Dust of the Land

by J. H. Fletcher

‘Twelve years.’

  ‘Good outfit?’

  ‘It’s big.’

  They looked at each other.

  ‘Hard boss?’ Bella said.

  ‘I don’t mind that. It’s other things.’

  Bella sipped her coffee, staring out of the window as a giant earthmover ground past. ‘You can feel the ground shake,’ she said. ‘How long before the ore starts flowing?’

  ‘Like I said, six months, give or take. Maybe a year. Anything more precise than that, you’ll have to ask Pete.’ Mac gulped the last of his coffee. ‘I only work here.’

  They walked to Bella’s car.

  ‘That’s a lovely piece of machinery,’ Mac said.

  Even below a thick film of dust, the maroon cellulose of the Bentley Continental glowed with an inner fire. Bella patted the bonnet. ‘It is, indeed.’

  She climbed in, waved to him merrily and drove away.

  That, she thought, had been an interesting conversation. Rory McNab had not come across as a whinger yet that was what he had been doing, and to a stranger at that. No significance at the moment, perhaps, but some time in the future it might be useful to know.

  Bella locked away the thought and drove back to Miranda Downs.

  The road was uneven, potholes already showing in its gravel surface and rattling her teeth at anything approaching a reasonable speed. She thought it might be impassable in the Wet.

  It was a long haul; there were times when she shared Mrs Johnson’s views about the vastness of this country, especially when she had to get about in a hurry. As now: Perth was a lot further than Miranda Downs and she had an appointment there at the end of the week she did not intend to miss. It would mean leaving first thing in the morning. Drive to Derby, fly to Geraldton, finally on to Perth. It was a long and wearisome journey and she was not looking forward to it.

  Our own airline, she thought. Wouldn’t that be something?

  Peace had finished school as captain of the hockey team and with a string of straight As to her credit, and on a hot morning in early February Bella and Garth went with her for her first day at the University of Western Australia, where she would be studying geology and business management.

  ‘Wouldn’t be a bad idea if someone in the family knew what was going on,’ Garth said.

  Bella tried to imagine how she would have felt in her daughter’s place – the challenges of new disciplines and a new life, and she not yet eighteen – but if Peace felt nervous she showed no sign of it.

  ‘I sometimes think she hasn’t a nerve in her body,’ Bella said as they drove home.

  ‘And you such a shy creature yourself,’ Garth said.

  ‘I feel better for having gone with her, all the same,’ Bella said. ‘It shows we’re interested.’

  ‘If she’s in any doubt about that she needs her head read,’ said Garth.

  Bella said nothing; she knew that Peace had always been closer to her father than herself.

  ‘Either way, I’m sure she’ll do very well,’ said Garth.

  ‘She’d better,’ Bella said.

  She had plans for Peace.

  Ten days later, Garth and Bella were sitting in Owen Freeth’s office. He was a lawyer and Garth had known him since university. They had been close mates at the time and had stayed in contact ever since. Now Garth wanted to appoint him to look after their affairs. ‘Not just because I know him. He’s a top bloke. I’ve asked around and everybody says so.’

  ‘I’ve no objection,’ Bella said. ‘As long as he’s good.’

  He could certainly afford an impressive suite of offices: one of the smartest addresses in the city with extensive views of the Swan River from its tenth-floor windows. Bella supposed that must be a good sign.

  Owen Freeth went well with his elegant offices. He was wearing a button-down shirt with maroon stripes and a fashionably broad tie. His massive cufflinks were chunks of gold with rubies inset in the metal. His manner was suave but Bella thought that his sharp eyes wouldn’t miss much. Despite their closeness over the years he was clearly a very different animal from Garth but there was no harm in that, provided he knew what he was doing.

  ‘We’ll have twenty million coming in each year,’ Garth said. ‘So we thought you were the man to tell us how to handle it.’

  ‘We have nothing at the moment,’ Bella pointed out.

  The agreement with BradMin stipulated that royalties would be paid only when the ore began to flow, and development of the Carlisle Mine had not begun. Bella would never have accepted such a deal but Garth had.

