Heart of the Dreaming (38 page)

‘I have no idea. I don't know Sydney that well myself. If you're interested I could find out. I'll call him.'

Queenie could hear the gruff, heavily accented voice booming down the phone.

‘A lady wants to know? Is she pretty?' asked the incorrigible old painter.

‘Oh, very,' replied the gallery owner, giving Queenie a smile.

There was a brief exchange and he hung up. He wrote on a piece of paper and handed it to Queenie. ‘You're invited round for tea at his studio. Watch out though, he's a terrible flirt.'

Queenie laughed and did indeed ring and make an appointment with the old artist.

Sali Herman was a charmer. Short, balding and overflowing with European manners, he
looked twenty years younger than he was. He pushed his hugely fat black and white cat off a chair and waved Queenie to be seated.

He started by asking her about herself — she was brief, but when she mentioned she was from the bush, Sali clapped his hands and told her of his experiences in the outback, which he adored. He told her of growing up in a family of nineteen children in Switzerland, of coming to Australia as a young man, his many love affairs, his wartime experiences in New Guinea. Several hours were swallowed in a flash.

Sali took Queenie's arm and led her into the dining room. Fresh tropical fruit, cheeses, French bread and good wine and rich cakes were spread on the table under a gauze cloth. ‘Our lunch,' he announced.

‘It looks too good to eat. Like a still life, perhaps you should paint it,' laughed Queenie.

‘I prefer to feed my stomach, then I can satisfy my artistic spirit,' said Sali.

‘Sali, I nearly forgot to ask, where are the terrace houses you painted? Are they in Australia?'

‘They're here in Sydney. In my secret place. I will take you there. To Glebe.'

Glebe turned out to be an inner suburb, close to the city. Parts of it were neglected and overlooked, only the larger, wealthier homes on its fringes looked impressive. Tucked away in its leafy back streets were Sali's row of two-storey terrace houses. They were run down, and badly in need of paint; and although some
had the remains of attractive wrought iron balconies, other balconies had been enclosed with ugly fibro sheeting and glass.

Queenie stared thoughtfully at the last house in the row. A peeling yellow and black ‘For Sale' sign was stuck in the downstairs front window. She went through the wrought iron gate and rapped at the door.

John stood on the footpath staring at the row of terrace houses. ‘You want to buy this house? For God's sake — why, Queenie? It's cheap, but you can do a lot, lot better.'

‘Don't sound so exasperated, John,' said Queenie calmly. ‘You don't know what I want to do with it. Remember you said I was good at transforming places when I moved into the Balmain house.'

‘Decorating a rental place is one thing. Buying a derelict joint in a rundown area is quite a different matter.'

‘Before I buy it, I want to make a few enquiries and I need your help. I want to contact the owners of all the other places in the row.'

‘What on earth for?'

‘Because I want to buy those as well.'

‘Are you out of your mind? That will take, at the very least, every cent you've got!'

John paced up and down the kitchen as Sarah made dinner. ‘I can't just stand by and watch her sink every cent — plus take out a loan — for a bunch of old houses. She'll never get her money back on rental and they're certainly not an investment. Who'd want to live there?'

‘Queenie says she's going to live in one of them. Maybe she has a clever idea. At least hear her out, John.'

‘It'd better be good,' he muttered.

Queenie spread her sketches of the proposed renovations of the terrace houses before John. Beside it she placed several sheets of paper outlining the potential of Glebe.

‘It's minutes from the city. It's quiet. It has lots of trees, small shops run by Europeans, buildings that could be turned into restaurants yet remain in character with the area, galleries, trendy boutiques, arty shops.'

John studied her plans thoughtfully. ‘I see what you're aiming at … and it's certainly ambitious. Very Parisienne. But how are you going to persuade other people not only to restore these houses to Victorian and Federation elegance, but to also move here?'

‘Once they see what I do … others will follow. I'll get Sarah to do some more publicity and promotion work for me.'

John laughed in open admiration. ‘It's a hell of a bloody gamble, Queenie.'

‘If I fail, I might get my money back. If I succeed I will have accomplished step two.'

‘As a real estate agent, I can see the potential and the sense of what you're saying. As a friend, I'm a bit worried. I don't suppose I can talk you out of it,' sighed John.

