by Di Morrissey
‘I hope that was a blank,’ said Dani leaning close to shout in Jason’s ear. ‘She seemed to know what she was doing.’
‘That was your son’s riding instructor,’ said Jason with a laugh. ‘Mardi might be in the movie!’
Before Dani could answer, there was a clatter and another horse trotted from the trees drawing a highly polished sulky with a white-haired man sitting beside the driver. He wore a rainbow silk scarf with a high-necked, full-sleeved pirate-style shirt. He waved to the crowd as if he were royalty. The driver, also in period costume, pulled up in the centre of the pathway and Roz stepped forward to help the older man from the sulky.
As he awkwardly stood up Roddy announced, ‘Please welcome internationally famous, award-winning film director – Mr Russell Franks!’
There was enthusiastic applause as photographers and a TV film crew crowded in to record the arrival of the eminent director.
Everyone was ushered into the marquee where there was a podium and large posters for Isabella as if it was a finished movie. Other flyers had slogans: ‘Great investment opportunity’, ‘Will put the valley on the international tourist map’, ‘There’s never been a woman like Isabella’, ‘Russell Franks and Isabella – a marriage made in heaven, and the valley!’ There were rows of neat white chairs which quickly filled so the rest of the guests clustered around the sides and rear of the marquee. Dani found a seat next to Lara and Carter. Tim and his friends sat cross-legged on the strip of carpet at the front.
At the microphone Roz called for the audience’s attention and introduced herself. She then went on: ‘As the promotion and public relations director for Sutherland Films, it is my pleasure to introduce the executive producer who has pulled so much together in such a short time and will undoubtedly be recognised as the man who brought the Australian film industry into the international arena in the twenty-first century – Mr Rodney Sutherland.’
Rodney rose from his seat beside Russell Franks who was facing the audience and beaming. The director held a large glass of red wine and had his legs stretched in front of him showing a pair of hand-painted multi-coloured cowboy boots.
Roddy quickly launched into the thrust of his speech. ‘As many of you may know, making a big-budget, quality, international film is no easy undertaking and there are always unknown variables. However, there are certain ingredients that can give a project some insurance and potential for success. They are: a great story and characters – and there can be no more intriguing and colourful character than Isabella Kelly – star actresses are going to kill to play her; and a brilliant director – and here we have not only a man of huge renown but an auteur, a man who puts his own stamp on a movie from writing the screenplay to interpreting the visual story on the screen. Russell Franks is at the peak of his career and believes Isabella will be the film for which he will be remembered.’
Here Roddy gestured to Russell Franks who rose to his feet, rather shakily it seemed to Dani, and lifted his glass to the crowd to acknowledge the smattering of applause. Roz was at his side and gently eased him back into his seat. Dani and Lara exchanged a glance.
Roddy continued. ‘But what makes Isabella even more special is this is an Australian story, as yet untold, set in God’s own country, which will capture the hearts of the world. With top actors, an Aussie Oscar-winning cinematographer and your help we will make this an Australian-backed feature film where the profits come back to us, to this community, to every mum and dad who wants to have a flutter and pocket the profit. The rewards won’t go to some Hollywood studio.’ Roddy was almost shouting with enthusiasm and there was more applause.
‘He’s good, isn’t he?’ Lara said to Dani.
‘I guess you have to be a bit of a salesman with a silver tongue to get something like this up and running,’ said Dani non-committally.
Roddy pointed out the advantages of investing in and supporting the film for the benefits it would bring to the valley and, as he wrapped up his speech, four attractive girls circulated through the crowd handing out glossy coloured brochures with details of the film, how to invest, an application form, and pictures of the proposed movie set of Isabella’s house, the George Inn, stables and a courthouse which would all be left intact as a tourist attraction for the use of the town.
With the formalities over, people milled around as hot food and more drinks appeared. A knot of fans gathered around Russell Franks who was proclaiming that his Isabella might well be found here in the valley – a search to rival that of discovering Scarlett in Gone With the Wind. Roz was glued to his side taking business cards and making notes. There was talk of the money that would flow into the town as business people began to grasp the scale of having at least a hundred cast, crew and technical support in the area for several months.
