The Winter Sea (17 page)

‘Thank you very much. What do I owe you?’

‘They’re samples, so nothing. I’m pleased he’s found such a good home. Old Tom was good with animals, so he’d started training this chap, but he didn’t go in for newfangled things like microchips – or vets, if it comes to that. You’ll have to bring him in if you want to microchip him. You might think about desexing him, too.’

‘I guess so. What normally goes onto the microchip?’

Michael picked up his mug of coffee and poured in some milk. ‘Dog’s name, owner’s name, address, mobile phone number. All or any of the above.’

‘Well, I don’t have an address and the dog doesn’t have a name.’

‘No address? You said you were living with your mother.’

‘I am, but it’s not permanent. I’m just waiting for the apartment to sell. Then it looks as though I’ll have to find a place to live that will allow dogs, and a job to pay for it.’

‘What do you do?’

‘I’m a lawyer. But, as with my marriage, I found myself locked into something I didn’t like and now I want to get out. I guess you make a bad choice and you live with it until something big happens. In my case my husband had an office affair. We worked at the same law firm. It not only shocked me that he was having an affair, but it humiliated me that everyone at work knew.’ Cassie couldn’t believe she’d just blurted out these details, but she suddenly realised that she didn’t care what anyone else thought. She didn’t feel embarrassed or afraid of being pitied anymore. It was a good feeling. ‘What about you?’

‘Oh, the same story, but it was more than a casual affair. My wife ran off with my best friend. Took a bit of getting used to, being cheated on by the two people I was closest to. Wrecked my social life,’ he added with a slight smile. ‘I used to be uncomfortable admitting what had happened, but time has moved me on.’

‘Ouch, that must have been very hard. But, you know, I think the best thing that happened for me was that it gave me the motivation to quit my job. What I’m going to do next I have no idea. My biggest mission in life at the moment is to name this dog!’

Cassie opened her arms, for the first time not holding back on showing her affection for the kelpie cross. The dog put his front paws on her lap and licked her hands. She couldn’t help smiling at the vet.

‘Any ideas, Michael?’

‘Tom’s nephew thought that his name was Will, or Bill. He couldn’t remember.’

‘Bill. He’s Bill,’ said Cassie firmly. ‘That’s settled. Do you hear that? You’re Bill. Okay, Bill?’

Michael chuckled as the dog pricked up his ears. ‘He certainly recognises it. Well, bring him up to the surgery when you’re ready.’

‘When I can fit it into my crowded calendar,’ said Cassie, laughing. ‘Geoff Spring is taking me fishing, and I’m thinking of hiking up to the summit of Pigeon House Mountain, and I’m going to drive down to Batemans Bay, not to mention hanging out here and reading a big fat book.’

‘Excellent. Maybe you could spare some time and let me take you to lunch on Sunday to a pub I know. The pub’s nothing fancy, it’s seen better days, but the food is truly amazing. Bill can come along too.’

‘Thanks, I’d like that. There are some interesting places around here. Yesterday I called into a winery that seemed pretty good. I brought back some bottles to try. Would you like to try a glass of sauvignon blanc?’ she said.

‘I think you could twist my arm to celebrate Bill’s official arrival in your life,’ said Michael. As the evening cooled, they chatted comfortably on the porch over a glass of wine. Michael was pleasant company, Cassie thought. She was glad that she and Bill had met him.

*

The following morning Cassie set off to visit some of the other towns nearby. She called in to Milton and immediately fell in love with the artsy-crafty vibe there and bought Bill a bandanna, which she tied jauntily around his neck. He walked proudly beside her, his tail up, looking pleased with himself. When she stopped at Lake Conjola she could tell by the number of cabins and caravans that this would be a popular place for summer holidays. Further north, near Sussex Inlet, she pulled over to look at the vast expanse of St Georges Basin.

‘That’s a lot of water,’ she said to Bill. ‘I wonder if it’s used for waterskiing. I don’t think I want to go any further. That’s enough driving for one day, don’t you think? How about we head home?’

The return journey took less time than she thought it would, so, on a whim, she decided to continue south. She’d driven less than ten kilometres past Whitby Point when she saw a sign to a place quaintly named Blue Crane Lake. She was entranced and took the turnoff.

