Sunset Ridge (42 page)

 

Sunset Ridge, south-west Queensland, Australia
February 2000

Sheila had kindly left her two paintings at Sunset Ridge for a few days so they could be photographed and studied. They were currently propped against the wall in the lounge room and it was here that George and Madeleine sat staring at the works. Natural light streamed in through the window, causing the gilt frames to shimmer.

‘I'm glad you didn't leave yesterday, Maddy.' George took a sip of coffee.

They shared the plate of biscuits and cheese that Rachael had made for morning tea. With the property's financial problems now aired, her sister-in-law was gradually coming to terms with George's ultimatum, although more than once she had wondered aloud how she would ever manage to tend the garden
and
clean the house.

‘Me too, George. Whoever would have thought these beauties would turn up?'

George's attention flicked from the paintings to the history book he was leafing through. Occasionally he would read aloud from the pages sharing details of the Allied battles during the First World War, the commanding officers and the astounding casualties.

‘You know, it says here that
In Memoriam
notices first appeared in Australian newspapers during the Great War to try to help families and the nation come to terms with the terrible loss of life.'

Madeleine reached for a second cheese-and-biscuit. ‘I can't imagine living through that time, can you?'

‘No.' Closing the book, George pointed at the painting of their grandfather. ‘Why did he paint himself in that great bloody coat? It totally dwarfs him and he looks almost haunted.'

‘That's probably how he felt: engulfed by what he'd witnessed abroad and an alien in his old life once he returned home. The fact that there is a window between him and his governess suggests how isolated and lost he must have felt. The letter in Miss Waites's lap also interests me. Sheila believed she was engaged to be married at one stage. I wonder if her fiancé died in the war.'

‘Possible,' George agreed, wiping crumbs from his mouth. ‘And the torn bit? Any idea who the woman might be?'

Madeleine tilted her head to one side. ‘Sheila mentioned that the governess also taught Corally Shaw. It may have been her.'

‘So, why rip out her image?'

‘Perhaps Catherine and Corally had a falling out,' Madeleine suggested.

‘Over our grandfather?'

Madeleine turned to her brother. ‘I hadn't thought of that. Do you think Corally and Grandfather had a thing for each other and Miss Waites didn't approve?'

George laughed. ‘Now, that's something we'll never know. So, what happens now? Are you still driving to Brisbane in the morning?'

‘Yes. I promised Jude I'd stay with her for a day or so and go through everything we've discovered in detail. Then I'll fly back to Sydney, write up all my notes properly and start approaching other galleries.'

‘That's the spirit, sis.'

‘What about you?' Madeleine asked.

‘Actually, I'm not so stressed out now I've told Rachael what's going on.'

‘You should have told her sooner,' Madeleine counselled. ‘She
is
your wife.'

‘I know. It's just that she has certain expectations.'

Madeleine nodded. ‘Don't we all? The problem is that reality has a tendency to get in the way sometimes.'

They both looked at their grandfather's paintings.

‘These are damn good, aren't they?' George declared.

‘Yes,' Madeleine agreed, ‘they are.'

Rachael appeared in the doorway, a washing basket in her arms. ‘Maddy, Sonia's here.'

‘Again?' George stood and helped Madeleine up from the floor. ‘Does she have any more paintings with her?'

Rachael shook her head. ‘I don't think so. She wants to take Maddy into Banyan.' She turned to Madeleine. ‘Apparently there is someone in town Sonia wants to introduce you to. She seems a bit nervous.'

‘Nervous?' George repeated. ‘That would be a first.'

‘Well, she's waiting outside,' Rachael replied.

‘You better go,' George encouraged. ‘You wouldn't know what the old girl's got up her sleeve.'

‘You're right,' Madeleine agreed.

 

Sonia stopped the sedan outside a weatherboard house on the outskirts of Banyan. The square building was bordered by a gauzed-in veranda, with a partially dead lawn comprising the remainder of the half-acre block. A driveway led to an empty garage at the rear of the garden, while two potted geraniums added colour to the cracked cement steps at the front door. The house, although modest, was freshly painted and it enjoyed a pleasant aspect with the western side backing onto a ridge of dense trees. Madeleine, although impatient for the housekeeper to reveal their destination, was aware of the older woman's discomfort. The sedan's engine remained running and Sonia's grip on the steering wheel was turning her knotty knuckles white.

Madeleine sat quietly. The strange road trip appeared to have something to do with their conversation in her bedroom yesterday prior to Sheila Marchant's appearance. The housekeeper had referred to it twice during the drive into Banyan, as if Madeleine's passionate reasoning for wanting to hold a retrospective was the motivation for this particular journey.

Finally Sonia turned the key off in the ignition and wound down the driver's-side window. Clearly they were not going anywhere yet, so Madeleine did the same. The house was situated at the end of a side road and, although the distant roofs of village houses were visible, it was an isolated spot. Saltbush and clumpy burr stretched out across the paddock opposite the house while thick scrub encroached along the narrow road leading from the village. There was little breeze and the sedan soon warmed under the late-morning sun. Perspiration trickled down Madeleine's spine and she began to wonder if she was an unknowing accessory to a surveillance operation.

