Matilda's Last Waltz (10 page)

Diane thought of the robust, middle-aged art critic who wore loud shirts and even louder ties to compete with his voice and ebullient manner. ‘I wish he would,' she said dryly. ‘He's wearing me out with his pontificating about the rawness of Aussie art compared to the refinement of the English school.'

‘He's only trying to impress you with his vast knowledge. He can't help being a pom.'

‘Maybe not, but I do wish he wouldn't ram England down my throat all the time.' She stared out of the window. The beach was already crowded, and the latest Beatles song drifted up from a distant transistor. ‘Having said that, I like him mostly. He makes me laugh and I think that's important, don't you?'

Jenny looked wistful as she came to join her at the window. ‘Oh, yes,' she murmured. Then she turned her startling eyes to Diane. ‘But promise me you won't go off and marry him while I'm gone? I know Rufus well enough to realise he can be very persuasive, and he's obviously besotted with you.'

Diane felt a surge of pleasure that surprised her. ‘Do you really think so?'

Jenny nodded before turning away. ‘Enough of him. Come downstairs and I'll make brunch, then you can help me sort out a plan and travel route to Churinga before I go and see John Wainwright.'

Diane looked into those lively violet eyes and knew for certain her friend was beginning to heal. Perhaps this new adventure would be the start of a new life – and even if it wasn't, she was grateful to Peter for having had the foresight to know Jenny needed to go back where she felt she belonged.

*   *   *

John Wainwright still wore his three-piece suit, the windows remained closed, and the only concession to the heat was a fan on the desk which did nothing more than stir the turgid air around the room.

Jenny watched as he neatly stacked the papers on his desk. He looked comfortable, at one with the panelled walls and leather-bound books. It was as if he'd been caught in a time warp, a small piece of England, transported like a convict, out of place and incongruous. She smiled at him and received a warm response. He seemed friendlier today, his eyes not quite so cold.

‘Have you decided what you're going to do with your inheritance?'

She nodded. Yet the finality of accepting Peter's gift, and acknowledging that from now on she was on her own, was daunting. ‘Yes,' she said firmly before she could change her mind. ‘I've decided to keep Churinga. In fact, I'm planning to visit there for a while.'

Wainwright's fingers steepled beneath his double chin, his expression troubled. ‘Have you really thought this through, Jennifer? It's a long journey for a young woman, and there are some rough types out on those lonely roads.'

This was exactly the reaction she'd expected, but as she was about to defend her decision, he thumbed through his diary and forestalled her.

‘I could rearrange my schedule and come with you? But it couldn't be for another week or so.' He looked at her over his spectacles. ‘I don't think it wise for you to be alone in such an out of the way place.'

Jenny's spirits tumbled. The last things she needed was this precise little man with his neat suit and his immaculate nails as a travelling companion. She had a mental image of him with his black umbrella, bowler and briefcase, walking down the dirt road of a distant outback town, and bit her lip against the smile it conjured up. She didn't want to hurt his feelings. After all, he was only being kind. Yet he would be of no use to her – one hint of trouble and he'd wilt.

She smiled to soften her words. ‘You are kind, John, but I've gone bush before and know what to expect. It won't be as bad as you think. They really are quite civilised out there, you know.'

His relief was obvious, even if it was tinged with doubt, and Jenny hurried on before he could protest. ‘I've already made some travelling arrangements, and as you can see, I shan't really be alone at all.' She put the train and bus tickets on the desk. ‘I'm going on the Indian Pacific as far as Broken Hill, then catching a bus to Wallaby Flats. I thought, as I have time on my hands, I might as well see as much of the country as I can. If you could contact the manager at Churinga and ask him to meet me at Wallaby Flats, I would be grateful.'

John eyed the tickets. ‘You seem to be very organised, Jennifer.'

She sat forward and leaned her arms on the desk. Excitement was bubbling in her but she felt a little bit sorry for this man who would probably never venture further than his office now he'd made the transition from England.