  Owen leant back in his chair, tapping his teeth thoughtfully with a gold pencil, and began talking about tax shelters and government bonds. No doubt they had their place; twenty million – should it ever materialise – left plenty of room to move. But Bella had other ideas and interrupted him.

  ‘I’ve a wish list here,’ she said. She took out a piece of paper and laid it on the desk.

  Owen raised his eyebrows; perhaps he was not used to clients interrupting him. ‘And what do we have in mind?’ he said.

  She gave him a look; he had not called her dear lady, but it had been close. She read off the list.

  ‘Real estate. A business or maybe two, not too large but with growth potential. And a cattle transporter.’

  ‘A truck?’ Owen Freeth was puzzled.

  ‘An ocean freighter.’

  ‘My dear lady, what on earth do you plan to do with that?’

  ‘Ship live cattle.’

  ‘Goodness me…’ He lent back in his chair with a patient smile. ‘And what gave you that idea?’

  The extraordinary ideas some women have! Businesses and live cattle? Whatever next?

  She read his thoughts and decided to put an end to them at once. ‘We shall get on a lot better, Mr Freeth, if you do not patronise me.’

  Garth frowned at her but she ignored him; it was important the lawyer understood where she was coming from. She held his eyes until she saw his expression change. He sat up in his chair with an apologetic cough. He adjusted his position behind his desk. ‘My dear Mrs Tucker, that was not my intention, I assure you. Nevertheless I beg your pardon.’

  ‘As long as we understand each other,’ Bella said.

  ‘Where do you propose to send the cattle?’

  ‘Indonesia. They are desperate for protein and do not have adequate refrigeration, so frozen beef is not the answer. Also there are religious considerations.’

  ‘You have contacts there?’

  ‘I shall fly to Jakarta to make arrangements.’

  Garth was looking at her like a mother hen who has hatched an eagle.

  ‘I was going to tell you later,’ she told him.

  ‘And the businesses?’ Owen asked.

  ‘I am interested in two areas. Civil engineering and machine tools. With the mining development there will be a crying need for infrastructure and mining equipment.’

  Owen Freeth was jotting notes with his gold pencil. ‘And the real estate?’

  ‘Commercial buildings in the best areas. The price of property will go through the roof once the mines come on stream.’

  The lawyer’s expression was very different from before. He spoke carefully. ‘You have given this some thought.’

  ‘Even a woman can think,’ she said. ‘Some women. Some men, too. Or so they say.’ But smiled to soften her words. Now she had spelt things out to him, she fancied that she and the lawyer would get on very well.

  Garth was put out that she had not discussed these strange notions with him before the meeting.

  ‘I had thought we’d be running the mine ourselves,’ she told him. ‘Which would have left us no time for anything else. But you felt – quite correctly! – that it made more sense to leave it to the experts. So now we shall have the money and all the time in the world to do what we like with it. I thought I would like to try my hand at business. Nothing too ambitious, but I have a hunch I may be good at it.’

  ‘Not me,’ Garth said. ‘I’ll
stick to cattle.’

  ‘There is one thing I would like you to do, though.’ It was important that Garth should not feel sidelined by developments. ‘We need a financial director. Someone really clued up whom we can trust. I would like us to pick him – or her! – together.’

  She saw that Garth was pleased although, being Garth, he had to start by dismissing the idea. ‘What do I know about finance?’

  ‘You know people.’

  ‘Funny you should say that,’ Garth said. ‘I had Billy Gould on the phone only yesterday.’

  ‘What did he want?’

  She despised Billy Gould, a feeling that was unlikely to fade.

  ‘Looking for a job. Perhaps he might do. As he’s always telling me, he is almost family.’

  ‘Oh, Garth, not Billy. I can’t stand him. Neither can you. You know you can’t. We need someone with proper skills and experience and Billy doesn’t have them.’

  ‘I feel I should help him if I can.’

  ‘Tell you what… You still planning to prospect further along the Carlisle River?’

  ‘Why not?’ Garth said. ‘We might come up with another treasure trove.’

