Outback Sunset, page 9
Hilary preferred modern, understated elegance which suited her home in Cullen Bay but she pictured Amaroo having more of a casual country look. Leather armchairs, rounded sofas in attractive soft patterns, dressers and colonial style bookcases on either side of the rough rock fireplace which was rarely lit because most of the year it was too hot. A few paintings, Australian landscapes, naturally, two or three colourful rugs to complement the polished floors and light, translucent drapes, would give the entrance, dining and living rooms a real spruce-up. She would probably have to order catalogues and have the necessities sent from either Geraldton or Darwin.
She found Fran in the kitchen tidying up after Bren and Reg’s breakfast.
‘Morning,’ Vanessa greeted the middle-aged woman who stood at the kitchen sink.
‘G’day, Vanessa. I trust you slept well?’
‘Like a log. Must be the fresh air.’ Her cheeks coloured delicately. And the comfort of being in Bren’s arms all night, she thought, but didn’t add.
‘What can I get you for breakfast? Muesli, bacon and eggs, an omelette, cereal, toast, fruit?’
‘I don’t know, I’m just getting used to the breakfast thing.’
Fran clucked at her with her tongue and said in that frank way of hers, ‘On Amaroo everyone, even Nova who’s obsessive about her weight, has a hearty breakfast. It’ll take ten minutes to cook you a nice hot brekkie. Start you off well for the whole day, it will.’
Breakfast. Vanessa smiled because eating it was still a novelty. Until their honeymoon, she’d rarely eaten breakfast because of her different lifestyle but, intending to fit in, she looked at Fran who, in anticipation, had a skillet in one hand and a spatula in the other. She said enthusiastically, ‘Bacon and eggs and some fruit would be nice.’
Nova arrived as Vanessa was finishing her coffee. She gave Bren’s bride an assessing once-over as she sat opposite. ‘Nice clobber.’
Vanessa blinked twice. The word was unfamiliar. ‘Clobber?’
‘Clothes,’ Fran translated the Aussie-ism, grinning conspiratorially at her stepdaughter. ‘I see that we’re going to have to educate Vanessa on the lingo.’ She winked at Bren’s bride, ‘Language to you.’
Entering into the lighthearted conversation, Vanessa countered, ‘Should I take notes?’
‘Not if you have a half-decent memory,’ Nova replied. ‘Come on, we’ll go into the office and you can talk to your sister-in-law, Lauren, via the high frequency radio.’
Eager to impress Vanessa with the uniqueness of Amaroo, and her knowledge, Nova gave her charge the grand tour of Amaroo, and, not in a hurry, it took the better part of the morning. Vanessa found it fascinating and awesome, unlike anything she had expected. Amaroo Station did not resemble an English farm or the Cooper’s manor house in Dorset in any way. Buildings, other than the homestead and the original cottage, were rudimentary and stark. They were built from unpainted timber and corrugated iron to weather according to the elements of rain and sun under which they managed to exist. There were several equipment sheds, a saddle room, and the stockmen’s bunkhouse — and she learned that Fran, Nova and Reg had a two-bedroom flat attached to the far end of the bunkhouse. They walked the perimeter of the original stone homestead, built by Bren’s grandfather and Nova told her that Curtis lived there, alone.
Away from the homestead stood several fenced stockyards, a breaking-in yard with a two-metre high railing fence around it and further out still stood another high, tin structure — a hangar of sorts, which housed aeroplane equipment and tools, a lot of motor bikes and a chopper. A single engine plane stood outside on the packed earth runway.
‘Because of Amaroo’s terrain, horses aren’t always used to muster stock. Sometimes bikes and the chopper handle the rougher ground better — and the bikes are more practical to run too,’ Nova told Vanessa as they browsed through the bike area, looking at the variety of bikes the station had.
‘How far away are our closest neighbours?’
‘That’s Linford Downs. It’s about two hundred kilometres due west. Lauren and Marc’s station, Cadogan’s Run, is a bit more, something over two hundred southwest as the crow flies.’
‘Can you fly that?’ Vanessa asked, pointing to the chopper, which looked as if it were well-maintained.
