Out of Alice (29 page)

Beth glanced up, brown eyes bright. ‘Right then, we'd best prepare to repel borders. I'll ring Clemmy to prepare her in case the place really does come under siege. I'm sure she'd have you stay until they clear off again. Hopefully he won't actually have written that you're here.'

‘He promised he wouldn't, but there'll be pictures of me. Not much chance the locals won't see or recognise them.'

‘Doesn't mean they'll tell,' Jack said. ‘People like you, Sara, and nothing gets up bush folks' noses quicker than pushy city types.'

Whether he was right or not the day passed without visitors. The midday news carried the story but in an understated fashion. There had been an unverified claim that a woman said to be the lost daughter of the business tycoon JC Randall had regained her memory, purportedly lost during the abduction believed to have cost herself and her twin brother their lives twenty-one years earlier. Mr Randall had been unavailable for comment but an insider had brushed the claim aside. It wasn't the first time it had been made, she had said, and given the scurrilous nature of certain elements of the press, it probably wouldn't be the last.

Beth turned the switch and raised a brow at Sara. ‘So far so good.'

‘What does it mean, Mum? Who are they talking about?' Becky asked. ‘You didn't get the weather. Dad always does.'

‘Well, I expect he'll listen on the Toyota wireless, then.'

‘Did you really forget
everything
?' Sam asked curiously. ‘Wouldn't that be sorta weird?'

‘It was. And very –' Sara searched for a way to describe it – ‘dislocating. Like not being able to find bits of yourself. You don't know who you are, you see.'

His eyes, so like his mother's, regarded her seriously. ‘I'm glad you found out, then. Is that man they were talking about your father?'

‘Yes, he is. But he doesn't know me and I don't know him – not yet anyway.'

‘Will you go and see him?'

‘When the holidays get here, if he wants to see me.'

‘Well, if he doesn't,' he said firmly, ‘you can come back here, can't she, Mum?'

‘Of course she can, Sara knows that, I hope,' Beth said. ‘But he will, just wait and see.'

Sara's eyes suddenly filled at both her kindness and her certainty. Seeing it, her employer patted her hand, adding, ‘Now, come on, kids, eat up. You've got to get your acts perfect this arvo. Uncle Jack said he wants to hear them, seeing he won't be with us for the concert.'

Their first visitor after the news broke was Harry, stumping up the kitchen steps, mailbag in hand. He nodded to Sara saying, ‘Nobody found yer yet, then?'

‘You're our first visitor in a week,' Beth answered. ‘Why?'

‘Just wondered. Had a city bloke round my place askin' questions. How many stations did I go ter on me run? Were there any redheaded women on 'em? He wanted ter book a ride for today but I told him I was full up.'

‘Thank you, Harry.' Sara poured his tea. ‘A reporter, you think?'

‘Well, he had one of them little recordin' things sticking outta his pocket. 'Course it won't stop him hirin' a car if he's fair dinkum about findin' yer.' He nodded, chewing on a biscuit. ‘I remember when yer went missin', you know. Fact is I carted a load of horse feed out for the copper's nags when the search was on. And now here you are.'

Sara turned her cup about and studied him afresh. ‘That's amazing!' A thought occurred to her. ‘Did you see my parents at all?'

His faded eyes were kindly. ‘Forgotten them, have yer? No, lass, I never set eyes on 'em. Musta been near a hundred people out there by then. They'd dragged the army in to help. So I expect you'll be headin' orf to the big smoke to see your dad, now?'

‘After next week,' she agreed, unwilling to pursue further a subject on which her decision changed at least twice a day.

‘Which reminds me,' Beth broke in. ‘There'll be nobody home next Friday, so you can leave the bag on the verandah. Jack'll be here but probably out. The rest of us will be in town, it's school break-up.'

‘And me and Sam are gonna sing, Harry,' Becky said, adding with satisfaction, ‘Uncle Jack said we're really good. You wanna hear us?'

‘Perhaps not right now,' Sara said hastily. ‘If you don't run and feed the chickens, you'll be late for lessons.' A broody hen had hatched out a clutch of eggs, much to Becky's delight, and she leapt to her feet at the reminder.

‘Glass in the sink, please,' Beth said but the door banged and she spoke to the empty air.

The weekend was spent packing and making lists. They would do their usual Christmas shopping and store order while they were in town, Beth said. They were to travel on Monday. School events would occupy the following three days, culminating in the concert on Thursday evening, and on Friday Sam would have his next hospital visit. Sara and the other governesses would be in attendance at the school activities, leaving Beth three days to get through her list of things to buy and do.

‘It's always a marathon job,' she confided. ‘Other years I've left the kids with Rinky on alternate days, and then she's left hers with me, to give us both time up town. It'll be a boon having you there.' She paused before asking, ‘No word from your father yet?'

