Heart of the Outback

by Lynne Wilding

  “How do you feel now, Francey?”

  “Fine.” Her eyes challenged him. “I’m only staying here until you go then I’m getting up. There’s nothing wrong with me.”

  Barry smiled then performed a routine examination: took her temperature, her pulse, her blood pressure and sounded her chest.

  “I think you’re right. You seem well enough to me. Slight case of dehydration, that’s all. Lucky you’re so healthy.” He turned to Shellie. “Make sure Francey has plenty of fluids, maybe some Gatorade if you have any around, and Francey,” he turned back to his patient, “you may have periods of fatigue over the next couple of days. So plenty of rest, preferably in bed. Will you do that?”

  “Yes, doctor. Of course,” Francey promised, smiling.

  “You’ll come and meet CJ, won’t you?” Shellie asked Barry. “He’s been quite anxious about Francey.”

  “Certainly. Lead the way.”

  A huge sense of relief washed over CJ when Doctor Ryan pronounced Francey fit enough to work if she wanted to. It wasn’t her getting back to work that concerned him, he’d scarcely slept a wink last night agonising over what she may have gone through in the ravine. He was genuinely concerned that her ordeal might have had a detrimental, longer lasting effect on her. That Murrundi had been the cause of it filled him with an overwhelming mixture of anger and frustration. He’d never have forgiven himself or others if something dire had happened to her. And he also wasn’t a hundred per cent satisfied about Hunter taking the blame. He sensed that his stepdaughter had organised the situation — and for the life of him he couldn’t understand why — however proving it would be impossible. Still, he knew she knew he wasn’t pleased and that he held her responsible.

  “She’s a healthy young woman,” Barry pronounced. “I don’t think she’s been overly traumatised although there could be some after-effects. She seems to have a level head on her shoulders and I don’t think there’ll be too many post-trauma symptoms. Encourage her to talk about it as much as she wants to, that in itself may be sufficient therapy to stop any mental trauma.”

  “Thank God for that,” CJ rumbled in his hoarse voice. Then something occurred to him. “You’re new, aren’t you?”

  “Doctor Passfield’s retiring at Christmas, I’m taking over his practice. My daughter’s husband recently got a job with the Isa mine so it’s worked out well. It will be nice to be close to her, now that I’m a widower.”

  “I didn’t know. I’m sorry about Kate,” Shellie murmured, and then subsided guiltily at CJ’s questioning glare.

  “I appreciate you coming out,” CJ said gruffly as he shook the doctor’s hand. “I guess we’ll be seeing more of you from time to time, seeing you’re taking over from Ben.”

  “Most likely,” Barry agreed. “I’m sorry, must go. I have other calls to make.”

  “I’ll see Barry, I mean, Doctor Ryan out,” Shellie offered.

  As soon as the doctor had left CJ turned to Steve and Les. “Francey’s okay and that’s the main thing. Thanks Steve,” he slapped the younger man heartily on the shoulder. “God knows what condition Francey’d be in if you hadn’t happened to be out that way.”

  “Perhaps it’s best not to think of that,” Steve put in. He had been quietly observing CJ, noting the play of different emotions on his usual poker face. Anger and then relief had consecutively graced his features. It clarified something he had thought for quite a while. The old man had, for once, let his guard down and become genuinely fond of Francey Spinetti. Perhaps, he frowned to himself, more than just fond.

  “I was glad to help out,” Steve said. “Billy should be back by now with the horses, so I’d better make tracks. I’m back on duty this afternoon. I’ll just go and say goodbye to Francey.”

  CJ’s forehead beetled in a frown as he watched Steve walk towards Francey’s room. Damned familiar! He didn’t like the fact that Steve assumed a familiarity beyond that which his job called for. Steve and Francey. He recalled how cosy they’d been the night of Pierre’s party. Odd, but the thought disgruntled him more than he felt comfortable with. She was too good for the likes of a common policeman. Too good, indeed.

