The Godson (27 page)

Norton rattled the ice in his glass. ‘Better their heads than yours, Peregrine.'

‘Yes,' sighed Peregrine again. ‘I guess you're right.'

They had a few more drinks and discussed the merits and demerits of the fight, with Norton still adamant that it was all Peregrine's fault. In the inky background the dew thickened the air and the calling of the nightbirds echoed around the farm. It had been a big day: the long walk in the morning, a huge meal, a bit too much to drink, topped with an allin brawl. Before long both men were yawning into their drinks. Finally Les turned the radio off along with the outside lights and they went to bed. In the cool, clean night air, both of them slept like logs.

S
ATURDAY DAWNED BRIGHT
and clear with maybe just the odd cloud or two being pushed through the sky by the light sou'wester. Norton rose just before seven and had a coffee with honey; Peregrine was still sleeping so he left him there. Les decided to do some stretches and other exercises and then go for a brisk walk around the property. He put on his army gear and did just that.

Norton headed for the corner of the farm they'd missed the previous day Whistling happily, he splashed along the creek
bed even though it was over his knees and at times flowed around his waist; above his head, dead branches and other debris stuck in the branches of trees showed evidence of earlier flooding. The creek wound round the property for a kilometre, bubbled over a little set of rapids then near a small, circular field which was almost hidden from view, the bush opened up into another billabong three times as big and even more beautiful than the one they had found the day before. A number of large lizards and some other unseen animals scuttled away at Norton's approach.

After an hour of brisk walking in the increasing sunshine, Les was once again hot, dusty and sweaty. ‘Don't worry, fellahs,' he grinned at the now vanished animals. ‘I'm coming, too.' Fully clothed, he splashed in after them like a noisy water buffalo.

The water was cold, clean and refreshing. Norton wallowed around, duck-diving, spurting water and making stupid noises, then self-consciously he looked around him as if he expected someone to be watching. His face lit up in a grin when he realised there probably wasn't a soul for miles. He splashed around a while longer then decided to head back to the farm; as he climbed out of the billabong, the odd circular clearing caught his eye, so he thought he may as well check that out too.

The clearing was about fifty metres across; over the ground were scattered a number of thick poles, which appeared to have just been left there, and a number of others embedded into the ground in a large, haphazard circle. At one end were three pits about two metres across and two deep; rotting away in the bottom were more pieces of wood and what looked like small stumps. What the clearing and the holes were built for, Les couldn't guess, but there was definitely something odd and almost sinister about it all. He shrugged it off and began walking back to the house.

When he reached the driveway he noticed an old pushbike leaning against one of the rockeries. Wonder who that belongs to, he mused? He took off his wet clothes, hung them over the chairs in the barbecue area and, after checking himself for leeches, went up to the kitchen. Peregrine was in his dressing gown having a cup of coffee and reading an old newspaper.

‘Sir Peregrine Normanhurst III,' said Les brightly. ‘And how are you this morning?'

‘Quite well, thank you, Les,' replied the Englishman just as brightly. ‘Water's still hot if you want a cup of char.'

‘Yeah, I wouldn't mind.' Norton moved to the kitchen. ‘Who owns the old pushbike?'

‘Baldric arrived to do some more gardening.'

Les had to think for a second. ‘Oh yeah, Ronnie. What did he have to say?'

‘Not much. Just asked if it was okay if he had a cup of coffee. He asked where you were. I said I didn't know. Then he was off to work. I must say, he does look decidedly shakey on it. And his breath, if you'll excuse the expression, smells like he's been using dogshit for toothpaste.'

‘That figures. He probably drank every can of VB in the Tweed Valley last night.'

‘I'd hazard a guess that he went close.'

Norton took his coffee out on to the front verandah. Ronnie was working on one of the rockeries with his back turned. Les watched him for a moment or two then went back inside.

‘You had any breakfast yet, Peregrine?'

‘No. Just coffee.'

‘You feel like some bacon and eggs?'

‘Yes, that would be splendid. This country air certainly puts an edge on one's appetite.'

‘Okay. I'll get cleaned up and cook a bit of brekky.'