‘I'm leaving tomorrow afternoon, four o'clock. It will take at least two days to get to Wallaby Flats, but I can afford to take my time. From there, I hope to catch a ride or hire a car if the manager can't send someone to meet me.'

John Wainwright's blank stare was magnified by the thick glasses. ‘Wallaby Flats is not a city, Jennifer. It's a forgotten mining town which boasts a few hovels, tin shacks and a pub frequented by swagmen, drovers and fossickers. It's in the middle of nowhere. You could be stuck for days before you found someone to take you out to Churinga.'

Jenny noticed his shudder of distaste. She'd been right in her opinion that he would only have been a burden if just the thought of the place could make him so uncomfortable.

‘Then you'll just have to make sure the manager sees to it someone's there to meet me,' she said firmly. He might consider her stupid and wilful, but this was her adventure and she meant to see it through.

‘As you wish.' His tone revealed his misgivings.

‘I'm not afraid of the outback or of travelling alone, John. I was brought up in an orphanage at Dajarra, and have had to fend for myself all my life. I've met some of the roughest working men in the harshest of places during my years on a Queensland sheep station. They're only people like you and me. Honest, hard-working, hard-drinking people who wouldn't harm me. Believe me, John, I'm far more at risk here in the city.'

She fell silent for a moment to let him digest her words. ‘Peter left me Churinga so I could return to the land. The outback is a part of me, John – I have nothing to fear there.'

Her impassioned speech seemed to decide him. ‘Then I'll contact Churinga and let Brett Wilson know you're on your way. If you'd wait a moment, I'll try and get through now. I don't want you leaving here before I'm quite certain you'll be met.'

He raised an eyebrow and Jenny nodded her acquiescence. At least he seemed to care what happened to her, she thought. And she was grateful for that.

Three-quarters of an hour and two cups of weak tea later, he came back into the room. He was looking pleased with himself and rubbing his hands. ‘I have spoken to Mr Wilson, and he's arranging for someone to meet the coach in three days' time. You'll probably arrive in the early evening so he suggests you stay in the hotel in case there's a last-minute hitch. He assures me it's quite proper for a young woman to spend the night alone in such a place.'

Jenny smiled and stood up. His handshake was warm but limp. ‘Thank you for being so kind, John, and for your concern over my travelling arrangements.'

‘I wish you well, Jennifer. And, may I say, I admire your courage. Let me know how you fare, and if there's anything you need … well, you know where I am.'

Jenny's footsteps were sure and light as she left the shadowed building and walked down Macquarie Street. She was at last looking forward to her future.

Chapter Two

Jenny's emotions were mixed as she said goodbye to Diane, who as usual was decked in an exotic caftan, heavy eye makeup and too much clanking, jangling jewellery. ‘I'm excited, nervous, and not at all sure I'm doing the right thing,' said Jenny, her voice not quite steady.

Diane laughed and gave her a hug. ‘Of course you are. You don't have to stay there if you hate it, and I promise not to throw wild bohemian parties in your house.' She gave Jenny a little shove as the slam of train doors echoed around Sydney's central station. ‘Now go, will you? Before I cry and make my mascara run.'

Jenny kissed her, adjusted the rucksack more comfortably on her shoulders and turned towards the train. Central Station was busy with people rushing out of the city for the weekend, many of them dressed as she was, in shorts, shirt and thick boots and socks. Her felt hat was crammed into the back-pack, along with insect repellent, plasters, drawing materials, and three changes of clothes. She wouldn't need much where she was going, and she certainly didn't envisage staying very long. This was just a reconnaissance to satisfy her curiosity, her need to return to the outback just once more to see if she could pick up the pieces of her old life again.

With a last wave to Diane, she stepped up into the old diesel train and found her seat in economy. Thrift was a habit, and her cheap seat meant she would have to sit all the way through the journey and not take advantage of the luxury sleeping compartments. Yet she felt at ease with that decision. It would give her a chance to meet and talk to the other passengers then perhaps she wouldn't feel quite so alone.

As the train pulled slowly out of the station, she experienced a twist of excitement. What would Churinga be like – and would she still feel the same way about the outback as she had as a child? She was more sophisticated now, older and hopefully wiser, soft from the years in the city with its air conditioning, shops, abundant water and cool, leafy parks.

