Heart of the Dreaming (22 page)

TR slept off the effects of his jet lag and the long drive and, feeling refreshed, headed into the bar. Several people nodded to him, but it was Dingo that TR spotted and sat beside.

Dingo slapped him on the back. ‘Struth! A man can't have a quiet beer without running into every man and his dog. How's it going?'

The hours passed and the empty glasses stretched along the bar in front of them as TR related his experiences in America and revealed the real reason he was back.

‘Few good places about. Pricey, but not to someone like Hindmarsh,' said Dingo. ‘So, he might end up in racehorses, eh? You're moving out of the brumby days, TR.'

TR downed the last of his middy and didn't answer, remembering the brumby roundup when he realised he'd fallen in love with Queenie. ‘Yeah, I guess so. Queenie and I
never did bring back the brumbies that time,' he said aloud but more to himself.

‘Queenie … by God, do y'know she's getting married? And you can thank me,' Dingo laughed, his words slurred, his promise to keep the news to himself forgotten.

Slowly TR placed his glass on the bar. ‘Married? She found some bloke overseas then?'

‘No bloody fear. She's marrying Warwick Redmond, the fellow I sent to manage Tingulla … I'd say he managed very well!' Dingo hiccupped over his joke.

‘Who is he?' TR could hardly speak.

‘What's that? … Oh, don't worry, TR, he's got a few bob of his own. He's going into business with her, he's not a penniless nohoper. Don't you worry. They're going to do real well. Struth, I'd better shut up, no one's supposed to know.'

‘Another drink, gents?'

‘A double Scotch,' said TR.

He threw back the drink in a gulp and turned to Dingo. ‘I'll be seeing you, Dingo. Got to hit the road early.'

They shook hands and TR walked from the noisy bar, his shoulders sagging, seeing no one.

Despite a slight hangover TR checked out early the next morning, paying his bill and handing over the key.

‘Be seeing you, TR. Good luck in America.'

‘Thanks … Oh, hell, I've left my jacket in the room. I'll just race back and get it.'

He dumped his bag by the desk and sprinted up the stairs.

As he disappeared from sight Queenie came in the front door, her cheeks pink and her hair windswept. She stood beside TR's abandoned bag without noticing it. ‘Morning. Gorgeous morning out there. There's a cool breeze, but it's going to be a scorcher later. I went for a walk. Not many people up yet.'

‘No, you're an early bird. Breakfast's on if you're ready.'

‘You bet. Thanks.' Queenie turned and walked into the dining room.

As the glass doors swung shut behind her, TR reappeared with his jacket hooked on his thumb over his shoulder. He picked up his bag, nodded to the man behind the desk and walked into the street.

1970s
Cricklewood

The piebald pony trotted obediently round the stockyard and the tiny figure in the saddle bounced joyously up and down, shrieking with laughter.

‘More, Snowy … more …,' pleaded the little girl, as Snowy stepped forward to lift the four-year-old down from the horse.

‘No more, Sassy. Millie's got your lunch ready.'

He sat the child on the railing and turned around. She jumped onto his back, linking her arms around the old Aborigine's neck to be piggy-backed to the house.

Millie smiled when she saw Snowy jogging past the herb garden to the kitchen with the child cajoling him to go faster.

She opened the screen door. ‘Saskia, you little monkey, you're going to wear poor Snowy out. Come and wash your hands, your mum and dad are waiting for you.'

Snowy grinned at the tiny streak of energy who dropped from his back and charged past them, her dark curls bobbing as she ran.

‘She loves the horses. Just like her mumma.'

‘Don't I know it, Snowy. You have to watch her every minute or she's down there in the yards. I daren't turn my back on the little devil.'

Saskia skidded to the doors of the dining room, wiping her wet hands on her shirt and shaking her curls before stepping sedately into the sun-filled room.

‘And about time, Miss. We've been waiting for our lunch. I hope you've washed your hands.'

‘Yes, Dad,' she replied earnestly, slipping into her chair opposite her mother.

Queenie smiled fondly at her across the table. ‘I bet I know where you've been.'

Warwick passed a thick slice of Millie's home-baked bread to his daughter. ‘You spend too much time with the horses. I think you should start some schoolwork.' He spoke seriously, but burst out laughing at the immediate interest and enthusiasm this generated. ‘Oh, Saskia, everything is an adventure to you, isn't it?'

Queenie joined in the laughter. ‘Sas, perhaps we could start proper lessons, maybe an hour a day. I'll start you off, then you'll be ready for School of the Air next year. We'll practise reading and writing.'

‘Just Saskia and Mummy?' asked the young girl.

‘Just the two of us, but it's work time, not play time,' said Queenie firmly.

