FOLLOW THE MORNING STAR (7 page)

‘Wonderful, wonderful. It looks like Honolulu, doesn’t it,
caro?’
Dina gushed with enthusiasm.

Colin shrugged. He was distracted, thinking about his reunion with his father-in-law. Alfredo had hinted there could be some interesting opportunities for him in the family business — it would be useful to earn some money while he worked out how to deal with Queenie.

At Broadwater the car turned off the Pacific Highway and drove past a park on the ocean side which faced a row of white blocks of beachside units with names like Tropicale, Oceania, Sea Breeze and Pacifica. Another turn or two and beachfront became lagoon, then man-made marina. A towering fence of flagpoles flew brightly coloured flags, each with a picture of water sports, leisure activities, flowers or dolphins.

The units gave way to pale pink luxury blocks screened by palms. The grassy verge
seemed an almost unnatural green. Two large white pillars in the shape of lighthouses formed a gateway and a gold-lettered sign announced they had entered the precincts of The Waterways.

An artificial canal with speedboats and launches moored at small jetties ran parallel to the road until it opened into The Waterways marina proper. A large, mostly glass building hung over the water, housing the floating restaurant and boutiques filled with nautical gear, expensive fishing tackle and boating accessories. There were several other shops, including a gelato bar, and offices of charter fishing, boat hire, sightseeing and yachting companies. Long finger wharves jutted into the water with berths for large, expensive, high-tech motor cruisers and yachts.

‘Ooh, I like that blue and white one,’ exclaimed Dina as they drove past. Colin didn’t answer. Radiating from the Marina in neat lines were the streets of The Waterways. The chauffeur navigated along Atlantic, off Cape Horn and into Bay of Islands, passing large private homes, and swept under the portico of Bali Hai, a vaguely Balinese-inspired block of four exclusive apartments.

Alfredo Camboni, now widowed, had the penthouse and was cared for by a valet, a daily housekeeper and the occasional girlfriend, though these lady friends were rarely there to cook or clean for the ageing Lothario. They were skilled at having a good time and Alfredo, with a heavy-lidded wink, maintained that they kept him young.

Despite losing a small fortune in a housing scheme some years earlier, Alfredo, with his resourceful connections among what Colin called the Calabrian cognoscenti, appeared to have recouped enough to lead a lavish life and indulge his passion for racing and gambling. His only child, Andina, had always been the apple of his eye. His friends within the close-knit Italian community elevated their sons to share their status and power, relegating the women to domestic roles and the background of their business lives. But Alfredo and Dina were an unusual pair. Alfredo shared more about his professional and personal affairs with Dina than he did with his partners or had done with his wife when she was alive. He’d adored his pretty daughter since she was a child and had made her the most important person in his life. A strong son-in-law would not have sat well with Alfredo. And Dina was not about to let a husband come between her and her indulgent father. Alfredo tolerated Colin, but the Australian boy from the bush had always been an outsider in the clannish Italian family.

Dina and Colin ascended towards the penthouse in silence after a snippy altercation over the luggage in the lobby. As the padded leather doors slid open at the top floor, Colin braced a bag to keep the doors open as he dragged the rest from the lift. Dina sailed ahead to the double white doors with gold handles and
Penthouse
inscribed in gold gothic script. Chimes rang as the valet opened both doors and Dina swept in towards her father. The
valet was about to close the doors when he saw Colin struggling with the bags and went to help.

‘
Cara,
Andina,
bella mia
. . .’

When Colin came in he tried not to recoil as the garlicky breath of Camboni blew on one side of his face, then the other, as he too was embraced.

‘My children. Sit. Gino has opened the champagne. A glass to toast a welcome. I miss my family. I am glad you have come back to this lonely old man.’

He hadn’t seemed so lonely in the company of a buxom blonde when he’d been in Europe last summer, thought Colin, sipping his drink. This is a pretty swish place, Alfredo,’ he commented, walking from the all white apartment out onto the balcony. The long terrace was filled with white wrought-iron furniture and plastic pot plants and palms. Why plastic? thought Colin. This is the tropics. The view was spectacular, sweeping across the marina in one direction and the hinterland in the other.