Nova thought about that for a few seconds. ‘I’ve never had any lessons, but I’ve watched Curtis and Dad work on the motor and fly it. Reckon I could, in an emergency.’
‘I’d like to learn how to fly one day,’ Vanessa said with a decisive nod of her head. ‘It must be a super experience being up in the air, looking down at everything.’
‘Bren or Curtis could teach you initially, but you’d have to be tested by the authorities to get a pilot’s licence. Curtis is the better chopper pilot, and he’s more patient than Bren.’
‘Really?’ Vanessa’s left eyebrow lifted on hearing that. Curtis Selby was not high on her totem pole of nice people. ‘I would have thought the opposite.’
Nova’s grin implied that she understood what Vanessa meant. ‘His brusque manner can be off-putting, but Curtis is a good bloke. Honestly.’
Vanessa’s smile accepted Nova’s vote of confidence on Curtis but the expression in her eyes said something different. ‘If you say so.’ She gave her guide a quizzical look, then asked, ‘What do you do when you’re at Amaroo?’
‘This and that. A bit of everything except cooking. I’m a regular jillaroo,’ she said proudly. ‘I help with the musters, repair fencing, branding, do artificial insemination and whatever needs doing at the time. Sometimes I visit the Aboriginal camp in the hills. I’ve several friends there.’
‘You don’t get bored?’
‘One only gets bored at Amaroo if one wants to. I’ve always found plenty of things to do.’ As she looked at Vanessa her expression became serious. ‘That’s the trick to the outback, you know, keeping busy and,’ she grinned, ‘there’s always plenty to keep one busy.’
‘Why?’
Nova shrugged her shoulders. ‘I guess … because when you’re doing stuff you don’t think about the isolation or how hot it is, or that it’s too dry or too wet. Do you ride, Vanessa?’ Nova asked, as by silent, mutual consent they began to walk back to the homestead.
‘In a fashion,’ Vanessa was too modest to boast and admit that she was an accomplished horsewoman with dressage and gymkhana experience. Something she’d learned as an adult. ‘I’ve enjoyed riding over several weekends at a Dorset manor house, owned by one of David’s friends. That’s … where David joined the hunt and …’
Vanessa’s tone and her inability to finish the sentence alerted Nova that something was wrong. She remembered why. ‘Sorry! That was a stupid question. I forgot about your late fiancé.’ Then by way of explanation she added. ‘Bren told the family how he died.’ God, why hadn’t she thought before she said that. On meeting Vanessa she had seen the future potential in being nice to her, to becoming her ‘best buddy’. She didn’t know how, yet, but she suspected she could learn a lot from the sophisticated, but easygoing actress — things that could be to her advantage one day.
‘That’s all right,’ Vanessa assured Nova though her smile was tinged with a touch of melancholy. ‘It’s in the past now.’
And it was. Falling in love with Bren had eased and, over time, eradicated most of the pain associated with David’s untimely passing when she had once believed that she’d never be happy again. Her gaze took in her immediate surroundings and then she stared into the distance. It wasn’t at all like England but … she liked it.
The starkness had raw appeal, and she sensed the challenge in the ruggedness and the unforgiving quality of the forever-the-same Kimberley. She intended to make a good life with Bren, and fervently embrace what had to be learned with a willingness that would show Curtis and anyone else who doubted her capacity to adapt, that she could contribute something worthwhile to the station.
‘When you’ve settled in, we’ll go exploring,’ Nova offered. ‘There are some great places on Amaroo. There’s a narrow gorge with ancient palms growing everywhere. It has a waterfall and a pool deep enough to swim in.’
Understanding that Nova was trying to make up for her recent faux pas drove Vanessa’s melancholia into her subconscious. Smiling, she pulled at her shirt to let the air flow inside and cool her skin down. ‘I’d like that …’
She looked down at her new boots as she stepped up onto the verandah. They were scuffed and covered in a film of red soil. Her smile widened. They didn’t look new anymore, and that was just fine with her.