Roddy made a point of introducing Dani to the great director.
Russell Franks held her hand in a moist clasp, a glass of red wine in the other, and gazed into her eyes. ‘Ah, Rodney’s friend, the artist. You look like a creative person. And how have you found Isabella?’ His cultured English accent was warm and honey toned. He didn’t sound pompous and Dani could well imagine him coaxing a fine performance from actors.
‘We know so little about her. She’s something of an enigma. I’m curious about the story you’ll tell.’
‘Ah, my dear, she will tell her own story. A delicate young girl taming the wilderness, outwitting men who wish to tame her also.’
Dani blinked. ‘Isabella was in her thirties, I believe, when she came here. True, she had battles with the local property owners –’
Franks cut her off with a wave of his hand. ‘Fragility, the English rose in the wildness of the forest. A free spirit who conquers man and beast, so many elements to play with. Rodney has found a gem. He is most inspiring. A magnificent entrepreneur.’ He took a mouthful of wine.
‘Have you finished the script?’ asked Dani, wondering if Roddy would let her read what sounded like a bizarre distortion of Isabella’s life.
‘A work in progress, my dear. I like my actors to improvise. There’s something on paper of course. Roddy’s money bag needed a token before handing over a small down-payment.’
Franks chuckled as Roddy explained, ‘The financier in New Zealand has an outline of the script. Loved the whole idea, hence the seed money.’
‘But you still have to raise the rest,’ said Dani.
‘Reason for this shindig,’ said Roddy. ‘Well, we’d better circulate.’
Later Jason joined Dani. ‘So? What do you think?’
‘Interesting. Though I’m wondering why Franks has moved to New Zealand if he’s such a big name in the UK and Europe,’ said Dani.
‘He’s still a star in the antipodes. He seems to think he’s going to do for the valley what Peter Jackson did for New Zealand with The Lord of the Rings trilogy. When Dani didn’t comment Jason asked, ‘Are you okay for a ride home?’
‘Yes, thanks,’ replied Dani. She wanted to get away from Jason and his less-than-enthusiastic slant on Roddy’s launch.
Helen and Barney wanted Dani, Lara and Tim to go back for a coffee at Chesterfield but Dani was suddenly tired. ‘Thanks, guys, I think I’ll crash at Cricklewood with Mum and Tim.’
Tim was very excited about the whole evening. His riding teacher had made a big impact, he and the gang had explored the gardens. ‘Len said people are going to be paid to dress up and be extras in the film. Roddy said I could ride in a scene,’ he bubbled on.
‘Well, you’ve got plenty of time to improve your riding skills, it’ll be months before they start filming,’ said Dani, exchanging a look with her mother.
‘I do hope it comes off. For everyone’s sake,’ said Lara quietly.
At Cricklewood’s gate, the lights shone through the French doors onto the verandah, a waft of a flower perfume drifted on the breeze.
‘I’ll bunk down in the sleep-out next to the office, if that’s okay, Mum,’ said Dani. Did you get enough to eat, Tim?’
/> ‘I didn’t like some of those fancy things. I could go a peanut butter sandwich.’
‘And a cup of tea. You coming, Mum?’
Lara was standing by the gate as Dani and Tim waited by the front door. She’d noticed something sticking out of the letterbox. Lara’s heart skipped a beat as she saw the handwritten envelope addressed to her. She crumpled it in her hand. ‘Coming. Tea sounds a good idea.’
Dani and Tim were sound asleep before Lara got out of bed and opened the letter.
Don’t believe the stories you hear. Stop prying and asking questions from those who don’t know the truth. Let sleeping dogs lie, you’ll regret you ever started this. Go home before you get hurt.
Lara dropped the letter as though it was contaminated. She sat on the edge of the bed shivering. Who knew that she’d been visiting people who’d known her family ‘for sentimental reasons’, talking over cups of tea, skirting the real subject? What did the note mean about getting hurt? That what she might find out would hurt her emotionally or did it mean she might get hurt physically, be prevented from finding out the truth? She couldn’t ignore the notes anymore.
