FOLLOW THE MORNING STAR (18 page)

Colin studied the documents spread before him. A company search and a contact hacking into bank computer files had revealed Queenie’s full worth — and it was substantial. And that didn’t include TR’s assets and Guneda. Colin was only interested in Tingulla and Cricklewood, the two Hanlon properties left to Queenie in their father’s will.

A seething anger burned in his gut as he looked at the figures on the paper. She’d certainly increased their worth. It crossed Colin’s mind he might have done the same with the block of units in Double Bay and the large sum of money and shares he’d been left by his father if he’d been as clever as Queenie. Well, his turn was coming to outsmart her.

According to the lawyer Colin had approached he had no legitimate claim on any of the estate. But with a little creative thought and skill Colin felt sure he could devise a way
of challenging his sister. It had worked once, although he’d had the backing of Dina and her father then. This time he would have to move cautiously so Dina had no clue as to his plan. Colin would keep his eyes open and keep ferreting away.

In addition to getting his hands on some money and getting away from the Cambonis, the last and best laugh would be to show them all he was cleverer than anyone gave him credit for. He wished he had a sizeable amount of cash now. Camboni’s betting scam sounded like it could come off in a big way. He wished he could dump a very large amount on the race when the day came. Still, it was a long way off. There was still time.

Cash was a sensitive issue. The episode with Antonia had cost him more than expected. To recover from the secret abortion she had demanded he pay for a holiday in Switzerland. He figured she couldn’t be too fragile if she was going skiing, but he didn’t argue. He’d persuaded her to sign a letter in return for the cash. He wasn’t about to have her sucking him dry for money forever and Colin had made it clear he would hold good to his threat of exposing her if he ever heard from her again. He’d heard nothing since. Paying her off had been costly but it was better than risking Dina cutting off his money supply.

Queenie checked the horse float in the rearvision mirror as the LandCruiser swirled a column of dust behind them.

Ernie, sitting beside her, his arm dangling out of the window, noticed the look. ‘Honey will be glad to get to Cricklewood, eh?’

‘Me too. How are you doing, Ernie?’

‘Number one, boss. You want me to drive this last bit?’

‘It’s okay thanks, Ernie. I’m looking forward to boiling the billy though.’

‘Any cook or missus over at Cricklewood now?’

‘No. We’re on our tod. I sent the other hands over to Tingulla. I figured things could be left as they were for a week or two. But we can scratch up a meal with what we’ve got. There are plenty of supplies in the homestead.’

They drove on through the late afternoon. Queenie kept driving — she knew that if she stopped now she’d fall asleep and she didn’t want to miss the approach to Cricklewood. Although only six hours’ drive from Tingulla, the country was very different, with different species of trees and soil that was less red; the terrain was flatter and was crisscrossed with narrow creeks, with the occasional granite outcrop rearing into the sky. The place brought back memories of one of the saddest and most difficult periods of her life. How grateful she was that Millie and Jim and Snowy had stood by her. They’d been her family at a time when she had no one, only a vindictive brother consumed by jealousy and hatred. How lucky she’d been to have the support of such devoted friends as Sarah, Dingo and old Alf. She hoped that over the years she had been able to help people too and that they in turn had helped others.

‘Never forget a good turn, repay it to another person when you can,’ she’d told Tango and Saskia. ‘It’s a chain that links us together.’

‘Spreading good karma,’ interjected Saskia, then explained the expression to Millie, who nodded in agreement.

‘We have different words for it but it’s all part of looking after each other. The sisters at the mission taught us about God and what the Bible says, but what my own people say makes just as much sense. Sometimes they say the same thing, just in different ways. I don’t have the knowledge of my people as good as I should, I was taken away from my family too soon. But Snowy has taught me a lot. Though he can’t teach me the women’s business. I’m a bit of mix up stew, eh, Sas?’

‘You are a wise owl, Millie. You just listen to your heart and your spirits. You’re always right, you know.’