On her second day at Amaroo, Vanessa began to assume the role Hilary Selby had exulted in for so long, being the station’s boss lady, but she did it smoothly and subtly so as not to offend anyone, especially Nova and Fran. Both women were going out of their way to make her feel comfortable, and giving her snippets of information to help run the station and homestead. That day she helped Fran feed the poddy calves and the following day she did it by herself. She organised furniture catalogues to be sent from a Darwin home furniture store and learned that because it was over a thousand kilometres from Amaroo, delivery of the pieces would take several months. Still, as far as she was concerned, it was important that all the Selbys, as well as others connected with the station, knew that she was ‘moving in’ for keeps and that the homestead was not simply a base from which she took off to complete acting engagements.
On a July morning Curtis watched Bren throw a rope around Runaway, a four-year-old mare singled out from several other horses in the stockyard. Bren brought the mare to the rails and put her bridle on. Morning shadows were shrinking across the earth as the sun came up. Sun-up was Curtis’s favourite time of day. It was still quiet, apart from the occasional twitter of a bird. Dew hung on the tips of yellow grass, and on the spider’s web attached to the corner doorway of the saddle room, and there was a pleasant coolness to the air. The coolness would soon evaporate and turn into a sizzler as the day heated up. In the Kimberley June, July and August had the most moderate weather. The heat was not too extreme, the humidity was bearable and there was an unwritten guarantee that today would be the same as yesterday, and tomorrow the same as today.
That suited him because Curtis wasn’t overly fond of change and there had been several changes around Amaroo over the last few months. Vanessa had successfully put her stamp on the place — ‘staked out her territory’, more or less. She had redecorated half the house, restored the tennis court and had lighting installed so the court could be used when it was cooler. Bren said she was even talking about doing something with the thirty-year-old hole in the ground near the court. Not putting in a swimming pool but a huge spa or some other kind of watery nonsense — ridiculous and impractical for the Kimberley climate.
It was obvious that she didn’t like him. He lifted a shoulder carelessly then let it settle. He wasn’t particularly thrilled with her either, but he was a fair man and he could see that she made Bren happy. His brother hadn’t had a mood for months nor got stuck into the whisky because he felt down. So, as far as he could tell Vanessa was good for Bren, but only the passage of time would see if that continued to be the case.
His thoughts shifted away from his brother and Vanessa to his daughter. God, he was looking forward to the wet though it was still several months away. Not because the rain revitalised the land and helped the animals in the Kimberley to put on weight but because he could take time off to see Regan. How he missed her. It was as if a part of him was numb, cut off, and like a man desperate for information he would read and re-read her letters, written in her childish handwriting, over and over again, till he knew every word off by heart. He would fly to Sydney and spend a small fortune on accommodation and spoil her over a couple of weeks of quality time together.
Bren brought a saddle out of the saddle room and put it on Runaway. The horse pawed the ground and neighed. She hadn’t been ridden for a while. Curtis squinted against the sunlight as he looked at the frisky Runaway. He’d not seen his sister-in-law ride and as she was going to accompany them on a muster being done on the station’s southern quadrant, the last thing he wanted was an accident.
‘You sure Vanessa can ride okay?’ he asked, ‘Runaway’s not known for her gentle nature.’
‘Nova reckons she can handle her. Vanessa rode her up to the Aboriginal camp last week.’
Curtis made a snorting sound. ‘That’s a short ride, three hours tops. You think she can sit in a saddle all day long?’
‘Nova says she’ll be fine. Vanessa’s tougher than she looks. I thought you’d have realised that by now.’ Bren studied his brother over Runaway’s rump for several seconds. ‘Look at what she’s learned. She can refuel the engine that runs the generator and fix the fanbelt when it loosens and the motor cuts out. Nova’s shown her how to fix pumps at bore water outlets when they clog up with mud and roots, and she’s learning how to keep the station’s books up to date as well as the records on the breeding program.’ He stared challengingly at Curtis. ‘Bro, when are you going to give her some credit for what she’s achieved?’
Curtis took note of the muscle twitching along his brother’s jawline, a sure sign that Bren’s short fuse temper was on the rise. ‘Okay.’ He lifted his hands in defeat. ‘I admit it, she’s scrubbed up better than I thought she would.’
