Matilda's Last Waltz

  His eyes were so darkly blue they were almost violet. ‘I think there’s every chance of that,’ he said softly.

  * * *

  Jenny brushed away the tears and sighed. At last things seemed to be coming right for Matilda – and although it was early days, she had a feeling the last diary would bring about a happy ending.

  She leaned back on the pillows and stared out at the paddocks, surprised to find the day had dwindled and time had lost its meaning while she’d been reading. She thought of Diane and felt guilty. Poor Diane. She was only trying to make light of the situation with Brett and Charlie – she didn’t deserve to be shunned.

  With a yawn and a stretch, Jenny climbed off the bed and padded into the kitchen. There was no sign of Diane but a note on the table said she’d gone for a ride. It was signed with a flourish and two kisses. Diane must have forgiven her.

  Feeling better, Jenny let Ripper out for a run in the home pasture, and while she waited for him, leaned on the fence post and watched the dozing horses. The temperature was high, the sky a clear denim blue and almost impossibly wide. She breathed in the smell of hot earth and could hear the rustle of dry leaves on the gum trees. The grass was thinning in the paddock, soon the horses would have to be moved.

  She snapped out of her rambling thoughts and turned away. It didn’t matter to her that the horses would have to be moved or that it hadn’t rained for months. Churinga wouldn’t be her concern in another few days.

  Chapter Eighteen

  The storm clouds gathered overhead and as the next two days wore on the heat intensified. The air crackled with electricity as rolls of thunder swept across the sky and Ripper sought shelter beneath the kitchen table, trembling.

  Diane stared out at the looming sky. ‘Gonna be a fair cow when she breaks,’ she said as she towelled her hair after her shower. ‘I hate these dry storms.’

  Jenny looked up from the rocking chair on the porch. ‘So do I. There isn’t a breath of wind and I’m positively drained by this awful heat.’

  Diane grimaced. ‘At least we have air con in Sydney, and as much as I hate the way it dries you out, it’s a godsend at times like this.’

  Jenny ran her fingers over the tooled leather of the diary in her lap. She wanted to get back to it, to escape the ferocity of the impending storm and return to Matilda’s world. But reluctance had made her hesitate over these past two days.

  ‘That the last tone?’

  Jenny nodded. ‘It’s the final chapter,’ she murmured. ‘And I almost don’t want to read it.’

  ‘Why?’ Diane shook out her dark curls and flopped into the chair next to her. ‘I thought you said it was bound to have a happy ending?’

  Jenny thought deeply for a moment. ‘It’s not that so much. It’s just that when I’ve finished the last page, it will be like saying goodbye to a close friend I’ll never see again.’

  Diane’s dark eyes stared back at her. ‘You can’t just leave things unfinished, Jen. Not when it obviously means so much to you. Besides,’ she added practically, ‘you’ll always wonder how things turned out.’

  ‘I know. I’m being silly, aren’t I?’

  Diane’s curls bounced. ‘Not at all. I always feel sad when I come to the end of a good story – but you soon get over it.’

  Jenny opened the fly-leaf and rifled the pages. There weren’t many more to read, for the book was only half used. She smoothed back the first page and settled deeper into the chair. Perhaps her reluctance to finish the diaries had more to do with that strange headstone in the family cemetery than with unwillingness to break contact with Matilda. For the mystery of that enigmatic epitaph was bound to be explained in these last few pages – and she was almost afraid of what she might learn.

  She hadn’t read more than a few words when the telephone rang.

  ‘Who the hell is that?’

  ‘Not being blessed with telepathy, I wouldn’t know,’ answered Diane dryly. She returned moments later. ‘It’s Helen for you.’

  Jenny frowned as she looked up from the diary, but Diane merely shrugged. ‘I know as much as you.’

  ‘Hello, Jennifer.’ The cultured voice drifted above the click and hiss of many party lines. ‘I’m so glad to have caught you.’

  Aware that Doreen at the exchange and probably most of the stations in New South Wales were listening in, Jenny chose her reply carefully. ‘With this storm looming, it didn’t seem wise to venture far.’

  There was a moment’s hesitation at the other end of the line before Helen spoke again. ‘I was wondering if I could come over?’