The lake, which narrowed into a river flowing towards the sea, was crossed by a pretty wooden bridge. Scattered around the shoreline of the lake were some old holiday cottages, several boatsheds, a boat hire place, and a small shopping centre that contained a general store with a petrol pump and a sub-post-office agency, a takeaway café and a bait shop selling fishing gear. There was a little park, so Cassie decided to get a takeaway coffee and sit by the water.

Bill was excited to see seagulls landing close by, and he bounced around giving short enthusiastic barks. Cassie sat in the sun on a bench at the lake’s edge, sipping her coffee and watching as a pair of pelicans swooped in and landed in the water in an ungainly fashion.

A few small dinghies were pulled up along the grassy banks. Not far away was a jetty where some bigger boats and several houseboats were moored. Across the lake all Cassie could see was a green blanket of trees and the unmistakable shape of Pigeon House Mountain. She realised that the holiday houses strung along the lakeside would have wonderful views. A solitary fisherman was trying his luck from the bridge. On the far side of the lake there was a long two-storey building surrounded by landscaped gardens, which gave the area a holiday resort feel. Bill, meanwhile, had discovered a school of tiny fish darting through the shallows, and he pranced and pounced in the water, snapping mouthfuls of the lake in an attempt to catch the silvery fish.

Cassie was charmed by the peaceful setting. Blue Crane Lake felt like a secret location, tucked away from the coast and the highway. It was different from Whitby Point. More secluded, but she could see that money had been spent on homes and she had the sense the area could become very upmarket if development were handled sensitively. She had noticed several very interesting houses, which were probably architect designed as they blended in well with their natural setting.

She and Bill walked a little further around the lake and she saw a boatshed sporting an open deck which looked as though it had been turned into some sort of accommodation. ‘That’s a nice idea,’ she commented to Bill. ‘Throw a line in off the deck and catch dinner.’

She took a closer look – there were a few dead pot plants and the boatshed had dusty windows. Must be a summer holiday place, she thought. As she walked around to the street entrance, she saw a sign beside the front door saying that the place was for lease or for sale.

Cassie stood and stared at the old blue boatshed with its fading and peeling facade. The way the windows and door were designed, the entrance looked like a face. But a sleeping face. From where she stood, the upper storey looked as though it was quite spacious.

‘Too bad we don’t have a boat,’ she said to Bill as they headed back to the car.

*

The next couple of days passed pleasantly. Her mother still hadn’t returned from her trek up Mount Kinabalu, so the news of Bill would have to wait.

On Sunday, Michael picked her up for lunch in his well-worn four-wheel drive. Earlier that morning Cassie had felt quite nervous about going out with him, and had begun to have second thoughts. He was the first man that she had been out with since the breakdown of her marriage. She wasn’t sure she was ready to date again. But as soon as she saw his friendly face, she felt pleased that she had accepted his invitation. He apologised for the condition of his car as he put Bill onto the back seat.

‘I’m sorry about the state of the vehicle. It’s my workhorse. It has to carry all sorts of gear, drive into properties up in the hill country, get into paddocks, cross creeks, you name it. It’s not had a very glamorous life.’

‘No worries. Bill feels right at home.’

Bill was sitting happily in the back seat with a ‘Where are we going today?’ expression on his intelligent face.

Suddenly Cassie had a vision of Hal and his hundred-thousand-dollar sports car and almost laughed aloud at the idea of going anywhere in it with Bill.

She had a lot she wanted to ask Michael about the local area, and she wanted to tell him about her trips around the countryside. Once they started talking, the hour-long drive to the pub sped by. Michael turned off the main road, and took a smaller road up to the headland where there was a strange old building clinging to the edge of the cliff top.

‘It looks a bit precarious,’ said Cassie as they got out of the car and she saw the crumbling hillside. Signs of slippage and erosion were evident. Not only that, but the entire hotel looked as though it should be condemned. She clipped the lead onto Bill’s collar. ‘So it’s the food that’s the attraction?’

Michael chuckled. ‘Don’t be misled by appearances –
hard as that may be. I promised you a special lunch. We’ll sit outside, then Bill can be with us. But don’t worry. This place is quite safe.’

Michael led the way, followed by Cassie with Bill at her heels.