  Without further ado Steve walked down the hallway which led to the bedrooms. He already knew which one was Francey’s because he’d insisted on carrying her there from the helicopter. He caught her in the process of throwing back the covers to get out of bed.

  “You sure the doctor said you could do that?”

  “Not you too,” she arched an eyebrow at him as she rose from the bed. “I’m not an invalid.” She smiled. “I really do feel fine.”

  For a moment or two they stood looking at each other, remembering all that had happened in the ravine. Then Steve reached for her and gathered her close. It seemed the most natural place to be and she knew he could feel her tremble through the thin cotton nightie but she didn’t care. Slanting her head back to receive his kiss, her arms slid up around his neck to pull him close to her. Fingers twined through his dark hair and she savoured the thick texture, the warmth of him, the fact that he seemed as emotionally involved as she was.

  Eventually Steve pulled back. “I’ve got to go, but I’ll call you tonight, promise.”

  She stroked his jawline. “I’ll be waiting.”

  Shellie walked all the way with Barry to his four-wheel drive, curiously tongue-tied when there was so much she wanted to say to him. How long had it been since they had seen each other? Almost ten years, but the feelings inside her were still strong and had never died as feelings sometimes did. She couldn’t tell him that, of course. She had no idea how he felt … or whether there was someone else in his life.

  “I am so sorry about Kate,” she said eventually. “When? How?” she stumbled over the awkwardness of the question.

  “About eleven months ago, her heart. She didn’t suffer too much, thank God. She’d suffered enough over the years as it was.”

  “Yes.” Shellie remembered the slight, attractive, wheelchair-bound Kate. The woman had been crippled with rheumatoid arthritis and a weak heart, but had always managed to maintain a brave face in public despite her medical problems. Shellie’s affair with Barry had begun several months after she had taken the receptionist’s job in his surgery. Starved of affection for years, falling in love with Barry Ryan had been easy. He’d been kind, considerate and interested. All the things her faithless husband, Peter, had never been. They had been discreet for Kate’s sake, and Barry had been honest with her right from the start, saying it couldn’t lead anywhere — that he’d not leave his wife. Eventually the strain had become too much and Shellie had been the one to leave town. Oh, how many years ago? Seven or was it eight?

  “Jodie and her husband Ken have settled into the Isa. They’ve been here for three months. Actually, Jodie told me about Ben’s practice being up for sale.” He looked at her with those kind, puppy dog eyes of his and smiled. “Funny how things work out, isn’t it?”

  She nodded wordlessly, barely able to believe that they were here like this, talking as if they’d last met yesterday. Well, he was doing most of the talking, she was just looking and listening, taking it all in, absorbing the wondrous feeling of being with him once more.

  “Look, why don’t you have dinner with us one night. Meet Jodie and her husband. Would you?”

  “I’d love to,” she said, smiling cautiously at him.

  He opened the car door and slid behind the wheel. “How about Thursday night? We’ll go Chinese. That used to be your favourite if I remember correctly.”

  Her smile widened with pleasure because he’d remembered. “Yes. That’s fine. I’ll meet you at the surgery, about seven o’clock.”

  He turned the ignition on. “I’m looking forward to it already.” He reached out through the open window and touched her cheek for the briefest moment. “I’ve missed you…” and before she could answer he gunned the accelerator and moved off down the drive.

  Shellie watched the vehicle until it went up over the
rise and out of sight then turned and walked up the steps to the homestead, the widest smile engraved on her face.

  In her bedroom, Natalie deWitt-Ambrose paced the floor barefoot, alternatively biting her nails in agitation and finger-combing her platinum short locks in a gesture of anger and frustration. She’d made a serious slip up and she knew it. The Francey thing — her jealousy and anxiety over the architect’s relationship with CJ — had sent her into a mental tail spin. She’d overreacted. But, she reasoned, it had been a good plan to strand her nemesis in the ravine. With Les and CJ absent she’d have gotten away with it if Steve Parrish hadn’t stumbled upon her before mother nature had done her work. Shit! Of all the bad luck. And now she’d alienated herself from CJ and Les.

