Secrets of the Springs Page 22

  Of course I did. But there seemed no point in saying so, not when all the certainties I’d ever known were being progressively overturned.

  In the end I stayed to help bathe Sophia and see her tucked into bed. Fiona kissed her daughter’s sleepy face, turned down the light and took my arm as we crept away. ‘You should get married, Orla. Anyone can see you love kids. Maybe you should forget the tourists and start a creche.’

  ‘In Emu Springs? How mad would that be?’ I scoffed. ‘Besides, they’ve already got the daycare centre. I’d be broke in a week.’

  The men were back by then. I ate dinner with them, then left to return to the gloomy house on Donal Street, thankful I’d thought to pick up the candles.

  Driving back to the Park next morning sometime after eight o’clock (I’d had to wait for the supermarket’s opening to collect the perishables) I met Ben at the boundary, on his way into town.

  ‘Morning,’ I called as he waved me through the gate. ‘You’re looking very cheerful.’

  ‘And feeling it.’ There was a smile on his face and a bounce in his step as he came to the Nissan’s window. ‘Thanks, Orla. Seems I owe you in a big way.’

  ‘You’ve sorted it out between you then? I’m glad.’

  ‘She’s a stubborn woman,’ he said, ‘but well worth the wait. And it’s all down to you that she’s finally seen sense.’

  ‘Good.’ I smiled at him. ‘Invite me to the wedding, which, I take it, will now definitely occur?’

  He grinned smugly. ‘You bet.’

  Chapter Twenty-three

  There was another surprise in store when I carried the carton of groceries into the kitchen where Marty was beating something in a thick china bowl. A pile of biscuits were already cooling on a rack.

  ‘Morning, Marty, you’re looking very well. How did the dinner with Ben go? I met him at the boundary as I drove in.’

  ‘Did you?’ A tinge of pink crept into her cheeks. ‘It went well, thank you,’ she said with dignity. ‘And you might as well know – you do, anyway – that he stayed the night. With me.’ The pink grew more pronounced. ‘That said, it’s nobody’s business but ours.’

  ‘Of course it isn’t,’ I said sincerely, ‘but I’m so pleased. You were meant for each other.’ I pulled the cream cheese and butter out and stacked them in the fridge. ‘What are you making there?’

  ‘Gingerbread. For the smoko trade.’

  I raised my brows and she smiled complacently. ‘Three separate vehicles came in yesterday looking for morning tea. I told you it would work. I charged the same as they do in the Damson cafe. Anyway, they ate everything I had made, so I thought I’d get a bit ahead. Gingerbread will keep for days.’

  ‘Really?’ I was delighted. ‘I mean, it seemed possible that people might occasionally drive out just for a cuppa but three cars in one day! That’s wonderful.’ I stored the remaining groceries and made a pot of tea. ‘I know it’s early but I need breakfast, I’ve had nothing but a donut.’

  She tutted and began lining a baking tin. ‘There’re plenty of eggs.’

  ‘Toast will do,’ I said. ‘So, I don’t want to pry but did you tell Ben about your past?’

  ‘Well, of course. I had to explain why I had been so – so difficult.’ Her face softened into dreaminess and I waited until her silence forced me to prompt.

  ‘And . . .?’

  ‘He didn’t blame me for what happened.’ Her tone was one of wonder. ‘He said the whole thing was a tragedy of errors, that I should never even have been charged with manslaughter, let alone murder. He knows the law, Orla, and to hear him say that – it was as if he’d lifted a stone from my heart. Because I’ve always felt so guilty, you see, and those months in prison ground it into me, so that I couldn’t forget what I’d done . . . that I’d killed . . .’

  ‘You saved yourself, that’s all.’ I buttered toast and searched in the fridge for the marmalade. ‘I’d have done the same. To defend yourself – it’s a natural instinct. Where’re Mark and Joe today?’

  ‘Mustering. They won’t be home tonight.’

  ‘Well, there’s a vehicle coming now.’ I picked up a piece of toast and went out the back door to a vantage point then ran back inside. ‘Heavens! What have you started, Marty? It’s not even nine yet but that looks very much like someone hell bent on morning tea. So much for a leisurely breakfast! I’ll go out and see what they want.’