  Jenny frowned. ‘Of course,’ she said quickly. ‘When?’

  ‘Today, if that’s not too inconvenient.’

  Jenny heard the note of urgency and wondered if it had been transmitted halfway across the outback to the other stations. ‘Fine by me. I’ll do lunch.’

  There was that hesitancy again and Jenny hoped Helen hadn’t been drawn into the protracted tussle over Churinga – for she liked her, and the thought of a girls’ lunch had lifted her spirits.

  It was as if Helen had read her thoughts. ‘I think I should warn you,’ said the older woman carefully, ‘I do have an ulterior motive for my visit – but it has very little to do with what you and Andrew discussed the other week.’

  ‘Then you’ve probably saved me a journey to Kurrajong,’ Jenny said with relief. ‘There are things we need to talk about.’

  ‘I agree,’ Helen said firmly. ‘But not with half the state listening in. I’ll see you in about three hours.’

  The click at the other end echoed through the wilderness. As Jenny replaced the handset she stared at it thoughtfully. Helen had made it clear that Ethan’s hostility was not an influence, but would her impending visit explain the vendetta that had been going on for so long or merely muddy the waters?

  Jenny chewed her lip as she went back out to the verandah. The sky was pregnant with storm – perhaps a portent of things to come?

  Diane took the news of Helen’s visit with surprise then delight. ‘Nothing like a girly lunch to blow away the blues,’ she said cheerfully.

  Jenny smiled but felt uneasy as she took the diary back to the bedroom and changed into clean clothes. Something was obviously bothering Helen, and as she was part of the family who had waged a vendetta against Matilda and Churinga, she wondered if it could be connected with that.

  ‘We’ll have salad,’ Diane declared. ‘Too hot for anything else.’

  Jenny took the steaks from the freezer and put them in the meat safe away from Ripper’s inquisitive nose and the ever-present flies. As Diane mixed up a jug of lemonade and laid the table, Jenny whipped up an apple fool then set to preparing a salad from vegetables she’d just cut from the garden. With a dressing of oil and garlic, lunch was almost ready.

  The house was as clean and dusted as it could be, the great vases of wild flowers Diane had placed strategically around the room bringing a welcome touch of colour to the gloomy morning. Jenny and Diane stood back and admired the effect, but the thought that this was probably the last time she would entertain here made Jenny restless.

  ‘I’ll take Ripper for a walk while you get changed,’ she said finally.

  An oppressive heat lay over the pastures as she and Ripper followed the line of trees which stood sentinel by the dry creek. Birdsong was lethargic, black hairy spiders hung drowsily on giant, silken webs, and a mob of ’roos lay supine in the shadows of the tea trees.

  Ripper found a basking goanna and gave chase as it whipped away in fright. Jenny called him repeatedly but he was obviously on a mission and chose to ignore her.

  With a sigh, she leaned against a tree and watched a colony of termites repair their damaged hill grain by grain. The similarity between their lives and those of the squatters was not lost on her. For inch by inch they had carved out a life in this wilderness – a fragile life that could be destroyed in seconds, by fire, flood and drought – and yet it was their spirit for survival that gave them t
he will to begin again.

  A stealthy rustle at her feet tore her from her thoughts. The snake paused, inches from the toe of her boot, and Jenny froze. It was the deadliest of them all – one bite, and it would all be over. Her pulse raced as her heart hammered against her ribs. The moment stretched into endless seconds before the snake finally moved away and she could breathe again.

  Ripper came bouncing out of the undergrowth, caught sight of the snake and pounced. Jenny didn’t have time to think as she grabbed him by the scruff and hauled him off.

  ‘You stupid bugger,’ she rasped as he struggled to get back to his quarry. ‘You’ll get yourself killed, carrying on like that.’ Jenny held him close as the snake went on its sinuous way. Then, with a sigh of relief, she headed back to the house.

  ‘What was all the barking about?’ Diane was standing on the porch, resplendent in a peacock blue caftan.

  ‘Tiger snake. Ripper thought it was a toy,’ she said grimly. ‘I’d better shut him indoors for the afternoon.’

