Heart of the Dreaming (19 page)

With Millie back at the helm the house was spotless, although lacking Queenie's personal touch. Queenie sniffed appreciatively at the smell of baking which led her to the kitchen.

Sitting at the large pine kitchen table, watching Millie pull a batch of scones from the Aga oven, was Sarah. Both girls squealed in delight and ran to hug each other, making Millie jump. ‘My goodness, Queenie. You didn't half give me a shock. You might have told us you were coming back. And so soon,' exclaimed Millie, as Queenie gave her a hug.

‘What for, Millie? Everything looks great, the tea's made, scones are ready and you've got my best friend sitting here!' Queenie turned to Sarah. ‘So … ? Tell me
everything
.'

Sarah didn't say a word but simply held up her left hand, dangling it in front of Queenie's nose. A sapphire and diamond ring glinted in the light.

‘You're not! Engaged! Oh, Sarah … who, who, who?' demanded Queenie, examining the ring.

‘You don't know him … but he's wonderful.'

‘Of course! Don't tell me … he's a Swiss banker, an Austrian ski instructor … a Venetian gondolier!'

‘No, he's a Sydney boy now, but originally from Inverell and his name is John Maxwell.'

‘A bush boy from sapphire country … no
wonder you have such a lovely ring. What's he do?'

Sarah settled down for a long chat, extolling the virtues of her fiancé, John. He had worked in real estate in rural NSW, selling farms and houses, but made the move to Sydney where he had built up a reputation as a top salesman. They had met on the ship when Sarah sailed for England, and met again in London. The smitten John had followed her to Europe and proposed under the Leaning Tower of Pisa.

‘Oh, Sarah … it's like a fairy tale,' laughed Queenie. Impulsively she hugged Sarah. ‘I hope you'll be so, so happy.'

Millie turned away, her eyes filled with tears. Seeing Queenie so ecstatic for her friend when Queenie had not only lost a love, but a child as well, was too much for Millie.

Millie crossed her fingers and muttered a silent prayer that Queenie, too, would find a man to make her eyes shine like Sarah's.

‘So when is it to be? What do your parents think?'

‘They like him. Dad has given up the idea I'll ever be a career girl, so I think they're rather pleased. Mum isn't too happy that I'll be so far away in Sydney. She's hoping John will move up here one day and sell big stations and stuff, but he won't. Oh, Queenie, he is so bright, and he just has a way of getting on with people, and he's honest.'

Queenie suddenly grabbed Sarah's hand. ‘Get married here at Tingulla. Oh, Sarah, let me give you the wedding as a present … would your parents mind?'

Sarah's face lit up. ‘That would be wonderful. Tingulla is so beautiful and so … special. Are you sure?'

‘Of course. We can put up John's family and friends if you like, and you can marry in our church here on the property. We'll make it the loveliest wedding ever! Won't we, Millie?'

‘My word we will. Don't you worry about that, Sarah.'

As the two girls talked excitedly and began making plans, Millie went quietly about her work. She thought how good it would be to see the church used for a happy occasion.

An hour passed and Millie replenished the teapot, enjoying the sound of Queenie laughing at the endless stream of amusing tales Sarah related.

‘You should travel overseas, Queenie. You'd adore Europe. Now that you've got a manager, why not?'

‘One day, Sarah. I have too many things I want to do here. Tingulla is my career.'

‘What about Colin?'

‘We won't know what his plans are until he graduates.'

‘With Colin back here it will almost be like old times.' Both girls were silent for a moment, knowing things would never really be the same again.

Before embarking on plans for Sarah's wedding, Queenie invited Warwick into her study after dinner. ‘Warwick, your trial basis is up and I'm very happy with what you've been doing. I'd like to extend your contract … if you're interested.'

Warwick paused. ‘Yes, I would be interested. But frankly, Queenie, I'd like to take on a bit more than a caretaker role here. You did mention you had plans to develop a stockhorse breeding programme and I think you could upgrade the overall quality of Tingulla's wool. There are a few people starting to get into goats, too, you know, for the cashmere and angora.'

‘Goats! Oh, Warwick! They're such stupid things and they have to be mothered a lot from what I hear. They sound like far too much trouble. But I'm pleased you're thinking along the same lines. I can't afford to go mad, though I would like to expand, it's just …'

‘You need a bit of advice along the way, that's all,' said Warwick, realising Queenie found it difficult to admit she might be getting out of her depth.

One Sunday, Queenie arranged a barbecue for the hired hands, the jackaroos, the stockmen, Jim, Ernie the rouseabout, and Snowy. Warwick kept quietly in the background as Queenie told them Warwick would be staying on and that she had plans to improve and develop the property. The men appreciated being put in the picture and each felt a special pride in working at Tingulla. They all wanted to see Queenie succeed.