  ‘Think of the business they’re bringing,’ she returned placidly. ‘I’ll get the cups out.’

  Ben was out at the Park at the close of business to collect Marty, whom he was taking to dinner at the Shamrock.

  ‘You don’t mind doing for yourself?’ she asked a little hesitantly. ‘I thought, with the men away . . . And there’s a shepherd’s pie in the fridge you can heat up. Ben’s started the lighting plant for you.’

  ‘I can hear it. And of course I don’t, I’m not helpless. I hope you have a great night. You look very nice, Marty.’ She was wearing a dark blue dress and a string of pearls I had never seen before, her hair in soft waves about her face and pinned low at the back, rather than in the workmanlike bun she usually affected. She glowed with happiness and I felt a moment’s envy for days when I too had known such felicity, when just the anticipation of Mark’s smile could fill my dreams with sunshine.

  ‘She looks beautiful,’ Ben corrected from the door, as plainly besotted as a man could be. I watched the ancient dance unfold before me as he took her hand like some precious jewel, fingers cherishing the dear flesh he held, and the way, as he led her out to the car, his body unconsciously inclined towards hers. ‘Night, Orla,’ he called back, suddenly remembering my presence. His voice sounded boyish and young – all traces of the careful, nearing-fifty solicitor banished by the magic of love.

  ‘Goodnight.’ Sighing, I went back inside to the kitchen’s warmth and No Name’s company, suddenly lonely and feeling at a loose end. It was too early yet to eat; I might as well fill the time by baking. Another vehicle had turned up mid-afternoon, its driver diffidently enquiring as to the possibility of getting tea service, and perhaps a tour around the station? Most of the biscuits from that morning had gone and inroads had been made upon the gingerbread, so a couple of trays of slices wouldn’t go amiss. There was also the mail. Ben had dropped it on the hall table and I had forgotten it till now. Setting down the mixing bowl I’d chosen, I went to retrieve it.

  There were two letters of interest – three if you counted the scribbled note from Ben, a memo to the effect that Les Wingate could make himself available on request. I frowned over this then remembered the retired blacksmith we’d talked about hiring to demonstrate his craft to the PGs. One more string to the bow. I’d have to ask Mark or Joe to set up the forge, see if it still worked . . . and it would need charcoal, wouldn’t it? Where on earth did one buy that?

  The next was a stiff envelope bearing an Australian Army crest. I opened it, already knowing what I would find and there it was, an official form in which the blank spaces had been filled by a scrawled longhand, though the names were in block print so I couldn’t mistake them. The army records of Henry Charles McRae, who had risen to the rank of sergeant before his eventual release from the army at the end of hostilities in 1945.

  I already knew from Palmer’s disclosures, and the army discharge papers that he’d obtained, that Dad’s tale of wrongful spelling by some recruiting officer had to be a lie, but here was the proof in black and white. The handwriting was execrable and I vaguely wondered that it had not been typed, but of course the sheets were filled in over the course of a soldier’s career and, on a war footing, I supposed, troop movements might well run ahead of office supplies. What did it matter? It was one more nail – the final one, I suspected, in the coffin of my father’s integrity. I let the form fall and just sat there wondering at his audacity and capacity for deceit. Was bigamy not enough that within a few years of committing it he was also practising adultery?

  After a while I opened the t
hird letter to find that it was a booking from the tourism people: actually two in one, the letter read, but in view of seasonal constraints we have booked them concurrently. There was an elderly couple, and a family; the former would stay only the one night, the latter three. The family consisted of two adults and two boys, aged five and fifteen. Both parties were driving themselves but only the elderly pair needed to be met in Emu Springs. All other thoughts were instantly banished as I began mentally assigning the bedrooms. They were due in eleven days’ time, on the twenty-third of August, no call for open fires or extra bedding at night then, though the days wouldn’t yet be too hot . . . Strange how quickly I was beginning to consider even the weather in terms of the guests’ comfort.

  The booking had the effect of energising me. Switched on the kitchen light I picked up the mixing bowl. It was too soon to be rushing about in preparation, but my baking now had an added purpose. I decided that I would ready a supply of comestibles for teas – fruit cakes, ginger biscuits, things that would keep – in quantities ample enough to handle a sudden rush of customers when we might be fully occupied with other guests. If the last two days proved to be a flash in the pan, well, the cakes would serve for the men’s smokos. Satisfied with my decision, I set to work.

