Matilda's Last Waltz (35 page)

Davey gave Brett a bear hug then began to throw his belongings into a bluey which he slung over his shoulder. ‘I'll watch out for the old bastard, no worries, Brett. You can give us a lift down. The ute's about had it and we won't need it for a while.'

The three of them rode in the taxi in silence. They had nothing to say to one another beyond small talk, and it was too hot to bother. The only tie they still had was one of blood, and Brett realised with overwhelming sadness that it was no longer enough.

He watched his brothers walk away, heading for the tall chimney stacks and red brick of the refinery, and knew he would probably never see them again. There was nothing here for him any more. He was glad to be leaving.

Arriving back at Charleville, he climbed into the utility and headed south. The air was light, hot and dry, with just a hint of winter sharpness to give it a refreshing edge. It didn't swamp a man's lungs in water and drain his body of vitality, but let him breathe. He took great gulps of it as he surveyed the familiar soft colours and contours of the south's endless grazing. It stretched in every direction – silver grass, white bark, green eucalyptus – soft colours after the citrus glare of the northern tropics, colours a man could live with.

He hadn't planned on visiting Gil, but after the depressing visit with John and Davey, he needed to see him, to catch his breath and put things into perspective. For if Churinga was to be sold, then he would have to start thinking about finding a new job or even a place of his own. And Gil had always been easy to talk to. He understood the same things, had a similar outlook on life.

Gil's place was about a hundred miles south-west of Charleville, deep in the dry Mulga country where sheep and cattle outnumbered the human population by thousands. The homestead was a gracious old Queenslander, with deeply shaded verandahs and intricate iron lacework decorating the railings. Stands of pepper trees gave shelter to the home paddocks, and the garden was a riot of colour as he drove up the long driveway.

‘Where'd you spring from, Brett? Jeez, it's good to see you.'

Brett climbed out of the truck and hugged his brother. There was barely a year between them, and most people took them for twins. ‘Good to see you too, mate,' he said, then grinned. ‘Been up north to see John and Davey, and thought I'd look you up. But if I'm in the way, I can always get back in the ute and go home.'

‘Not on your flamin' life, mate. Gracie would never forgive me if I let you shoot through.'

They climbed the steps on to the porch just as the screen door was slammed back and Grace hurled herself into Brett's arms. She was tall and dark, as wiry and slim as a boy despite the three kids she'd had, and Brett loved her like a sister.

She released him eventually and stood back to look at him. ‘Still as handsome as ever. I'm surprised some girl hasn't snapped you up.'

He and Gil exchanged knowing looks. ‘I see things don't change around here,' Brett muttered wryly.

Grace gave him a playful slap. ‘Time you settled down, Brett Wilson, and gave my kids some cousins to visit. Surely there must be someone you like the look of down there?'

He shrugged, furious with the colour that surely must show in his face. ‘How's about a beer for a bloke, Gracie? Mouth's as dry as a claypan.'

She shot him a look that told him she wouldn't be deflected from her mission in life, and went to fetch them a drink.

‘Where's the kids?'

‘Out with Will Starkey. Mob's gone to winter pastures and the kids are old enough to sleep out. Should be back tomorrow.'

Brett smiled as he thought of the two boys and their sister. ‘Can't imagine those larrikins keeping a mob under control.'

‘You'd be surprised. They ride as well as me, and I reckon all three of them will stay on the land when schooling's over.' He shot Brett a look. ‘They've got that special feel for it. Like you and me.'

Grace came back with the beers and a plate of sandwiches to see them through until tea time, and the three of them relaxed in the comfortable chairs on the verandah and gazed out over the pastures. They talked of John and Davey, of the cane, and Brett's visit to the cemetery. Gil discussed the price of wool, the lack of rain, and the breeding of stock horses which was his latest venture. Gracie tried to persuade Brett to meet a couple of her unattached girlfriends during his stay, but eventually gave up when he threatened to leave.

She eyed him thoughtfully. ‘Something's on your mind, Brett – and I get the feeling it has nothing to do with John and Davey.' She rested her arms on her knees as she leaned towards him. ‘What's the matter, sunshine? Trouble on Churinga?'