Privately though, they were glad Warwick would stay boss. Queenie was too much of an attractive woman and sometimes too stubborn and hot tempered, to be giving the men orders on a daily basis. It also irritated some
of them, especially the young jackaroos, that she could do their jobs so much better than them, as well as outride and outshoot them.

So Warwick settled into life at Tingulla. Although he stayed in the main house, he was gone at dawn and only ate an evening meal with Queenie on occasional nights. The rest of the time he ate with the men. Sundays he went socialising, playing tennis at the Quinns' or visiting other friends. Queenie didn't question him about his private life and was glad she didn't have to entertain him.

Queenie also received invitations to functions but turned most of them down. However, she keenly accepted an invitation to dinner at the Quinns' to meet Sarah's John.

It was a large gathering of family and friends, a kind of engagement party, and Queenie liked John Maxwell the moment Sarah introduced them.

He shook her hand warmly. ‘I feel I know you, Queenie. Even though I'm taking Sarah away to Sydney I hope you'll consider our home yours, too — any time.'

Queenie thanked John, feeling a tug at her heart as she watched Sarah, holding John's hand, manoeuvre him around the room to meet everyone. He was a sandy-haired, solidly built man, with flecked hazel eyes that always seemed to be smiling.

Queenie could see why he was so successful. He had a friendly country style, which she realised sheltered a shrewd business mind. His father was a bank manager in Inverell, and John was financially comfortable. Sarah told
Queenie he had bought them, ‘An adorable little house in an area John says is the best kept secret in Sydney. It's going to double in value really fast'.

Queenie laughed. ‘You're already sounding like the wife of a successful real estate agent!'

‘Sarah's done all right for herself,' commented Warwick to Queenie as he passed by looking for the hors d'oeuvres.

Before leaving, Sarah and her mother talked over the wedding plans with Queenie: the number of guests, the food, the wedding attendants and the logistics of getting the interstate guests settled at Tingulla.

‘Queenie, I want you to be my bridesmaid, nobody else, just a flower girl and pageboy,' said Sarah.

‘I thought you were going to have a traditional wedding with six groomsmen and six bridesmaids,' laughed Queenie.

‘Just kidding. You're my best friend. I want you beside me for this big event in my life,' said Sarah.

When the decision about where to go for a honeymoon came up, Queenie clapped her hands. ‘I know just the place. My friend Alf's!'

Queenie told Sarah and John about her stay on Neptune Island and they both agreed it sounded perfect.

Perfect. That seemed to be how things were working out for Sarah, and Queenie was determined to make the wedding perfect too. Her life, it seemed, would not follow the same ordered path as Sarah's seemed to be following
— with a supportive family, a loyal and loving man, and a secure future.

Queenie wasn't jealous, she was relieved and happy for her childhood friend. She knew Sarah would always be there to call on if she needed her. But Queenie couldn't help wondering when she, too, would find happiness.

If Queenie had written a list of exactly what she wanted for Sarah's wedding day and sent it to heaven, things couldn't have been more perfect.

The sun blazed in a cloudless sky, but a soft breeze kept it from being too hot; it rustled the gum leaves and lifted the edge of Sarah's embroidered veil. The little church, which Queenie had decorated with bowers of wattle and heavy branches of scarlet bottlebrush, overflowed with people.

Nareedah, brushed so she shone, with her mane and tail braided with ribbons, and a garland of flowers over her ears, pulled the tiny sulky bearing the bride and groom from the church to the homestead.

The verandah and drawing room were transformed with flowers. Millie and Mrs Quinn had excelled themselves with the lavish buffet spread along one side of the verandah.
Tables and chairs were set on the front lawn, shaded by a canopy of branches covered in lemon-scented gum leaves. The natural perfume drifted over the guests beneath, and dappled light danced on the table tops.

Queenie had continued Sarah's green theme by dyeing the tablecloths a pale apple green, with centrepieces of creamy gardenias. The triple-tiered wedding cake was decorated with iced gardenias and topped with a bouquet of fresh lily of the valley. White roses with green ribbons trailed about the poles holding the leafy canopy over the dance floor.

Extra staff had been brought over from the Quinns' and everyone working at Tingulla was included in the wedding festivities.

Warwick agreed to act as master of ceremonies. ‘It's all very informal, anyway,' said Queenie, ‘but it is good of you.'

Warwick turned out to be a witty and charming choice, adding just the right note of joviality and sentimentality where needed.

As dusk drew in, the torches in the garden were lit and the band changed from discreet background music to romantic dance tunes.

Looping up her train Sarah led John to the dance floor followed by Queenie and Warwick. Unlike the bridegroom, who shuffled through the basic steps, Warwick waltzed Queenie around the floor in sweeping style to much applause.

‘You dance as well as you make speeches,' said Queenie. ‘What other talents have you been hiding from me?'