‘No,' smiled Queenie.

The locals around Scone, used to wealthy and attractive women, still gave Martine a second
look. TR's glamorous American girlfriend was used to turning heads and this was her third visit to the area. She'd been staying at Guneda for a month now, and in her heart she knew this would be her last visit.

She waited for the right moment, when TR was relaxed and receptive. Handing him a cold beer at the end of the day, she watched him lean back in his chair and stretch his long legs.

‘Thanks, Martine … nothing like a cold beer to finish off a hot and productive day.' He eyed her reflectively. ‘Do you miss your sunset mint juleps?'

‘Sometimes … TR, I've been thinking. I feel it's time that you and I came to some sort of understanding.'

TR lowered his glass and sat upright. ‘I've been waiting for this. I guess it is time we talked.'

‘Just where are we going, TR? You and I? I love being with you, I think we have a lovely relationship. I know you don't want me to say it, but I do love you. I can see that you will never love me … at least, not any more than you are prepared to now. But time is passing and I've come to realise I could never settle here in the bush and that you are devoted to the land. But more than that, I can't compete with whatever memory you hold in your heart. You're not prepared to give yourself, TR, and I'm no longer prepared to wait.' She took a deep breath, tears shining in her eyes.

TR looked at her tenderly, with deep affection and sadness. ‘You are right, Martine. I've tended to just drift along, enjoying the
moments with you — with no thought of any future, any commitment.' He turned away and his voice was husky. ‘I can't do that.'

Martine stood. ‘I know, TR. Whatever or whoever has hold of you … until you lay that ghost to rest you will never truly start living.'

She left him and he wanted to wrap his arms about her and comfort her, but now he didn't want to offer false hope. She was right and he knew it was best for both of them if they went their separate ways. He hoped they would remain friends and that she would make a new life for herself back in America, with someone more suited to her.

His heart ached and he felt very alone.

Dressed in paint-stained Yakka overalls, old riding boots, her hair tied back in a pony tail and without makeup, Queenie scrambled through the junk yard with a measuring tape and a notepad covered with scribbled figures.

‘I'll take the lot,' said Queenie to the old man in charge.

‘Ninety-eight dollars.'

‘Get away!
Ninety-eight
dollars? Make it fifty.'

‘Eighty even.'

‘Sixty, and that's your lot.'

‘I can get more for scrap. Seventy-five is the lowest I can go, lady.'

‘Sixty-five, cash, and I'll take it off your hands now. Take it or leave it.'

He shrugged. What the hell did she want broken bits of rusty wrought iron and lead-light window panes for anyway?

Feeling pleased with herself, Queenie counted out the notes; she had been prepared
to go to seventy-five dollars. The old man watched her load up the back of her four-wheel drive, not offering to help.

She had searched everywhere for matching pieces of iron lace to restore the upstairs balcony of her new Glebe house. In her expeditions around the industrial scrap merchants and small junk dealers, she had discovered a treasure trove of pieces salvaged from demolished homes. It saddened her to see the way the old houses were being bull-dozed for the modern angular boxes of rendered cement, brick, and tinted glass.

She bought light fittings, plaster mouldings, and a stack of Victorian tiles hand painted with dainty flowers, to lay around the fireplace. She had been thrilled when she ripped away the old electric heater and plywood covering to discover a beautiful marble fireplace.

Queenie backed into her small rear courtyard and began dragging her latest haul from the rear of the Range Rover.

‘That's too heavy for you. Let me give you a hand.'

Queenie spun around to find Millie standing by the back door, dressed in a good dress and straw hat, grinning at her. Queenie dropped a piece of iron with a clatter and rushed to hug her. ‘Millie … what a wonderful surprise. What are you doing here? How did you get here? Where's Jim?'

‘Slow down, girl. Invite me in and give me a cuppa and I'll tell you all. Where's Sas?'

‘She's at school. Oh, Millie, she loves it. Look, I'm sorry the place is such a mess,' said
Queenie, stepping over piles of building materials as she led Millie indoors.

Queenie put the kettle on and pushed the Weet Bix packet and remains of breakfast to one side of the scrubbed pine kitchen table. ‘Had to leave early to take Saskia to school then get to the junk dealers to see what I could scrounge.'