  Mustering cattle was fine; exploring the Outback was fine. Anything other than the nitty-gritty of business; even the idea of sitting in an office sucked the air out of Garth’s lungs.

  ‘Then why don’t you take Billy with you? Let him carry the gear. If he does a good job we could maybe fit him in somewhere. Not as financial director but in some other role.’

  ‘I am perfectly capable –’

  ‘Of course you are. But you’re the one wants him to work for us. Let’s see how he likes doing some real work for a change.’

  Together Bella and Garth appointed Martin Dexter, a forty-five-year-old accountant with experience in the industry and brilliant references, who they agreed would be perfect for the job. A month later Garth and Billy Gould headed north.

  Garth had learnt some of the tricks of the trade during his time with Saul Rich, but his real reason for going into the Outback was to get away. His instinct would have been to return to Miranda Downs and continue where he had left off, the cattleman he would remain until he died, but he was reluctant to turn his back on the mining project on which Bella had set her heart. He remembered what she had said to him in Africa. Do that and he would be turning his back on Bella herself and that he did not want. He believed the difference in their ages might also have created a distance between them and was anxious not to make things worse.

  He had taken Billy with him because Bella had suggested it, and within twenty-four hours was regretting it.

  ‘I’d hoped for something better than this,’ Billy said.

  They had camped for the night and the fire, as always in the Outback, was creating a sense of isolation amid emptiness that Billy, a city slicker to his boots, did not appreciate.

  ‘Feels like we could be the only people in the world,’ he said, hunching as closely as he could to the flames: what spelt freedom for Garth meant terror for Billy Gould.

  Terror, or maybe laziness, crippled him. He avoided giving a hand with the cooking, or the clearing up, or anything.

  Garth was not the sort to keep quiet about it. ‘You’re as useful as a block of wood,’ he said.

  ‘I got a sore foot,’ Billy explained sulkily, watching the darkness out of the corners of his eyes.

  ‘You told me,’ Garth said.

  One thing was sure; he had not got it through carrying more than his share of the gear since Garth, at sixty-four, had been lugging most of it.

  ‘I’d been thinking of something in the office,’ said Billy. ‘I understood you wanted a financial director.’

  ‘We have a financial director,’ Garth said.

  ‘Not a member of the family, though, is he?’

  ‘He knows what he’s doing.’

  ‘And that’s what matters, isn’t it?’ Billy said. ‘Skill and experience mean more to you than blood.’

  Garth was tired of his endless bitching. ‘Blood doesn’t come into it. Your granddad and my father were partners, not brothers.’

  ‘Doesn’t mean a thing to you, the fact they dug up the dough to buy that cattle station for you. Doesn’t mean a goddamn thing.’

  Garth thought Billy was looking for a fight. His dad had bought Miranda Downs for himself, not for Garth, but he didn’t intend to go on yapping about it. He was feeling out of sorts in any case, more tired than he would have expected, and beneath his shirt his chest was wet with sweat. Also he was sick of Billy Gould.

  ‘This isn’t working out,’ he said. ‘We’ll go back in the morning.’

  ‘Not as though we’re finding anything,’ Billy said.

  They flew back to Perth. Garth had a moment of dizziness before they took off but once they were in the air everything was fine. He left Billy at a lodging house in town and went home. Not that Desire had ever been a real home to Garth. Bella was in her office. She smiled at him as he came in and kissed him on the cheek. He wished he were ten years younger, able to treat his wife as a woman deserved.

  ‘I wasn’t expecting you for days,’ Bella said. She looked at him with concern. ‘You’re looking pale. Are you all right?’

  ‘Sick of Billy, that’s all.’

  ‘No help?’

  ‘A real dingo. Beef, beef all the time, and I ended up carrying most of the gear anyway.’

  ‘At least you gave him a chance.’ She went back to her desk. There were papers in neat piles and she seemed in complete command both of them and herself.

  ‘I’ll only be a sec,’ she said, picking up a typewritten report. ‘Grab a drink and pour one for me.’

