FOLLOW THE MORNING STAR (9 page)

‘It will cost heaps to do the place properly,’ grinned Tony. ’The very best facilities. We might even have a private wing like the Betty Ford Clinic. It will become a place for
executives, high flyers in the media, the rich folk to recover from the stresses that got them there and the excesses they indulge in because they’ve made good. It will have class and style. And be useful,’ he smiled.

Colin tried to be impressed. ‘Makes sense . . . I guess. I don’t know that I know much about all this kind of stuff, I’ve been more into the old world than the new age.’

‘Don’t worry, Colin, we will have the best instructors and staff, the best of equipment and the best of facilities — the best of everything. Your role — should you accept,’ Camboni inclined his head and spread his hands, ‘we see as getting the place up and running. You have the management skills and just the right image for the project. Could be exciting, si?’

‘Alfredo I need to think about this, find out some more details and, of course, talk to Dina. And what’s this image stuff?’

Camboni smiled. ‘Colin, you’re very respectable, very . . .’ he paused, searching for the right word, ’well, one of the family. Now, move that platter of escallops, here’s the pasta.’ The matter was closed as far as Camboni was concerned. He knew Colin would do whatever he and Dina wanted him to do.

Saskia walked swiftly down the corridor towards TR’s room just as a nurse came out. She stopped and greeted Saskia a little apprehensively.

‘How is he?’ asked Saskia. The nurse shook her head slowly. ‘He’s not in a good mood. He
doesn’t make my job easy, which isn’t helping him. We’re never going to get him up on his feet if his attitude doesn’t change.’

‘Still negative, huh?’

‘It’s like he’s given up. He needs to be motivated. His muscles are just melting away. He was obviously such a fit man. It’s a shame.’

‘How is he doing physically?’

‘You’ll have to ask the docs. I would just like to see him change his attitude, be more positive. He can at least do that to help himself,’ she added somewhat sharply. ‘I have to go,’ she said, glancing at her watch. ‘See you later.’

Saskia squared her shoulders, adjusted her face with a smile and pushed open the door. ‘Hi. It’s me, Saskia,’ she announced brightly.

‘I remember your name. I can remember what happened last week at least,’ said TR bitterly. Then, seeing a hurt expression replace the smile, added, ‘It’s nice to have a visitor who isn’t in a uniform. All these wretched medicos, I wish they’d just leave me be.’

‘They’re only trying to help you, TR. Get you back on your feet. Or at least into a wheelchair.’

‘Wheelchairs are for cripples.’

‘That’s not true!’ Then as she pulled some books from her leather satchel Saskia added casually, ‘Well, maybe you are. The nurse says unless you start doing something positive you might well end up a cripple.’

‘Everyone’s a bloody expert,’ said TR crossly. ‘Why can’t they just fix me up, give me back my mind, and I’ll be out of here and on my way.’

‘Because you have to do some of the fixing yourself and you’re not doing that.’ TR didn’t answer and Saskia hurried on. ‘Look, I brought some of my horse books along. I was wondering if we looked at them together you could ask me some question . . . sort of test me. It’s for my anatomy and diagnosis exams next week. They’ve really crept up on me and I don’t feel all that well prepared.’

‘Having me like this hasn’t helped, I suppose,’ said TR and he grinned ruefully at the pretty girl beside the bed.

Saskia’s heart lurched at the flash of TR’s familiar lopsided grin.

‘Okay,’ said TR, taking the book with his good arm.

‘I’ll get us some tea while you skim through it,’ said Saskia, pleased to distract him from his illness for a change.

The question and answer session interested TR and at one point he showed Saskia an illustration of a horse and pointed to its chest. ‘Big chest like that with those muscles, he’s probably got a big heart and would be a good runner.’ He stopped and grinned at her again. ‘I know a bit about horses, do I?’

‘Some,’ laughed Saskia.

‘And you want to work with horses?’

‘Yes. I always wanted to be a vet, but now my interest is more in horses.’ Saskia launched into her reasons why and found she was chatting as she normally did with TR, as he listened patiently.’ . . . and so when Snowy said . . .’

‘Who’s Snowy again?’

Saskia paused as the reality hit her once more. ‘He’s our family wise man . . . he’s an Aboriginal elder as well. But to me he’s like my grandfather.’

‘Tell me about your father. What happened to him?’

‘His name was Warwick Redmond and he was very tall with dark curly hair and was a friend of Dingo’s — he’d worked for a friend of his over in the west, I think — and then he came to manage Tingulla and married Mum. I don’t remember him all that well . . . just certain special memories. He was killed in a plane crash when I was very young.’

Saskia bit her lip. ‘Apart from my mother, you’ve had the strongest influence on me, TR.’

He looked at the tall, beautiful young woman with the thick dark curls, heartshaped face so like her mother’s and large grey eyes that sometimes took on the deep green lights of Queenie’s emerald eyes. TR suddenly felt sad and depressed. The spark of interest that prompted him to question Saskia made him painfully aware of the blackness in his mind. He had tried to peer into the recesses of his memory but found it was like staring into a tunnel, a long tunnel filled with grey fog where nothing had shape or meaning; but he knew, shrouded within that impenetrable mist were pictures, feelings and the knowledge of his past life.

Saskia looked at him and could sense immediately how he felt. His lack of motivation was almost palpable. She patted his hand and leaned close to him. ‘Can I give you a kiss?’

He smiled sadly at her as she gently kissed his cheek.

‘You’ll start to feel better soon, TR. You wait.’

