Heart of the Dreaming (46 page)

The next evening, armed with roses, Bollinger champagne and Je Reviens perfume, Henri headed for the mountains, on his way to the now completed Kurrajong Hotel, and the woman he loved and wanted to marry.

Queenie signed each embossed invitation to the opening of the Kurrajong Hotel with her favourite fountain pen, making her distinctive little circle above the ‘i' of Queenie.

John and Henri had persuaded her to use her maiden name because the Hanlons of Tingulla were well known. People would expect that a hotel owned and run by the daughter of one of the country's most beautiful properties must have a certain style.

Initial invitations had gone out weeks before, she was now sending confirmed invitations and passes. Queenie sipped iced water from a crystal glass with a slice of lime in it. She wished it was a winter opening and not at the height of a scalding Australian summer. A winter launch party with log fires, frosty grass, mist in the valleys and hearty meals would be more suited to the ambience of the Kurrajong.

Yet again she ran through the sequence of events for the opening weekend. Family and friends would make their own way to the Blue Mountains. Dingo was flying from Western Australia. Dear Alf, who still ran Neptune Island, was coming south for the first time in years and even promised to wear shoes. Saskia had insisted Tango be invited and Snowy was taking his first train trip to get there. Millie said he told her he shook like a leaf every time he thought about it. ‘From excitement as much as nerves! I think he'd rather walk,' laughed Millie.

The official guests were mainly from Sydney — travel and tourism luminaries, journalists and photographers, TV news crews, including her friend Kim Cameron who promised to do a splashy piece on the hotel, and politicians and radio personalities. Everyone was coming by train, but not the normal electric train which ran from Central Railway Station.

Queenie had met Damien McPhee, a former football star now head of the State Rail Authority, and he offered her the use of two antique commissioner's carriages which would be hooked up to two more restored 1950s carriages, to be hauled by the famous 3801 steam locomotive.

All the carriages, once used for the commissioner's tours of inspection, were immaculately restored and preserved. The polished cedar interiors had marquetry inlays of Australian wildflowers and animals worked in lighter coloured woods. There were shining
brass fittings, lots of leather and it even boasted a four-poster bed. The main section of the carriages resembled a Victorian sitting room with comfortable chintz and leather lounges, a bar and a small piano.

On boarding, waiters would serve champagne cocktails and give each guest an impressive press kit with details of the Kurrajong's facilities and history including the programme of the weekend activities.

Guests would be collected at the tiny railway station in horse-drawn sulkies and wagons from the district's carriage club. In the warm night air the horses would clip-clop through the bush to the dramatically floodlit building for cocktails and a light supper. The spectacular view from each room would have its full impact on the guests when they woke in the morning.

On Saturday morning a lavish breakfast would be served on the terrace with its heart-stopping view. Then there was time to dawdle through the delights of the gardens; paddle around the lake, go for bush walks or horse riding. Lunch was planned as a picnic at the base of the nearby waterfall, although only a narrow veil of sparkling water was flowing at this dry time of year. It would be an upmarket barbecue under a marquee on a private property which the hotel would lease for such occasions.

In the afternoon the guests could rest, or stroll down to the village and browse through the antique and craft shops. It wouldn't take long for guests to later discover the shady
swing seats and hammocks scattered invitingly in peaceful corners of the grounds.

Saturday evening was to be the main event; apéritifs and a few brief speeches followed by a grand dinner and formal ball. On Sunday afternoon the guests would return to Sydney, suitably impressed — so Queenie hoped — by the stupendous Kurrajong Hotel in the mountains.

Midweek Millie arrived with Saskia. The next day Queenie waited at the station to meet Snowy. They embraced warmly and she saw that although Snowy had aged a bit, he was still strong and his wise eyes still twinkled. He walked to the front of the train and studied the hissing engine. Shaking his head he reached out and patted the black metal. ‘He's one mighty fella orright.'

‘Was it a good trip, Snowy? Comfortable?'

Snowy was still a bit overwhelmed. ‘Not like riding a horse. Them clickety-clacks started talking to me.'

Queenie laughed and picked up his small suitcase, linking her arm through his. ‘I know what you mean. Something comes into your head and it starts repeating itself with the rhythm of the wheels.' She didn't add that every time she had taken a train journey the wheels always sang to her, ‘Tin … gulla … Tin … gulla … Tin … gulla.'

‘Just you wait till you see the Kurrajong, Snowy … it's a pretty swish place now I've fixed it up.'

‘You never do anything by halves, Queenie. What mob's coming to this party then? What
they gonna say when they see an old black fella here?'

‘They're going to see a dear old friend, who's looked after me all my life. And besides, I think you'll be more than a match for them. I reckon the press are going to love you, Snowy.' She squeezed his arm as she opened the car door. ‘Making this a success means a lot to me, Snowy. It's a way of getting back Tingulla. But that's just between us.'

Snowy settled into the car. ‘Ah, that's okay then. I reckoned you weren't turning into some city slicker.'

Millie and Saskia showed Snowy over the hotel and he began to take everything in his stride, adjusting with great aplomb to this different world.

The staff were nervous and excited and small dramas kept flaring up to be quietly doused by Queenie. ‘It's as if opening night nerves are hitting everyone. I'm jittery too,' Queenie confessed to Millie.

‘Everything will be alright. So just relax,' she said calmly. Behind Queenie's back Millie was double checking things as well, determined that nothing would go wrong or fluster Queenie.

‘I can't control everything or everyone … but, like the Boy Scouts, I'm prepared,' said Queenie, giving a Scout's three finger salute.

She did tell Henri on the phone that she didn't feel quite as prepared as she had told Millie. ‘You know that awful feeling at the back of your mind, that you've forgotten something terribly important and obvious? I just hope it's only in my mind.'

