by Di Morrissey
Georgia laughed. ‘Well, if we get a publisher interested in this book, you’ll be on a deadline. Having a journalist’s background, I know you’ll deliver. But equally, you have to think of this not just as a news article. You need to get below the surface, explore their motivations, cause and effect. The choices they made and why, and where those choices led them. Readers are interested in what makes famous people tick.’ Georgia’s eyes sparkled with enthusiasm. ‘I think you should talk to as many people as you can who have been associated with these four men: entrepreneurs, top financial people, other professionals in the same field. See what they think of them. Find a new angle that will make the world sit up and take notice.’
‘Good grief, that’s a big blank canvas,’ said Chris, his eyebrows raised. ‘A can of worms, as your dad would say! Challenging, but I can’t wait to get my teeth into it. I just wish I had the funds to drop everything and start seriously researching right away.’
‘Let’s see if we can get an advance first so that you can start to manage your time. I reckon if you can come up with something that is not already in the public arena then I’ll be able to sell your book.’ Georgia raised her glass. ‘Here’s to you. But don’t give up the day job just yet!’
They touched glasses.
‘I haven’t felt this good since I arrived home from the USA expecting to head off to Bangkok,’ said Chris. ‘I can’t thank you enough, Georgia.’
‘I’m glad I could help.’ Georgia smiled and sipped her wine.
‘Actually, Georgia, David said something to me this morning which was very interesting.’ Chris explained what David had said about Alan’s business dealings.
‘Really? See if you can find out if there is anything to David’s suspicions. Did he say anything else?’ Georgia asked.
‘Not really. He’s staying at my mother’s for the weekend. He’s been to visit Mum a couple of times since they met up again.’
‘That’s nice. Does David live near Neverend?’
‘Not exactly. He drives down from Brisbane.’
‘Well, that’s a bit of a hike. He must be keen,’ said Georgia with a grin.
Chris said nothing as he emptied his wineglass.
‘What’s he like?’ prompted Georgia.
‘Well, he’s nice. Decent. Good company,’ admitted Chris.
Georgia leaned back in her chair, noticing Chris’s reticence. ‘But you’re not happy about him?’
‘It’s silly, I know, but I feel he’s invading our family. I’ve never imagined my mother relating to a man other than my father, and I don’t feel entirely comfortable with the idea. I know I’m being childish,’ said Chris sheepishly.
Georgia shrugged. ‘Maybe you’re just being protective. Wait till your daughter has serious boyfriends.’
‘Oh, no thank you! Thank goodness she’s into horses for the moment.’
‘Your daughter’s a lucky girl. I think it’s every teenage girl’s dream to have a horse. I know I loved pony stories when I was a kid, but when I said I wanted to have riding lessons, Dad just gave me a funny look. So I gave that idea away.’
Chris chuckled. ‘I can imagine Mac doing that.’
Georgia insisted on paying for dinner and, as they walked out into the evening, cool gusts of wind lifted the tendrils of her hair.
‘That breeze certainly holds the promise of winter to come,’ she said. ‘Where are you headed now, Chris?’
‘Nowhere special. Back to the hotel, I guess. Mark has agreed to see me tomorrow morning, but until then my time is a blank canvas.’
‘Feel like walking off our dinner?’
‘Sure, where do you want to go?’
‘I’m not fussed. It’s a lovely evening, so why don’t we walk through the Botanic Gardens?’
So they walked to Macquarie Street and through the gardens to the Art Gallery of New South Wales, then down to Woolloomooloo, past the Finger Wharf, and on to Kings Cross, where Georgia caught a taxi home and Chris continued on to Elizabeth Bay.
Later Chris couldn’t recall in detail what they’d talked about, but Georgia was easy company.
The next morning Chris called Georgia from his hotel.
‘I wanted to call and thank you for dinner,’ he said.
‘It was my pleasure. I was very pleased with our conversation and I was particularly interested in what David told you about Alan. Maybe there’s nothing in it, but I think you could do a bit of exploring. Have a look at some of Alan’s developments and see if there might have been some corners cut. If you can find anything, it would really help sell your book.’