Millie ruffled her curls. ‘You bin talking to Snowy.’

Saskia had told Queenie of this conversation and Queenie thought again how enriched their lives were by sharing the ancient culture of the people of their land. It angered and hurt her when she saw a once proud and self-sufficient people reduced to a half-white life, losing their traditions. At times she’d had to be tough in dealings with some of the itinerant Aboriginal workers who’d got on the grog or acted irresponsibly. But she was equally swift to spring to their defence when others — be they wealthy landowners or prejudiced townies — trotted
out cliched attitudes towards Aborigines, their beliefs and culture. She despised the reserves and shantytowns just as much as the inner-city ghettos. While not believing they could become tribal once more, it did seem to be the most successful way of life for them. Why couldn’t they absorb the best of both worlds? It was the same with the people in the city and the people in the bush, neither way of life was for everyone but there was something to be gained from both.

‘You thinking big thoughts, boss?’

‘How could you tell? I was pondering a bit of a philosophical dilemma, Ernie, and what I’ve decided is that life is a question of balance and harmony.’

‘Too much on one side and you gonna fall over,’ said Ernie sagely.

Queenie chuckled. ‘You’re right. That’s a very good way of putting it. Hey, here’s our road.’

They turned off onto a smaller dirt track marked by a post with a kerosene tin nailed to it with a faded name in white paint on its side —
Cricklewood.

As they always did, the memories came flooding back as Queenie recalled the months she’d spent here during her pregnancy with Tango. She sighed. Millie and Snowy had helped her through the long sad months while she waited for the birth of TR’s child; with TR unaware of what was happening and lost to her — thanks to Colin’s deliberate interference. The great hole in her heart caused by having to give Tango up at birth had healed,
thanks to Millie and fate bringing them all back together again.

Cricklewood had blossomed in the intervening twenty-five years. New fences, improved paddocks where new feed was high, more buildings and sheds. On the huge spread were ten thousand head of prime beef stock — Romanoglas, Poll Herefords and Brahman-Hereford cross. In separate paddocks were kept the prize stud bulls. In a new tin and fibro shed they’d set up a small laboratory and office where semen samples and breeding records were kept. Sales of their semen stock were sold abroad and an invitro insemination and embryo programme was working well.

Queenie drove towards the old homestead which had been renovated and was now rather charming. It had been very run-down but a new verandah and roof had been added, along with two additional wings at right angles to either end of the house, so that it was now u-shaped. With a fine garden and a shady windbreak of trees planted around it, the freshly painted homestead was attractive, cool and practical.

Queenie parked at the front entrance and while Ernie began unloading their gear and supplies, she went around to the locked sliding glass doors across the inner patio. As soon as she put the key in the lock she knew something was wrong — the doors were unlocked.

‘Ernie!’ she shouted, running into the house.

It was obvious thieves had broken in.

Upturned furniture and discarded items were scattered everywhere. Running to the small
office she found the safe had not been opened. When Queenie got to the kitchen she saw what they’d been after. Dismayed, she stood in the doorway. Hearing Ernie rush down the hall calling her name she answered in a flat voice, ‘In here, Ernie’.

‘Oh struth,’ said Ernie behind her as he took in the scene.

Every cupboard was hanging open and foodstuffs littered the floor. A cloth had been pulled from the table flinging a bowl, jug and pepper and salt shakers to the floor. Queenie bent and picked up the pieces of the broken jug.

‘Probably wrapped stuff up in the tablecloth,’ commented Ernie, following her to the pantry door.

‘They were after food and supplies,’ said Queenie. ‘Flour, sugar, tea, tinned stuff.’ She turned around and anger welled in her voice. ‘Look, the bastards even had the hide to cook themselves a meal.’ The remains of eggs, bacon, bread, and something sticky trailed across the bench, table and floor. Ants were still busy and Queenie stuck her finger in the mess and smelled it. ‘Golden syrup.’

‘You gonna call the sergeant?’

‘I guess so. Though I’d say they’re several days gone.’