Lara switched out the light and stood at the window in the darkness. Was someone out there watching her? A car rolled over the railway bridge, a smooth sound. She remembered the bridge being wooden with a loose plank that clunked every time a car passed over it. And as if the years were racing to catch up with her, a train approached, but it sped through Cedartown without pausing. A blur of lights, a hum of steel wheels, and it was gone. The night was silent once more.
‘I’ll have to tell Dani about the letters,’ said Lara with a resigned sigh.
But sleep did not come easily to her as she lay in her grandparents’ bedroom.
12
Cedartown, 1940
IT WAS CHILLY, DAWN a long way off. White frost iced the ground around the railway platform. The passenger train steamed into the dark station where a light glowed in the station master’s office and one dim light hung outside the waiting room. A hiss of white steam puffed into the night air as the train rolled to a stop. The station master took the incoming mail bags from the guard in his van at the rear of the train and tossed a couple on board for Broadmeadow and Sydney.
Towards the end of the train a carriage door slammed and two figures stumbled onto the platform. The station master eyed the men, who were laughing and staggering as they shouldered their big kit bags. He waved a green signal light to the engine driver which was acknowledged with a short sharp blast of the whistle, and more hissing of steam and belching of smoke. Then a creaking rattle travelled along every carriage as the wheels turned and tightened the couplings. The train rolled out of the station, under the wooden bridge, heading south, drawn blinds obscuring sleeping passengers.
The two soldiers were intoxicated but the station master, while frowning, tried to be tolerant and helpful. He recognised Clem Richards.
‘Well, you two are a sorry sight. Been a boozy trip, eh? Where are you off to at this hour of the morning, Clem?’ There was nobody waiting to meet them.
‘Don’t worry, Mr Jackson. We’ll sleep in the waiting room till the sun comes up,’ grinned Clem.
‘Oh no, you won’t, I’m locking up. And there’re no taxis.’
‘We can walk to my place,’ said Thommo.
‘Your mum doesn’t know you’re here. Too early for her to be woken up, I reckon,’ said Clem.
‘Say, why don’t we go over the road to the Williamses’. Wake Elizabeth up. You can surprise her, give her a cuddle,’ said Thommo, his words slurred.
‘I wouldn’t recommend that,’ said the station master. ‘Harry Williams will have your balls on toast if he finds you two mugs at his place and plastered to boot. You can doss down on the seats in the waiting room, but be gone before anyone turns up in the morning.’
Thommo gave a sloppy salute. ‘Righto, cobber. Thank you, sir. Many thanks, sir.’
‘It’s a surprise visit. We got two weeks’ leave from training camp,’ explained Clem.
‘Save your surprises till you’re sober and the sun’s up. I’m off home to my warm bed.’ He locked his office door and glanced in the waiting room. ‘You can light the coal fire in the grate there if you like. The heater was on for a bit. Keep the door closed and your boots on and you should be all right.’
Clem eyed the benches. ‘Which one do you want?’
Thommo threw his kit bag on the closest seat and curled up using it as a pillow, hugging his thick great coat around him. ‘Bugger lighting the fire, let’s get some shuteye, mate.’
‘Any beer left?’
‘Nah, finished the last bottle round Kendall. I’m going to dream about breakfast. S’pose you’ll be dreaming about your girl, eh?’
Clem closed his eyes. ‘Yeah. I might pop round and see if her old man will let me in for breakfast. He’s a good bloke.’
‘We’re still going to have a bit of a muck-up, you and me, though. Right, mate?’ asked Thommo, who didn’t have a girlfriend and knew how possessive Elizabeth could be with her boyfriend Clem.
‘You bet. We’ll think about it all the time we’re over there,’ agreed Clem sleepily.
As they sank into sleep a truck rattled over the wooden railway bridge, a few loose planks making heavy clunks. Neither man stirred. Nor did Elizabeth or Mollie sleeping soundly in their bedroom across the road at Cricklewood. The rattle of the old bridge was as familiar to them as the magpie that sang in the mulberry tree every morning.