Camboni appeared behind him. ‘I like the sun. This place does. After my good wife died — may Mary, Jesus and Joseph care and protect her — I had no more heart for Sydney. And it rained a lot. I have family and friends here and I do a little business here and there.’ He shrugged and went back inside to refill his glass, topping up Dina’s as she kicked off her shoes and curled up on the white leather sofa. ‘You get more like your mama every day,
cara,’
he said to her with fondness.

Christ, I hope not, thought Colin, then turned back inside. ‘What sort of business, Alfredo?’

‘I still have connections with my wine import business which I sold, but I deal with some of the clubs and restaurants here. There is another casino being mooted and I might get involved with that, and I have kept a few racing interest . . .’ He smiled a broad and insincere smile. ‘A little of this, a little of that,’ he said enigmatically. ‘This is the Gold Coast, there is gold here to be found one way or another. I might be able to put a little business your way.’

‘I understand,’ said Colin quietly, knowing what the evasive and glib comments meant.

‘So what are your plans?’ Alfredo sat heavily beside his daughter, the leather squeaking as he settled his bulk.

Colin looked down at them and nearly burst out laughing. In the all white apartment, Alfredo was wearing white slacks and a white silk shirt unbuttoned to reveal coils of matted grey hair on his deeply tanned chest where a heavy gold chain lay in the folds of skin at his neck. White shoes, white socks, a gold watch and silver hair, but his eyes were still dark and hard to read. Unwittingly Dina also wore a white silk skirt and white blouse, the coloured Gucci scarf now removed and knotted on the gold handle of her straw handbag, also by Gucci. She too wore a lot of Cartier gold and suddenly to Colin they looked like matching Christmas ornaments.

‘Yes, darling, what are they?’ asked Dina.

‘Sorry, what’s what?’ asked Colin as the Camboni father and daughter stared up at him.

‘Are you jet lagged? Plans. Pappa wants to know our plans.’

‘That’s up to you, my sweet. I thought it would be nice for you to see your father again. And I have some family matters to take care of . . . no special plans.’

Dina looked at him with arched brows. ‘Family matters? The first I have heard of this.’

‘It’s nothing important. Well, it’s financial, I’m thinking of consolidating my position.’ Colin gave a thin smile. ‘Just a bit of a cashflow situation.’ He turned to Alfredo. ‘Dina is very good at shopping.’ The flippant remark didn’t come out as light-heartedly as he’d intended.

Camboni frowned. ‘You can’t deny the ladies their little shopping trips. Keeps them happy. And if the women are happy, they keep their men happy. Isn’t that what your mother taught you, Dina?’

‘Si, Pappa.’

Give them money to go out and spend up and they don’t make waves about the mistress, thought Colin. Or they allow the old boy his monthly sexual favour.

Dina was glaring at him as if reading his thoughts. Colin smiled tightly and put down his glass. ‘Maybe I am a bit tired after the flight. I might take a shower. We’ll talk more later, there’s no rush,’ he said easily, and escaped to the guest suite.

He stretched out on the bed as the low
murmur of Italian conversation drifted from the sitting room. Colin could speak Italian well now but he didn’t bother to listen. He closed his eyes. He’d been truthful, he had little money of his own and what he earned Dina spent. It was time he re-established his own currency.

Queenie sat by TR’s bedside where he lay asleep. She stared at this man she loved so deeply, knowing intimately every detail of his face and body. How she missed him. She missed his physical presence in her life but most of all she missed his company, his emotional support, his laughter. This blank wall she faced when he stared through her was more painful than if he’d hit her.

Queenie felt tears overwhelming her and she bowed her head, resting it on the bed beside TR’s shoulder. He stirred in his drug-induced sleep and slowly moved his mobile arm and gently stroked the top of Queenie’s head, running his hand down the silky length of her hair fanned around her head and shoulder and spilling onto the bed. His familiar and gentle touch was like a calming waterfall washing over her. Gradually she lifted her head, her eyes full of love, a smile hovering at her lips. TR’s eyes fluttered open and he stared at her for a second, then realising his hand was resting on her hair he snatched it away, a look of confused embarrassment sweeping over him.

