Head for the Hills, page 1
‘Tricia Stringer is a bestselling author and voice of Australian storytelling. She’s back, and better than ever with a glorious read about the journeys we take, professionally and personally…Back on Track is a double treat, combining two of my favourite things: train journeys and excellent storytelling…Pure (train) escapism but with guts and heart – and an ending that will make you smile.’
—Better Reading
‘Back on Track is an engaging tale of troubled relationships, ageism, family drama and hope…Another warm-hearted and engaging read by Stringer.’
—Canberra Weekly
‘…another great story of family and friends with Tricia, [who is] a master at producing authentic and real people and places that take you right to the centre of the community.’
—Great Reads and Tea Leaves on Keeping up Appearances
‘Popular author Tricia Stringer returns with another engaging tale of friendship, family drama and changing times…[she] once again demonstrates why she is one of the best chroniclers of small town Australia.’
—Canberra Weekly on Keeping up Appearances
‘“Masterful” gets used a lot in reviews, but Tricia Stringer really is. With Birds of a Feather, she firmly takes her place as one of Australia’s most accomplished writers.’
—Better Reading
‘Warm, sincere and thoughtful, Birds of a Feather is an engaging contemporary novel sure to delight readers, new and old.’
—Book’d Out
‘A good, warm-hearted read with relatable and empathetic characters.’
—Canberra Weekly on Birds of a Feather
‘A book you can’t put down … Stringer’s skill is in weaving the experiences of different generations of women together, with sensitivity and familiarity, gently showing how context can shape women’s decisions … A moving, feel-good, warm read about strong, loving women … the exact book we all need right now.’
—Mamamia on The Family Inheritance
‘… a polished family saga … all delivered with intelligence, wit and emotion in equal measures … Perfection!’
—Better Reading on The Family Inheritance
‘Tricia Stringer is an intuitive and tender-hearted storyteller who displays a real ability to interrogate issues that affect families and individuals. The Family Inheritance is another gratifying read from Tricia Stringer.’
—Mrs B’s Book Reviews
‘This book is the equivalent of a hot bath or a box of chocolates, it’s comforting and an absolute pleasure to immerse yourself in … If you enjoy well-written family sagas, look no further. The Model Wife is perfect.’
—Better Reading
‘Tricia Stringer’s The Model Wife is a beautiful multi-dimensional family saga.’
—Beauty and Lace
‘[A] heartfelt saga.’
—Herald Sun on The Model Wife
‘The Model Wife is a beautiful story with familiar challenges and a strength of a family who are connected via their life experiences together.’
—Chapter Ichi
‘A well-written, engaging story of the everyday challenges of life and love … a wise, warm, and wonderful story.’
—Book’d Out on The Model Wife
‘Delivers a gentle satisfaction that makes it a great choice for a lazy Sunday afternoon read.’
—Books + Publishing on Table for Eight
‘A witty, warm and wise story of how embracing the new with an open heart can transform your life.’
—Herald Sun on Table for Eight
‘… a moving, feel-good read … a warm and uplifting novel of second chances and love old and new in a story of unlikely dining companions thrown together on a glamorous cruise.’
—Sunday Mail on Table for Eight
‘A wonderful story of friendships, heartbreak and second chances that may change your life.’
—Beauty and Lace on Table for Eight
‘Stringer’s inviting new novel is sprinkled with moments of self reflection, relationship building, friendships and love.’
—Mrs B’s Book Reviews on Table for Eight
‘Tricia has no trouble juggling a large cast and ensuring we get to know and connect with them … captivated me start to finish; if it wasn’t the wishing myself on board for a relaxing and pampered break from reality, it was connecting with the characters and hoping they managed to find what they were looking for. Definitely a book I didn’t want to put down!’
—Beauty and Lace on Table for Eight
‘A heart-warming novel that celebrates friendships old and new, reminding us that it’s never too late to try again … If you enjoy stories that explore connections between people and pay tribute to the endurance of love and friendship, you will love Stringer’s new novel. Table For Eight is a beautiful book … If you’re looking for a getaway but don’t quite have the time or funds, look no further – this book is your next holiday. Pull up a deck chair and enjoy.’
—Better Reading on Table for Eight
about the author
TRICIA STRINGER is a bestselling and multiple award-winning author. Her books include Back on Track, Keeping up Appearances, Birds of a Feather, The Family Inheritance, The Model Wife, Table for Eight, seven rural romances and a historical saga set in the unforgiving landscape of nineteenth-century Flinders Ranges.
Tricia grew up on a farm in country South Australia and has spent most of her life in rural communities, as owner of a post office and bookshop, as a teacher and librarian, and now as a full-time writer. She lives on the traditional lands of the Narungga people, in the beautiful Copper Coast region, with her husband Daryl, travelling and exploring Australia’s diverse communities and landscapes, and sharing her passion for the country and its people through her authentic stories and their vivid characters.