Cassie was not impressed as they walked past the old reception desk on their way to the beer garden. It was piled with cartons, the carpet was threadbare, and she could see a gloomy staircase leading upstairs. In the dark wood-panelled hallway was a handwritten sign pointing to the bar, the restaurant and the toilets. Despite the abandoned entry she could hear the clatter of dishes and the sound of voices competing with the loud music.

When they entered the beer garden the first thing Cassie noticed was the dramatic view. Part of the lawn area had obviously fallen away over the years, shortening the expanse of grass that was bordered by straggly shrubs. Beyond the shrubs was a wire mesh fence to discourage people from going too close to the edge of the cliff. When Cassie looked down, she glimpsed a beach and she could hear the waves crashing on rocks below. Looking into the long windows of the restaurant, she could see that its décor was circa 1970. Adding to the atmosphere were a bank of poker machines and a row of television sets showing the horse races, which were being studiously watched by a group of punters. There seemed to be a lot of tables and chairs outside, some with umbrellas and most of them full. Michael chose one that was out of the wind, and Bill lay down under the table.

‘I’ll go and get us a drink and a water bowl for Bill and bring back a menu. There’s not a lot of choice, the chef does a limited menu. But it’s always good.’

Cassie was amazed by this fusty old place. It was so dilapidated she struggled to imagine it had ever been smart or had pretensions. But it was almost full. It seemed to be a popular spot for Sunday lunch.

Michael returned with a bowl of water for Bill, and was followed by a smiling waitress carrying a tray with two tall glasses containing a pale liquid garnished with a tuft of celery and sliver of pineapple.

‘It’s the house cocktail. Green apple juice, a shot of vodka, a bit of this and that. It’s not too lethal.’

Cassie sipped her tall drink. It was tangy, with a slight kick of fruitiness. ‘It’s lovely. I suppose the vodka creeps up on you.’

‘They have an excellent local white wine here. I thought we could have a glass with the meal if that’s okay with you? See if it measures up to that wine you bought the other day, which was great.’

‘I’m amazed there are so many people here. It seems so out of the way. And people certainly haven’t come for the décor and ambience, although the view is spectacular.’

‘Here, have a look at this – it might explain why so many people come here,’ said Michael as he handed her a menu.

Cassie opened the plastic folder. The menu listed a few entrees, and some tempting mains with options of salad, vegetables or duchesse potatoes. Desserts were simple: fresh fruit compote, panna cotta, homemade ice-cream or mandarin syrup tart. ‘This looks fresh and interesting,’ she said with some surprise.

‘Would you like an entree? I’m tempted to go for a big meal then I don’t have to worry about dinner,’ said Michael. ‘I know the lamb shanks are delicious. But I’m a seafood man, so I think I’ll go for the snapper fillets.’

‘It is winter so I’ll have the fish pie with potatoes and steamed Asian greens.’

After Michael ordered the wine for their meal Cassie said, ‘I suppose you treat a lot of big animals at your practice? I’ve seen a lot of dairy cows on my drives. It looks like there is still a lot of traditional farming around this area.’

‘There are a lot of hobby farmers around here, too – executives who quit the corporate rat race to farm or start a small vineyard or grow some specialty product. Hobby’s the word – I doubt they make a living from it. It’s a lifestyle choice until they get jack of it and hire someone else to do the nitty gritty for them,’ said Michael.

‘Yes, I’ve known several lawyers in Sydney who had weekend hobby farms. They thought it would be a fun retirement project. Usually didn’t last. They came back to their harbourside houses, yachts and the golf club.’

‘But the old farming families stick it out, though times are unpredictable and it’s not a given that their children will follow them onto the land,’ Michael told her.

‘It’s not like the big outback stations around here, is it,’ said Cassie. ‘Where pioneers settled and families built up those vast properties over generations.’

‘Actually, you’d be surprised at the number of people in agriculture, and other industries like fishing, whose families have been here for generations. My family have been fishing these waters ever since my great-grandfather came here in the 1920s,’ said Michael. ‘But these days farmers and fishermen are facing too many difficulties. So a lot of the farms have been carved up, or farmers have to look at value adding, hence the small sidelines like additional produce, B&Bs, tourism. The fishing industry has been most affected. Whitby Point was once a huge fishing centre, over a hundred fishing boats. There was even talk of a cannery at one stage. Big tuna was big business. They used to export it straight to Japan as well as supplying the Sydney fish markets.’