Matilda's Last Waltz Part 5

She was about to speak, to offer some cliche, when Jenny handed over the last of the legal doc.u.ments. 'What's this?'

'Pete's surprise birthday present,' she said quietly. 'And I don't know what to do about it.'

Diane read the deeds, and when she'd finished the two women sat for a long moment in silence. It was all too fantastic and Diane could understand Jenny's bewilderment. Finally she cleared her throat and lit another cigarette. 'I don't know why you're panicking. You've got money in the back, a house without a mortgage, and a sheep station in the back of beyond. What's the problem, Jen? I thought that was what you'd always wanted?'

Jenny s.n.a.t.c.hed back the doc.u.ments and lunged out of the deep cushion. 'I do wish you'd get proper chairs,' she muttered, pulling her short dress back over her thighs. 'It's unladylike scrabbling about on the b.l.o.o.d.y floor.'

Diane grinned. At least she was showing spirit, and it was good to see it again after so long. 'You're avoiding the issue, Jen. I want to know...'

'I heard,' she interrupted. 'I've just had a shock and still can't take it all in. I'm rich. We were rich. So why do I drive a beaten up old Holden? Why did Pete work nights and weekends? Why did we never go on holiday or buy new furniture?'

She turned on her heel, her face white with strain. 'I was married to a stranger, Diane. He took out loans on our house, gambled on the markets, bought and sold properties I knew nothing about. What other secrets did he have?'

Diane watched as Jenny scrabbled in her bag and pulled out a sheaf of papers and waved them under her nose. This was good. This meant Jenny was finally emerging from the dark, secret place she'd been hiding in for the past six months.

'Look at this catalogue of past investments, Diane,' she hissed. 'A row of terraced houses in Surry Hills ... a two-storey unit in Koogee, and another in Bondi ... The list is endless. Bought, done up and sold on for vast profits which he used to buy shares.' She was trembling with fury. 'And while he was busy making a fortune, I was struggling to pay the sodding electricity bill!'

Diane rescued the crumpled papers and smoothed them out. 'So Pete was a closet capitalist. He only did what he thought best, even if it was behind your back and the sheep station was something you both wanted.'

Jenny's anger seemed to ebb as swiftly as it had risen. She sank back into the floor cushions and chewed on a fingernail.

'Have a cigarette,' Diane said firmly, offering her the slim, flat box of Craven 'A'. 'You used to have lovely nails before you gave up.'

Jenny shook her head. 'If I start again, I'll never stop. Anyway, nails are cheaper than ciggies.' She gave a watery smile and sipped her wine. 'I lost it there for a minute, didn't I? But everything seems to have got out of control, and I sometimes wonder if I'm not going mad with it all.'

Diane smiled. The silver bracelets jangled. 'Artists are never sane, least of all you and me, girl. But I'll tell you when you finally flip, and we'll tumble into the depths of insanity together.'

Jenny laughed then, and although it held a note of hysteria, it was good to hear. 'So what are you going to do about his sheep station?'

There was a frown and she bit her lip. 'I don't know. There's a manager running the place at the moment, but John Wainwright suggests I sell it.' She looked down at her fingers, her rich brown hair falling in a veil over her face so Diane couldn't see her expression. 'It wouldn't be the same without Pete, and I know very little about sheep and even less about running a station.'

Diane sat forward eagerly. Perhaps Churinga was just the thing to take Jenny out of her misery and give her something else to focus on. 'But we were fostered out at Waluna, and you took to it like a dingo to a chook. You could keep the manager on and live like lady of the manor.'

Jenny shrugged. 'I don't know, Diane. I'm tempted to go and have a look at the place, but...'

'But nothing.' Diane's patience snapped. She didn't know this dour, helpless Jenny who dithered and prevaricated. 'Aren't you the least bit curious? Don't you want to see the surprise Pete bought you?'

She made an effort to remain calm. 'I know it won't be the same now he and Ben are gone, but this could be the chance to make the break for a while. To get away from the house at Palm Beach and all the memories there. Treat it as an adventure, a holiday with a difference.'

'What about the exhibition, and the Parramatta commission I haven't finished?'