Peregrine wasn't joking about his appetite. He managed to polish off three eggs, plenty of bacon and tomato, plus a stack of toast and two mugs of coffee. Norton asked him what he intended to do for the rest of the day? Peregrine said he didn't want to do much at all, but bushwalking was definitely out; a swim in the little billabong and a prop there reading for the day would do him. Les told him about the new billabong he'd found earlier and Peregrine was keen to go and have a look. Right after he had done the dishes, insisted Les. Peregrine's minder he might be. His butler he definitely was not. But it wasn't hard: the two big grey things near the kitchen window were sinks, the green stuff in the plastic bottle was detergent. Mix it with warm water and it formed soapsuds. The plastic and rubber things were devices for cleaning mess from plates and cooking utensils. It was easy, insisted Norton. Peregrine would love it. While the young aristocrat was experiencing a whole new way of life in the kitchen, Les made another mug of coffee and took it out to Ronnie, tipping him to be a milk and two sugars man.

Wearing baggy King Gees, a blue singlet and the same hat he had on in the pub, the little caretaker was on his haunches pulling weeds from one of the rockeries when Norton
approached. He turned at Les's footsteps and dangling from the corner of his mouth was a dead ‘roll-your-own'.

‘Hello, Ronnie,' said Les. ‘I brought you a cup of coffee.'

‘Oh thanks, Les,' replied the caretaker. ‘Good on you, mate.'

Madden stood up and accepted the coffee gratefully. Norton studied him for a while and noticed the amount of sweat pouring from his face and arms. If you caught it all in a bucket it would probably still have a head on it.

‘So how are you feeling, Ron?'

‘Ohh, not too bad,' replied the caretaker, adding a wheezy, rattling laugh. ‘We ended up having a few last night, though.'

‘How many's a few? A dozen or so?'

‘In the pub? Easy. Then we got into it back home.'

A dozen cans plus — not a bad drinker for a little bloke, thought Les, continuing to study the gardener as he sipped his coffee. He noticed Madden didn't mention anything about the fight and there was no way he could have missed it. That suited Norton. He didn't particularly want to bring the subject up himself. But there was something else about the little caretaker and the way he acted that didn't seem to gel to Les. Was it eyes or his manner? For the moment Norton couldn't quite work it out.

‘So, how long will you work for today, Ron?'

Madden tilted his head towards the sky and took another sip of coffee. ‘Another three or four hours or so. I'll finish this weeding then I'll mow down by the sides of the toolshed. I'll knock off 'bout two o'clock.'

‘I'm gonna light the barby about then. You want to join us? Have a steak? There's plenty of piss there.'

Steak didn't get a great reaction, but the word ‘piss' brought a gleam to the caretaker's eyes. ‘Righto, Les. That'd be good.'

‘We're going for a swim down in that billabong at the front. We'll see you when we get back.'

‘Okay, Les. See you then.'

Les collected Peregrine plus a couple of blankets and some towels. He borrowed one of his books, which he threw into an overnight bag along with some fruit and other odds and ends, then took him down to the pool. Seeing they had to wade across the creek Peregrine wore his fatigues and boots like Norton, just to be on the safe side.

‘I say,' said the Englishman, slipping his camera from his shoulder as they splashed up to the billabong. ‘This is a beautiful spot.'

‘I told you it was better than the other one.'

Norton spread the blankets out in a cleared, level spot close by, while Peregrine clicked off a few photos. Then he took him to the circular clearing and showed him the timber and the mysterious holes in the ground.

‘What do you make of that?' he asked.

Peregrine shook his head. ‘Blowed if I know,' he said. ‘Blowed if I know, indeed. Unless they're wells?'

‘With a billabong that big right next to them?'

‘Yes, you're right. Could this be some sort of stockade? Are they tiger traps or something?'

‘There's no bloody tigers in Australia, Peregrine.'

‘Well, I couldn't tell you what it is,' replied Peregrine snapping off two quick photos. ‘Anyway, old boy. Let's have a swim.'

They spent the next few hours in the warm sun, swimming, reading, watching the countless beautiful birds zipping in and out of the trees and doing one of Norton's favourite pastimes: sweet bugger all. Les found Peregrine's book,
Women
by Charles Bukowski, one of the raunchiest and filthiest books he'd ever come across; it was also one of the funniest and easiest to read. Peregrine was getting into a biography of Peter Sellers, which he appeared to be enjoying immensely as well. Before Les knew it, it was half past one. He was a bit on the peckish side and fanging for a can of Fourex, so they packed up and headed back to the house.