Damn Gracie, he thought furiously. Blasted woman didn't miss a trick. He took a long pull of his beer to gain time, but her direct gaze never faltered. ‘Churinga's been sold,' he said finally.

‘Jeez, that's a bummer,' she gasped. ‘But you'll still have your job, won't you?'

He looked deep into his glass before draining it. ‘I don't know. New owner's from Sydney and it's touch and go whether she stays.'

‘She?' Gracie's eyes lit up, and she leaned back in the chair and folded her arms. ‘So now we get to the nitty-gritty,' she said triumphantly. ‘I knew something was up the minute you arrived.'

‘Leave it, Gracie,' muttered Gil. ‘Let the bloke get a word in edgewise.'

Brett was filled with restless energy. He stood up and began to pace the verandah as he told them about Jenny. When he'd finished he came to a halt, hands jammed in his pockets. ‘So, you see, my time at Churinga could be over, and I have to think about what to do next. It's part of the reason for my visit.'

Gracie laughed until the tears ran down her face and the two brothers looked at one another and shrugged. No point in even trying to understand how a woman's mind worked.

She finally spluttered to a halt and eyed them with pity. ‘Men,' she said in exasperation. ‘Honestly. You have no idea, have you?' She looked at Brett. ‘Sounds to me like you're in love with this young widow, so why the drama? Tell her, you galah! See what she has to say before you go steaming off in a panic.' She cocked her head, eyes as bright as a sparrow's. ‘I reckon you could be in for a surprise.'

Brett felt his spirits rise only to plummet again as cold reality struck home. ‘She's very wealthy, Grace, what on earth could she see in me?'

Grace snatched up the empty plates and glasses. There were two high spots of colour on her cheeks. ‘Don't do yourself down, Brett. If she can't see what a bonzer bloke you are, then she isn't worth having.' She stood up and glared at him. ‘You've waited a long time for the right woman to come along. Don't blow it. This could be your last chance.'

‘It's not that easy,' he grumbled. ‘She's rich, she's beautiful, and she's still in mourning.'

Grace balanced the plates as she tucked her boot under the screen door to open it. ‘I didn't tell you to go stomping in with both feet,' she said with a sigh. ‘Take your time, let her get to know you. Become her friend first, and then see how things develop.' She eyed him softly. ‘If you care enough, it's worth waiting, Brett.' The screen door slammed behind her, leaving an empty silence.

‘Reckon Gracie's right, mate,' said Gil thoughtfully.

Brett stared out over the home paddock, his thoughts in turmoil. ‘Maybe,' he muttered. ‘But if things don't work out, I'll be looking for another place.'

Gil leaned back in his chair, boots resting on the verandah railings. ‘There's a nice little property coming on to the market in a few months' time. Had it straight from Fred Dawlish. He and his wife are retiring and moving up to Darwin to be with their grandkids. The place is too much for them now, and none of their sons wants to take over so they're letting it go.' He eyed his brother. ‘It's just under a hundred thousand acres. Good sheep country, and the stock's top rate. Would suit you down to the ground, Brett – if you've got the money?'

He thought of the money sitting in the bank. It was less than he'd hoped after the divorce settlement but enough to cover the price Gil mentioned. Yet the thought of leaving Jenny and Churinga held him back. ‘Sounds good, I'll have to think about it,' he said finally.

‘You do that, and I'll have a word with Gracie. Now she smells romance, she'll be impossible.'

The two brothers grinned at one another then went off to inspect the new string of horses that had come in that morning. The hours passed and the day dwindled. Finally Brett fell asleep in the spare room surrounded by the children's discarded toys.

He stayed for a week, and it was over too soon. As he packed his things and threw the bag into the utility, he felt a stab of envy. Gil had done all right for himself. He'd found his place in the world and the right woman to share it with. The kids made it a home, filling the house with noise and vitality, bringing a purpose to the hard work of the station that would one day be their inheritance.

As he drove through the first of the fifteen gates, he turned to wave. He would miss the cheerful rumpus of the kids. Miss Gracie's cooking and enthusiasm for everything. This was the nearest thing he had to a home outside Churinga, and the thought of the empty manager's bungalow that awaited him there filled him with dread. Would Jenny be gone? Had the isolation proved too much?

