Cry of the Curlew: The Frontier Series 1 (48 page)

FORTY-SIX

A
fter a short sea trip on a coastal steamer from Rockhampton to Townsville and a round of meetings with stock and station agents, Kate was driven by a jolly middle-aged agent to inspect Harry’s residence, now hers. As they drew close to the house, she immediately fell in love with it.

It was a high-set rambling timber house with a wide verandah. Tall eucalypts provided shade and Harry had planted a grove of mango trees whose thick and spreading foliage gave a coolness in the tropical heat.

The journey to Townsville had been prompted by a need to consolidate the estates old Harry Hubner had left her in his will. She had not forgotten the oath she had sworn after learning of the old teamster’s generous gift to her. And to honour his memory she wanted to bring his Townsville home alive with her presence.

Kate alighted and strolled around the building, examining its structure with the eye of a professional. The house had not fallen into disrepair. The agent told her that Harry had lived the last days of his life here. She smiled and promised the old teamster’s spirit that in his home she would one day provide the laughter of children and the voices of a happy family and friends.

Oh, there was work to be done to make the house the place she imagined for the future. But time and money would easily do that. And the money would be there as her transport business flourished under her astute business management. She may have come to the new colony to build a hotel, but her dreams went further even than that now. One day she would be the richest woman in the colony . . . nay . . . the richest woman in Australia! Her dreams might be grander than her means at the moment, but she had youth, capital and ambition on her side. She was a Duffy, she reminded herself. And the Duffys had overcome greater adversities than merely acquiring a fortune.

For a brief moment she felt a kind of uninvited bittersweet sadness intrude on her thoughts as if, somehow, the ghosts of her father and Old Billy were there with her. Curiously, she could not feel her beloved brother Michael’s spirit. Was it that she would feel his presence under other circumstances? she wondered. Would he come to her in some time of need?

How could it be that she had so much good fortune when the men in her family had suffered so much? Michael dead in far-off New Zealand. Her father buried in central-west Queensland and her brother Tom living life where a bullet from a police trooper or a hangman’s noose always shadowed his life.

The ghosts faded from her thoughts and she turned to the agent. ‘I think we should inspect inside, Mister Cafe,’ she said lightly and followed him up the broad wooden steps with their ornate timber supports. With a critical eye, she was already redesigning the house: a wall out there to give more room to the rather small dining room, a new polish to the teak floor, and paint to replace the peeling wallpaper which had suffered from the constant heat of Townsville.

‘The house has six bedrooms, Missus O’Keefe,’ the agent said as he stood in the room that was obviously designed as a place to dine. It appeared the old teamster had grandiose ideas for his retirement, but he had lacked a woman’s fertile imagination for style. His functionalism tended to compartmentalise the house into practical areas.

‘Big enough to start a family . . .’ the agent bit his tongue as he remembered the tragic stories he had heard about the beautiful young woman, deserted by a worthless husband years earlier. Being a staunch Catholic himself, he realised that Missus O’Keefe probably considered herself still married, regardless of the long separation, and as such unable to remarry. Divorce was out of the question under the circumstances.

He coughed to hide his embarrassment and Kate realised that the kindly man was uncomfortable. She said, ‘Enough room for friends and relatives to stay over when they visit me in Townsville, Mister Cafe.’

He nodded. He liked the young woman very much, which was not hard as she seemed to carry an aura of someone very special. An aura much older than her twenty-three years on earth.

On the trip back to town Kate babbled happily to the stock and station agent of how she proposed to renovate the house. He listened with an eagerness that was infectious and he could easily understand how she impressed people in her business dealings. In a short time they reached his office, which was a pleasant stone building with wide verandahs.

It was noticeably cooler inside, where a heavy but clean scent of leather perfumed the air. A big clock on the wall made a lazy tick-tocking sound, matched by the noise of a scribbling pen wielded by a young gawky clerk sitting at a desk in the corner of the room. The clerk was fifteen years old and had aspirations to become a stock and station agent one day. He glanced up as his boss entered the office with Missus O’Keefe at his elbow. The clerk’s eyes swivelled to indicate that a stranger was present in the room.

Mister Cafe followed the young man’s glance and noticed a short but dapper man standing with his hands clasped behind his back. The stranger wore a dark three-piece suit and looked as fresh as if he were standing in cooler climes. Kate guessed he was in his mid-forties and she had the impression that the man was a foreigner to Australian shores. There was something alien about his whole demeanour.

‘Ah, Fraulein O’Keefe, I presume,’ the dapper little man said stiffly.

‘I’m afraid I must correct you, sir. I am Missus O’Keefe.’ Everyone in the room was stunned when Kate replied in excellent German. The stranger smiled warmly, extending his hand.

‘Your grasp of my language is excellent, Missus O’Keefe,’ he said as Kate met his light handshake. ‘I did not realise you spoke German.’