A pleasant thought struck Norton as he was wading across the creek. Having no TV and not seeing a Sydney newspaper for days, he'd forgotten the semi-finals were on. What a top way to spend the afternoon — drinking beer, eating steaks and listening to the footy. Who was it today, Balmain and Manly? Wouldn't matter. It would still be a good game. Ahh yes, how sweet it is, thought the big Queenslander as they splashed back to the house.

Ronnie Madden was cleaned up and sitting patiently in the barbecue area when they got there. ‘How was the swim?' he coughed through the haze of his roll-your-own.

‘Excellent,' replied Peregrine, as he and Les started climbing out of their wet fatigues and boots. ‘Certainly gives one an appetite. Les tells me you're going to join us for a bit of nosh.'

‘Yeah. You don't mind do you?'

‘No. By all means, be our guest. And I might add that my manservant there is quite a dab hand at a barbecue too.'

‘I'll give you bloody manservant in a minute,' growled Norton, draping his cammies over a chair.

‘Hey… ah did you say there was a beer in the fridge?' said Madden, rubbing his hands together. ‘All right if I have one?'

‘Yeah. Go for your life,' answered Les. ‘There's about three and a half dozen there. Just leave me a couple for tonight. I don't feel like driving into the pub.'

‘Will do,' replied the caretaker, heading towards the barbecue fridge like a heat-seeking missile.

‘Do you think we'll ever get back in the hotel after last night's performance?' asked Peregrine.

Madden laughed as he handed them each a cold Fourex. ‘I dunno. They see a few stinks in there now and again. But Jesus! That was a ball-tearer you blokes put on last night.'

‘You like that did you, Ronald?' asked Peregrine.

‘It wasn't a baddy. They took a lot of sick boys into Murwillumbah hospital last night.' Madden turned to Norton. ‘You sure know how to put 'em together, don't you mate?'

Les nodded his head towards Peregrine. ‘He started it.'

‘Yeah, I saw that,' said Ron.

‘Ohh God, no. Not again,' wailed Peregrine.

Norton left them, had a quick wash then went upstairs to boil some rice and make the salad. Peregrine came up shortly and got changed, but he didn't give Norton a hand, which suited Les because he would have only got in the road anyway. When he came downstairs, Peregrine had almost finished his first can and Ron was into his third, but the little caretaker had gathered enough wood for the fire.

It didn't take long for Les to have the rice and onions frying and the meat sizzling. It was pretty much the same fare as the previous day, the only variation was some lamb cutlets which Norton squeezed fresh grapefruit juice all over from a tree near the second gate. While Madden was watching him, Les decided he might try and pump him for a bit of information.

‘So you knew the bloke that built this joint, did you, Ron? The Yank colonel.'

‘Daniel J? Yeah I knew him.'

‘Was that his name?' asked Peregrine.

‘Daniel J. Harcourt. Colonel, US Rangers. Brilliant soldier. Probably one of the best men to ever shoulder a rifle. Never knew what the ‘J' stood for.'

‘Where did you get to know him?' asked Les.

‘I…' Madden hesitated for a moment. ‘I did a bit of work for him when he had the duck farm.'

‘Ahh, so it was a duck farm, eh?' smiled Norton.

‘Yep. Biggest, plumpest ducks in the valley. Couldn't breed enough of 'em.'

‘Where is he now?'

Ronnie shrugged. ‘Don't know for sure. He's been gone about four or five months. Left sudden. I got an idea he went back to South East Asia.'

Madden got another beer, Les turned the sausages and squeezed more grapefruit juice over the cutlets.

‘What made him build a place like this out here?' asked Peregrine. ‘Almost in the middle of nowhere.'

The little caretaker took a huge drink of beer and seemed to smile inwardly. ‘I guess he just liked it. Plus this is the safest place on earth.'

The others exchanged a quizzical look. ‘Safest place on earth!!?' they chorused.

‘Latitude 28 degrees south, longitude 153 degrees east. Safest place on the planet. If ever there's another war, the air currents coming off these mountains'll keep the fallout away from here. This is the safest place on earth. You can survive here.'