Matilda's Last Waltz Part 6

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.

'Name's Les. I'll take this, luv. You hop on board and make yourself comfy. There's cold beers and cordial in the cool box, leave the money in the tin.'

The driver grabbed her rucksack and stowed it away. He was dressed in shorts, white shirt, boots and long white socks carefully turned over just below the knee. He seemed friendly, with a face leathered by the sun and a bright smile beneath his dark moustache.

She gave him an answering smile and clambered aboard. With a bottle of beer in her hand, she nodded and returned the other pa.s.sengers' greetings as she pa.s.sed down the bus to her seat. The s.p.a.ce between them was narrow, the bus airless and flies buzzed around her face. She brushed them away, an automatic gesture as natural to an Australian as blinking, and took a long, refreshing pull of cold beer. Her excitement was building. In eight hours' time she would be in Wallaby Flats.

As the bus pulled away in a plume of red dust, the flies disappeared and a warm breeze came in through the windows. Hats and newspapers were used to stir the air, but despite the discomfort Jenny loved it. This was the real Australia. Not the cities and beaches, the parks and shopping malls, but the real essence of the country with all its faults.

The heat increased, the beer stock was depleted, and Les kept everyone amused with his constant chatter and terrible jokes. More beer was purchased in Nuntherungie, and this was repeated at every stop in the eight-hour journey. Jenny was weary from lack of sleep, the heat and too much beer and excitement. Lunch had been doorstep sandwiches at a small hotel in the middle of nowhere, but there had been no time for a wash and change of clothes.

It was almost dark, but thankfully cooler when the bus finally reached Wallaby Flats. Jenny stepped down with the others and stretched. Her shirt and shorts were dark with sweat, and judging by the look of the others, she knew she must look a fright. Yet her spirits were high for she'd come through the journey and was almost at her destination.

She stood in the twilight and sniffed the air. 'What's that awful smell?' she gasped.

Les grinned. 'That'll be the sulphur springs, luv. But you'll soon get used to the pong. No worries.'

'I hope so,' she muttered, retrieving her bag.

The Queen Victoria Hotel had a faded glory about it, despite the dilapidated sign that stood crookedly above the entrance. Years ago it must have been quite something, she thought. Now it just looks sad and worn out. The two-storey sandstone building was girded by a balcony and verandah. Paint peeled and the filigree ironwork was rusted and missing in places. Heavy shutters lay along the sides of the narrow windows, and wire screens kept out the flies and mosquitoes. Dusty horses were tied to a hitching post, their tails flicking, necks drooping towards the concrete water trough. The long verandah looked cool beneath the balcony and was obviously a popular meeting place for the local men. They sat in rocking chairs or on the steps, watching the tourists from beneath broad-brimmed hats which, by the look of them, had seen many years' service.

Jenny took it all in with an artist's eye. The oldest had stubbled chins, their weather-beaten faces and sun-dazzled eyes telling stories of hardship. I wish I could get to my drawing things, she thought as she climbed the steps. Some of these old blokes would make wonderful studies. She paused to take off the heavy pack. 'G'day. Been a hot one again.' Her gaze swept from one stoic face to the next.

Finally a grizzled old codger replied, 'G'day,' his eyes curious for a fleeting moment before he returned to staring at the darkening landscape.

Jenny realised they felt awkward, and wondered if the influx of so many people at once was an intrusion on their quiet, settled lives. Perhaps the isolation of their outback town had instilled a deep suspicion of outsiders.

She lugged the pack through the door and followed the others into the bar. A drink, a wash and something to eat would set her right for a good night's sleep.

Several men lounged against the bar, beer in hand, eyes following the new arrivals from beneath their hats. One flat-heeled boot was propped against the tarnished bra.s.s pole that was firmly bolted to the floor; shirts and moleskins bore traces of their day's labour. Conversation, if there had been any, was stopped, but there was no animosity in their silence, merely an amused curiosity.

A ceiling fan turned sluggishly through the humid air and fly papers hung black from every beam and picture rail. The bar itself was a long plank of wood which stretched the length of the room, presided over by a hawk-nosed, thin man who wore braces over his singlet and a belt around his baggy trousers. An array of dusty bottles lined the walls, the radio crackled with static, and ancient Christmas decorations did their best to brighten up the gloom.

'Ladies' lounge is out back,' said the landlord in a thick Baltic accent. He jerked his head in the vague direction of a door at the far end of the bar.