‘Wait and see,' teased Warwick, tightening
his grip a little to pull Queenie closer to him. He wanted to tell her how beautiful she looked in the deep emerald green silk dress that matched her eyes. Her hair was piled on top of her head, with a gardenia posy tucked in one side. Circling her throat were the opals her parents had given her. She looked sophisticated and very elegant.

Warwick had almost gasped when he'd first seen her just before the ceremony, remembering how she had dressed when he'd arrived at Tingulla. Out of those baggy shirts, he found Queenie had a showgirl body.

‘I'm glad you don't dress like this all the time. I'd never get any work done,' said Warwick provocatively.

Queenie blushed, but enjoyed the compliment.

During a break in the dancing Sarah took Queenie aside and pressed a small box into her hand. ‘A little present from John and me to say thank you.'

Inside were a pair of dainty emerald earrings. ‘Oh, Sarah … you shouldn't. This is too much.'

‘Nonsense. We wanted to give you this for making my wedding so utterly wonderful. I'll never forget this, it's the happiest day of my life.'

Sarah and Queenie hugged each other as Warwick approached. ‘My turn to dance with the bride. And the groom is looking for you, Queenie.'

Queenie enjoyed herself more than she could remember. Millie and Mrs Quinn had
everything running smoothly, the food was lavish, friends and families mingled happily, and Queenie found Warwick made her laugh and relax. If there was a subtle shift in their relationship from boss and employee to good friends having fun, Queenie put it down to the social circumstances.

She was intrigued by Warwick, whom she had never considered the sort of man whose company she would so enjoy. He told her stories of living abroad, his escapades in Sydney, his two failed love affairs and how his once-rich parents had fallen on hard times. ‘So, I'm making my own way in the world, Queenie. I admit I'm ambitious — but not at the expense of others. I'll probably never be as rich as my Dad was — I don't have the killer instinct.' They both smiled and their eyes met. As they stood in silence for those few short seconds, each sensed that their friendship had taken a new direction.

Several weeks later Warwick came to Queenie and asked her about Cricklewood.

Queenie looked up in surprise. ‘Why?'

‘I understand it's not being utilised. Jim mentioned Snowy had repaired the fences and there was reasonable feed there a few months back. I was reading about these new strains of cattle, Brahmans and Charolais which are big tough beasts and carry a lot of meat. Why don't you run some up there?'

‘Oh, Warwick, I'm stretched to the limit at the bank. I'd have to hire more men, and the stock wouldn't be cheap.'

‘The returns can be phenomenal, Queenie.' Warwick pulled a chair round the desk to sit beside her, spreading out the papers on the desk.

Together they studied stock prices and projected financial returns. Queenie, deep in thought, chewed the end of her pencil, and Warwick was suddenly aware their heads were almost touching as they leaned over the documents. A warmth spread through him and he breathed in the sweet smell of Queenie's hair.

‘Well? What do you reckon?'

Queenie sat back. ‘I must say it all sounds pretty good. It's the outlay of capital that worries me.'

‘I'd like to see Cricklewood. Couldn't we take a couple of days' break and drive over there?'

‘It's been very dry, I suppose the roads are okay. It'd be a bit of a rough trip,' mused Queenie.

‘C'mon, boss,' cajoled Warwick.

‘I guess so … I've been feeling restless since the wedding. We'll leave in two days,' said Queenie finally, pushing back her chair.

They were half a day's hard driving from Cricklewood. They'd taken the shorter back road to save time, but it was in poor condition. The few vehicles that had gone through during the last wet season had left deep ruts, now dried to cement hardness while the rest of the road was axle-deep bull dust, as fine as red talcum powder.

Warwick was driving and Queenie dozed in the heat, a rolled jacket under her head, cushioning her face against the window as the Land Rover lurched along.

The sun-baked landscape looked bloodshot, the red afternoon light bouncing off the orange and ochre rocks. Warwick rubbed his eyes and in the split second his attention wavered, a giant red shape loomed in front of them.

He swerved, instinctively wrenching the wheel to the side as the left fender crashed into the body of a huge kangaroo. There was the sound of bending metal as the roo staggered and the Land Rover veered into the loose dirt, the back wheels spinning as Warwick fought to stop it rolling. He spun the wheel and the car slid to a halt, crunching into a low boulder. The wheel lifted and buckled, leaving the tyre spinning uselessly in the air.

Warwick cursed and turned to Queenie, who was gripping the handlebar on the dashboard with one hand, the other covering her eyebrow which had been split. Blood dribbled between her fingers.

‘Christ, are you okay, Queenie? I hit a roo — couldn't do much about it.' He bent forward lifting her hand away to examine her face.

‘You did well. I thought we were going over. Thank God these are solid vehicles.'

They got down and examined the damage. Queenie took the first aid kit from under the front seat.