  I had just pulled the last tray from the oven when the kitchen door opened behind me. I recoiled from the table with a gasp of fright that died as I saw Mark standing in the opening, hands rising in a placatory gesture.

  ‘Sorry, sorry – I should’ve sung out.’

  ‘You should’ve. You frightened me half to death! What are you doing here?’

  ‘I came back to start the diesel, but I see you’ve got it running.’

  The sky was black behind him. No Name, who had arched his back at Mark’s sudden appearance, subsided again. I said, ‘Yes, that was Ben. You left it a bit late, didn’t you?’

  ‘I had a flat tyre.’ His hands, I saw, were filthy and he’d taken the skin off a knuckle. His face looked weary under the glow of the light and I was suddenly sorry I’d spoken so sharply.

  ‘You look tired. Have you eaten? I was just about to cook my own tea. I could make you something if you like?’

  ‘Why are you cooking – where’s Ellen?’

  ‘Ben’s taken her off to dinner in town. That’s why he was here and able to start the plant. It seems they’ve finally sorted out their relationship. Damn! I hadn’t considered that but I suppose it means I’ll be needing a new cook sometime soon. Oh well.’ I was chattering unnecessarily but couldn’t seem to stop. ‘So, do you want a meal?’

  ‘If it’s not too much bother.’ He smothered a yawn and went to the sink to wash. ‘What time will Ellen be back?’

  ‘She may not be,’ I said carefully, ‘not tonight. I daresay it depends on Ben’s domestic arrangements.’

  ‘I see.’ He frowned. ‘You’re all right with that, Orla?’

  ‘For heaven’s sake, Mark! She’s a grown woman. What business is it of mine?’

  ‘I meant,’ he said, ‘all right with being alone here tonight if she does stay in town?’

  ‘What? Oh, yes of course. It doesn’t worry me.’

  ‘No?’ he said dryly. ‘You just about had a heart attack when I came in.’

  ‘Yes, well, I wasn’t expecting anyone,’ I retorted huffily, opening the fridge to see what I could turn into dinner.

  In the end we had chops and bubble and squeak made up from chopped onions and a plate of leftover vegies. I made a small jug of gravy to go with it and put out a fresh loaf and the butter. When we had cleared out plates I cut the still-warm gingerbread and made the tea.

  ‘Sorry, I didn’t get round to dessert. Too much time spent baking instead.’

  ‘And you’re doing that because . . .?’

  ‘Smoko trade. We’ve started getting a few vehicles coming in for teas.’ I sipped my tea, eyed the cake and decided I didn’t need it. ‘And as we’ve got another two lots of PGs coming I thought I’d get ahead where I could. Oh, and I haven’t got the full story yet, because it was just a sort of memo that Ben left’ – I was talking too much again – ‘but apparently Les Wingate is willing to come and perform on the forge for our guests. I was going to ask you about that – can you remember when it was last used?’

  ‘Probably in your dad’s day. I’ll take a look at the smithy if you like.’ He put his elbow on the table and used his hand to push his hair back from his forehead in an all too familiar gesture. ‘So, it looks like it just might work after all, this idea of yours.’

  I swallowed indignation. ‘You didn’t think it would?’

  ‘Let’s say I had my doubts. City folk talk about country holidays but what they usually want is all their comforts – cold beer, hot showers, good roads – and a nice tame stretch of green countryside. North of the Barrier could be seen as a bit too primitive and barren for enjoyment. But three bookings is good.’

  ‘You’re laughing at me,’ I said resentfully.

  ‘I’m not, Orla. But it was always a gamble and I just wonder if the money couldn’t have been put to a better use. We’ve been repairing gear and barely scraping by on the Park for so long – I suppose I’ve got into the way of grudging any excess spending. Don’t mind me.’ He yawned and stood. ‘I think I’ll sleep here and head back to the camp early in the morning. Thanks for the meal.’ He’d limped out the door before I could even begin to defend my modest expenses, which, while they mightn’t have paid for a new vehicle or whatever else was needed, I thought indignantly, had still been spent entirely for the benefit of the station. I clattered our dishes noisily through the sink and then with the evening still to fill went into the office and picked up the phone. A glance at the clock reassured me it was still early enough, so I rang the Buchans’ number.