Jenny followed the other women. It was irritating to be treated as a second-cla.s.s citizen. This was the Seventies, for goodness' sake. Yet as she sank into a cane chair and dropped the pack beside her, she knew better than to make a fuss. Even Sydney was not yet totally enlightened. Australian men didn't like to see their women in pubs to them it was the breakdown of a system that had suited them well for years and they didn't see why it should change. But change was coming, and the sooner the better, she thought, wondering if they would ever be served. She was parched.

A blonde came clattering into the room, her stiletto heels rapping a tattoo on the rough floorboards. She had obviously just applied fresh lipstick, but it clashed with the pink plastic earrings and tight orange skirt. Her over-developed cleavage bounced beneath a frilly blouse and numerous cheap bangles clattered on her wrists. She was in her late twenties. Jenny guessed, and probably too young to be the landlord's wife, but she seemed friendly enough and certainly brought colour and life to this dismal room.

'I've had enough beer, thanks,' Jenny replied to the offer of a drink. 'A cordial or a cup of tea would be right.'

'Righto. Nothing like a cuppa to settle the dust, is there?' The young woman's smile was bright as her eyelashes fluttered. 'Name's Lorraine, by the way. How'ya goin'?'

'She'll be right once I've had a drink, a wash and something to eat.' Jenny smiled. The aroma of roast lamb was sharpening her appet.i.te. Reminding her that lunch was a distant memory.

Within minutes she was sipping her tea. It was strong and hot, and just the thing to revive her flagging energy. Lorraine had disappeared back into the bar, and Jenny could hear the to and fro of those high heels below the banter and raucous laughter. She looked around the quiet lounge room. Most of the women were half asleep; those that weren't merely stared into s.p.a.ce, too tired even to make the most desultory conversation. Jenny wished she was with Lorraine. It sounded much more fun in the bar.

It was a good half hour before she returned, and after they'd followed her into the kitchen and she'd served the heaped plates of meat and vegetables, Jenny caught her attention. 'Are there any messages for me? I was expecting someone to meet me.'

Lorraine's over-plucked eyebrows shot up. 'What did you say your name was, luv? I'll check.'

'Jenny Sanders.' She was unprepared for the reaction.

Lorraine's face froze in mid-smile and her eyes grew sharp and predatory as they swept over her. 'Brett's not here yet.'

'But you do have a reservation for me?'

'Jeez, I don't know, Mrs Sanders. See, Dad's got the place full what with the bus and everything.'

Jenny looked into that artless face and wide, deceptively innocent eyes. She was lying but why? 'Mr Wilson said he'd booked a room,' she said firmly. 'I have the confirmation here.' She handed over the telegram he'd sent to John Wainwright.

Lorraine remained unimpressed. She gave the telegram a fleeting glance and shrugged. 'I'll see if Dad can squeeze you in, but you'll have to share.' She turned swiftly, a tray of empty gla.s.ses expertly balanced in one hand.

There was a murmur of disapproval from the other women, and Jenny shrugged and laughed it off. 'No worries. I could sleep anywhere, I'm so tired.'

'Well, I think it's disgraceful,' hissed a middle-aged woman whose broad girth was harnessed in sensible navy blue cotton. During the long bus ride, Jenny had learned that her name was Mrs Keen, and she was on the way to the Northern Territory to visit her grandchildren.

'If you've paid for a room, then you should have one.'

A murmur of agreement went round the table and Jenny began to feel uneasy. She didn't want to cause a fuss, and certainly didn't relish getting on the wrong side of Lorraine whom she'd clearly already upset. Though G.o.d knows how, she thought.

'I'm sure it'll sort itself out,' she murmured. 'It's too hot for a fuss, let's see what Lorraine has to say when she gets back.'

Plump Mrs Keen put her soft hand on Jenny's arm, and with a conspiratorial wink, leaned forward to whisper, 'It's all right, luv. You can bunk in with me. Lorraine obviously thinks you're after her man that Brett you were supposed to meet?'

Jenny stared at her. Perhaps that was the answer. Lorraine had been fine until Mr Wilson's name had come into the conversation. G.o.d, she must be tired not to have realised sooner. But the whole thing was absurd, and the sooner she cleared it up the better.

'Brett Wilson's the manager of my sheep station. I can't see that I pose any threat to Lorraine.'

The older woman's laughter made her bulk quiver. 'I've never seen a woman so eaten up with jealousy in my life as when she clapped eyes on you, luv. And as for you posing no threat well,' she dried her eyes, 'I reckon you ain't looked in a mirror lately.'

Jenny was lost for words but the older woman continued. 'I wouldn't mind betting Lorraine's got her hooks into your manager and is making plans. Mark my words,' she said solemnly. 'You want to watch that one.' This piece of advice was accompanied by a forceful spearing of lamb and potato.