Henri laughed. ‘I know the feeling well,
chérie.
Would you like me to come and run my eye over things in a professional capacity as well as a friend?'

‘Yes, I'd love that. I would really appreciate it, Henri, if it's not's putting you out. I know how busy you are with your own hotel plans.'

‘Queenie, when are you going to understand I enjoy it. You are so capable, it's nice to feel you might have a vulnerable spot. Accept a helping hand without feeling you've stumbled in any way. Besides, I want to see you.'

He spoke gently and Queenie was touched. ‘Your French charm and Canadian practicality have won me over. Please come with a notebook and white gloves and see if we pass the test.'

Queenie left Henri alone as she was busy during the day with last minute details such as the supply of fresh food coming from Sydney and the flower arrangements which she had designed. She drew sketches for the decorator, inspired by her mother's imaginative flower displays which had always graced the house at Tingulla.

Henri drifted about the Kurrajong chatting casually with the staff, but behind his glasses, his sharp brown eyes missed nothing. ‘Let me take you to dinner at the local Chinese … for a change,' suggested Henri.

‘Yes I think I need to get out of here. I don't think I've seen daylight for days!'

They decided to walk through the dusk to
Katoomba, and Queenie ate heartily, her nerves calmed by Henri's amusing chatter about his youthful days in Lake Toba in Sumatra.

‘There was nothing there, then … an old Dutch Hotel where Sukarno stayed, and a huge volcanic lake filled with goldfish. No people from the outside ever went there. I saw some strange and exotic things while I was there.'

‘You're not going to put me off my dinner with stories of eating live monkey's brains are you?'

‘Never. I'll tell you instead about the secret rites of the Island of Niias.'

The town was quiet and dark as they walked back to the hotel, following the path through the trees in the moonlight.

‘I hope you don't walk alone in the bush at night,' said Henri.

‘I'm never afraid in the bush,' said Queenie with quiet confidence.

Henri put his arm about her waist and gave her a squeeze. ‘You miss your home in the bush?'

‘I do, Henri. It has just been sold, which came as a bit of a shock, but I'll own it again one day.'

‘Maybe you need a change for a while … why not come to New York and visit me?'

‘A lovely idea … if not very practical,' smiled Queenie.

Henri didn't press her. ‘Think about it,' he said.

All was quiet in the hotel. They walked
along the dark terrace, looking over the moonlit valley and sharing the companionable silence with foraging possums and a distant night owl.

Queenie spoke first. ‘I'm not sleepy, I guess I'm keyed up. They all arrive tomorrow night … after so many months of planning, it's hard to believe.'

‘I have a Moet Petite Liqueur in my suite … which is charming, thank you very much. Would you care for a nightcap?'

Queenie nodded. His room was off the terrace and she settled into an easy chair, kicking off her shoes while Henri took two glasses from the small bar.

An hour passed before Queenie realised the time. ‘Henri, I had no idea it was getting so late … time passes very pleasantly with you.'

She picked up her shoes as he drew her from the chair to her feet. ‘Good night and sweet dreams … have no fears, all will be well this weekend.'

He kissed her lightly but his mouth lingered and Queenie found she was kissing him back with a surge of emotion. His arms went around her and her shoes dropped to the floor as she reached her arms about him.

Henri lifted her slim body in his arms and carried her unprotestingly to the bed. Between kisses he tenderly slipped the clothes from her body, catching his breath at the sight of her firm flat belly, slim hips, the length of her legs and the soft fullness of her breasts. ‘Oh, Queenie, you are so beautiful … so sweet …'

She reached up and drew him close, and
with eyes closed, her fingers tangled in his hair and she lost herself in their loving embrace.

Henri was a considerate and skilled lover, and Queenie quivered with pleasure at his touch. But later, as he held her in his arms, he didn't see the tears that rolled down her cheeks.

She realised it was only with TR that she had experienced overwhelming passion and unbounded love and that she would never find it again. It had not just been the magic of a first love, she knew now how special their love had been, and it made her heart ache. She knew she had always felt Warwick was second best, but he had been so good and affectionate in other ways she had accepted the loss of passion. And now with Henri. Was this to be her fate — never to give her heart? She had given it once and could never do so again.

As she lay in the darkness in Henri's arms she slowly realised how she would have to compromise and adjust. It was time she grew up, faced reality, dismissed a once-cherished dream and got on with her life as it was to be. There were good things and good people in her life. She could be happy and at peace.

Yet the memories came flooding back … of TR telling her not to be content with being merely happy when he could make her joyously and deliriously happy. And then how they had hurt each other. It was time to realise that all that belonged to yesterday and was finished. The future was what mattered. She trembled and Henri whispered. ‘Are you cold? Come under the covers.'

‘No … I must go back to my room.' She pulled her dress over her head as he pulled on his trousers to walk her down the corridor.

‘It is I who should be tiptoeing down the darkened hall,' he smiled, kissing her at her door.

‘Goodnight, Henri. See you in the morning.' The door clicked softly behind her.

Henri padded back down the carpeted corridor thinking, ‘Ah, Queenie, you are like a bird who must fly free. No one will ever cage your heart and soul. But I will be content with whatever you decide to share with me.'

It was Saturday afternoon. So far everything had gone smoothly and as planned, even though it had been a stiflingly hot day. The compliments from the guests came freely and effusively and, apart from some minor hitches behind the scenes, the launch of the Kurrajong was going well. Tonight was the grand dinner and ball.

Queenie had planned to make a short speech and as yet she hadn't given it much thought. She walked onto the deserted terrace with a cup of tea. The guests were either in the village, bushwalking, horse riding, or in the gardens. Some were resting, or preparing for the ball.