She spoke with calm assurance and TR thought how like her mother she was. What determined and positive women they were. He tried to imagine how he fitted into their lives and could not. Tiredly he lifted a hand in farewell. ‘Take care, kid.’

‘Dina, let’s walk.’

‘Walk?
Perche, caro?
We have three cars here.’ Dina looked up from her magazine at Colin standing in the doorway.

Colin glanced around Alfredo’s pristine apartment which managed to set his teeth on edge. ‘I don’t want your father walking in on us. I want to be alone with you.’

Dina rubbed her hand across his groin. ‘Ooh, now that’s the man I married!’

Colin pushed her hand away. ‘Dina, right now I just want to talk. Come on, let’s wander down to the marina.’

She pouted, collected her sunglasses, a scarf and touched up her lipstick. ‘All right.
Vieni.’

They strolled down the manicured street to the marina. Dina wanted to look in the shops and Colin bought them each a Cornetto. They walked down one of the long wharves looking at the luxury cruisers and yachts as they ate. Dina’s ice cream was soon smeared with red lipstick. Colin brushed a fleck of chocolate from her lip.

‘You’re being very attentive. What are you going to say to me?’

‘It just looked messy . . . the bit of chocolate.’ he explained. He then proceeded to outline her father’s plan for the health resort and his role in it. Dina said nothing and showed no response and appeared to be more concerned with getting the last bit of ice cream from the bottom of the cone. Colin had a sneaking suspicion she already knew about the plan but he went on anyway. ‘What do you think? Would you be willing to live back in Australia? I’ve given it a lot of thought but I’d like a bit longer before I give your father my decision. I reckon I could do the job. The idea is not a bad one.’

Colin spoke nonchalantly but he was trying to conceal his growing excitement. The more he thought about this job the more he realised it was ideal. It would allow him to conceal his real motives for being in Australia — to strip his sister of her assets, to avoid having to face up to his paternal responsibilities and to carve out for himself a financially comfortable life without Dina.

‘We could take that pink penthouse.’

Colin stopped and stared at her. ‘What are you talking about?’

‘Somewhere to live. The building next door to Pappa has the penthouse for rent.’

‘Dina! Let’s think of the job first. I was thinking of living in the hinterland near to the project. It’s only twenty-five minutes away from the coast. And I can’t afford any fancy penthouse. And I’m not living in some pink place called the Flamingo for Chrissake!’

‘Is that what it’s called? How cute.’

‘Dina . . . Look, I’ll make it easy. Just answer yes or no. Do you want to live in Australia again?’

‘If I can live at the coast, in . . .’

‘Yes or no.’

‘Urn . . . si.’

‘Will you live with me in the hinterland in a nice house with beautiful views?’

‘No.’

‘No?’

‘No. I want to live in that penthouse. I’ll ask my father to fix it for us. You can drive half an hour to work each day. That’s nothing at all.’

‘Dina, we are
not
living in that bloody monstrosity.’

‘But, darling — ’

‘No, Dina,’ said Colin in a menacing tone.

She knew better than to argue with him further. It could wait. Dina knew she only had to lure Colin into bed wearing her jewellery and G-string panties, spend a long time licking between his toes and working her way up his body, and she would be able to get him to agree to anything. She licked her sticky fingers as they listened to the hearty talk and laughter above the clink of glasses where several long lunches were still in progress on the decks of boats tied to the finger wharves.

‘We could get a boat.’

Colin gave her a slow, sexy smile. ‘Maybe.’ But not with my money, he thought. ‘Come on, let’s go back.’ He followed Dina as she picked her way along the wharf making sure her high-heeled gold sandals didn’t get caught in any cracks in the timber decking, the cheeks
of her rounded buttocks swivelling provocatively. She was a sexy bitch. Colin felt the familiar surge of lust for his sexually skilled wife. Their marriage was a potent mix of easy money, kinky sex and the occasional dangerous liaison. Until he got what he wanted from Queenie, he could live with that.

Chapter Seven

Queenie couldn’t sleep. Dawn would soon be breaking. She rolled on her side and swung her legs over the bed. She sat for a moment, gripping the edge of the mattress, staring unseeing at the sheepskin rug on the floor. Was TR asleep? Was he in pain? Was he lying there staring at the hospital wall trying to recapture the memories of his past life? Each morning when she awoke she hoped these past weeks had been a dreadful dream, but the empty bed beside her, the silence of the house and the ache in her heart, reminded her of the painful reality.

She ran her fingers through the thick mane of her hair, stood and stretched. She had taken to wearing TR’s clothes occasionally: a shirt, a sweater in the cool of evening, and, like now, one of his white cotton T-shirts to bed. She felt by doing this she kept him close to her and she imagined she could feel and smell the
lingering essence of him. Queenie pushed open the French doors of the bedroom and walked out onto the upstairs verandah.

Dew shone on the lawns and a faint wisp of mist threaded itself around the trees and shrubs as the temperature began to change from the crispness of the night to the warmth of the day. She could feel tears welling in her eyes and sadness engulfing her, but she glanced up and saw the beacon of the morning star and drew a deep breath, turning indoors and heading for the shower.

Dressed and feeling more energetic and positive, she headed along the hallway and paused outside Tango’s old room then went downstairs to the kitchen. What comfort and strength she drew from her son, this symbol of the love she and TR shared. How like TR he was, but still very much a man in his own right. He looked like TR, those same brilliant blue eyes, broad shoulders and tapering slim body, the same lopsided grin and sun-tinged hair; but she also saw herself in her son — the way he moved, flashes of her stubbornness and humour, and from both of them he’d inherited a love of, and gift with, horses.