The pain was almost unbearable for Queenie. She grabbed his hand. ‘TR, please,
it’s me . . .
Queenie.’
She gripped his fingers but he pulled away.

‘No! I’m sorry. I just can’t understand all this.’ He looked at her with shifting eddies of fear and panic in his eyes. ‘You’re a beautiful woman, I’m sure any man would love you,
but 1 just don’t know you.’
He closed his eyes again and in a pained quiet voice added, ‘And I don’t know me’.

Queenie couldn’t speak for a moment, her throat constricted, and she delved in her handbag to hide her confusion. Taking a deep breath, she brought out a small parcel and unwrapped it. There were several photographs in silver frames and an envelope of loose ones.

‘This is our wedding picture.’ She put the framed picture by his bed. TR stared at the two of them looking into each other’s eyes, smiling with such an expression of love and happiness it made the viewer seem an interloper on this private and joyful moment.

‘These are pictures of Tingulla. This is Millie and Jim. Here’s Snowy . . .’ She handed him the photos, which he took with his good hand, glanced at and put to one side. It was obvious they meant nothing to him.

Queenie quickly gathered them up, anguish etched on her face. ‘I just thought . . . Never mind.’ She put them back in the envelope.

‘Leave them . . . I’ll look at them again later.’ He saw how hurt she was — her eyes were wet with tears.

‘Perhaps I should leave you alone for a little while. To give you time to adjust . . . ’

‘Yes, maybe that would be best. Go back to your station . . . Tin . . . ?’

‘Gulla. Tingulla,’ she replied. God, how could he not remember? she thought.

‘Yes. Tingulla. It’s just that I feel overwhelmed.’

Queenie stood. ‘I’ll be checking with the sister and Doctor McConnell. But I will come and see you again soon.’ She reached out and touched his arm. ‘TR, you are very loved. Never forget that and never feel alone. We are your family and we are here to help you.’

He nodded. It was an awkward and unsatisfactory farewell. Queenie quietly left the room, her heart ready to burst.

TR turned his head and stared at the photo on the small cabinet by his bed. Two people looked with love at each other, but they were strangers to him.

Queenie’s sorrow hadn’t lifted when she drove up the driveway to the homestead, but seeing the land spread around her, knowing the work to be done, filled her with resolve, and once she began thinking of the tasks ahead, her energy and spirit were renewed. TR would return to Tingulla and things would be as they were. In the meantime, it was one day at a time.

Millie was first to greet her, rushing down the steps as a smiling Ruthie hovered in the doorway. ‘Why don’ you ever tell a soul when you is coming, Queenie? Just turn up. How come you don’t fly back?’ She hugged her as she got out of the car. ‘So how is he?’

‘About the same.’ Queenie reached for her bag. ‘I flew to Longreach and decided to drive out. I needed time to think a bit. I borrowed this truck from the stock and station blokes in town. I said Jim and I’d get it back to them in a day or so.’

‘No worries, luv. Jim is at the sheds. I’ll put the kettle on, you look exhausted.’ She took Queenie’s bag from her and handed it to Ruthie. ‘Take this upstairs, luv, and go and get a message to the men that the missus is back.’

By the time Queenie had showered, put on her favourite moleskin pants and a clean shirt and avoided paying close attention to TR’s clothes and belongings, Millie had tea and pikelets set out in the kitchen. When Queenie came in, Jim rose to greet her with a warm hug and Snowy came through the screen door, scraping his hat from his head, a smile lighting up his face.

Over the steaming cups of tea Queenie tried to explain as best she could TR’s current situation and unclear prognosis. ‘So until he is physically well enough to be moved back here we’ll just have to carry on without him. Tango will manage Guneda and Sas has her nose back in her books, though being closest to the hospital she’ll visit him as often as she can.’

‘You’ve managed this place before on your own,’ said Millie firmly.

‘We didn’t have such a huge merino programme under way then, Millie, and Cricklewood wasn’t a fully functioning cattle station,’ sighed Queenie.