‘Sonia, I –'

‘You'll know soon enough. First, we must wait.'

Madeleine settled back in the burgundy upholstery, not altogether unhappy to be sitting in the hot car. It gave her time to process George's financial woes, which appeared to have been made worse by a lack of communication within his marriage. It was as if the past were playing out all over again with the property's salvation tied to her grandfather's legacy. This time, however, there wasn't a stack of masterpieces that could be sold. Commonsense and careful planning were the answers to the property's viability.

Five minutes later a utility drove down the lonely road and parked beside them. The man who emerged was instantly recognisable: Ross Evans. Madeleine said hello and received a nod in response; Sonia's presence was barely acknowledged before they were led down the dirt driveway to the rear of the house.

‘Sue-Ellen will be back soon. In the meantime, can I ask you not to get Mum too upset?'

Sonia gave an offhand acknowledgement as the man swung the veranda door open and stepped inside, and then once again they were left waiting. There was little shade behind the house. A square cement slab was home to a foldable camping chair while a few feet away an empty hills hoist tilted alarmingly to the left in an otherwise bare backyard.

Madeleine slapped at the black flies that were keen to investigate her face and arms. ‘Are you going to tell me why we're here?'

‘Once we're inside you'll understand more.' The older woman walked down to the rear fence. Constructed of sheets of corrugated iron hammered onto wooden posts, it stood ten feet high, blocking any view. ‘We used to come here as kids. Me and my cousins would sneak out of the house at night and throw stones at the windows. Whoever broke one got extra points.'

‘Nice,' Madeleine said under her breath.

‘I heard that.' Sonia turned towards her. ‘There's one thing you should know about the bush, Madeleine, about small villages, especially out here where it's remote and folks only have each other to rely on: people always remember the past, and those who are wronged are the last to forget.'

The back door creaked open. ‘She'll see you now, but I can't make any promises,' Ross Evans cautioned. ‘Her memory is near gone. She should be in a home but, well, who can afford it?' He held the battered screen door open for them.

‘Thank you,' Madeleine said softly.

Sonia muttered a comment about how the mighty had fallen.

Ross flicked a suspicious look at Sonia before nodding in response to Madeleine. ‘As I said, Sue-Ellen will be home soon.' The man lingered on the cement slab. ‘You'll do right by her?'

Sonia's lips were starting to curl inwards they were pressed together so hard. Bustling past Ross, she beckoned Madeleine to follow. ‘I'm only doing this because of your grandfather,' the housekeeper whispered as they entered a dimly lit kitchen.

Timber shelving held old-fashioned screw-top jars and round biscuit tins, while a grimy window above the sink looked out onto a side veranda and the ridge of trees. The room was constructed of simple unlined timber boards with every available piece of wall space plastered with pictures. There were posters of saints and images of the Virgin Mary and Jesus as well as photographs of cathedrals and stained-glass windows. Strewn amid this obsessive devotion were numerous crosses and religious icons, while the linoleum floor and part of the kitchen table were covered in piles of old magazines and books. There was a fridge and gas stove along one wall, and an ancient creamy-yellow Aga was another spot for a collection of records.

‘Look at this stuff.' Madeleine blew dust from a 1920s
Bulletin
magazine.

‘Don't touch that.'

The croaky voice belonged to an old woman slumped in a cane chair in the corner of the kitchen. Madeleine was startled and embarrassed not to have noticed the woman among the clutter, and could only stare at the tiny birdlike creature. The woman's white hair was gathered into a wispy bun atop her head and she was dressed in a cream blouse and long dark skirt. Her feet were propped up on a low stool and within her reach a hospital trolley held water, bananas and a portable radio. Madeleine could not see the woman's face; her chin rested on a bony chest that rose up and down as if the next breath would be her last.

Clearing magazines and books from two plastic garden chairs, Sonia gestured for Madeleine to sit. The room was stiflingly hot, and the stink emanating from under the table suggested that a bull mouse had taken up residence and was making the most of the messy conditions. Sonia remained silent, her gaze drifting across the kitchen. It was as if she were weighing up the past in a room that was lost in it.

‘It's been a long time,' Sonia said finally, loudly, leaning forward.

The woman didn't acknowledge either of her visitors.

‘I've brought someone to visit.' The housekeeper paused and looked at Madeleine as if deciding whether she should proceed. ‘It's Madeleine, David's granddaughter.'

The old woman lifted a hand to clutch a tissue to her chest.

Madeleine held her breath for a moment. ‘Did you know my grandfather?' she asked.

The silence stretched through the suffocating room. Mad­eleine, thinking that either the woman had not heard or she had fallen asleep, turned to Sonia, who merely lifted a finger for patience. Very slowly the old woman raised her chin. Creased by soft lines, the aged face retained evidence of high cheekbones, a wide forehead and the symmetrical features of a great beauty. Yet it was the woman's eyes that struck Madeleine. Although the irises were filmy and ringed in grey, they were the most extraordinary coloured eyes she had ever seen.

‘So, you're David's girl.'

‘Granddaughter,' Madeleine corrected.

‘And you brought her,' she said to Sonia. ‘I'm astounded that you would put a foot inside my house.'

Sonia shrugged. ‘So am I.'