CHAPTER EIGHT
A LOUD droning sound penetrated Lara’s slumber and snapped her awake.
The plane!
Ric…gone from beside her…flying away!
She leapt out of bed, realised she was naked, grabbed the dressing-gown from the chair in front of the dresser, thrust her arms into its sleeves as fast as she could, and wrapped it around her as she rushed to the door that led onto the veranda.
Too late to say goodbye. The plane would already be in the sky now. But she wanted to see it, if only to feel Ric was safe in the pilot’s seat and the flight was going smoothly. She just caught a glimpse of it passing overhead. Then it was gone beyond the roof of the homestead and all she could do was listen until the sound of it was gone, too.
‘Safe journey, Ric,’ she murmured, willing him to get beyond Gary’s reach as fast as possible and remain safe.
A sad deflation hit her as she walked back into her room. It was impossible to project how long it would be before she saw Ric again. If she saw him again. Her heart cringed at that thought. He’d said he would come back. She had to believe he would because she was in a helpless position to change any of the circumstances for him or anyone else. Everything to do with Gary was out of her hands.
Much stronger hands than hers were dealing with it now, she told herself, but she was still frightened for Ric, despite all his reassurances. He’d been so good to her, good in every way, and she was fiercely glad she had the memory of how it had been with him—the loving of a man who knew how to love, making her feel beautiful and precious, intensely cherished and cared for.
Her gaze fell on the indentation left by his head on the pillow beside hers. She crawled across the bed and buried her face in it, wanting to breathe in whatever scent of him was left behind. She closed her eyes and concentrated on remembering all the pleasure he’d given her from the lightest tingling touch to the final crescendo of incredible sensation that had tipped her into a sea of ecstasy.
How long had she floated there in blissful contentment while Ric had simply held her? It had seemed like time itself had stopped and they were in a world of their own, complete unto itself. She remembered listening to his heartbeat, stroking his body with a sense of awe, wanting him to feel how he had made her feel—incredibly special—because he was.
She wished she’d told him that.
Somehow last night the feeling of sharing something totally overwhelming had been so strong, so deep, words had seemed trivial, useless for expressing what had gone beyond anything that could be described. The silent, physical communication had seemed more right—just being together.
Had Ric understood?
Should she have said something?
Thank you were the only words she had spoken. And his mouth and eyes had smiled. No other reply. None necessary. He’d given what she’d asked of him. He was happy she was satisfied. And she didn’t have to be told the pleasure had been mutual.
So it had all been good.
No regrets on either side.
She sighed and rolled over, knowing she had to face this day—without Ric—and take whatever steps she could toward making a different life for herself.
I won’t let you down, Ric, she silently promised. No matter what happens, I will become a better, stronger person because of what you’ve done for me.
Having made this resolution, Lara got up and moved purposefully to the ensuite bathroom. A clean start, she thought. As clean as she could make it. No looking back.
Half an hour later she was showered, dressed, hair brushed, a touch of make-up applied to diminish the discolouration around her eye which was much less swollen this morning, rooms tidied and bed made. She walked around the veranda to the main body of the house and found her way to the kitchen, a huge utility room where three women were busy rolling out pastry on marble slabs and the smell of freshly baked bread instantly whetted her appetite.
The women—all of them part Aboriginal—stopped chatting when they saw her. Lara smiled and said, ‘Hi!’ but they just stared back until Evelyn, the housekeeper, whom she’d met last night, took charge of introductions.
‘You’re looking a lot better this morning, Miss Lara,’ she said approvingly. ‘These are my helpers, Brenda and Gail.’
‘We’re making pies for the men,’ Brenda declared, a young curly-haired woman, probably in her twenties, merry brown eyes.
‘Lamb and potato,’ Gail added. She was about the same age, darker skinned, rather wildly dyed red hair, and a grin that beamed an attitude of finding fun in everything. ‘I told Mister Ric he was missing out by going so early.’
‘He had a good breakfast before he flew off,’ Evelyn stated firmly as though Lara needed to be assured of it. She was a big woman, her salt and pepper hair marking her as middle-aged but wearing her years well, her plump good-humoured face relatively unlined. ‘Now what about you, Miss Lara? There’s still some pancake mix or I could cook you some eggs. What would you like?’
‘We’ve got plenty of eggs from the chicken run,’ Brenda added as she saw Lara hesitate.
All three faces looked at her, beaming an eagerness to please. It assured Lara they were happy to welcome her amongst them and she relaxed, warming to the cosy atmosphere in the kitchen. ‘What I’d really like is a couple of slices of your fresh bread. It smells wonderful.’
They laughed, inviting her to sit at the big kitchen table while they worked around her. Two thick slabs of bread were cut. A tub of butter and jars of honey, vegemite and fruit conserve were laid out for her use. A pot of tea—her preference—was quickly produced.
Lara enjoyed her breakfast and the conversation which revolved around good-humoured answers to her questions about Gundamurra. She wasn’t asked any questions about herself. It seemed her presence was simply accepted and the women were happily intent on drawing her into their community.