‘I’ll do my best. Also, I’ve been thinking about what you said about your photography, Georgia,’ Chris took a breath. ‘And I’m sure that if you came to Neverend you would find plenty to photograph. The area is absolutely full of photogenic places. Maybe you should consider making the journey.’
‘That’s a nice idea. I don’t know when I’d have the time, but I’ll keep it in mind. Let’s talk again soon. Goodbye, Chris.’
Shortly afterwards, Chris checked out of the hotel and headed to Sydney’s North Shore to meet Mark. He drove through the leafy streets of one of the area’s most prestigious suburbs until he found Mark’s large house, set well back from the road and hidden behind a big hedge. Chris turned down the gravel driveway beside banks of flowering camellia bushes just past their prime, until he reached a parking area beside a beautifully restored Federation house. When he got out of the car, he could see a carefully maintained lawn tennis court as well as a delightfully large swimming pool.
‘Crikey,’ said Chris to himself, looking up at the massive facade of the house.
He rang the front doorbell and Mark opened the door almost at once.
‘Hello,’ he said. ‘So you must be Chris. It’s nice to meet you face to face. I hope you didn’t have any trouble finding the place.’
Chris shook Mark’s hand. Mark was as Susan had described him, still very good looking, with a lot of thick silvery hair. Chris knew that he had to be at least seventy, but Mark looked years younger. He was wearing a pair of jeans and a casual polo shirt.
‘I think we might sit in the family room at the back of the house,’ said Mark. ‘It gets the sun at this time of day when the lounge room can be rather dark.’
As Mark guided Chris through the beautiful house, it was hard not to stare. The entrance hall, flanked by tall mirrors, was dominated by a large chandelier. As they crossed the lounge room to get to the back of the house, Chris was charmed by what he saw. The enormous room was dominated by a large fireplace and its walls were lined with Australian landscape paintings. Chris was sure they were originals. The moulded ceiling, its decorations etched in gold, was magnificent, and through the open French doors on the other side of the room, Chris could see a billiard room. Everything, Chris thought, was decorated to perfection. The room was elegant and restrained. There was nothing flashy about Mark, but Chris knew everything he could see was very, very expensive.
‘Would you like some coffee?’ asked Mark as they made their way into the biggest kitchen Chris had ever seen. One end of it comprised the cooking area, featuring a full-sized Aga cooker and a large island complete with high bar stools, while in the middle area was a casual dining table that could seat ten, and at the far end of the room were two very comfortable sofas. When Chris nodded, Mark made his way to an elaborate Italian coffee machine.
‘Please, take a seat on the lounge. So much more comfortable than perching on those kitchen stools. So, how is Susan?’ he asked, switching on the machine and fetching milk from the enormous steel refrigerator. ‘It was lovely to see her at the lunch and I don’t think she’s changed at all. Well, that’s silly. Like the rest of us, she’s older, but I think that her personality is just the same as it was forty-five years ago. A charming woman. I read your article in the Sunday Scene and I thank you for the kind comments you made about me. Very flattering.’
‘I believe I only told the truth,’ replied C
hris.
Mark smiled. ‘I don’t think I’m quite as wonderful as you made me out to be, but you are right about the fact that I like to work to help people who have not had all my advantages.’
‘This is certainly a lovely house,’ said Chris.
‘My wife and I bought it not long after we married and we’ve added bits to it, like the pool and these extensions, but we’ve never wanted to move. This place has always felt like home. Lorraine is out at present, but I’m sure she’ll be back soon. She wants to meet you.’
Chris felt quite touched by Mark’s genuine ability to make him feel so welcome.
‘I’m looking forward to meeting her.’
‘Ever since you let me know that you might do a book about the four of us, I’ve been going through my personal papers, wondering if they could be of any use to you.’
‘Mark, that is very generous of you. Of course they will be useful. They will certainly save me a lot of time running around. Thank you.’