‘Here, let me.' Warwick helped her to sit in the shade. Leaning against the side of the
car, he swabbed her cut with antiseptic, crossing two Band-aids over the cut. ‘It doesn't look too bad, hope it doesn't leave a scar.'

‘Thanks, Warwick. Well, step one in the outback emergency list is to boil the billy, I believe,' said Queenie.

She watched Warwick gather dry wood for the fire. Already a dull throb was hammering at the back of her head.

Warwick leaned down and snapped a solid small branch from a log then peeled off some dry bark. With a sudden exclamation, he leapt back and dropped the wood, cursing and holding his arm.

Queenie scrambled to her feet.

‘Get the gun. It's a bloody snake!' shouted Warwick, not taking his eyes off the bronzed snake, curled tightly, its head lashing from side to side as it poised to strike again, its tongue flicking swiftly in and out.

Queenie aimed the gun and fired. Most of the snake disintegrated in the blast. ‘Got it. A king brown snake … damned dangerous. Good thing it didn't get you, Warwick.'

Warwick held out his wrist with two red punctures. ‘I'm afraid it did.' The laconic remark and casual grin hid the fear beginning to burn in the pit of his stomach.

Queenie caught her breath but spoke calmly. ‘It'll be all right. Don't panic. Come back to the truck.'

The first-aid kit was basic. Warwick reached for the razor blade and made a small incision, letting his blood run onto the ground.

‘Don't suck it, you might swallow the
poison,' said Queenie, quickly pushing the pile of twigs together, lighting the fire and putting on the billy of water.

‘You think tea is going to help?' asked Warwick.

‘I need boiling water. I'm going to make an Aboriginal antidote for snakebite. It's a long shot but Snowy told me about it years ago, and showed me the plants.'

She saw Warwick's raised eyebrow. ‘Look, I know most people knock Aborigines, but they've survived out here a long time and Snowy knows a lot about the bush. I'm going to give it a go. We haven't much alternative, anyway.'

Warwick's eyes were closed. He opened them slightly. ‘Okay.'

Queenie gazed about the bare landscape in the fading light. ‘Warwick, breathe slowly, keep the arm down and stay as quiet as possible. I'll be back in a few minutes.

Taking a small-handled axe from under the front seat, Queenie broke into a sprint, heading for the hazy, distant green-grey clump of scrub.

She found what she was looking for and using the axe, stripped papery bark from a small tree, and pulled spiked leaves from a nearby shrub, heedless of the thorns which ripped at her skin. She ran back to the car, her breath rasping in her chest and sweat running down her shirt.

Warwick was lying down, his eyes closed. He had been vomiting and was drowsy. The venom was taking effect.

Queenie built up the fire, shredded the leaves and dropped them into the boiling water. She put the bark at the edge of the fire to smoulder.

When the water in the billy had cooled she lifted Warwick's head, encouraging him to drink. He looked at her with glazed eyes and didn't seem to understand what she was saying. Gradually he managed to swallow, and struggled to focus on Queenie.

‘Don't try to speak. Relax. Just sip. It's going to be all right.'

She then took the charred bark and rubbed it into a powdery ash. This she spread over the puncture wound on his wrist then bound it firmly with a bandage from the first-aid kit. Warwick closed his eyes again, beginning to drift into a feverish world suspended between reality and nightmare.

Queenie next turned her attention to the vehicle. She examined the wheel and axle sitting on the rock. The wheel looked out of alignment, but the suspension and axle looked in reasonable shape. She got out the jack and put it under the front bumper bar and cranked it until it would go no further. The axle had only lifted about half an inch off the rock.

‘That's enough,' thought Queenie. ‘If I can get it going in reverse, with luck it should slide down the rock.'

She climbed into the cabin very carefully, started the engine and slipped it into reverse gear, her left foot holding the clutch to the floor, her left hand on the handbrake.
‘Right … let's go!' she shouted, and simultaneously let out the clutch, hit the accelerator and plunged the handbrake down.

The Land Rover's wheels dug into the bull dust, the vehicle shook, then suddenly moved backwards. The jack fell away, the axle came down with a thump, and with a crunching slide settled on its four wheels, swerving back onto the road.

Queenie didn't stop to rest. Dragging Warwick to the car she lifted him into the passenger seat with enormous difficulty. During the struggle he became semiconscious and was able to take some of his own weight, but collapsed across the seat once she had got him into the cabin.

Queenie fell into the dirt beside the car, her head throbbing. She sat panting for a few seconds, then dashed to the fire, smothered it with dirt, grabbed their gear and scrambled back into the car.

She slid behind the wheel, lifted Warwick's head onto her lap and started the engine.

They arrived at Cricklewood just before dawn. It had been a slow and cautious drive. The Land Rover limped and rattled on its damaged wheel and Queenie could feel the heat from Warwick's fever burning into her lap.