She laughed lightly and replied in German, ‘It is almost impossible not to learn German when one grows up with an “uncle” who could hardly speak English. But, I’m afraid, my first words in German as a little girl are hardly fitting to repeat now.’

The dapper little German who had appeared so stiff on first impression burst into laughter and his eyes twinkled.

‘Was he your real uncle?’ he asked with a chuckle.

‘Uncle Max was a seaman from Hamburg who jumped ship in Melbourne,’ Kate replied, ‘to try his luck on the goldfields back in ’54 . . . And somehow, since then, he has been part of my family.’

‘Ahh . . . yes,’ the German said in a more serious tone. ‘I believe you are Irish and, like your people, we are not exactly the best friends with the English.’

Kate glanced at the clerk and Mister Cafe who had followed the conversation, which had alternated between English and German, with a certain amount of awe. She was a most interesting young woman and the younger man was obviously smitten by her beautiful looks as he sat staring with unabashed admiration for her. Kate felt a touch of unease at the German’s reference to international animosities. Australia was far from European intrigue, as if the continent were a planet unto itself, floating in a space of the Indian and Pacific oceans. The German detected her unease and tactfully changed the subject. He switched to his excellent English.

‘I am afraid I have been very rude in not introducing myself to you all . . . I am Herr Jurgen Rubenstein.’ He held out his hand to Cafe, who replied with his own introduction and a hearty handshake. ‘I have travelled a long way to find you, Missus O’Keefe,’ the German said, turning to Kate. ‘All the way from Sydney. We have much to talk about. But,’ he said looking at the stock and station agent, ‘I must apologise to Mister Cafe that our conversation should be in private.’

Cafe rumbled his understanding and kindly offered them the privacy of his office. ‘Come on, young Harry,’ he said to his clerk. ‘Let’s go and see what’s on for lunch down at the pub.’

Rubenstein thanked Cafe. When the men had left, he gestured to Kate to take a chair. She did so wondering who the mysterious German was. But she did not have to ask. He promptly explained who he was and why he had sought her out.

‘I represent commercial interests in my country, who have sent me to prepare a report on the feasibility of establishing a meatworks here. My company gave me the name of a Mister Isaac Levi, who is a partner with a firm of solicitors, Levi & Sullivan . . .’

Daniel! Kate suddenly thought. That was the firm her cousin Daniel worked for!

As if reading her thoughts, he smiled and said, ‘I had the good fortune of meeting a close relative of yours while I was there. Daniel Duffy is an impressive young man, Missus O’Keefe.’

‘You are Jewish,’ Kate stated without the prejudice that might have been apparent in anyone else. ‘That is why you contacted Mister Levi.’

He stared briefly into her eyes as if to detect a covert bigotry, but found none. ‘That is correct, Missus O’Keefe. I am a Jew. There are many people like me in Germany who put our country before our ancient beliefs. God forbid . . . as the English would say. I dare say as you would put your country before your religion.’

Kate thought about that and realised the man was right. She would rather fight to retain land than religion. Were we not from the earth? And to the earth – one day – we would return, she thought.

‘But matters of high intellectualism are not the reason why I have sought you out. My mission is to discuss with you the purchase of a cattle property in the Rockhampton district. I have spoken to a Mister Solomon Cohen. He told me that you have already discussed the idea of establishing a meatworks at Rockhampton, and you plan to supply it with beef from properties west of that town.’

Kate raised her eyebrows in surprise as she sat with her hands in her lap.

‘I presume that Mister Levi recommended that you speak to Mister Cohen,’ she said, to clarify the chain of contacts.

But he smiled at her presumption and replied, ‘No . . . Mister Daniel Duffy did. It seems you and he have been in correspondence with each other.’ Kate felt a little foolish at her words and she blushed lightly at her mistake. She had written many letters to her family and Daniel and she had carried on a lengthy correspondence concerning any means they could find to continue the fight against the Macintoshes.

Jurgen continued. ‘He has told me that you have identified a property called Glen View which seems to be suffering cash-flow difficulties because of the current low price for beef. And it seems that Glen View may suit our needs admirably.’

‘I would assume, Herr Rubenstein,’ Kate said shrewdly, ‘that you have a rather substantial means for backing any purchase.’

He nodded. ‘We have, Frau O’Keefe,’ he replied. ‘But I am also led to believe that you are able to finance part of the purchase.’

‘Why do you need me if . . . as I can only guess . . . you are in a position to purchase Glen View outright? Why approach me?’

He paused and she could see that he was most probably searching for a way to explain his position without telling her too much.

‘We are a German company,
mein Frau.
As such, we have reasons not to publicise our financial interests in an English colony. I had hoped that you would be satisfied with that alone as an explanation.’

Kate was quick to anticipate his meaning.

‘You wish my Eureka Company to be the purchasing agent while your company retains a silent share – albeit a majority – in the purchase?’

‘That is correct,’ he confirmed with a gentle hint of a sigh. ‘I think you will agree . . . when we consider the . . . how do you say it . . . the sentimental value Glen View has to you and your family.’