Satisfied, the child nodded and began eating her pumpkin soup.

‘She learns a lot from Millie,' said Warwick. ‘She was helping her in the kitchen shelling peas and learning sums.'

Warwick watched his daughter devote her attention to her meal. How like Queenie she looked. She had his dark curls and large grey eyes, but her mother's features. She was going to be tall, like him, and a beauty, like her mother.

He saw Queenie gazing fondly at Saskia. ‘What are you thinking, Queenie?'

‘How lucky we are to have Saskia.'

Warwick leaned over and ruffled the child's hair. ‘Luck had nothing to do with it. She's perfect, like everything else you do, Queenie, I knew you'd have a gorgeous baby.'

‘I'm not a baby,' said Saskia firmly.

‘No, you're not any more,' said Queenie, with a sigh as Millie appeared with the cold lamb salad.

Where had the years gone? Queenie had become pregnant a few months after she and Warwick married, which meant they had never taken their honeymoon trip to Europe. However, Saskia had brought them both so much joy. Queenie and Warwick had a calm and happy existence. If at times Queenie longed for some passion, excitement or adventure in her life, she pushed the thought away. She had to keep reminding herself how lucky she was to have a husband who cherished her, adored their child and, apart from periodic
business trips to Sydney or Brisbane, shared each day with her.

Maybe that was what niggled at the back of her mind. Warwick never took her away with him, telling her it was all boring business meetings and paperwork. She knew he saw Colin when he went to Sydney, but she often wondered what he did do when away from her.

They had taken two trips back to Neptune Island with Saskia, who had learnt to swim like a fish in a matter of days and had won the heart of Alf, who still ran his island kingdom. Yet … always in the bottom of Queenie's heart there was a question mark. What would her life have been like had she married TR? What did their child look like?

Queenie shook her head, her long thick hair tumbling about her shoulders — she mustn't revive such thoughts. Instead she headed for the stables. ‘Nareedah, you fat lazy old girl. Let's go for a ride.'

Colin had settled into the Sydney social scene once he returned from his eighteen-month sojourn around the high spots and flesh pots of England and Europe.

He had no desire to look for work on the land. He had scoffed at Queenie's suggestion of running Cricklewood, and was not going to be ‘a hired hand' at Tingulla. He refused to consider working at someone's property, no matter how prestigious. ‘I have a general degree which I can use for anything. Maybe I'll look for a job in the city.'

In fact, being a playboy had a lot more appeal.

One night in Chequers Nightclub in Sydney he was introduced to a darkly voluptuous and exotic Italian woman called Andina.

Colin guessed she was several years older than he, and was immediately attracted to her sexy looks, sophistication, and worldliness. He quickly learned she came from a very wealthy family. She was there at a family birthday dinner and her parents, Signor Alfredo and Signora Maria Camboni, made no attempt to conceal their wealth. They were flamboyantly dressed, and mother and daughter had arrived with lush fur coats slung casually over their shoulders. Any patch of bare skin had a piece of jewellery draped over it.

Colin and his companion, a friend from university days who knew the Cambonis, were invited to join their table. As soon as politeness allowed, Colin asked Andina to dance.

‘Please, I prefer to be called Dina,' she replied, extending her hand as he rose to lead her to the dancefloor.

As they danced, he enjoyed the sensation of her soft fullness in his arms, and he pulled her close to his body while they talked casually. He told her he had just returned from Europe and now found Australia, especially the bush, boring.

‘You are a farm boy?'

‘Not exactly. My late father owned one of the biggest properties in Queensland.'

‘And you do not want to go back to … the bush?'

‘I'm having too much fun here.' He tightened his arm about her as he twirled her round the dance floor.

‘Ah, you are a playboy!'

‘What about you? Do you like to play too? Or are you married, or … spoken for?'

‘No. The family are hoping I will marry a family friend in Rome, but I am not interested, so I lead a busy social life here. My father spoils me. However, my mother would like to see me married — to her I am almost a spinster!'

‘You are a very glamorous spinster — you must have admirers all over Sydney. If I were you, I'd make the most of it. Unless your parents are very strict?'

They were talking light-heartedly, but a different conversation was happening between their bodies — each felt the physical pull of desire as they touched.

‘I am an adult woman; I lead my own life. I have a very nice apartment at Vaucluse. My father is very generous.'

Colin leaned closer to murmur in her ear. ‘Perhaps I'll come and visit you — I live in Double Bay. Could we meet some time?'

Dina pulled away and gazed at the handsome young man. A smile curved at her dark red mouth. ‘There is no time like the present. Shall we leave now? Your place or mine?' she laughed.

