The House On Burra Burra Lane (13 page)

Sammy paused. Didn’t want to ruin this by asking the wrong questions, but she needed to keep Grandy on this interesting track. ‘He’s well liked, isn’t he?’

‘A respected man, manages things without getting involved too. I like that about him best. He could do with some prodding though, sometimes.’

‘In what direction?’

‘Let’s just say a man doesn’t always want to acknowledge what’s in front of him. Or behind him.’

The need for more answers almost sweated through her pores. Her mouth watered. ‘I heard some talk about him, at the fair.’

Grandy nodded. ‘There’s always plenty talk at fairs. First time he’d hit the High Striker in years.’

‘Didn’t seem to worry him, he said he could do it.’

‘He wouldn’t have had any problems striking the bell, Sammy, but there’d be a few concerns about the fact that he had you standing at his side while he did it.’

‘Why? Didn’t he hit the bell all the time in his younger days? He must have had lots of girlfriends to show off to.’

‘Had his share.’

Before his wife, though. How many after? ‘I heard about his wife. Must have been hard on him.’ She leaned back, feigning general interest while her heart pounded in anticipation of the answer.

‘Undoubtedly.’

She flicked her tongue across her top lip. ‘Just gossip, though. I don’t want to get involved in that. Tittle-tattle won’t get that sign changed in a hurry.’

‘It would probably dent your current standing,’ Grandy agreed.

She wasn’t getting anywhere fast. ‘I could do it myself—the sign, that is. I’m an artist.’

‘Wouldn’t want you falling off the ladder.’ Grandy chuckled. ‘Where’s your family?’

Sammy shot upright on the bench. ‘My mother lives in Sydney. My father died when I was small.’ She said it quickly, a tickertape response she’d become accustomed to giving anyone who asked.

‘Nobody else? Brothers, sisters?’

‘Nope. Which means no nieces or nephews, no cousins either.’

‘All alone then, huh?’

‘Yep. Just me.’

Grandy chuckled. ‘You’re sure sounding like a country sheila there, Miss Walker from the city. And I can see there’s a wheelbarrow-full of questions in your head.’

Sammy wrinkled her nose. ‘That’s bad, isn’t it? Nosey.’

‘Natural,’ he said, with a nod. ‘Fire away, but nothing about Ethan. Whatever he wants to tell you, he’ll tell you. Not my place to interfere on that score.’

‘Okay.’ She swung around and hooked her leg on the seat. This wasn’t anywhere close to what she wanted, but she wasn’t going to miss the opportunity to push Grandy a little more, in case he dropped his bulldog guardedness and the subject returned to Ethan. ‘You’re the first on my hit list. How many children have you got?’

‘Some.’

‘Four, I heard. Young Mr Morelly, another boy, and two girls.’

‘Middle-aged women now, not girls. They’re in Canberra. Married and settled. Don’t see them much, they decided to take on their husbands’ families—something about being independent. It was my good wife who kept the family together, I don’t seem to have the knack for it.’

‘You must miss your wife.’

‘I do. Been without her too long.’

‘And your other son?’

‘My boys are doing okay. Got Junior here, I gave him my business. He learned quickly how to keep the customers happy. They still come from around parts to my store. They like the personal touch.’

‘You taught him well.’

‘His older brother is in Victoria, farming. I sent him to college to learn agriculture and whatnot on a formal basis. He worked hard, even with the aptitude he already had, and a few years ago I gave him money to buy his farm outright.’

‘Did you give your girls anything?’

Grandy fired her a glance.

‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘I didn’t mean to imply you didn’t. And I wouldn’t suggest there was a fault—if you didn’t.’

‘Why, thank you, Sammy. Fortunately for me and any regard you might have for me, I made sure both my daughters were financially secure before they married. Made ‘em work for it though. Insisted they train for something. One girl became a banker, the other a PR person for the politicians.’

‘Big jobs.’ How on earth had he managed to finance all that? Plus a warehouse.

‘Well … ’ Grandy drew the word out. ‘I never took to the racetrack or the dogs, but I did like to do some wagering on the ASX now and again. Didn’t do too badly in my choice of buying and selling shares as it turned out.’

‘You did well for your girls, Grandy.’

‘A woman alone is a worrying thing.’