  Oh, yes. She had seen the way Les looked at her. He could barely conceal his dislike for her. She would have to watch him. Les had a vindictive, sly streak to him, she knew that from years past, and he thought he had a score to settle with her. And CJ, her mouth pouted petulantly, he’d never liked her. Only her mother’s constant intervention on her behalf had, over the years, made CJ treat her with a modicum of outward affection and respect. She sighed. Mumsie wasn’t around to act as go-between any more and since Richard’s death her relationship with CJ had deteriorated because of that damned architect, Francey, CJ’s pet.

  Tossing her head back, her grey eyes narrowed as she looked about the room. So what! She didn’t need CJ or for that matter, any man. She had money and she was a successful businesswoman in her own right who didn’t have to ask him for anything. But, and she admitted it even though it hurt, she had always craved his sincere affection and knew she would never have it. Her thin lips curled in a menacing sneer as she repeated the words in her head over and over again. Patience, patience … All she had to do was to wait. When CJ died everything would be hers to do with as she pleased. That, she decided, would be the most perfect revenge on her stepfather for his lack of love. And top of her hit list would be the dismissal of Les Westcott. Oh, what pleasure she’d get from that.

  But what to do about Francey Spinetti? She had failed to scare her off and no doubt she’d continue to worm her way into CJ’s good graces — the woman could do no wrong as far as he was concerned. She needed time to regroup her thoughts and plan a new course of action. She’d go to Port Douglas, maybe have Trish fly up to be with her, and work on a foolproof way of getting rid of Francey. Maybe Trish could help her plan something.

  Buoyed by the thought of being with Trish and having a new scheme in the works, Natalie’s dark mood lifted. She took an overnight bag out of the wardrobe and began to pack.

  In the early hours of the morning, coming home from a date with Steve, Francey came upon CJ and Les discussing business in the spacious living room. Papers were spread all over the coffee table, together with coffee cups and a half empty brandy snifter glass which she guessed belonged to Les.

  “A bit late, isn’t it?” CJ greeted her with a scowl. Been with Parrish, no doubt. His stomach turned at the thought of the two of them together. Damned if he knew what she saw in the man.

  “I am over twenty-one, you know,” she teased, ignoring his annoyed stare. During her months at Murrundi she had come to realise that CJ was possessive, not only of what he owned and controlled but also of those who worked for him. That was too bad — she had no intention of allowing him to rule the roost when it came to her personal life. She and Steve had had a wonderful night together and she wasn’t going to let CJ’s grumpiness spoil it.

  “I see that you two believe in burning the midnight oil. Some international crisis?” Francey said, pointing at the paperwork.

  CJ put his empty coffee cup down and shook his head. “The opposite. I’ve got a fifty-five per cent interest in a small company called North West Abattoirs near Cloncurry and they’re in financial trouble. It’s been running in the red for two years now. Les thinks we should sell my share for whatever we can get, and frankly, I don’t see that I have another choice.”

  Francey hid her surprise that he was speaking of his business interests so openly with her until she remembered that he had done it before, on several occasions, but more in passing conversation than serious discussion. She recalled the town of Cloncurry; she’d stopped there for lunch and a walk on her way to Mt Isa. A picture of a pleasant country town, typically Australian, danced before her open eyes. A town whose life blood, she suspected, depended to some extent on the abattoir plant. Despite her tiredness she was curious and sat on the sofa beside Les. “Why isn’t it making a profit?”

  Les allowed himself a few seconds to savour the aroma of her perfume and her closeness … their thighs were almost touching on the sofa. A growing feeling of frustration took hold of him until, with difficulty, he brought it under control. “Competition,” he informed her. “A Japanese firm has opened a state-of-the-art abattoir at Normanton and sells meat direct to the Japanese market. Our plant is sixty-five years old. We need to upgrade but I can’t see that it’s worth the effort or the financial cost.”

  Francey thought again about the small town and the people who lived there. “If you made the effort could North West compete in the market place?”