‘You fixing this place up, then?'

‘More than that — restoring it, Millie. I want to get it back to its original condition then decorate it and do the courtyard. It's going to look lovely.'

‘Lot of work.'

‘I know. I feel a bit like a labourer's apprentice, but I can't afford to pay people — besides no one quite understands what I'm doing,' smiled Queenie ruefully.

‘Good thing I turned up then,' said Millie standing up and lifting the steaming kettle off the stove.

‘What do you mean, Millie?'

Millie poured the boiling water into the teapot. ‘I've left Tingulla. Couldn't take that foreign biddy bossing me around any more.'

‘Oh, Millie, I am sorry. That's terrible. How can you leave Tingulla? And where's Jim?'

‘Don't you fret about it. Things have worked out real good. I'm going to stay here and look after you and Saskia, same as before, and …'

‘Millie! I can't pay you, this place is tiny, you won't like the city, and what about Jim?'

‘Let me finish,' said Millie calmly, bringing the pot to the table and settling herself
opposite Queenie. ‘I belong with you and Sas. I can see you need me. I don't care where I live for the moment. It'll just be till you get on your feet. I know you want to get back to Tingulla one day, and you'll do it, Queenie luv, I know you will. Besides, it may be sooner than you think. Colin is making a right mess of the place.'

‘Oh, no!'

‘He wouldn't listen to Jim or Mr Quinn. That wife of his has him buying this and doing that. The place is like a flipping hotel — party after party, all these people up from Sydney. I didn't mind the work … it was her being such a bossy boots, never a thank you, just complain all the time. You know what the problems can be like when the generator breaks down and there's no water being pumped to the house, no power … my goodness, did she throw a turn,' Millie commented with grim satisfaction.

‘I can imagine.'

‘Jim didn't have it any better with young Colin. Even Snowy was gettin' fed up. Took off and went walkabout for a couple of weeks, and he hasn't done that in a long time. So we had a bit of a mag about it all and decided we'd leave. Jim has gone to work for TR at Guneda, I'm staying with you — forget about the money, I got a bit put away — and I'll go up to Guneda when I can … holidays and like … to stay with Jim.'

‘And Snowy and the boys?'

‘Don't worry. Snowy says he'll stay and watch over the place. He just keeps to himself.'

Queenie sighed and sipped the tea Millie had poured during this speech. ‘It breaks my heart to think of everyone and everything being so … uprooted.'

‘Don't you worry. Just put it out of your mind. You got to get yourself back on top. Now — what are you doing and what do you want me to do?' She smiled at the dishevelled Queenie, who was staring at her with tears glistening in her eyes.

‘Millie, I don't know what to say.'

‘I'm here and there's nothing you can do about it. You got a spare bed, or you going to put me out in the street?'

‘Well, you can start by taking off your hat.' Queenie reached out and patted her hand. ‘Thanks, Millie, you're wonderful.'

Queenie collected Saskia from school and told her there was a surprise waiting for her at home. Saskia bolted through the narrow house and squealed with joy to find Millie making biscuits in the tiny kitchen. She dropped her school bag and flung her arms around Millie's waist.

Watching in delight Queenie explained that Millie had come to stay and would sleep in the small downstairs bedroom, and that Jim would be working at Guneda.

‘Can I go with you when you visit?' asked Saskia promptly.

‘If it's school holiday time and your mumma agrees. Now pick up your bag, young lady, there's enough mess about here as it is.'

Yes, Millie.' Saskia grinned at her mother giving her a conspiratorial wink. The boss was back.

The weeks flew by, and with Millie running the household and helping to look after Saskia Queenie accomplished a lot more than she had anticipated. Millie also helped with stripping paint, wallpapering and assisting Queenie as she balanced atop ladders, knocking out partitions and cupboards to open up rooms which had been divided into cubicle-like bedrooms.

Light, air and space gave the formerly pokey cottage a spacious look and a happy atmosphere.

‘I'll have to get an electrician in to rewire the kitchen. That is totally beyond me,' said Queenie.

‘There's a fella down at the boat shed does that sort of work, he's one of Saskia's mates. He'd probably moonlight and do it on the cheap for you,' suggested Millie.