Clem changed his mind about fronting up at the Williamses’ house when the noise of the milk trucks going to the butter factory woke them. He was stiff with a sore head, and they looked filthy and dishevelled after having travelled for the last three days. He knew the Williamses wouldn’t be impressed.
‘Come to my place. Mum’ll be all right,’ said Thommo. ‘Won’t be the first time I walked in at breakfast time.’
‘What about your dad?’ asked Clem, thinking his own father would probably give him a backhander. As long as he could continue to stand on his own two feet Walter Richards considered himself strong enough to take a swing at any of his three strapping sons.
‘My old man likes you. He’ll be jake. I could eat a horse. Let’s go.’ Thommo hoisted his bag on his shoulder.
Vera and Frank Thompson fussed over the two boys, treating the twenty-year-olds like youngsters, delighted to see them after months away.
‘You look so . . . grown up.’ Thommo’s mother tightened the belt on her dressing gown. ‘I can’t bear the thought that you’ll be going over there, fighting . . .’
‘We’re soldiers, Mum! That’s what we’re being trained to do.’
‘But we’re looking forward to this time off,’ said Clem to diffuse the emotion. He added with a cheeky grin, ‘Go round and skite a bit to old pals.’
‘I suppose you’ll be seeing a lot of Elizabeth Williams,’ said Thommo’s father.
‘Yeah. She’s been writing me lots of beaut letters. But Thommo and me still plan to have a bit of fun and games,’ said Clem giving Thommo a wink.
‘Now don’t you do anything silly. Some of the stories we hear about the boys in uniform around the district would curl your toes,’ said Vera.
‘Mind you, they’re not all local boys,’ added Frank. ‘There’s now an army camp out of Riverwood a bit. The kids ride their bikes out there at weekends for a sticky-beak. The girls are flattered by the blokes wanting to chat to them all the time.’
‘Most of them seem nice enough, the girls certainly think so. Gives the local boys a bit of competition,’ said Vera.
‘What are your plans this morning? Want a lift out to your place, Clem?’
‘That’s kind of you, thanks, Mr Thompson. You can drop me by the farm gate,’ said Clem. He was never sure how his father was going to react. Walter was a rough old bloke. ‘Got to keep ’em in line,’ he said in justification whenever his wife chided him about being too strict on the boys, belting them for the slightes
t mistake. Clem had been first to enlist, Kevin had followed a few weeks later. Keith, being the eldest of three sons, was told by the recruiting officer he was not eligible due to feet and knee problems. They preferred not to take all the sons from one family and Keith was needed to work on the farm with his father.
‘Call me Frank now, Clem. No more “Mister” stuff. You’re going off to do a man’s job.’ They awkwardly shook hands.
Clem was a slight, bowed figure as he walked the track leading to the farmhouse, his canvas kit bag a bit heavier with the few bottles of beer he’d bought in town to share with his brother and father. In a far paddock one of them was ploughing with their old draught horse. A haze of dust churned behind the figures in the morning sun. He wondered where Kevin was. He’d joined the navy and was probably still learning the ropes.
Everything around the farm was familiar and yet different. He looked about with new eyes. This was his home but he saw no future here. He was finished with the endless morning and afternoon processions of plodding cows, the memories of milking on cold mornings before school, of cleaning the bails, chopping wood or whatever task his father demanded after school before being called in to tea and then falling asleep over his homework. He could never recall praise or thanks, only criticism, hard whacks and shouted commands. Unlike Thommo, Clem had slipped easily into the tough and disciplined regimen of the army. He liked the order, the knowledge of what he had to do, how to do it, and then doing it well.
Elizabeth had been working in the big stock and station agency that handled all the cattle sales that went through Cedartown for years now. He suddenly remembered the fire at the showground cattleyards when they were kids. It’d been Thommo’s fault, but he’d never let on to anyone. But now Clem was a bit worried about Thommo being in the same infantry unit with him. Thommo was the proverbial loose cannon and wasn’t taking well to the discipline of the army. As a mate Clem felt responsible for helping him stay out of trouble, but it wasn’t easy.