Lorraine came back into the room as the conversation threatened to grow heated amongst the women. 'We're full so you'll have to share,' she said coldly. 'Or have a mattress on the back verandah. There's screens, so it'll be private.'

Mrs Keen mopped up the last of the gravy with a hunk of bread. 'I got a room with two beds. Jenny can come in with me.'

Lorraine's eyes were hostile as they switched between Jenny and Mrs Keen but she didn't reply.

Jenny finished her dinner and helped Mrs Keen with her things. They went through the back door and out on to the verandah. A flight of rough stairs took them to the room above the bar. The ceiling fan groaned as it moved turgid air in the small, gloomy room. Two cot beds, a chair and dressing table were the only furniture. The shutters were firmly closed against the night and the mosquitoes. The dunny was downstairs, outside, and the washing facilities were a bowl and pitcher of tepid water that was the colour of tea dregs.

'Not exactly the Ritz, is it?' said Mrs Keen, slumping on to one of the cotbeds. 'Never mind. After that bus ride, any bed will be heaven.'

Jenny turned to her back-pack as the other woman stripped off her dress and washed before climbing into bed. At least the linen was clean, she thought, and there are fresh towels and a bar of soap.

Mrs Keen was soon snoring softly into the pillows, and after a quick wash Jenny pulled on a thin cotton T-shirt and sat in the deepening gloom, relishing the peace and quiet after the long journey. After a while restlessness drew her out of the stuffy little room and on to the balcony.

She leaned against the railings and looked up into the sky. The night was velvet soft, the Milky Way splashing stars in a broad sweep against the inky black. Orion and the Southern Cross were bright and clear above the slumbering earth, and for a moment she wished she could sleep out here on a mattress. But the mosquitoes made it impossible.

How beautiful it all is, she thought. Then smiled. The soft, haunting chuckle of a kookaburra echoed in the stillness. She would have to reacquaint herself with this land called the outback, but knew she was already a part of it.

Chapter Three.

The first fingers of light came through the slats of the shutters and warmed her face. Jenny slowly emerged from a deep sleep and lay for a moment, eyes shut against the glare. The night had been dreamless for the first time in months, and although she felt refreshed there was a sense that Pete and Ben were drifting away from her. Faded silhouettes, growing dim on the horizon, the pain of their loss diminished by time and s.p.a.ce how soon the human psyche began the process of healing.

She slipped the photographs from under her pillow and looked at their faces. Then, with a kiss, she put them away. They would remain alive in her memory, no matter the distance between them.

Mrs Keen, who'd been snoring, woke suddenly, eyes bleary, hair tousled. 'Morning already?'

Jenny nodded and began to brush her hair. 'Comes early out here.'

'Too right, it's only five o'clock.' Mrs Keen stretched and had a luxurious scratch. 'I wonder when they serve breakfast?'

Jenny twisted her hair up on to the top of her head and anch.o.r.ed it with tortoisesh.e.l.l clips. By the time Mrs Keen had returned from the dunny, she'd washed and dressed and was ready to explore. 'Catch you later,' she said quickly, squeezing past the older woman. It was too nice a day to be cooped up inside.

The dunny was a shed in the far corner of the back yard, well away from the kitchen. It was dark, smelled evil, and wasn't a place to linger. Jenny shuddered as she thought of lurking spiders and snakes, and was soon back in the early sunshine.

It was already warm, with a promise of more heat to come. The sky was streaked pink and orange, the earth reflecting the heat in an endless, shimmering horizon. As Jenny walked around the side of the hotel, she heard the rattle of saucepans and Lorraine's shrill voice. Digging her hands into the pockets of her shorts, she felt a return of the deep calm that had been missing in her for so long. It was a beautiful day and not even Lorraine could spoil it.

The dirt road meandered past the hotel and was lost in the desert. The houses on either side of this track were blasted by heat and dust. Paint was cracked and peeling, wooden shutters shrunken on rusting hinges. The river, now down to a trickle, ran parallel to the road, and was obviously in the habit of flooding during the wet, for every building was perched on stone pilings.

Jenny headed for the sulphur pools. Les had been right, she hardly noticed the smell any more, but at the sight of the bilious yellow water she decided against testing their therapeutic powers and went off to explore the mine shafts instead.

They were nothing more than deep holes punched into the ground, sh.o.r.ed up by railway sleepers. According to her guide book, opals had once been big business around here, but these didn't look as if they'd been worked for years. She leaned over the side of one and almost lost her balance as a voice boomed in her ear.

'Wanna watch yerself there, lady.'

She spun round and came face to face with a gnome. Short and spare, with a gnarled nose and bright blue eyes, the little man glared up at her ferociously from beneath bushy white brows.