‘No.' The mail had brought a copy of Paul's story spread over two pages with pictures and black headlines that announced:
Decades-old Mystery Solved. Millionaire's Kidnapped Daughter Found.
Paul had written a coherent and detailed story of the kidnapping of the twins. The only speculation it contained was that they had been taken for ransom – a safe enough assumption, she thought, lacking evidence to the contrary. He had described Benny's abandonment by Vic Blake just as Sara had remembered it, together with a graphic description of the desolate country in which the little boy had died. There was no mention of Paul's part in Sara's recovery of her memory or of her present whereabouts, beyond briefly noting that in an ironic twist she had unknowingly returned to her outback roots, and was currently employed on a remote cattle property in the Northern Territory. A side bar to the piece added that South Australian police were currently seeking Stella Blake in connection with an alleged kidnapping in the seventies.

‘It's a good pic of you,' Beth had observed, studying it.

‘Nick took it. Colin's offsider at the park. He wants to be a professional photographer.'

‘Well, he's got the talent.' Beth laid the paper aside and returned to checking cupboards.

Monday morning Jack left before them, carrying his lunch. He patted Sam's shoulder and staggered a little from Becky's exuberant clutch as she hugged him round the waist. ‘Bye, Uncle Jack. I wish you were coming too.'

‘Can't be helped, Squirt. What's Jess gonna do without me? And your nags and the goats and the chooks? This place is a flaming zoo. Have fun. Goodbye, Sara. I hope it all turns out for you. If a message comes for you, I'll ring it through to Mum.'

‘Thank you, Jack.' The sun was touching the back steps where he had paused on his way out, lighting one side of his face, casting brow line and nose in stern relief. He didn't smile and the grey eyes were inscrutable.

Every fibre of Sara's being cried out for her to embrace him but his stance subtly forbade it. It was as if a stranger stood there in his boots, somebody she didn't know at all, and certainly not the man in whose arms she had wept for her brother. After the slightest hesitation she offered her hand.

‘And thank you for all your help; I'll never forget you – any of you,' she hastened, feeling panic overwhelm her. Couldn't he at least smile or say something? Once they had shared companionable silences but there was no sense of sharing now, just an awful feeling of constraint. As they shook hands she felt as embarrassed as a gauche schoolgirl with a crush on the new teacher.

‘Safe journey,' he said, and like that, with an abrupt turn, he was gone.

Beth, already clearing the table, sent a puzzled look after his retreating form and shot a swift glance at Sara. ‘Something wrong?'

‘Of course not,' she said hastily, picking up the nearest dish. ‘Look, leave the cleaning up to me, I'm already packed so I've nothing else to do.' And it gave her an excuse to hide her face over the sink.

Jack couldn't, she thought miserably, have made it much plainer that her leaving meant nothing to him at all. She was just another governess to him, one of several who had worked at Redhill.

‘Well, if you're sure . . .' Unconvinced but too distracted to pursue the subject, Beth clapped her hands. ‘Right, kids, we've no time to waste. I want your rooms tidied first. Then you can fill the horses' feed buckets, Becky, and Sam, you might put the hoses away. Let's make things as easy as we can for your uncle. He'll have heaps to do while we're gone.'

The road trip passed for Sara in a waking dream. She gazed upon the barren landscape, remembering how alien and unwelcoming it had once seemed. Would she ever see it softened by the benison of rain, with water in the table drains and the bare bones of the land cloaked by a coverlet of green? Would she ever know the fullness of the vision that Jack had once painted for her – of whirling flocks of budgies rising from grassy plains; of the ducks that came to the filled claypans that for a week or two after rain reflected the sky; of paper daisies flowering through the mulga? She would miss it all, and the hardy people with whom she had shared the past few months. And it wasn't just Jack, she realised. She really wanted to know how they would all fare – whether Sam's quiet courage would prevail over his illness, what the gender of Clemmy's baby would be, whether the walls of the Charlotte Creek hall would ever be built . . .

‘You're very quiet, Sara.' Beth caught her eye in the driving mirror. ‘You're not a bad traveller, are you?'

‘Just thinking, that's all.'

‘Of course.' She nodded understandingly. ‘He knows where you are, though. He'll call soon.'

‘Who, Mum?' It was Becky, of course – always with the questions.

‘Sara's dad.'

‘Cool.' The child turned a rapt gaze upon Sara. ‘Can I meet him? I want to tell him I'm sorry about his little boy dying – the one you used to play with.'

‘Do you, chicken? That's nice of you.' Sara gave her a hug and herself a mental shake. Life went on regardless of heartbreak. ‘What about I-spy? Only with proper rules, mind. Because we can't guess about something that's already fifty k behind us.'

‘She does that all the time,' Sam agreed smugly.

‘Do not!'

‘Okay, I'll start,' Beth interposed peaceably. ‘I spy with my little eye . . .'

In the Alice they stayed with Helen and Frank, the former overriding Sara's feeble objection that she was one too many and could easily go to a hotel.

‘The kids are here,' Beth pointed out. ‘So this way's simpler, and cheaper because as your employer I'd be responsible for your accommodation.'