For further information and to sign up for her quarterly newsletter go to triciastringer.com or connect with Tricia on Facebook or Instagram @triciastringerauthor
Also by Tricia Stringer
Table for Eight
The Model Wife
The Family Inheritance
Birds of a Feather
Keeping up Appearances
Back on Track
Queen of the Road
Right as Rain
Riverboat Point
Between the Vines
A Chance of Stormy Weather
Come Rain or Shine
Something in the Wine
The Flinders Ranges Series
Heart of the Country
Dust on the Horizon
Jewel in the North
www.harpercollins.com.au/hq
For my Stringatta family – Jared, Alexandra and Lawrence
contents
About the Author
Also by Tricia Stringer
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty-One
Twenty-Two
Twenty-Three
Twenty-Four
Twenty-Five
Twenty-Six
Twenty-Seven
Twenty-Eight
Twenty-Nine
Thirty
Thirty-One
Thirty-Two
Thirty-Three
Thirty-Four
Thirty-Five
Thirty-Six
Thirty-Seven
Thirty-Eight
Thirty-Nine
Forty
Forty-One
Forty-Two
Forty-Three
Forty-Three
Acknowledgements
Book Club Questions
one
It was the coldest of days – one of those Adelaide Hills winter mornings when the damp infiltrated from the outside and the chill permeated deep inside your bones. It hadn’t stopped the good people of Jesserton from gathering in the Lutheran church for the funeral of Gunter Brost. The service had been short, after which his two sons had stood at the door as people had departed and stiffly thanked them for their attendance. Then they’d climbed into their smart hire car and driven away.
Margot Pedrick and her husband, Dennis, had lived next door to Gunter since they’d married and had built their home on the rolling hills beside his property. Margot had been prepared for his sons’ lack of courtesy. They’d lost touch with the community they’d grown up in. Once they’d left, she’d asked those still braving the cold and lingering outside the church back to her home. It was almost lunchtime and she’d made two big pots of soup and purchased lots of crusty bread. There were slabs of cake and plates of biscuits to go with tea or coffee and of course there were gluten-free biscuits, eggless cake and a vegan slice.
“Great spread as always, Margot.” Martin Threadgold joined her. He was a tall man but hunched in a way that made his jacket appear to be slipping from his shoulders. Margot badly wanted to brush away the large cake crumb that had caught in his beard.
“I’m glad I could do something for our dear neighbour,” she said.
“Gunter’s sons couldn’t wait to leave.”
“It’s a pity they weren’t a close family.”
“I heard they emptied his cottag e into a skip, locked the door and plan to never return.”
She’d heard that rumour too. “That’s not quite true—”
“And the For Sale sign has gone up already.”
Margot frowned. “When did—”
“Poor Gunter’s not even in the ground and they can’t wait to get their hands on his assets.”
“What For Sale sign?” Gunter’s driveway was at the end of the no through road that ran past the Pedricks’ front gate. “I haven’t seen one.”
“There’s one on the other side of his property that faces one of our holiday rentals. Lot more traffic that way. I reckon it must have gone up while we were paying our respects in the church. Those sons of his couldn’t even wait for the dust to settle.”
Martin’s wife, Anne, joined them, and to Margot’s relief brushed at the crumbs in Martin’s beard then began to discuss the large turnout they’d had at the church, and who’d been missing and why.
“It was wonderful of the mayor to come,” Anne said.
Martin snorted. “Esther Jelinski never misses an opportunity to be seen.”
“She was acknowledging Gunter’s contribution to our community.” Anne shook her head at her husband. “She knows how much he’ll be missed. And at least she’s keeping Gunter’s lawyer-man company.”
Margot glanced at Esther, who was indeed engaged in deep conversation with Elvin Wagner, a tall man in a very expensive suit who her sister had introduced to her as Gunter’s executor.
Others joined them and Margot eased away. She wanted to tell her husband about the For Sale sign but as she moved around a group of people she saw that Dennis was ensconced at the bar. He’d put some wine aside for those who preferred it and was now propped there with several blokes, each with a glass of red in their hands.
Margot veered off and plucked a plate of gluten-free biscuits and one of cake from the table. They’d talk as soon as everyone had left. As sad as it was that Gunter was gone, this was the opportunity she and Dennis had been waiting for.
She moved among her guests offering food or a comfortable chair if they required one, content in her role as host. At times like this she was glad she’d insisted on a large entertaining space when they’d extended and enclosed the back verandah. It was perfect for this occasion and the many other gatherings that had taken place in it since their children had been teenagers.
She cast her gaze over the outdoor kitchen with big windows and doors that could be wide open or closed like they were now, dressed with elegant drapes looped back to let in what light there was on such a dull day. The furniture was casual but comfortable and her guests were being kept warm by stylish gas heaters. The whole room was topped off with soft furnishings in autumn tones, a small variety of glossy indoor plants, and an extra assortment of chairs brought from the rest of the house for today.