  It was Rose who answered, her soft voice sounding clear and close.

  ‘Orla, what a lovely surprise! How are you, dear?’

  ‘I’m fine, Rose. What about you? And Kevin? Is it still cold and rainy down in Melbourne?’

  ‘No, no – it’s been sunny, real spring weather, still cool of course, but today was lovely. Kevin’s fine. Yes, our son came and took us to the botanical gardens to see the first bulbs. They’re just starting to flower. They’ll be a picture in a week or two. I think the sun’s brought them on. But never mind about us – tell me what you’ve been doing. I keep hoping you’re going to ring to say you’ve finally met someone special. The years pass so quickly, Orla, and missed opportunities rarely come round again.’

  I laughed wryly. ‘Did anyone ever tell you what a romantic you are, Rose?’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ she said serenely, ‘Kevin’s always doing it. So, how did it go with your tourists? Did you like them? Were they happy with what you offered?’

  ‘Supremely so. They were great, I couldn’t have asked for nicer people. We call them PGs, Marty and I – Paying Guests. Oh, and just so you know that Cupid’s alive and well out here, she’s in a relationship now – Marty, I mean. Looks like she’ll be marrying the solicitor I told you about. Which is great because, from what I can make out, the poor man’s been dotty about her for years.’

  She chuckled. ‘That’s heartening. Maybe he’ll have a spare arrow for you – Cupid, that is.’

  ‘And,’ I said, ‘we’ve got another two bookings this month. You know how I told you we put up a sign advertising teas? We’re starting to get customers for that too. In fact I’ve spent the evening baking. Rose, you know that boiled fruit cake you used to make – the one with the almonds and citron in it? Do you think you could get Kevin to write out the recipe for me?’ Her own hands were, I knew, too arthritic to hold a pen with any sort of ease. ‘I was thinking it would keep well and be a good standby. Once Marty gets married I expect I’ll be doing the cooking myself.’

  ‘Yes, of course he can. He’ll do it tomorrow. I’m so pleased it’s all working out for you, Orla. I just wish you weren’t so far away.’

  ‘Me too.’ We talked a little longer. As
always, I was surprised by how young her voice sounded; listening to her made it hard to remember just how frail she was. When she’d hung up I sat for a moment with my hand on the phone, then pulled open the top drawer of the desk to find Alec Forster’s business card. I took a breath, told myself it was no more than a business call anyway, then feeling fatalistic, dialled his number.

  Rose had been proved right about so many things. I just wished the liveliness in her voice could somehow be transferred into her frail old body. Perhaps the idea of losing Marty, as I knew I soon must, helped crystallise my sudden decision. Yes, I had thought of Alec in the salon and dismissed the idea, but there was nothing like being alone to make one re-evaluate the worth of friends and companionship. And I was tired of lonely evenings such as this. Maybe he held the answer to that. At any rate, one phone call hardly constituted a contract. The hand-piece lifted at the other end and I heard a man’s voice.

  ‘Alec?’ Of course it was him. I projected warmth into my voice. ‘It’s Orla.’

  Chapter Twenty-four

  The following morning I was woken by the distant thump of the diesel and then the sound of the three-wheeler revving in the shed. By the time I had risen and belted on a dressing gown the noise was receding up the paddock. Mark, going back to the camp. He must have needed the bike to muster on, I thought. You could shepherd sheep along with a vehicle if you had dogs, but cattle were livelier and harder to control. Yawning in the half light – the east was still grey with the first pearly light showing above the distant range – I turned back to the kitchen, dismissing the wish that I could be out there too, amid the saltbush, while the day broke around me.

  There was magic in the smell of an early morning. A wild sort of aroma composed of dust and distance and the tang of the dry, grey bushes and brittle grasses. It had stayed with me, an olfactory memory, throughout the years of my absence, overlaid with the whiff of campfires, the bitter aroma of crushed pepper-tree leaves and the rank stink of sweaty horseflesh on a hot day. It was the smell of home. I marvelled at the complexity of the human mind that one whiff could bring back so many memories and emotions, and in that moment, remembering his smile and the caressing lilt of his voice, almost forgave my father his sins.