‘Provided he knows what he's doing. I'll talk to him, anyway.'

Saskia took her mother to meet her boat-building friends and told Queenie how she was still trying to persuade Millie to go for a row with her. ‘She won't set foot off land — she's funny. But she likes fishing off the wharf with me,' laughed Saskia.

The electrician turned out to be willing and helpful, telling Queenie about one of the old men who worked at the shipwright's and did beautiful wood finishing. ‘He'd do those stairs and get that panelling back into shape in no time. He loves good wood … damned shame it's been let go.'

Queenie's refurbishing generated a lot of interest among the boat builders and they took
to dropping in for cups of tea — a pretence for helping out. They lent her tools, and gave her a hand with heavy work. The old craftsman who did the decking and cabinet making on luxury boats, offered to do work for Queenie, saying, ‘Pay me when you can, luv. It's a pleasure to see you save all this lovely old stuff.'

She flagged the courtyard and used wooden lattice and a series of old iron lampposts to make an outdoor eating area. Millie worked in the garden, transforming the tiny area into a small rainforest.

‘Those tree ferns and palms must have been there fifty years,' said Queenie, helping Millie drag terracotta urns into the garden ready to be planted with flowers.

‘And there's a couple of fruit trees hanging along the fence and behind the old dunny,' said Millie.

‘The outdoor loo will have to go. Now that we have internal plumbing we don't need that dunny … I know — I'll put a gazebo there,' laughed Queenie.

‘You could always grow chokos and passion-fruit over it and hide it. That's what all the neighbours seem to do,' said Millie.

John and Sarah came by each weekend and enjoyed poring over paint colours, fabric, and books on historical houses of the period. John kept tabs on any structural changes Queenie planned, worried she was going to knock down a supporting beam.

‘I have to admit, Queenie, you're doing a helluva a job. It's really looking good. Puts the rest of the places to shame.'

‘I've been thinking about that, John. Now that I can see that this restoration is possible — and I learn something new almost everyday, so it's getting easier and I don't make quite so many mistakes — could you find out if any other places in the block are for sale?'

‘Queenie! How could you bear to go through all this again? And how will you pay for it?' asked Sarah.

‘It seems to me I'd stand a better chance of making a bigger profit if we sold several places already fixed up in one street, rather than just one. A lot of people wouldn't want to do this,' replied Queenie.

‘Most people wouldn't know where to start — or have your creative ideas,' said Sarah.

John looked thoughtful. ‘I wonder … the area is taking off. An art gallery has opened around the corner, and there are a couple of places being turned into arty boutiques. I think the timing could be spot-on. I'll make a few inquiries.'

‘And the money? How does Queenie pay for it?' asked Sarah raising a quizzical eyebrow.

‘Let me worry about that. First things first,' grinned John.

In the shearers' quarters at Tingulla, Snowy and Ernie sat with a tearful Ruthie. ‘Now she's got this lady housekeeper from Brisbane who don't know nothing about a station and she expects me to do all the dirty work,' sniffed Ruthie.

‘Bloody wog bitch. Don't worry, Ruthie. Maybe we can all go over to TR's place at Guneda.'

‘Watch what you're sayin', Ernie,' admonished Snowy.

‘What for? She calls me a thick-in-the-headblackfella. I heard her,' retorted Ernie. ‘I reckon we should all just pack up and go. Leave them up a creek without a paddle.'

Snowy patted Ruthie's hand. ‘Just go 'bout your work, and keep out of Mrs Colin's way. Things can't stay like this much longer, I reckon. Besides, we gotta keep an eye on things here for Queenie.'

In the big house, Colin and Dina were having a similar discussion. ‘Colin, Mrs Thompson has a list of problems as long as my arm. She says she can't possibly cook this menu for next Saturday, the food supplies haven't come in and if the generator isn't fixed she can't cook at all. She doesn't know how to use the wood burning stove. Colin, you'll just have to fly in the food and get someone out to fix the generator. What's taking so long?'

‘Dina, it's not that simple. Cancel the bloody dinner, we've had too many parties. I have problems of my own with the vehicles and sick sheep.' He stomped from the room.