Bren’s mouth widened in a grin, as if he knew that was a reasonable concession. ‘Good. That wasn’t too hard, was it?’ He tightened the saddle’s girth strap, adjusted the bridle and reins. ‘Would you go and give Nova and Vanessa a hurry up. Reg’s riding and Warren’s in the support truck. They have a half hour’s start on us.’
Ten minutes later, with a jaundiced gaze, Curtis watched Vanessa mount Runaway, and she did it with the ease that came from years of practice. As soon as she settled into the saddle, she flicked the reins and cantered off after Bren who was flying across the bottom paddock. She knew how to ride, he acknowledged sourly as he and Nova followed. Oddly, it irked him to see that she was accomplished in that regard but then, his lips compressed together with annoyance … why should it?
She was making a fair fist of life at Amaroo too, better than his ex-wife had. Everyone seemed to admire her, not only for her looks which were exceptional, but for her nature, her pleasantness and her intellect. She picked up things quickly, and she had a good memory too. He should be happy for Bren. He was, but he couldn’t take to her, couldn’t drop the barriers, or the feeling that deep down this, her life at Amaroo was just another role to her and for actors, all roles came to an end one day, didn’t they?
Nova had warned Vanessa that mustering, cutting out the weaners then branding and castrating them was hot, dirty work, and her tutor hadn’t been wrong. They had been riding the mob, several hundred head, towards a small gorge which, because of its shape made a good holding yard, for what seemed hours. Vanessa had red dust in her hair, her eyes, in every pore of her body, she was sure of that. Astride Runaway, she sat atop a small knoll watching Bren, Curtis, Reg and Warren, the part-Aboriginal stockman, separate the cattle into three groups. Mature bulls and cows, weaners and calves, which were destined to be branded and most of the males, castrated.
Vanessa could see that it was hard, back-breaking work but those doing it made it look easy. No one appeared to hurry, but the separating got done with a minimum of effort because everyone knew it was important to conserve as much energy as possible, because the day was going to be long and arduous. She looked up at a cloud-swept sky and then down at a vehicle being driven by Warrem. It carried their food, water and swags and was some distance away from the cattle so they wouldn’t get spooked. They’d be eating and sleeping out tonight, her first experience at sleeping under the stars.
She watched Bren and his dog, Kimbo, herd three strays back to the mob and admired the ease with which her husband did the job, whistling and yelling commands to the dog, and occasionally cracking his stockwhip. If Kerri could see Bren now, see his expertise, ran the thought through her head. See her too, all sweaty and dishevelled. Her agent wouldn’t believe her eyes. Her client, the darling of London’s West End, was far removed from her usual well-coiffed, made-up self.
As Vanessa watched the milling herd, clouds of dust sprang up as Reg raced ahead of the cattle to reach down and open one of the roughly made gates. Because she lacked experience Vanessa had been delegated to the position of observer, allowed to watch the action from a safe distance. Even so, she was gaining some understanding of what Bren, Curtis and the others did on a regular basis —pitting their skills and will against a mob of undisciplined animals in one of the harshest environments on earth. Their sense of achievement must be extraordinary and, suddenly, she was humbled by what she was seeing. Each person did what they had to do without expecting praise, or reward.
One day, not this year but maybe the next, she would be experienced enough to do what Reg and Bren were doing. That thought excited her more than hearing the applause of two thousand fans in a theatre.
After lunch, which consisted of thick slabs of homemade bread, sliced roast beef and pickles, plus fresh fruit, washed down with billy tea, the work continued. Lunch, she learned, was always light because of the heavy workload that didn’t let up until sunset.
There wasn’t much of a physical nature that Vanessa could do, other than watch the proceedings, but she helped to control the gate that sent the male weaners single file into a smaller holding area where they were leg-roped and branded. Watching was bad enough and the smell of burnt animal hair soon mingled with the smell of cattle, dust and honest sweat. Grudgingly and silently, she admired their teamwork. All were old hands at the tasks and knew, without having to be told, what had to be done. Nova, by far the smallest physically, worked as hard as the men, impressing Vanessa with her stamina.