Their husbands worked on the station, carrying out maintenance and moving the sheep from paddock to paddock. Their children went to school here, lessons supervised by the overseer’s wife and directed by radio from The School Of The Air. While the Paroo River ran through the property, most of the water used came from bores. There were beef cattle, as well as sheep, though they were more a sideline to the main business which revolved around stud rams and first class wool.
‘Where is Mister Maguire this morning?’ she asked, wondering when she would meet her host again.
‘In his office,’ Evelyn replied. ‘I am to show you through the homestead before taking you to him. Make sure you know where everything is.’
‘Thank you.’ She smiled. ‘I must say every room I’ve been in is beautifully kept, Evelyn.’
The housekeeper beamed with pleasure. ‘Mrs. Maguire trained me herself,’ she stated proudly. ‘I am training the girls, just as she told me.’
‘Well, you do a great job, Evelyn.’ It was on the tip of Lara’s tongue to offer her own help, but decided it was best if she speak to Patrick first in case she’d be treading on the toes of the domestic staff, butting in where she shouldn’t be.
The tour of the homestead gave her a broader appreciation of how life was lived here. Adjacent to the large laundry was a mud room, stocked with raincoats, akubra hats and boots, clearly the first and last stop for those working outside. A bathroom completed the facilities for cleaning up before moving into the main body of the house.
‘Have you had much rain?’ Lara inquired.
‘Many storms this time of year. Which is good. We need the rain. It’s hard to keep everything going in times of drought.’
Lara had seen television coverage on the devastation of long periods of drought in pastoral Australia. It had evoked both horror and sympathy but the visuals had been so far removed from her own life, the feelings had been only momentary. It would undoubtedly have more impact on her now she had entered this different world.
Though it was certainly not without many civilised amenities. The billiard room was also a library and music room, open for use to anyone on the station. Walls of shelves contained an amazing selection of fiction and non-fiction books, videos and CDs. A generator supplied electricity and a satellite disk gave them television and internet facilities.
‘Mr. Johnny bought us the hi-fi system,’ Evelyn informed her, grinning as she added, ‘So we can play his music.’
‘Johnny who?’ Ric’s friend who owned the plane?
Evelyn looked surprised. ‘You don’t know him? Johnny Ellis? He’s a very famous country and western singer.’ Then she laughed. ‘They call him Johnny Charm. And he is.’
‘Oh, yes! I’ve never met him but I do know of him.’
In fact, Johnny Ellis was really big on the country and western scene, having made a huge hit in America with his songs. He was also something of a pin-up boy—a gorgeous hunk, while still exuding a very earthy hometown charm.
‘Long time ago he and Mr. Ric were at Gundamurra together,’ Evelyn ran on. ‘Two of Mr. Patrick’s boys. Now they are both famous. Mr. Johnny comes back here a lot. He says we are his inspiration.’
Hence the plane, Lara thought. And Johnny Ellis must also have been convicted of something criminal when he was a teenager, and given the same choice as Ric—two of Mr. Patrick’s boys. Lara wondered how many of them there had been over the years, how many had made good after being here. I’ll make good, too, she promised herself.
The one other room which fascinated her was the sewing room. ‘Mrs. Maguire made everything here,’ Evelyn explained. ‘The curtains and cushion covers and patchwork quilts. Tablecloths and serviettes, too. Dresses for the girls. She loved making up patterns.’
There were bolts of fabric stacked against the wall, boxes galore containing samples of materials. The whole room was set up very professionally with a central table for cutting out, good lighting, shelves of cotton reels in every shade of colour, a range of scissors.
‘Do any of her daughters sew?’ Lara asked.
‘Not much. Only to fix things. The oldest one, Miss Jessie, has just become a doctor. She wants to work for The Royal Doctor Flying Service. Miss Emily is a helicopter pilot and does mustering up north. Always loved flying. The youngest one, Miss Megan, is studying at an agricultural college. I think she aims to take over from Mister Patrick and run Gundamurra.’
A woman…running this vast sheep station?
Why not?
Lara berated herself for her own limited thinking. Clearly Patrick Maguire’s daughters were all determined achievers. She herself had never nurtured any ambition. Modelling had more or less happened to her. At seventeen she’d been spotted at a pop concert, approached by an agent for a model company and very quickly promoted into the international scene, much to the delight of her mother who had pushed the career with so much pride and enthusiasm, Lara hadn’t considered anything else.
By the time she’d met Gary she had tired of the scene, the constant travelling, the long exhausting photographic sessions, the sense of always being on show, the clothes that were more bizarre display pieces than actually wearable in real life. Everything was a performance and she’d yearned to feel more grounded.
Getting married and having a family had felt the right step to take. Maybe working in a kind of dream factory had seriously impaired her judgment. Certainly the dream husband had set about crushing her illusions very quickly and becoming a part of his family had shown her that having babies was not the answer to anything.
She needed to do something productive with her own life, not just reflect or enhance what others did or wanted for themselves. All she’d been was a show pony. There was no sense of self-worth in that. Ric had given her the time and space to sort herself out while she was here, and this purpose was very much on her mind when Evelyn finally ushered her into Patrick’s office.