'G'day. This yours then?' She was finding it hard to keep a straight face now she'd got over the initial shock.

'Too right it is. Been digging here for two years. Reckon I'll hit the big one soon.' He smiled. There were only a few teeth on display and they were rotten.

'So there are still opals here?'

'Yeah. Got me a beaut the other day.' He looked over his shoulder then leaned towards her. 'No point shouting me mouth off or some bludger'll come and nick me mine. I could tell you stories that'd make your hair curl, lady, and that's a fact.'

She had no doubt he could. Like most Australians, he'd obviously kissed the blarney stone, and there was nothing like a tall story to pa.s.s the time.

'Wanna have a look around?'

'Down there?' Jenny wasn't too sure. It looked awfully deep and horribly dark. Besides, there was probably nothing to see down there anyway.

'Yeah, she'll be right. There ain't snakes down there any more like the old days when the miners kept 'em for guards. C'mon, I'll show yer.'

His hand was rough to the touch, and she felt the strength in his fingers as he grasped her arm and showed her the best way to go down the ladder. He might have been small and goodness knows how old, but he was amazingly powerful. As Jenny balanced on the rickety rungs, she wasn't at all sure she was doing the right thing by going down a hole with him.

'Wait on,' he said as they reached the bottom. 'Let's get some light.' He struck a match and the warm glow of a kerosene lamp chased away the darkness.

It was cool down here in the ground, and as she looked around her she forgot her misgivings. It wasn't just a hole but an enormous web of tunnels, the earth chiselled away to reveal centuries of colour and texture.

'Beauty, ain't it?' He grinned with pride, then winked. 'But it's what's hidden in the earth that's really something.' He turned away and reached into a narrow shelf dug into the wall of the tunnel. Moments later he opened up a leather drawstring bag and spilled the contents into his hand.

Jenny gasped. The lamplight caught the opals, sending glints of red and blue and green through the milky white. And here and there were the rarest of them all. The black opals. Gleaming and secretive, they were flecked with spell-binding gold.

He took a particularly fine specimen and placed it in the palm of her hand. 'I polished it as best I could, but I reckon it'll get me a good price in the city.'

Jenny held it up to the light, turning it this way and that until the deep red fires flashed and danced. 'It's magnificent,' she breathed.

'Too right,' he smirked. 'Give you a fair price if you wanted to buy it.'

Jenny looked at the opal. She'd seen them in the jewellers in Sydney and knew how much they cost. 'I doubt I could afford it,' she said regretfully. 'Besides, aren't opals meant to be unlucky?'

The old man threw back his head, his laughter ringing in the labyrinth of caverns. 'Fair go, lady. You've been listening to blokes that don't know what they're talking about. They're only unlucky for the poor b.a.s.t.a.r.ds that don't find them.'

She grinned back at him as he tipped the stones into the drawstring bag and returned it to its hiding place. 'Aren't you frightened someone might come down here and pinch them?'

He shook his head and reached for a tiny wire cage. 'Put me scorpions in there when I leave the mine. No b.a.s.t.a.r.d'll tangle with them.' He released the scorpions and shut them in with the pouch behind a thick slab of stone. 'Must be time for tucker. Lorraine cooks a fair brekkie, even if she does look like an accident in a paint factory.' He laughed again at his own joke, and set off up the ladder.

They walked in amiable silence back to the hotel. Jenny would have liked to ask about Lorraine and Brett Wilson, but knew that in such a small place her curiosity would cause comment. Besides, she acknowledged, it was really none of her business, so long as it didn't affect his work.

The kitchen was enormous and filled with noise. Long trestle tables were covered in plastic cloths and dishes, the benches crowded with the tourists from the bus, and the pa.s.sing drovers and fossikers who'd stayed overnight.

'Cooee!' Mrs Keen's voice sailed above the general clamour. 'Over here, luv. I saved a place for you.'

Jenny had barely squeezed in beside her room mate before Lorraine dumped a plate of steak, egg and fried potato in front of her. She looked at it in horror. 'I don't usually eat breakfast. Just coffee, please.'

'We only got tea. This ain't some fancy hotel in Sydney, you know.' The plate was s.n.a.t.c.hed away, the tea pot slammed down in its place.

'Too right it isn't,' Jenny snapped. Then instantly regretted it as the room fell silent and all eyes swivelled from her to Lorraine. She heard Mrs Keen draw in her breath.

'So why don't you push off back there?' Lorraine tossed her head, and with bracelets jangling, left the room.

Jenny laughed to hide her shame at having lost her temper so easily. 'And go through that b.l.o.o.d.y bus ride again? No, thanks,' she said to the room in general.