Better to share the property with a foreign interest than not be able to have the property at all, Kate thought. After all, she would have access to those places that had become so significant in her life: the grave of her father, and the sacred place of the Nerambura people. The oath that she had sworn all those years earlier when she and Luke Tracy had confronted Donald Macintosh on his land was now within grasp of realisation. She was close to honouring her vow of taking the land he held so dear from him and placing it in Duffy hands . . . with the Germans.

‘I think we can do it, Herr Rubenstein,’ she said quietly and this time he appeared relaxed.

He smiled and helped her to her feet with his hand. ‘Then all we need is a lawyer you consider can be discreet in such a matter to prepare the papers. And may I be so presumptuous as to invite you to share dinner with me at my hotel so that we can clarify any other matters that you may consider need attention . . . I should point out at this stage that the management of Glen View will be completely under your control. All we need is a financial interest in the property with exclusive terms to the beef for our meatworks. I am sure the arrangement will prove very profitable for us both. And now . . . can you recommend a lawyer?’

‘Without hesitation I would recommend Mister Darlington from the Rockhampton firm of Darlington & Darlington,’ Kate said confidently. ‘They are a reputable firm with excellent credentials, Herr Rubenstein.’

‘If you have absolute trust in them, then that is good enough for me,’ he said as he escorted Kate to the door. ‘So until tonight I shall bid you good afternoon, Frau O’Keefe.’ And with a gallant Teutonic click of the heels, he left her at the front door of the stock and station office to stride across the dusty street.

Kate watched him walk away and wondered a little uneasily why the German should go to such secretive lengths to enter into a conspiracy with her. Conspiracy, she snorted. There was no conspiracy in wresting Glen View from the Macintoshes. Whatever the reasons the Germans had, they were no concern of hers. If it was something adverse to English interests, then all the better.

FORTY-SEVEN

F
our days later Kate O’Keefe sat in Hugh Darlington’s Rockhampton office with her hands in her lap waiting for him to make a comment.

He made little humming noises which Kate found appealing. He flipped through the papers on his desk, finally closed the folder in front of him and looked up at her. ‘Are you sure you are doing the right thing in this matter, Kate?’ he asked and rubbed his forehead with his hand as if attempting to wipe away a troublesome thought.

‘You know how much it means to me . . . to secure Glen View,’ she said quietly. ‘It probably means more than I can find words for.’

He stared for a brief moment into her serious grey eyes and felt the spell of her spirit cast its magic over him. How could he steer her away from the purchase of the Macintosh property? he thought miserably. How could he sabotage her efforts to wrest the land that both Macintosh and Duffy blood had fertilised years earlier? He was fully aware of the tragic events that had occurred on the property west of Rockhampton.

‘You realise, of course, that your percentage interest in Glen View will be significantly smaller than that of your partners in this enterprise,’ he ventured, hoping to appeal to the businesswoman in her rather than the emotional female obsessed with revenge. ‘And that is not a sound financial investment in anyone’s books.’

‘I know,’ Kate replied simply. ‘But my partners have clearly set out that I have first option to buy them out in the future, should that situation arise. You have that in writing,’ she added, tapping the folder on Hugh’s desk with her finger.

‘I know that,’ he replied shortly and regretted his minor display of irritability. ‘I was only thinking of you.’

‘If you mean what you say, then you will do everything within your power to ensure that the purchase goes through,’ Kate said, fixing him with her eyes. ‘And I believe you will, because you have proved your love for me with the thousand pounds you so readily invested in my business. I do not know of any other man who would have done that for me when I am considered by most as nothing more than a silly young girl with grandiose ideas well beyond her capabilities.’

Hugh glanced down at the folder in front of him and flipped it open. He stared unseeingly at the copperplate writing on the pages and hoped she did not see the guilt in his face. He looked up from the folder and cleared his throat.

‘You know that I love you, Kate . . . and would do anything for you.’ Kate had a fleeting and disturbing feeling that his words rang just a little hollow. But she dismissed the thought as a misinterpretation by her highly strung emotions at a time when she was so near to realising her dream.

‘I know that,’ Kate said reassuringly. But she was not quite sure whom she was reassuring and she deliberately let the thought go from her mind. And to affirm her feelings for him she added, ‘I have an appointment today to see Father Murlay about the annulment of my marriage.’ Her announcement brought a wan smile to his face.

Kate rose from her chair and bade him a good morning as she left his office. As she did, she found herself reflecting on their meeting with an uneasy and unexplainable feeling of doubt about the expressions of love that had passed between them. There was something about Hugh’s whole demeanour that did not feel right to her. Something intangible that passed between people without a need for words, but just as strong in its communication of emotions. That intangible something she could only think of as a woman’s intuition. And intuition had no scientific basis – so she had been often told by men. But it was late in the day and she was weary from the busy schedule she had undertaken. All she felt was a dire need for a good night’s sleep and hopefully in the morning to wake to a new and promising day.