble and he knew it — but the money would be worth it.
‘Very well. We shall shake on the deal.’ As Fredrico leaned across the low coffee table between them, a small smile played around his mouth. ‘I have, of course, taken the precaution of keeping a photocopy of these . . . merely as collateral, shall we say.’
‘Yeah, I understand,’ said Colin, taking a mouthful of the now cold strong black coffee. He hated dealing with these people but he had to admit he’d have done the same thing. They shook hands and Colin knew the deal was as binding as signing in blood. He put the folder with the two documents in his briefcase, closed it and spun the dials on the combination lock.
He drove down to the Gold Coast and entered the flamingo pink building, whistling.
Sarah sat Queenie down and ran through the publicity and promotional plans for Tingulla fashions. Queenie grinned at her friend. ‘You’re amazing, Sarah. A whirlwind once you get your teeth into something. I also want you to go down to Kui House and meet everyone. I’ve asked Raylene to do some sketches for me — I think she could come up with some really innovative knitwear designs — and they’ve also lined up some knitters. I need more clothes though for this first collection.’
Sarah consulted her notes. ‘Queenie, I also took the liberty of making a few enquiries about a place to have the launch party and showing of the collection.’
‘Great.’
‘The Hilton ballroom would be terrific of course. But I have talked to the NSW Art Gallery and we can have it there. It’s such a romantic setting, we’d need to set up a catwalk and a small stage but the lighting is great, we�
��ll fill it with Australian bush flowers and Australian art on the walls. The theme is going to be “Tingulla Wool — Naturally the Best”!’
Queenie gave her friend an affectionate hug. ‘Sarah, that’s a great idea. That’s a fantastic slogan too.’
‘There’s more,’ continued Sarah. ‘Sexy singer James Blundell has agreed to host the evening as well as sing and draw the door prize. I also think Dingo should launch it with a poem and one of his romantic little speeches.’
‘Good idea. Why don’t we also cadge one of Dingo’s paintings out of him to be raffled for charity — Kui House perhaps,’ suggested Queenie. ‘They’re fetching hefty prices these days.’
Sarah made a note. ‘Now, Queenie, my next suggestion is that we’ve earned some time off from all this crashing around town looking for office space and headquarters for Tingulla Fashions. So, tomorrow we’re going for a slapup lunch at David Jones.’
‘That’s a wonderful idea,’ said Queenie.
‘I read in the paper that DJs are having some whoopty-do fashion show that I think we should see. Countess Magda Vambery is unveiling her new collection.’
‘Countess who?’ exclaimed Queenie. ‘I’ve never heard of her. Not that I’m up with all the European couturiers.’
‘She’s a migrant of obscure Hungarian nobility who’s been here for ten years, according to the paper,’ explained Sarah. ‘It doesn’t sound like our sort of thing, but it should keep us entertained through lunch.’
They were lucky enough to get a good table at the elegant sixth-floor restaurant, and they settled themselves close to the catwalk that had been erected down the middle of the room. A Hungarian gypsy violinist backed by a three-piece ensemble provided the music and once the main course had been served, the fashion show got underway.