Diane drew deeply on the cigarette. 'The exhibition will have to go ahead because of the work we've already put into it. Andy and I can cope. Your landscape's almost finished.' She eyed Jenny solemnly. 'So, you see, there's no excuse really. You have to go. Pete would have wanted it.'

Jenny let Diane persuade her to eat a late supper in Kings Cross. It was a short walk from the gallery, in the heart of the bohemian sector of Sydney, and a favourite place for both of them. The neon lights blinked and flashed, music poured out of the bars and strip clubs, and the pavement traffic was as bizarre and flamboyant as ever, but Jenny was just not in the mood to sit back and take it all in as she usually did. The lights were too bright, the music too jarring, the street walkers and strutting exhibitionists seemed tawdry. Deciding not to go back with Diane, she made the hour-long drive to her own house.

It was a wonderful house, three storeys high, perched on the side of a hill overlooking the bay. They'd been lucky to find it so cheaply. In the first few years, before Ben came along, they'd sunk all their money into refurbishing. Now, with a new roof, air-conditioning, panoramic windows and fresh paint, it was worth much more than they'd spent. Palm Beach was suddenly fashionable, and although that meant an endless procession of weekend surfers and sun worshippers, neither of them had wanted to move. Ben had loved the beach, was just beginning to learn to swim and had thrown tantrums when it was time to wander back up the hill and home.

'I'd give anything for him to throw a tantrum now,' whispered Jenny as she put the key in the door to her attic studio. 'I wish. I wish.'

She unlocked the door and slammed it firmly behind her. All the wishing in the world wouldn't bring them back, but being here in the house only made the memories sharper, more painful. Perhaps Diane was right about leaving for a while.

The studio lights were necessarily harsh, for she often painted at night when the sun no longer shone through the cupola. Yet now she felt the need for softness and switched them off. After lighting candles and a stick of incense, she kicked off her shoes and wriggled her feet. The extra stub that grew over her little toe was red and sore, but it was her own fault. She'd refused to let this sixth toe make any difference to her life, and as the doctors had refused to do anything about it, she'd decided to ignore it as much as possible. But now and again it was rubbed raw by the fashionable shoes she was determined to wear.

She stripped to her underwear, took off all her jewellery but for the locket and curled up on the chaise-longue. It was very old, and the stuffing was peeking through the worn velvet, but it was comfortable, and she couldn't yet face that big double bed downstairs. It would feel too empty.

The sound of the sea came through the open windows, and the distant cry of a kookaburra defending his territory echoed in the stillness. As the candles flickered and the warm sensuous aroma of incense drifted above the familiar tang of paint and turps, Jenny finally began to relax.

She let her mind meander over the four short years she'd spent with Peter, pausing here and there on postcard pictures of the happy times, the moments caught forever in her memory. Ben on the sand, giggling with delight as the sea crept over his toes. Peter up a ladder repairing the guttering after a storm, his tanned body so lithe and s.e.xy in those tight shorts.

They had met at a dance, shortly after she and Diane had come to Sydney. He was already working for the bank but his roots were firmly implanted in a cattle station in the Northern Territory which his two older brothers had inherited. He was bright and funny and she'd fallen in love with him almost instantly. They'd shared the same humour and the same interests, and when he'd talked about the land and his burning desire one day to have his own place, she'd recognised the same need within herself. Those years at Waluna had left an indelible impression, and Peter's enthusiasm had sparked her own.

Jenny curled further into the depths of the old day bed. G.o.d, I miss him, she thought. I miss his smell, his warmth, his smile, and the way he could make me laugh. I miss the way he used to kiss my neck when I was cooking, and the wonderful feel of him in the bed next to me. But most of all I miss not being able to talk to him. To discuss the day, no matter how trivial it had been, to marvel at how quickly Ben was growing and to share our pride in our marvellous little boy.

The tears finally came and ran slowly down her face as her resistance crumbled. Deep, choking sobs broke the dam and she gave into it for the first time since that awful day. Diane was right, she acknowledged. Fate was cruel, and there was absolutely nothing she could do about it. The dream of having a family of her own was shattered, just like the other dreams she and Diane had shared all those years ago in Dajarra. But beneath that tide of grief came the knowledge that Peter had given her one dream she could fulfil. He wouldn't be there to share it but perhaps his gift was a way of making a new life for herself.