He gave her a benevolent smile and invited her to sit down—this man who’d fathered three daughters now carving out their own paths in life—who’d been the father figure to boys who’d gone off the rails, setting them on their feet to go forward with confidence in their abilities to make something positive of their future. She saw kindness in his eyes, but knew there was a lot more than kindness in this man’s make-up. He had to have a very shrewd knowledge of human nature and how it could be best put to work.
‘You look better this morning,’ he started.
Less beaten, she thought, determined on rising from the wretched ashes of her marriage to Gary Chappel. ‘I won’t let Ric down,’ she said firmly.
Patrick frowned, gesturing a dismissal of her reply. ‘I understand you’re grateful to Ric, but Lara…don’t hang what you do here on him. Ric wouldn’t want you to measure this time by what he or anyone else might expect of you. It’s your time. Make it belong to you, doing what you want because you want it.’
The slow, serious words struck a realisation that she’d spent far too many years pleasing others, firstly in a desire for their approval, then because if she didn’t please, it meant getting hurt.
Clearly, Patrick Maguire was very different to her own father who’d had the habit of laying down the law with dictatorial impatience for any argument whatsoever. He’d never listened to her. She suspected he’d approved her modelling career and marriage because in his view, women were meant to look beautiful and marry well. Full stop. They weren’t supposed to think or quarrel with the men who were in charge of them.
Even though he was paralysed by a stroke and cared for in a nursing home, her mother was still subservient to him. Her reply to everything Lara had told her was, ‘Your father wouldn’t have wanted…’
Always your father…your father…your father….
Lara’s cry, ‘What about me?’ had never been heeded.
Eyeing Patrick curiously, she asked, ‘Is this what you tell the boys who’ve come here? To shed the influences that have led them into trouble?’
‘That’s quite a leap,’ he said appreciatively, settling back in the big leather chair behind his working desk—a man who was comfortable with himself, not needing to impress, yet all the more impressive because of it. His eyes twinkled. ‘What did Ric tell you about his time here?’
‘Not much. He explained the program you ran as an alternative to spending time in a detention centre. And when he spoke of you it was with enormous respect and trust.’
He nodded, a musing little smile softening his expression. ‘Some boys responded to the challenge. Others just put in their time. Ric, Johnny and Mitch were like the three musketeers, determined to fight their way out of where they were.’
‘Mitch, too?’ Lara looked her surprise and confusion. ‘I didn’t think anyone with a criminal record could go into law.’
‘Mitch was a special case. He didn’t defend himself at the time. There were extenuating circumstances that were eventually put before the court.’
‘Through your connections?’
‘Yes and no.’ He shrugged. ‘Because of my program here I was listened to, but the outcome of the hearing depended on what Mitch put forward himself.’
Not a backroom power play. Lara was relieved to hear it. She didn’t want to think of Patrick Maguire doing the kind of deals she knew Victor and Gary did—bribing their way to the outcome they wanted. She needed to know Mitch Tyler was straight, too, not dependent on others’ influence.
‘Don’t worry about Mitch, Lara.’ Patrick’s smile had a touch of whimsy in its tilt. ‘Justice is a burning issue to him. Always was. One way or another, he’ll checkmate Gary Chappel.’
Lara wondered if her thoughts were transparent. Not that it mattered. She had her answer. ‘Has there been…any news…this morning?’
He shook his head. ‘Maybe tonight.’
Lara hoped Kathryn was safe.
Patrick shifted, leaning forward, resting his arms on the desk, regarding her with lively curiosity. ‘I’ve always asked each boy who chose to come to Gundamurra…what would he like to have that would add personal pleasure to his time here?’ He paused a moment, then softly asked, ‘Is there something you would like, Lara?’
She hadn’t thought about her own personal pleasure for a very long time. Even last night with Ric, wanting him…it had all been focused on what he could give her, not what she could give herself. Apart from undoing his shirt buttons, she had been more passive than active…letting it happen to her. That seemed to be the story of her life.
‘What did Ric choose?’ she asked.
‘A camera.’
‘Johnny?’
‘A guitar.’
‘And Mitch?’
‘A chess set.’
They had known what they wanted. Why didn’t she? Was she just a blob to be directed by others, having no direction of her own?
‘You don’t have to answer straightaway, Lara,’ Patrick said kindly. ‘Think about it. Let me know when…’
‘There is something I’d like to try,’ she burst out, liking the idea as it had raced into her mind. ‘Evelyn showed me the sewing room. She said no one uses what’s there anymore…all the different fabrics and cottons. Maybe I could design and make things…if you wouldn’t mind.’ She flushed as she realised she might be treading on private ground.
‘My wife would have been pleased to share her hobby with another woman,’ he said with warm encouragement. ‘Please feel free to use whatever’s in the sewing room.’
‘Thank you.’
‘You’re welcome.’ He pushed up from his chair, rising to his full formidable height. ‘Now let me walk you around the station…meet the other women…get your bearings.’
Yes, Lara thought, she needed to get her bearings very straight in her mind, not for her new environment so much as for her own life. No one ever really got a clean new slate, but this, she decided, was as good a chance as she was ever likely to have. It was up to her to make the most of it.