‘Youngsters, eh?’

‘I suppose so, Ernie.’

Ernie began picking things up off the floor, not sure where to start, when another angry shout came from Queenie.

‘Damn them! They’ve cut the phone line.’
heavily on a chair at the kitchen table.

‘How ‘bout that cuppa?’ said Ernie.

‘Okay.’ Queenie went to the stove and struck a match and lit a gas jet. ‘Well, that’s working.’ She filled the kettle.

‘Do ya reckon they’ll be back?’

‘I doubt it, Ernie. If they do come back they’ll be bloody sorry. Go have a look around the yards and sheds, see if they took any gear. Bet they did. Probably setting themselves up to go cross-country, that way no one would spot them.’

‘I’ll take a good look and see if they were on horses or in a truck.’

Queenie opened their tuckerbox and took out some fruitcake and leftover sandwiches and sliced some more corned beef and a tomato. She made a pot of tea and cleared and washed down the kitchen table so they could eat their supper.

Ernie came back in, looking grim. ‘Yeah, they took some gear. They were on horses and raided the tack room. Blew off the padlock with a shotgun by the look of it.’

Queenie’s mouth tightened but she said nothing, indicating the tea and food on the table. Ernie went to the sink and washed his hands, put his hat to one side and sat down. They said little during the meal and when they’d finished Ernie carried his plate to the sink.

‘Leave it Ernie, I’ll clean up this mess later. You go into town and fetch the sergeant. You might as well stay overnight and head back in the morning. There’s no rush now.’

Ernie unloaded the last of their gear from the truck and came back into the house carrying the rifle and stood it carefully by the back door. ‘They busted the laundry door and got in, then just opened them glass doors from the inside and took stuff out that way.’

‘This place is off the beaten track, what would they be doing out here?’

‘Keepin’ away from the law, I’d reckon.’

‘Yes, they’re probably wanted for something.’ Queenie glanced at the rifle by the back door, memories of the brutal death of her mother suddenly making her heart wrench.

‘You sure you’ll be okay?’

‘Yes, Ernie, get on your way,’ she sighed wearily.

It took Queenie several hours to clean up and she hesitated when it came to the pantry and kitchen. Perhaps there were clues — fingerprints or something. Well, there wasn’t a detective in the district and it was doubtful they’d ever find the person or people who had broken in now. So she swept up as best she could then slopped the mop into the bucket of water and began washing away the spilt flour, broken biscuits and other mess.

When all was back in place she decided to run a bath and relax her aching body and frazzled mind and put this violation behind her. As she watched the water run into the new enamel tub from the solar-powered water heater, she thought back to the old tin tub and the wood-burning chip heater it had replaced. For a moment she felt nostalgic for
the funny old yellow and black patterned tiles in the bathroom, the flowered lino in the kitchen and the ancient wooden beds with thinning chenille bedspreads. It had served the series of bachelor managers well enough but two years ago the place had been completely renovated. One of the few things that had remained was the old brass plaque screwed by the front door with
Cricklewood
engraved on it. Her father had told her it was named after the London suburb where Great-grandfather Ned’s family had once lived.

Lying back in the warm water Queenie closed her eyes and began to think through her plans for selling the next batch of calves and arranging another shipment of semen stock through her New Zealand agent. Gradually she relaxed but as she let her mind and body unwind the tight control she held on her emotions sagged and she felt overwhelmed, tears welling in her eyes. Trying to cope with the enormity of TR’s injuries and the loss of his memory was a massive struggle for her. She had been trying not to address the future too much, dealing with problems as they arose in the inevitable planning and organisation that went into running two large stations. But this intrusion into her life — this robbery at Cricklewood — had dealt her a hard emotional blow. For the moment everything just seemed too hard and Queenie gave in to a helpless few minutes of crying and feeling sorry for herself. By then the bath water was getting cold
and she felt uncomfortably stiff. She fell into bed, overwhelmed, and sobbed herself to sleep.