  Helen arrived minutes later, the gleaming Holden lifting the dust in the yard as she drove up to the house and killed the engine. She looked cool and elegant in a cotton dress, her platinum hair softly gleaming in the dull sunlight.

  ‘Thanks for agreeing to see me,’ she said as they shook hands and settled on the verandah. ‘I wasn’t at all sure if you would.’

  ‘Why ever not? After all, I’ve sampled your hospitality, and there are so few women out here it seems silly to ignore each other because of something that happened years ago,’ replied Jenny lightly as she poured lemonade for each of them.

  Helen lifted her glass. ‘Cheers. Here’s to common sense.’

  Jenny glanced across at Diane then back to Helen. She was puzzled by the older woman’s vehemence.

  ‘Don’t mind me, girls,’ she laughed. ‘I’ve lived too long in this place not to realise men really are the most incredibly stupid creatures. They strut about like cocks of the walks, trying to prove their machismo by out-shooting, out-riding and out-drinking each other, when all the time the women are the ones who put things to rights.’

  She grinned as she eyed each of their puzzled faces. ‘Don’t worry, I’m not the Kurrajong version of the Trojan horse. I’m here as a mate, because I think it’s about time all this nonsense between Kurrajong and Churinga came to an end.’

  Taking a long drink of the home-made lemonade, she set her glass down. ‘But let’s forget all that for the moment and have lunch. It’s been ages since I’ve been able to relax with a couple of friends.’

  They ate on the verandah where it was cool and as the meal progressed, Jenny found herself strangely drawn to this woman who had to be old enough to be her mother, but young enough in spirit to be able knowledgeably to discuss the latest pop music, the Bay of Pigs incident, and the current fashions in London’s Carnaby Street.

  ‘We do get newspapers out here, you know,’ laughed Helen. ‘And I make sure I get down to Sydney as often as possible. Without my little forays into civilisation, I would shrivel up like most of the other women out here.’

  ‘You aren’t from the outback originally, then?’ Jenny had cleared away the dishes and they were sipping the wine Helen had brought with her.

  She shook her head. ‘Good heavens, no. James and I met at one of my father’s business parties in Sydney. He runs a meat exporting company and we were always entertaining squatters and graziers.’

  She smiled softly. ‘James was so handsome – and charming – and when he proposed I accepted right away. I thought living out here would be an adventure, and in a way I was right. But I still need to go back now and again to recharge my batteries.’

  ‘I know what you mean,’ said Diane, grimacing at the horizon. ‘It’s okay to visit but I certainly wouldn’t want to live out here.’

  Helen smiled. ‘Don’t get me wrong, girls, I’m very happy. James and I have a good, rich life, but I think you have to be born to this to be able to stay permanently. Andrew’s the only one who seems to prefer the city, the rest of the family never leave Kurrajong unless they absolutely have to. He’s a lawyer, you know, and a very good one too.’

  Jenny nodded. ‘I’m sure he’s very powerful in court. He certainly seems out of place here, too clean and gentrified.’ She came to an abrupt halt, realising too late how rude she must have sounded.

  Helen laughed and finished her glass of wine. ‘I know just what you mean. I sometimes have the strongest urge to roll him in the dirt or ruffle his hair. But James says he’s been like that all his life, and he’s far too old to change now.’

  Silence fell over them as they looked out towards Kurrajong.

  ‘You’ve been very patient, Jennifer,’ Helen said eventually. ‘And I have rambled on, but there is a reason for my visit, as I explained on the phone.’

  ‘Is it to do with the persistent haggling over Churinga?’ Jenny asked.

  Helen eyed her for a long moment then nodded. ‘In a way, I suppose it is – although that’s only the result of one old man’s refusal to see that the past is long gone and there’s no profit in keeping it alive.’

  Jenny tried to hide her mounting excitement by resting her chin in her hands and her elbows on the table. At last she was to learn the secrets that had been kept from the diaries – secrets perhaps even Matilda didn’t know.

  ‘It all started way back in the middle of the last century when the two families came to this part of New South Wales. They were pioneers, the Squires family arriving from England, the O’Connors from Ireland. But it was the O’Connors who got here first and took over the land we now know as Churinga. It was good land, the best in these parts, with plenty of artesian water and mountain rivers.’