They excused themselves and left separately, meeting outside. Dina handed him the keys to her convertible parked at the kerb saying, ‘My place, I think.' All pretence
dropped away and she rested her hand on his thigh as he drove. Once in her plush apartment, they fell into bed and made love, and slept, and made love again, then arose at midday and went out for lunch.

From then on the two began exploring the thrills of hedonistic living and the seamy side of Sydney's high life — as well as living it up in the city's favourite nightspots and expensive restaurants — the bills paid by Andina's indulgent father.

‘He never asks what I do with his money, so long as I am happy. He knows I'll eventually have to settle down and be a good Italian wife. But for the moment I am a liberated Australian girl.'

Colin moved into Dina's plush penthouse. He kept his flat in Double Bay as a private bolt hole, but rarely used it, although officially he still lived there.

‘Why not rent it out? You spend all your time with me, anyway,' suggested Dina.

Colin laughed, telling her he kept a secret mistress there and besides, he didn't need the money.

‘Then you pay some of these restaurant bills,' snapped Dina, throwing the sheaf of dockets at him. ‘This month my father is complaining I'm spending too much. He wouldn't like to know I am keeping a lover-boy.'

That struck Colin's ego. He flung himself on Dina, pinning her across the rumpled satin sheets on the bed. ‘You tell your old man you're not playing house with some gigolo, but the son of Tingulla Station.'

‘What is Tingulla … some chunk of dirt in the middle of nowhere?'

‘Listen, Dina … one day I'll own Tingulla and then I'll show you what class and style and money can do.'

‘Darling, I couldn't live in never-never land! Stay here and play with me …' She wound her arms about Colin, not liking the hard angry glint in his eyes. ‘If you really are a rich country boy … maybe you should come home and talk to my father so he can approve of you.'

‘And then what?' asked Colin suspiciously.

Dina began nuzzling his ear. ‘Then Papa will know you're not after my money and he will keep paying the bills,
caro mio …'

The fortunes of Bon Vite — the beautiful and elaborate horse stud which was one of Kentucky's finest, in a state renowned for its prestigious and profitable estates — had gone from rich to megarich.

The classic white colonial mansion with its columns and elegant portico, was set at the centre of the land. A circular drive swept up to it through manicured lawns and gardens studded with ancient, imported English trees. Several full-time black gardeners kept the grounds immaculate. Bent double in the heat of the day, they plucked out the first shoots of a troublesome weed or an unsightly drooping flower.

As far as the eye could see, rolling green fields, neatly hemmed by freshly painted white fences, housed beautifully groomed horses.
These costly but money-making animals and their keepers lived in stucco Spanish-style stables whose bright red roofs added a splash of colour to the green and white landscape.

Water was abundant, spilling from fountains, shining in ornamental lakes and special horse ponds, or sprayed from the hoses constantly washing out the cobbled floors of the yards and stables. The property looked and smelled of success, money and permanence.

Clayton Hindmarsh had included TR in his largesse, giving him bonus payments and a share in the profits of the horses he helped train.

TR found these payments difficult to accept graciously. He knew he had worked hard and struck it lucky with several of the difficult horses, getting them to perform and win when no one else could. But he sensed the money and gifts lavished on him were binding him to the family in the hope that he would propose to their daughter, Virginia.

Ginny had blossomed from the coquettish student he'd first met, into a demure young woman. However, beneath her pliable and soft exterior, TR suspected, was a will of iron. This was a girl used to getting her way with feminine guile.

Ginny was sweet, gentle and amiable. While she played the coy Southern belle, TR had no doubts she'd leap into bed if he suggested it. He'd taken her to several social functions to please Mrs Hindmarsh and from her exuberant necking in the car — something she had instigated — TR suspected Ginny, by all
appearances a sweet and innocent virgin, would be a demanding and insatiable bed partner.

Wisely, TR kept her at bay. On one hand, it kept the girl and her mother frustrated but still keen. But on the other hand, Ginny frequently caught him unawares, visiting him when he was alone, and he was sorely tempted to take advantage of her teasing and flirting. Instinctively TR knew if he fell into her creamy perfumed embrace, he'd be snared firmer than a rabbit in a trap.

Ginny was fascinated by TR. He was so different from the other men with whom she came into contact. In his unpretentious, easy way he exuded a tough sexiness. She knew TR was a man who could survive in the wilderness, a man who would protect a woman, a man other men respected and didn't challenge; yet there was a shy vulnerability about him which caused Ginny to feel faint with desire.

He became an obsession which she cleverly disguised, but her longing for him never abated. In her mind this was not an infatuation — TR was a prize she ardently wanted to possess.

The game lasted two years and at the age of twenty-three, Virginia Mae Hindmarsh had to find a husband. Clayton took TR aside and spoke to him.