Sara was horrified. ‘Of course I'd pay for myself! I didn't mean —'

‘That's all right. I know you didn't. Do stay. We'll be losing you soon enough as it is.'

Sara gave in. ‘Okay. Thank you. I'd love to.'

It wasn't Beth's intention, however tempting, to expose Sam to the communal school life of the next three days.

‘Too much danger of infection. He's sure to pick up something from one of the kids,' Beth said. ‘We'll chance the concert and Mum'll take him out when she can. Dad said he'll drop you and Becky off wherever – the school or the swimming pool – and collect you again. You'll be home by three p.m. each day, so if you want to make a salon appointment, or do some shopping, Dad can drive you there, too. You just have to say.'

‘That's great.' Sara eyed her now shabby hat. ‘I think a haircut for starters; a new hat wouldn't go amiss either. And I'll have to check up on the job possibilities here. It seems like a nice little town. I might stay, if there's work.'

‘Oh, but won't your fath–' Beth bit her lip. ‘Sorry, not really my business.'

‘I don't know,' Sara replied to the half-spoken assumption. ‘But I can't assume anything at this stage. And that being so, it seems best to carry on as if nothing has changed. So I'll need a job.'

‘Of course. Well, Mum's got a cuppa going. Let's have that and then get settled in.'

Tuesday was busy but Sara made an appointment at The Hair Place and duly emerged feeling much lighter. She ruffled her clipped curls for Frank, who was waiting for her outside, and struck a pose. ‘What do you think?'

‘Pretty damn stunning, young lady. Shows off your neck. You've got a very elegant neck, if you don't mind my saying so.'

She smiled at him. ‘Why, thank you, Frank. You can compliment me as much as you like.'

He harrumphed, hunching his shoulder. ‘Somebody with sense oughta. That son of mine's a damn fool.'

Sara flushed, didn't pretend to misunderstand him. She said sadly, ‘From what I understand he was warned against making one mistake and still went ahead and did it. The way that turned out, you can hardly expect him to repeat it.'

He snorted. ‘Well, that makes as much sense as nothing. You mean if a brown mare kicks me, I should only ride chestnuts after that? She was a mean-spirited woman, Marilyn, out for what she could get. Wouldn'ta mattered where she'd been raised, that's how she was. She couldn't come within a hundred miles of you.'

‘It's his decision to make, Frank. Let's talk about something else. Like, could you bear it if I looked at the shops for a bit?'

‘You take your time. In fact, what if you start and I shoot home and get young Bec? She's got a bit of pocket money to spend on Christmas presents. Maybe you could help each other decide.'

Sara grinned. ‘So you don't get dragged in, you mean?'

‘Something like that. I get enough of that with my wife.'

Wednesday was sports day, with the children divided into houses and then age groups. Becky was in yellow house, identified with a sash of that colour, and milled about excitedly with her peers while the events unfolded. Sara found Rinky and Flo Morgan amid the parents and was surprised to see Clemmy as well, ensconced in a chair amid the spectators.

‘I didn't expect to see you here,' she said, taking the seat beside her. ‘Are you well?'

‘Blooming, thanks. We're doing our Christmas shop like everybody else. I ran into the Garritys at the supermarket, and the Pinchens are in the next unit to ours at the motel. So is it true, Sara, all that stuff on the news? They're all talking about it – you being the lost heiress the papers are on about?'

Sara grimaced at the media's latest description of her. She had been recognised in the hair salon, and forced to rehash the story of her memory loss and upbringing when Beth had introduced her to both Mrs Murray and the principal of the School of the Air, both of them Territorians who remembered the kidnapping. The one aspect of her history that had the greatest grip on the public imagination, she had discovered, was the fact that she had been raised by one of her kidnappers. ‘I wish they wouldn't call me that, but yes, the basics are true. I fell and hit my head after I was kidnapped and that caused amnesia. I only began to remember things after I got to Redhill, but it took an investigative journalist to put it all together. I grew up believing that my kidnappers were my parents. I seem to have been explaining that ever since the story broke.'

‘And your twin brother died,' Clemmy said sympathetically, ignoring the hint in this last sentence. ‘How horrible! Your mother too. So when will you meet your dad? Can you remember him at all?'

‘Not much,' she said honestly. ‘I'm flying off to try to track him down next week.' The decision to do so had coalesced seemingly of its own accord last night, following a long phone call with Paul Markham. ‘He's in Sydney. At least, that's where he lives. He could actually be anywhere. Paul, the journalist that helped me, said he travels a good bit. He has overseas interests, apparently.'

‘The whole thing's amazing,' Clemmy said. ‘Everybody's talking about it. Should I be calling you Christine now? Or Chrissy, the way the papers do?'

‘No. I'm keeping Sara. I'll have to change my surname eventually I suppose, but for the time being I'm still using Blake. It's on my driver's licence, my Medicare card, my bank account . . . Anyway, that's for later. How do you like my new hat?'