‘Why?’

‘Look at yourself. Working hard, making a go of things. Imagine if you’d arrived here with only pampering and pleasure behind you. There’s no way you’d have got those chooks to lay. To my mind, a woman needs to know how to look after herself. On the other hand, I don’t like to think of a woman being alone all her life, without the comfort of a man around to help her out, or give her a bit of courage when she needs it.’

‘Would you say the same for a man? That a man could also do with a bit of backup, from a feminine quarter?’

He pursed his mouth and took a moment to think that through, his wise old face a puzzle of his own making. Sammy could almost see his brain slotting secretive pieces of information together.

‘Why do you think I’m pushing you about Ethan?’

She held her breath for a second. ‘I don’t know. Why are you?’

‘Give a man a fish and you’ve fed him for the day. Teach him how to fish, and you’ve fed him for a lifetime.’

The puzzle was more complex than she’d bargained for. ‘Don’t bother baiting the hook for either me or Ethan,’ she said. ‘There’s nothing going on. Nor likely to.’

‘Then why are you so damned keen on knowing more about him?’

She stretched out, crossed her legs at the ankles, folded her arms and contemplated the street. ‘Why are you so damned keen on not telling me?’

She didn’t get an answer. She still hadn’t learned what it was Ethan needed to cope with at her house.

This was one close-knit town.

S
ammy walked on the balls of her slippered feet, the packed, stony earth of the driveway hard underfoot. She was still in her pyjamas but the postie had revved his car’s engine and honked the horn. His way of letting her know she had mail. There might be a letter from Kate about the art supplies for the children. No time to get dressed.

She pushed the mailbox to upright and lifted the flap.
Must get that quick-dry cement.

More horns blasted: two quick honks and a longer, chortling trill.

She waved to Fast Frank as he slowed his fire-engine red 1950s sports car. He wore a black Stetson and had a smile whipped across his slim-as-a-reed face. Tom Munroe, Mary’s husband, followed in a 4WD filled with men whom she recognised from around town. With the camping gear and fishing rods stacked high on the roof, it looked like a boys’-own weekend was starting early on a Friday morning.

They whistled as they passed the gate, arms out of open windows, thumbs up, waving a
Like-it
sign.

Sammy grinned, had no choice but to participate in their banter. She performed a twirl then curtsied deeply, head bowed. By Monday it would be all around town that the new woman on Burra Burra Lane was holding pyjama parties. Serve her right for being lazy this morning. It was gone 7 am. Yesterday’s art class with eight youngsters had taken its toll on her eardrums and her sleep patterns.

She waved the men on their way, a ribbon of pleasure curling in her stomach at the sense of belonging. She looked down. Three letters, the top one the electricity bill.
Her first bill!
She did another twirl, and made for the house. How much power had her wonderful old house used in the last eight weeks?

She jarred to a halt, and stared at the spirally feminine handwriting on a royal-blue envelope.

‘Hello, mother.’ Like a fool, she nearly added, ‘It’s me’.

‘I have to write to my own daughter before she calls me?’ The clipped voice, so familiar.

‘You know where I am,’ Sammy said, ‘and I asked the neighbours to watch out for you.’

She accepted the indrawn breath at the other end of the telephone, knowing it led to the next stage. Whatever her mother wanted, she was gearing up.

‘Insolence doesn’t suit you, Samantha. I sit here alone wondering where I went wrong with you.’

‘We’ve had this conversation a million times, mother. Let’s put it behind us. You’re you. I’m me.’

The silence dripped for seconds.

‘What you are is ungrateful.’

Sammy closed her eyes. She’d melted into contentment in Swallow’s Fall. How foolish to have forgotten the belittling voice of Verity Walker and all the old inferences.

‘Do you have it?’ Verity asked.

‘Have what?’

‘You put me into a difficult position when you told me what you’d stolen from Oliver.’

‘I wasn’t the one doing the stealing.’ Sammy flexed her fingers then gripped the telephone more firmly. ‘I do have the paperwork and I’m not giving it back.’ It was her only security. One day, she might need it. ‘You’re still in touch with him, aren’t you?’ she asked. She’d thought the continued squabbling between Oliver and her mother would die down once she’d left them.

‘He wants you back. He’s a decent man, at heart, but he won’t wait forever.’