‘Not a problem,’ said Mark, and then cocked his head as they heard the distant sound of the front door opening and closing. ‘Here’s Lorraine now. Hello, darling, glad you got back in time to meet Chris.’
Chris stood up to meet the tall, willowy woman who entered the room. She moved gracefully, like a model, her hair still a pale blonde and her clothes, like the house, expensive and tasteful. She held out her hand.
‘Thank you for saying all those kind things about my husband in your article, Chris. I think you were very generous in your praise. And now Mark tells me you want to expand that article into a book? Such a good idea. I’m sure you’ll want to talk to Mark about it. Why don’t you stay for lunch? Nothing grand. The staff don’t work on Sundays, but we’ll manage.’
Reluctantly, Chris explained that he wouldn’t have time as he had to pick up his daughter from where she had been staying at Newport and then drive the six hours home.
‘A pity,’ said Lorraine. ‘Perhaps next time.’
‘I’ll go and get the boxes of notes I’ve set aside for you,’ said Mark. ‘There is quite a lot about the Indonesian programme in there that could be useful.’
After coffee and a chat, Mark walked Chris to his car. ‘Lorraine is right. Please drop us a line next time you come to Sydney. We’d like to know you better. Maybe you would consider staying with us.’
Chris looked across the manicured grounds to a cottage which stood at the end of a long bed of roses.
‘You have a guest cottage, I see,’ he said.
‘Actually, that’s the staff quarters. No, if you stay with us, we have plenty of room in the house,’ said Mark with a smile.
As Chris drove away, he tried to remember if he had ever met such a charming couple, so generous and thoughtful and as kind in person as they were in their public actions.
*
Megan slept most of the drive home. Three other friends of Ruby’s had stayed over after the party, and they’d been awake nearly all night talking and sharing photos from the party on their social media sites. Chris knew Susan would be happy to know the Javanese outfit had been a huge hit.
Just before the Port Macquarie turn-off, Megan stirred.
‘Want to stop for a break?’ Chris asked.
‘I guess,’ yawned Megan.
Chris pulled over to a servo and ordered himself a coffee, while Megan had a milkshake.
‘So you had a great time?’
‘I did. It was great to catch up with everyone. Lots of fun. Ruby just loved the picture I bought from Jazzy for her. Said it was really clever.’
But there was something in Megan’s voice that puzzled Chris.
‘You don’t sound all that enthusiastic, or is that because you’re tired?’
Megan shrugged. ‘Dad, it was great to see everyone and they all made a fuss of me, which was nice, but after a while, we really didn’t have anything much to talk about. I mean, I have Squire and netball and the school orchestra and our jazz band, but the others weren’t really interested in what I’m doing; all they seem to be into is posting things on Facebook or talking about the latest gear they’ve bought that cost a fortune. They don’t do anything else, really, and in the end, I just found them boring. They used to be my best friends. Do you think there is something wrong with me?’ she sighed.
‘Of course not. You just have different interests now. I would say that your horizons have expanded since you came to Neverend while your Sydney friends are all just as you left them. You’ve found that there is more to life than just shopping and social media. You want to be involved, and I really admire that.’
Megan smiled but didn’t reply. Five minutes after they hit the road, she was asleep again.
‘I had a fun weekend too,’ Susan told Chris when they finally arrived home. ‘I enjoyed putting on a dinner party for David so he could meet a few of my friends. I haven’t done that since Christmas.’
‘Oh. I thought it was just the Landcare people,’ said Chris, trying to keep his voice light.
‘Yes, but I also invited some friends from the book club and a couple from the golf club. David said that he really enjoyed meeting everyone and they all liked him.’
‘I see,’ said Chris, but he said no more.
A few days later, Chris had a phone call from Georgia.
‘I haven’t ever told you about my difficult author, have I?’ she said. ‘He lives outside Woolgoolga and he refuses to come to Sydney. He says he’d like to see me. So, as we haven’t met for a few months, I thought I could fly up to Coffs, go and see him, and then drive over to Neverend. It’ll just be for the day, I’m afraid, but I’m bringing my camera, so I hope you’ll be able to show me this photogenic landscape you’ve bragged about.’