He slammed into third gear and pressed his foot to the floor. He'd already wasted too much time – could already be too late – for after talking to Gracie, and thinking about the alternatives, he'd finally realised where his future lay. And he was determined not to let this chance escape him.

Driving south over the hundreds of miles between Gil's property and Churinga, his thoughts churned. Jenny was still grieving. Gracie had been right, he had to be patient, and give her time. Become her friend before he could take things further. But he knew his impatience could so easily spill over and realised that courting Jenny would be one of the hardest things he'd ever attempted. He wanted her so much it hurt but the first move would have to come from her – and he wasn't at all sure she was ready to see him as anything more than the manager of Churinga.

Brett finally drove into Wallaby Flats and skidded to a dusty halt outside the hotel. It had been less than three weeks since he'd left but it felt longer. Although he would have preferred to go straight back to Churinga there was something he had to do here first – and he wasn't looking forward to it.

Lorraine was drying glasses behind the bar as he walked in. Her bottle blonde hair looked as if a force ten gale wouldn't shift it and the thick make-up was smudged around her eyes by the heat. She let out a whoop of excitement and raced towards him. ‘You should have let me know you were coming back,' she gasped as she grabbed his arm. ‘Gee, Brett. It's good to see you.'

He was aware of a dozen pairs of eyes watching this little scene and could feel the heat rise in his face as he disentangled himself from her clutches. ‘Can't stop long. Give us a beer, Lorraine.'

She poured it expertly into the long, chilled glass then watched him drink it down, her elbows on the bar so her low-cut blouse revealed a good deal of cleavage. ‘Want another?' she purred. ‘Or is there something else I can get you?'

Brett saw the promise in her eyes and shook his head. ‘Just beer, Lorraine.'

Her mood seemed to change and her smile became brittle. ‘So. How's life at Churinga, then? New boss coming up to scratch, is she?'

He gulped his beer, feeling the chill run down his throat and spread into his chest. ‘Dunno. Been up north.' He didn't want to discuss Jenny. It wasn't his reason for being here.

She leaned over the bar, breasts billowing against the polished teak. ‘I've heard about the blokes up there. The ones that cut the cane.' She gave a shiver of pleasure as she ran one painted finger nail along his arm. ‘Supposed to be really something. Perhaps I should leave Wallaby Flats and go travelling?'

He pulled away from her and took his time to roll a cigarette and light it. This situation was more difficult than he'd thought. ‘You're better off here, Lorraine, unless you fancy being second best to a field of cane.'

She pouted. ‘What's to keep me here? A bunch of woollies and a bloke I see less than four times a year.'

He took a long pull of his beer and drained the glass. ‘You and I aren't joined at the hip, Lorraine. Go travelling if that's what you want. Australia's a big place, and there's thousands of other blokes about.'

She flinched as though stung, and began furiously to wipe the wet rings off the bar. ‘Reckon that puts me in my place, doesn't it?' she snapped.

‘You said you wanted to travel,' he said defensively as he deliberately sidestepped the hidden agenda behind this conversation. ‘I was only agreeing with you.'

Lorraine's hands stilled. Her eyes glittered and her voice was tight with suppressed spite. ‘I thought I meant something to you, Brett Wilson. But you're just like all the other bastards around here.'

‘Fair go, Lorraine. That's a bit strong. We were never that close, and I never promised you anything.'

She leaned closer, her voice a hiss. ‘Didn't you? Then why take me to the dances and parties? Why come in here and spend hours chatting me up if you weren't interested?'

He took a step back, stung by the venom she was spilling. ‘We had a good time, that's all,' he stuttered. ‘Kept each other company. But I said right from the start I wasn't interested in getting involved again after Marlene.'

She slammed a glass on the bar. ‘You blokes are all the flamin' same,' she yelled into his face. ‘You come in here and drink yourselves stupid, talk about nothing but flamin' sheep and flamin' grass and the flamin' weather. I might as well be a piece of the flamin' furniture for all you lot care.'