He’d shown physical force, there wasn’t a single decent thing about him. ‘How often is he calling you?’

‘Every day. He has …’ Verity paused. ‘He has made reference to the money.’

‘He wants it back?’ Sammy quickly calculated how much she had in her bank account, how much she would earn in the next few months, and how she would manage to pay Oliver back the extravagant sum Verity had taken from him, whilst keeping herself and her Burra Burra property ticking over at the same time.

‘He said there might come a day when he needs some of it back.’

‘Did he now?’
Untrustworthy, stinking pile of dung
. Oliver had no need of the money, he had enough from his family and his business. He was greedy and mean but this was different; his threats were aimed at Sammy because she knew about his shady dealings. She couldn’t prove what he’d done though, even with the paperwork which only listed amounts of money and dates. There were no names on the documents she’d taken, nothing to prove he’d stolen money from his clients. Just some idle talk from Oliver after he’d had too much wine. And Sammy’s gut feeling.

‘You’re a fool if you don’t take him back,’ Verity continued. ‘You’re not as high and mighty as you think, miss. You could do worse than Oliver.’

Sammy shuddered.
Why
was her mother still holding on in this manner? Verity believed if Sammy married Oliver, all her retirement dreams would come true. She’d pushed her daughter into many things, like her job at the fashion house, wanting a share of Sammy’s income. It hadn’t mattered that Sammy wanted a career as a freelance artist because
Samantha
would have no need to work when she found a husband.

A little social glitter in this male paragon was also desirable. A man with a promising future, and Oliver Dolan slotted into the picture with his pearly smile, his indifferent generosity, and the small but prestigious architectural firm he ran. Sammy hadn’t noticed the sneer of the hunting shark, too busy being flattered by his attention until it was too late and Oliver had manipulated her into an intolerable position—with her mother’s help.

‘I didn’t like what was offered,’ she said, thinking hard about what this meant, and how she would deal with it. She might have to leave Swallow’s Fall if Oliver caused trouble for her.

She shook her head, closed her eyes in order to concentrate— that couldn’t happen. ‘I’ll call him,’ she said quickly. ‘I’ll make sure he stops pestering you.’ As she spoke, doubt of her ability to swing Oliver away from either herself or her mother momentarily took away the courage behind the words. It would take more than a sharp tone of voice and a few well placed adjectives to make an angry man back off. But somehow, she had to get Oliver out of their lives for good.

‘You’re not going to think this through, are you?’ Verity asked. ‘You disappoint me. You always did. You have no thought for others. One day you’ll grow up, and you’ll be alone with that knowledge.’

Memories and reminders of the strings she’d been tied to, and how she’d cut them by leaving her mother with harsh words came to the fore in a whirlwind of pain. A pain she’d thought was behind her. A pain that wasn’t going away.
So much for independence.

‘Are you listening?’ Verity demanded.

She’d listened all her life. To the criticism. To the scoldings for not being good enough. She’d tried hard to put Verity’s needs before her own—she
had!
Hearing the rebukes again from so far away was shocking. How that censure had hurt her.
Was still hurting her
. It was a terrible thing to know your mother must despise you, and to hate her right back for it.

‘Mother, please … ’ She tried again, remorseful about that last thought.

‘You can live with me until you sort things out with Oliver. Kate will give you your job back for the time being. I deserve a decent retirement and
you
have the ability to make that happen.’ Her mother’s voice rose in mild hysteria, an unusual occurrence for Verity who normally had things so well planned. ‘I want you to pack up and get yourself back to Sydney.’

‘No. I’m happy here.’

‘He wants you back in the city. Or he’ll come and get you.’

Sammy’s breath caught. He wouldn’t force her out of town, but he’d make a show of the issue, if he had to. Fear of having to deal with him again flushed through her system like a nasty little germ swimming through her bloodstream. The scene with Oliver wound its way into her mind. She smelled his expensive cologne, felt his breath on her face and his hands on her arm as he dragged her down.

‘No!’ She shook her head, her heartbeat racing as though it had run away with her. She gulped air, felt a blast of anger swirl inside her and smother the fear. ‘I don’t want the son of a bitch!’ She hurled the telephone across the room. It landed with a thump in the hall, the dial tone burring.