The sun had already risen when Jenny opened her eyes again. Now it streamed into the studio, dust motes dancing on the rays, reflecting prisms of light from the crystals she'd hung from the ceiling. Her head hurt and her eyelids were swollen, but she felt a deep sense of calm and purpose. It was as if the tears of the previous night had washed away the false barriers she'd erected in the mistaken belief they would protect her, and brought her to a deeper understanding of what she must do next.

She lay there, savouring the moment. Then her gaze drifted to the easel by the window and the landscape she'd almost finished. The man from Paramatta had given her a photograph of a cattle station homestead. His wife had once lived there, and the painting was to be a gift for her on her birthday.

Jenny eyed the painting critically, looking for flaws, seeing a hint of carelessness in a brush stroke that would have to be remedied. She hadn't worked on it for some time, but now, in the light of a new morning, she felt the old, familiar surge of enthusiasm return. Climbing off the bed, she padded across the floor and picked up the palette. She would finish the painting then make plans.

As she mixed the paint, she felt a tremor of antic.i.p.ation. Churinga. It seemed to be calling her. Enticing her from the cool blue of the Pacific towards the hot red earth of the centre.

Three weeks later Diane leaned back on the old chaise-longue. The many rings on her fingers sparkled in the sunlight that streamed through the cupola and windows. The tiny bells on her earrings tinkled as she adjusted the cushions and watched Jenny work.

The painting was almost finished. She wished she could have had it for the exhibition. Nothing the Australian public liked more than the glimpse of their own inheritance, a reminder of the true heart of their vast and wonderful country. Most of them had never been further than the Blue Mountains, and here, emerging from beneath Jenny's brush, was the real Australia.

Diane c.o.c.ked her head and studied the painting more closely. There was a pa.s.sion for her subject in Jenny's work, a feel for the great sweep of land and the isolation of the homestead that she'd never noticed before. 'I think that's the best thing you've done in a long while,' she murmured. 'It really speaks to you.'

Jenny stepped back from the easel, head tilted as she eyed her work. She was dressed in tattered shorts and a bikini top, her long hair twisted into a rough knot on the top of her head, anch.o.r.ed by a paint brush. She was barefoot something she only did when she was alone or with Diane and the only jewellery she wore was the antique locket Pete had given her for Christmas.

'I agree,' she muttered. 'Although I don't usually like working from photos.'

Diane watched Jenny's careful attention to the final details. She knew from experience these could either make or destroy all the hard work that had gone before. There came a time when enough was enough and instinct was the only guideline.

Jenny moved away from the painting, stood looking at it for a long while, then began to clean up. The brushes were soaked in turps, the palette and knife sc.r.a.ped and stacked on the table next to the easel. She released her hair and shook it out, easing the stiffness in her neck and shoulders by stretching her arms to the ceiling. 'Finished,' she sighed. 'Now I can start planning.'

It's good to see her animated again, thought Diane. Great to have her back from the terrible anguish that almost destroyed her. She climbed off the couch, her gold sandals slapping against the wooden floor as she crossed the room.

Jenny turned and smiled. 'Are you sure you don't mind looking after the house while I go bush?'

Diane shook her head, earrings tinkling. 'Of course not. It'll be a bolt hole where no one can reach me, and I can get a bit of peace. What with the exhibition coming up, and Rufus plighting his troth all over the place, it's just what I need.'

Jenny grinned. 'He's not still after you, is he? I thought he went home to England.'

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 gla.s.ses. '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 impa.s.sioned 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 a.s.sures 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 pa.s.sengers 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 pa.s.sengers. 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. Pa.s.sing 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 pa.s.sengers from dusty, remote platforms.

Jenny never tired of watching the sheep grazing this rough land which yielded only tough, yellow gra.s.s. 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 gra.s.slands 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 spa.r.s.ely populated land sprawled into infinity on either side. Small hamlets and deserted pastures, tranquil lakes and silent mountains, slipped by in majestic cavalcade.