  Helen fell silent for a moment, eyes misty as she looked out over the landscape.

  ‘Despite the enmity between the English and Irish at that time, this place has a way of levelling people and the families got on well. The O’Connors had a daughter, Mary. She was to be their only surviving child. Life was even tougher back then and the infant mortality rate was high. Jeremiah Squires had three sons, Ethan, Jacob and Elijah.’

  Helen smiled. ‘In those days the Squires family was very religious, and although the names seem strange now, they were quite common then.’

  Diane took a cigarette and offered one to Helen who fitted it into an ivory holder before she lit it. Jenny’s mind was back in the past, trying to picture the people who’d lived and worked here all those years ago.

  ‘Ethan was seventeen when he began to court the fifteen-year-old Mary. She had grown into a fiery beauty, by all accounts, and was considered to be far ahead of her time.’

  Helen smiled. ‘She was quite a handful, evidently, but then she’d have needed to be if she was to marry Ethan.’

  ‘But she didn’t,’ said Jenny quietly. ‘What happened?’

  ‘Something no one expected, and it’s this part of the story that’s been kept a secret within the family ever since.’ Helen watched the smoke curl up from her cigarette and dissipate in the hot air. ‘So secret that I’m probably the only one who knows it.’

  The silence was tangible and weighed heavily between them.

  ‘How did…’ Jenny began.

  ‘I’m coming to that. But you have to understand this is a confidence that cannot be shared outside this place.’

  She eyed each of them solemnly, then carried on. ‘A few years back Ethan had a stroke and we all thought he was going to die. It was during one of his depressive stages that he confided in me.’ She sighed and looked out over the land. ‘He swore me to secrecy, not thinking he would survive for long, but of course he recovered and now he hates me because I know too much and he can’t do without me.’

  She gave a sad smile. ‘At least it means I have some kind of authority over him for a change. He’s an almost perfect patient – and as he loathes everyone, I don’t feel insulted by his rudeness.’

  ‘I don’t know how you put up with him,’ muttered Diane.
‘If I was in charge, I’d have probably put something in his tea by now.’

  Helen grinned. ‘Don’t think I haven’t considered it. But he’s James’ father, and I don’t feel so strongly I’d bump him off.’

  The glasses were refilled and the three women settled back in their cane chairs. The heat was pervasive, the sky leaden. It was as if, like Jenny, the outback was holding its breath.

  ‘Ethan and Mary were engaged for almost two years when he decided he couldn’t wait for the wedding night. He was persuasive and because Mary loved him she turned her back on convention and gave in. Two months later she rode over to Kurrajong to find her father. He’d gone there to help with the shearing and as there was a minor crisis at home, her mother needed him. It was as Mary was walking past the drawing-room window that she heard something she shouldn’t have, and that’s when the trouble began.’

  Helen sighed and turned the glittering rings on her fingers. ‘Jeremiah Squire and Patrick O’Connor were having a furious row. Jeremiah was threatening to call the wedding off if Patrick didn’t sign over several thousand prime acres of Churinga as a dowry. Patrick accused him of blackmail amongst other things. His daughter had been made promises, the wedding was due to take place in a week’s time, and there had been no mention of a dowry two years before when the engagement was announced. He was a man caught in a terrible dilemma. His daughter would be disgraced if she was jilted, but the loss of so much prime land would drain Churinga. He refused Jeremiah’s demands.’

  Helen’s eyes glittered as she stared across at Jenny and Diane. ‘It was then that Jeremiah sneered at Patrick and told him his son had never wanted to marry Mary, had never even loved her. He was just doing as Jeremiah ordered, and if the land was not a part of her marriage settlement, then Jeremiah would marry him off to a widow, Abigail Harmer, whose father owned the big station to the north of Kurrajong, and was willing to hand over a large parcel of land as a dowry to get his daughter off his hands a second time.’

  ‘Patrick pleaded with Jeremiah to see reason, but the old man would not be swayed. Mary was distraught and went to find Ethan. She confronted him with what she’d overheard, and after a long, heated argument, threw back his ring and returned to Churinga with her father. Within a matter of weeks she was married to Mervyn Thomas who’d been working on Churinga station as a stockman, and they moved out of the district.’