“This cake is so moist, Margot. You’re such a good cook.” Another of Gunter’s long-time friends, Thelma Schmidt, helped herself to a slice from the plate and wandered towards the Threadgolds.
Margot took a moment to enjoy the small warm glow her compliment had brought. From the corner of her eye she spied her older sister, Roslyn, standing alone in front of the window. Roslyn and Gunter had been long-time friends and, although she’d not said as much, Margot knew she’d taken his death hard. Roslyn had her back to the room facing towards Gunter’s property. It suddenly struck Margot that her sister might know a bit more about what was going on with the sale. She swapped her almost-empty plates for a bowl of choc chip biscuits – they were Roslyn’s favourites – and set off with a fizz of optimism.
Roslyn stared from the window at the grey day, rolling her shoulders against the shiver that shuddered down her spine. Dear Gunter was gone. It had been sudden, unexpected, a shock, and she felt a sadness that ran deep like a chill in her bones. Surprisingly it was worse than when her own husband had died almost ten years ago to the day. Richard’s had been a slow demise from cancer. His death had been a release that had buried her in guilt as well as loss. With Gunter’s death she simply mourned the departure of a good friend but somehow it ached more. They’d known each other longer than Roslyn had known her husband. Gunter’s friendship had come freely, no expectations or strings attached. Until now.
She’d been surprised when his sons had turned up at her place before the funeral and stunned when they’d informed her Gunter had included her in his will. Not just as a beneficiary of a small token to mark a friendship – although the row of flying ceramic ducks that had hung on his wall were now hers, handed over awkwardly, loosely wrapped in old newspaper – but as paid caretaker of his property until it sold and settled. And of bigger significance: the caretaker’s position was not a weekly stipend but would be paid in the future in the form of a percentage of the sale price of the property.
Roslyn had been speechless. Gunter’s place was worth a fortune. The two sons had shrugged their expensively suited shoulders when she’d finally found her voice and asked a few stumbling questions. They’d muttered that their father’s executor would be in touch and had backed out of her house and set off for the funeral. They hadn’t spoken again. Elvin had taken her discreetly aside after the service and had made a time for them to meet. It seems Gunter’s generosity had other strings attached. She didn’t know whether to be excited or concerned. Once more a strange shiver wriggled down her spine.
“It’s chilly here by the glass, Roslyn.” Margot’s bright voice cut into her thoughts and then a warm hand grasped hers. “You’re freezing.” Her sister tutted. “Let me get you a cup of tea.”
“I can make my own.”
“I know you can but let me. We’re all a bit sad and it’s good to have a purpose.”
Margot guided her closer to one of the fancy gas heaters and put a bowl of biscuits on a low table before moving off to get the tea. In giving herself a purpose, she’d denied Roslyn, but Margot wouldn’t think of that. Several people had left since Roslyn had lost herself in her thoughts at the window. She was glad the numbers were thinning; she hated making small talk at gatherings like this. She’d make her own excuses to leave soon.
“Here you are.” Margot handed her a cup. “Have a biscuit.”
“No thanks.”
“But they’re your favourite, chocolate chip.”
Roslyn took one to keep the peace.
Margot glanced around. “I think everyone should be happy.”
“As much as they can be at a funeral.”
“I meant with my catering,” Margot huffed. “People need nurturing after a funeral. Once I heard there was not even a cup of tea and a biscuit planned I thought I’d do something. Those sons of Gunter’s weren’t much use.”
“They’ve lived interstate since they finished uni. I suppose we’re all strangers to them these days.”
“Even to their own father.”
“They kept in touch, rang him every week.”
“I didn’t think he ever heard from them. He rarely mentioned them to me.”
Roslyn gave an indifferent shrug.
“Well, I’m glad I could do it on Gunter’s behalf anyway,” Margot said.
Roslyn wouldn’t have invited half the town to her house. She had to concede it was a noble gesture from Margot. “He would have appreciated your kindness.”
“He was a lovely man.”
“He was.” Once more the gnaw of sorrow ached in Roslyn’s chest.
“You two were very close.”
“He got on well with you and Dennis too.”
“Yes, but he and Richard were great mates and since you’ve retired you’ve spent more time with Gunter. His sons should have acknowledged you at least.”
“They did.”
“When?”
“On their way to the funeral. They’ve asked me…or at least I think Gunter left instructions that they ask me to keep an eye on the place.”
“They’ve emptied the cottage.”
“Only of perishables, personal paperwork and any rubbish. The rest goes to charity. And I’ve only been asked to keep a general eye. It’s not good once a place is empty.” Roslyn spoke vaguely both because she didn’t know the ins and out of what was expected and she didn’t want Margot asking more questions before she did. “Gunter still has a contract for his grapes with Hillvale Winery, as far as I know.”