Chris was pleased that Georgia had taken him up on his offer to visit Neverend and the days sped by.
Chris had arranged to swap a shift with another of Shaun’s drivers so that he could show her around. Georgia had no trouble finding Susan’s place and Susan had lunch ready for her.
‘This area is enchanting! I see why you settled here, Susan.’
‘Yes, I fell in love with it almost as soon as we arrived here. It’s such a vibrant, interesting community. I couldn’t ask for more.’
‘Lucky you, growing up here,’ Georgia said to Chris, who smiled at her.
‘My sister and I rather took it all for granted, as you do. But we had it all: rivers and rainforest, waterfalls and surfing beaches.’
‘Where did you grow up, Georgia?’ asked Susan.
‘Inner Sydney. But Dad and Mum had a holiday house on the coast a couple of hours’ drive south of Sydney which we all loved.’
‘I was planning on taking you on a bit of a tour to show you some of the area,’ said Chris. ‘How much time have we got before you fly back to Sydney?’
‘I’m booked on the eight o’clock flight.’
‘Plenty of time, and I’ll make an early dinner for you so that you can easily catch your flight, and you’ll have the chance to meet Megan as well,’ said Susan.
*
Georgia held her camera in her lap as she stared out the car window. She’d been silent for some time as Chris wound through the valley, following the course of the Henry River.
‘Let me know if you want me to stop so you can take any shots,’ said Chris quietly.
Georgia turned to him. ‘Sorry, it’s just so pretty. So tranquil. I was simply enjoying the scenery. I know I should be snapping away but I feel as though I just want to take it all in. Balm to my soul.’
Chris smiled. ‘I’m glad you’re enjoying it. I’m taking this drive along the valley rather than going up the plateau road, which can be a bit hair-raising.’
‘Who lives around here?’
‘All sorts; families running dairy or beef herds, hobby farmers starting up gourmet enterprises, a few old hippies, and even a few wealthy folk in their hideaway holiday homes.’
‘A diverse lot, it seems.’
‘I’d love to mooch arou
nd and just knock on doors and see who is out here,’ laughed Chris.
Suddenly the car began to wobble and one of the wheels started to make a flapping noise.
‘I think we have a flat tyre,’ said Chris grimly. ‘The dirt roads around here play havoc with them. Sorry about this, but I should be able to change it pretty quickly.’
Chris pulled the car off to the side of the road, beside a leaning fencepost with the name ‘Applebrook’ faintly painted on the rusting mailbox which sat atop it.
‘Goodness,’ said Chris as he got out of the car and looked at the property. ‘It doesn’t look as though much farming goes on here anymore. The fences are neglected and the paddocks seem to be full of weeds, unless Scotch thistle is a new gourmet crop.’
‘Pretty trees, though, and I bet it has an old-fashioned garden,’ said Georgia. ‘Look, there’s smoke, so someone must live here.’
‘Could be someone burning off.’
Through an overgrown arbour gateway smothered in tangled roses, they glimpsed an old weatherboard house in need of a coat of paint, and in the distance they could both hear the sound of someone chopping wood.
‘What a classic house. What a shame it’s in such a sorry state,’ said Georgia.
As Chris opened the boot to get out the spare tyre, there was a desultory ‘woof’, and a large arthritic dog ambled towards them. When he realised that they were strangers, he managed a more serious bark.
The chopping stopped and from behind the house came an elderly woman carrying a hatchet.
‘Can I help you?’ she asked.
For a moment, Chris and Georgia were at a loss for words as they stared at the slightly stooped but still imposing woman who came towards them. Thick, coiled grey braids framed her weather-beaten face beneath a well-loved straw hat. A knitted scarf was wound around her neck and she wore fingerless gloves. Her worn corduroy pants were teamed with a hand-knitted mulberry cardigan and a pair of mud-splattered gumboots. She radiated a firm energy and her blue eyes studied the two of them curiously as her old dog sniffed their heels.