  Garth sipped his scotch, watching her and thinking how completely she had grown into this new and, to him, uncongenial environment.

  She was a woman who never ceased to amaze him. The aristocratic governess he had first known had become a true woman of the Outback, yet he knew now what he should have recognised from the first, that the bush had never been enough for her. She had talked him into buying Galloway’s meatworks; her adventurous spirit had taken them down the Carlisle River and led to their finding the ore; now she had reinvented herself again and become the consummate businesswoman.

  It was like being married to a jack-in-a-box; you never knew what was going to pop up next. They’d shared days of passion and tenderness, grief and joy: Colin’s death, the birth of their two children, Peace’s accident, the discovery of the ore bodies and that trip to Africa. He had said it before and it was still true: she had given a new dimension to his life.

  And now?

  Now he was no longer sure of anything, or of their role in each other’s future.

  Bella said: ‘I’m glad you’re back early. It’s always good to see you, of course, but this time there’s another reason. The premier’s giving a reception for some German bankers and we’re invited.’

  ‘What’s it all about?’

  ‘They are interested in mining investments.’

  ‘So why are we invited?’

  Bella clipped some papers neatly together and put them away in her desk drawer. ‘He must think we could be significant players.’

  Garth found it a strange concept.

  ‘And are we?’

  ‘Twenty million a year is hardly chickenfeed.’

  ‘If we ever get it,’ Garth said.

  The function was held in one of the reception rooms of Parliament House. The Germans stood in a small group, smiling, formal and polite. There was a handful of politicians and about thirty people representing the mining industry.

  ‘Quite a select group,’ Bella said, nibbling a limp canapé.

  An aide introduced one of the bankers. He was trim, in his middle forties, with greying blond hair and wearing a very good suit, dark grey, with a white shirt and silver tie.

  He told them his name was Helmut Muller. Like the rest of the delegation he was looking for investment opportunities offering minimal exposure in this n
ew and potentially most profitable business.

  ‘What sort of money are you talking about?’ Bella asked.

  He gave her the sort of smile that reveals nothing. ‘Perhaps two to three billion marks, but that would depend on the investment, its return and the degree of risk.’

  Muller spoke very good English with only a trace of accent, but Bella sensed that Garth had not taken to the banker. Sure enough:

  ‘There’s no risk-free investment in mining,’ Garth said. ‘If you’re looking for that you’ve wasted your trip.’

  ‘I did not say risk-free,’ Helmut corrected him. ‘I said minimal risk.’

  The two men smiled with closed lips and did not like each other at all, but Bella saw the banker as a potential source of capital and made much of him in the few minutes before they parted.

  ‘I wonder you didn’t kiss him,’ Garth said crossly as they drove home.

  ‘He could be useful,’ Bella said. ‘If we need more funds.’

  ‘What’s wrong with our own banks?’

  ‘It doesn’t hurt to keep our options open.’

  ‘Too much of a smartarse,’ Garth said.

  ‘He was just being polite,’ Bella said. ‘Which is more than I can say for you.’

  ‘It was his mates killed Colin,’ Garth said. ‘Don’t forget that.’

  ‘The war’s been over eighteen years,’ Bella said.

  ‘You’re saying I should forget my son?’

  ‘Of course not. Neither you nor I will ever forget him. But it’s time we moved on, Garth. Please?’ She turned and put a hand lightly on his arm but his face, staring through the windscreen, remained stone.

  ‘You’ll be waiting a long time, if that’s what you’re hoping for,’ he said.

  She said no more. She knew the fact that Muller was German had nothing to do with it. What Garth resented was that the banker was in his forties and personable, whereas he was nearly sixty-three. She loved him, not with the helpless surrender of a first love but tenderly and sincerely, this man who had been her companion and friend for over twenty years. She still found him attractive but knew he had long doubted his ability to excite her as he once had. So when they got home and he took hold of her she knew it was not from simple desire but because of his need to show himself the banker’s equal, even in that. She did not mind; on the contrary, she welcomed it because it was then that she felt truly united with her husband once again.