Sydney slid by the window and she stared out at the suburbs. The old Holden would never have stood the journey, she was glad she'd chosen the train. Yet, as everything familiar began to fade into the distance, she wished Diane was beside her.

The train made regal progress out of the city and into the Blue Mountains. To Jenny it was like a majestic and magical picture book, spread before her in breathtaking panorama. Great, steep-sided gorges spilled waterfalls into wooded blue-green valleys. Jagged rocks, softened by the blue haze of eucalyptus oil, formed pinnacles which stretched endlessly into the distance and shimmered on the horizon. A scattering of holiday cabins peeked from between the trees and small settlements of older houses huddled on steep-sided plateaux, but nothing could mar the beauty of this awesome sight.

The tourist cameras were out, clicking and whirring beneath the excited chatter of the other passengers. Jenny furiously regretted not having brought her own, but as the miles of mountain track meandered on and on, she knew this scenery would be forever implanted in her memory.

Several hours later they had left one range of mountains for another. Passing through Lithgow, Bathurst and Orange, the train swept through the Herveys Range and on to Gondobolin, stopping only for a few moments to pick up passengers from dusty, remote platforms.

Jenny never tired of watching the sheep grazing this rough land which yielded only tough, yellow grass. Although the mountains had been awe-inspiring, the sight of scrubby trees and red earth touched something primal within her. A mob of kangaroos bouncing across the grasslands brought cries of delight from the others and she quietly enjoyed their pleasure in her beautiful country.

Night fell swiftly and Jenny was rocked to sleep by the whisper of the wheels on the tracks. ‘Going home. Going home. Going home.'

Day came with a sky of red and orange overhanging the land, reflecting its colours in the very earth it warmed. Jenny looked out of the window as she drank her coffee. The land seemed to be ripening in the heat. How beautiful it was, how desolate and achingly lonely. Yet what powerful emotions it evoked. How bravely the trees stood under the sun, their leaves wilting, bark bleached to ghostly grey. She was falling in love with her country all over again.

Another day, another night. Through the National Reserve, past Mount Manara and Gun Lake, the miles of sparsely populated land sprawled into infinity on either side. Small hamlets and deserted pastures, tranquil lakes and silent mountains, slipped by in majestic cavalcade.

Morning again, and Jenny's neck and back were stiff from sitting so long. Sleep had come fleetingly as her destination drew nearer, and she'd spent most of the night playing cards and drinking beer with a group of young English backpackers. The train slowed as it reached the desert oasis that was Broken Hill. The gauge on the line changed here, the next leg of the journey for the others would be in another train.

Jenny packed up her guide book and prepared to get off. Silver City, as it had once been called, lay on the banks of the River Darling, lush undergrowth and bright flowers jarring against the backdrop of dust and turn-of-the-century buildings.

The incongruous sight of the simple nineteenth-century iron mosque caused an excited babble amongst the others, who also talked of visiting the ghost town of Silverton which lay west of Broken Hill and was now used mainly for film locations. She would have liked to join them, and as she said goodbye to the back-packers, felt a twinge of regret that she couldn't complete the journey and go cross-country to Perth. There was so much to see and experience, so many places that had only been names on the map until now. Yet the bus would be waiting, and her journey would take her in a different direction. Perhaps another time, she promised herself silently.

Easing the straps of the pack, Jenny set off down the road. Broken Hill was a quaint mixture of outback village and city pretensions. Grand buildings from the age when silver mining boomed, jostled alongside wooden shacks and colonnaded shops. The Catholic cathedral vied with the Trades Hall and post office clock tower for attention amongst the newer, rather brash hotels and motels.

The coach was waiting outside the Prince Albert Hotel that stood proudly in a lush garden. Jenny was disappointed. She had hoped to explore and take time out to shower and change her clothes, maybe get something to eat. But if she missed the bus, she would have to wait a week before the next one, and with Brett Wilson due to meet her at Wallaby Flats, this was not possible.