  “Of course. There’s a the rail link planned for Mt Isa and Cloncurry, and we’ve an established domestic market. The Japanese mob have to freight some of their product to Karumba for live export overseas.”

  “How many jobs are involved?” she asked.

  “Over a hundred, not including some seasonal positions. It’s a tough decision for the staff but most of them would get a fair redundancy payout.”

  “What good will that be if they can’t find another job? I’m sure you realise that even a hundred people out of work could drastically affect the economy of a small town,” she argued passionately.

  “We know, but there doesn’t appear to be another choice,” CJ said. “I can’t continue to pour money in without getting a return, my accountant in Brisbane’s told me that several times. It’s just not good business.”

  “But what about the old Aussie saying, give a bloke — or in this case a battling Aussie company — a fair go? Australia can’t keep selling off its own or soon there won’t be anything left.” She looked speculatively at CJ. The man had millions, he could probably afford to prop the abattoir up indefinitely, if he chose to. But she knew his reputation as a hard businessman and a good profit margin was undoubtedly of paramount importance to him. Still, a certain appeal glistened in her eyes as she said, “Surely there must be something you can do.”

  “It’s not that I don’t want to,” he admitted. “I’ve held the controlling interest in North West for twelve years. The Murrundi stock go there for slaughtering. I believe it’s still a viable business if …”

  “If what?”

  “I just can’t justify the outlay of more than half a million dollars to refit, not with the profit and loss statement being what it is. We need to alter the labour structure too.” Suddenly he had an idea. He smiled across at her. “Tell you what, how about Les gives you the file to go through. Maybe,” he glanced at Les, seeking his agreement, “you can find something we’ve missed. A way to keep the company going.”

  “I’m not a businesswoman,” she said with a shake of her head. But even as she said so she knew that she would find something. The thought of so many people, their families, the business folk in the town, suddenly having their livelihood cut off and with no other way of replacing it, was causing her to go into a mild depression on their behalf.

  “That’s a good idea,” Les agreed. “However, we can’t put off the decision for too long. Thirty-six hours at the most.”

  “Why?”

  “We’ve got a prospective buyer.”

  “If North West’s doing so badly, why does someone want to buy it?”

  CJ answered. “Les thinks the buyer represents other interests. Possibly the Japanese company. They’ll absorb the competition and then close the place down.”

  Francey hated the idea o
f that happening. Not the fact that the Japanese were making what was probably an astute business move, she just didn’t want to see people and families out of work. Too much of it was happening all over Australia. “Okay,” she accepted the challenge. “I’ll look over the paperwork.” She flashed them both a wide smile, “I can’t imagine I’ll find something you two professionals have missed though.”

  “Good girl,” said CJ and grinned. He was inordinately pleased with himself for no logical reason. He too doubted she would come up with any kind of escape plan, but that she wanted to try — even though it was out of her field of expertise — impressed him.

  “Well, I’m for bed. Goodnight gentlemen.”

  “Goodnight,” Les echoed. “I’ll drop the file into your office in the morning.”

  CJ sat at his desk staring at Francey’s neat handwriting, several pages of it. Within twenty-four hours she had come up with a plan for North West Abattoirs which just might work.

  She’d related their problem to something she had read years ago in a newspaper about a fruit processing company being in financial trouble and threatening closure. The unions hadn’t been pleased but the workers had gone ahead and invested all their savings in the company and become shareholders, and therefore were very keen to keep the company solvent. There was no reason why the employees at North West couldn’t do the same. She doubted whether they’d come up with more than a hundred thousand dollars but that would give them enough equity to borrow the remaining amount necessary to refit the plant.

  She had suggested too that all workers agree to a ten per cent pay cut until the company broke even again, and, on a rotation basis, each employee would work half a day gratis. That would cut the labour costs and pull them into the black quicker.

  Damned innovative, he reckoned, though he doubted that the unions would think so. Chuckling under his breath he reached for the phone to ring Les. His CEO would be impressed and what’s more, if he could swing it and she agreed, Les could fly her down to North West so she could present the proposal to them in person.