Undercurrents Read online

  They rode out across the paddocks as the darkness gathered and the moon rose in a clear, star–studded sky. They rode through the great herd of cattle, which shifted and complained about being disturbed from their night forage. Picking up speed, they left the cattle behind and galloped along the track that was rutted from the wagon wheels and hardened by the constant beating it took from horses’ hoofs. This track wound through the vast grazing land and bush and was the shortest route to their neighbours’ property.

  The horse galloped out of the darkness, eyes wild, mane flying. It reared up as Maggie tried to catch the trailing reins, and her pony propped and skittered out of the way of the flashing hoofs.

  ‘Leave it,’ yelled Harold. ‘She’ll find her way home.’ He kicked his own horse into a gallop and tore down the track, with Maggie close behind him.

  Maggie’s fear was in every breath, in every beat of her pony’s hoofs. Mum’s horse was far behind them now – but where was Mum?

  They found her beside the track, almost hidden by a fallen tree and the long buffalo grass. Her neck was broken. Death must have been instantaneous.

  *

  Maggie blew out the lamp and lay there in the soft glow of the moon, the tears warm on her cheeks. The death of Elizabeth Finlay had cast a long shadow over the haven that was Waverly. Yet that shadow was only a precursor of the profound darkness to come.

  *

  Olivia felt rested after a good night’s sleep, and although she dreaded the forthcoming meeting, was eager to get on with things. It was still very early, only just after sunrise, and the sky was already blue and cloudless. As she dressed she looked out of the window to the street below. Despite the hour, the shopkeepers were sweeping the boardwalk and hauling out their wares, and a few early risers were strolling in the sunshine or sitting on one of the benches that had been placed at intervals along the grass verge. The pace of life was gentle. There was no bustle, no rush, no traffic fumes clouding the azure sky. It was another world, far removed from London’s smog.

  She finished dressing and opened the door into the lounge. Dust motes floated in the sunlight streaming through the shutters and she flung them open and unlatched the screens. The air was fresh and still cool from the night. The scent of exotic flowers mingled with the tang of salt and the hot, dry aroma of the vast, empty lands beyond this green oasis.

  Olivia dug her hands into the pockets of her cotton trousers as she stepped on to the hotel balcony and took in her surroundings. Palm trees shielded all sight of the beach, but far out over the rooftops she could see a line of impossible blue, and the hazy outline of a tiny island. The town itself was sheltered by palm trees and ferns, and tangles of ivy entwined with beautiful flowers. There were one or two buildings that hadn’t been here twenty years ago, she realised, but on the whole not much had changed.

  Leaving the covered balcony, Olivia went to Giles’ door and listened. She smiled, for she could hear him snoring. Better to leave him to sleep. She could bring his breakfast up later.

  ‘G’day, Miss Hamilton. How ya going?’ He grinned and stretched out an enormous hand. ‘The name’s Sam White.’

  ‘How do you do,’ she replied, painfully aware of how English she sounded. They shook and Olivia’s hand was swamped in a firm grip. He was a handsome man, she realised as she took in the broad shoulders, the muscular arms and friendly smile. No wonder Maggie stayed on.

  ‘Breakfast is on the go,’ he said cheerfully as he led the way into the dining room. ‘Help yourself to tea or coffee while you wait.’

  Olivia couldn’t help but smile back. All this cheerfulness in the morning was catching, but she couldn’t quite resist the temptation to prick his bubble of enthusiasm. ‘No Maggie this morning?’ she asked with feigned innocence.

  A glimmer of something akin to panic clouded those startling blue eyes then was gone just as swiftly. ‘Day off,’ he said shortly as he turned and left the room.

  Olivia pressed her lips together as she helped herself to coffee and sat down. The dining room was empty, but she didn’t want to risk him overhearing her giggles. So Maggie had stood firm, and by the look of things, her threat to leave had hit the spot. Sam was obviously a worried man under all that bonhomie.

  Breakfast arrived and Olivia inwardly groaned. A piece of steak was accompanied by two fried eggs, fried potato, bacon and something unidentifiable – it was unbelievable that anyone should be expected to eat all this.

  Sam deposited a large bottle of tomato ketchup on the table and stood there grinning. ‘Set you up for the day. Enjoy your tucker, Miss Hamilton.’

  She poked the object of mystery on her plate. ‘What is this?’ she asked.

  ‘Snag,’ he replied. Then he must have seen her frown, for he stroked his chin and thought for a minute. ‘You call them sausages,’ he said finally.

  Olivia eyed the fried lump of what looked like something you stepped in on the pavement. It bore no relation to any kind of sausage she’d ever had. She grimaced and dipped her fork in the potato.

  ‘Snags look rough, I know,’ he said apologetically. ‘But they taste fair dinkum.’

  She looked up at him, hoping he wasn’t planning to spend the entire time watching her eat. For the sake of peace she cut a small piece off the lump and gingerly put it in her mouth. The flavours sang and as she cut another piece. The lamb was mixed with onions and mint and pepper, and a hint of parsley. The unfortunate–looking snag was delicious.

  Sam nodded as if to confirm he’d been right and returned to the kitchen.

  Breakfast was usually a cup of coffee and a slice of toast, snatched on the run as she left for the hospital, and after last night’s feast, she just couldn’t cope with so much food. Even the sight of it defeated her. She collected Giles’ breakfast on a tray and carried it up to him.

  He was up and sitting in his dressing gown on the balcony, the cigar smoke drifting in the early morning breeze. His eyes widened as Olivia explained about the snags and cut up the meat, but he didn’t seem put off and happily chewed his way through most of it.

  Yet Olivia could see the dark shadows under his eyes, the weary slant of his shoulders and knew the travelling and the heat had taken its toll. ‘Stay here and rest this morning,’ she said quietly as he relaxed back into his chair. ‘I’ve a couple of things to do, but they won’t take long, and we can go to the beach this afternoon.’

  ‘Where are you going?’

  ‘To visit the old house,’ she said shortly. There was no point in worrying him by telling him any more. ‘And to lay a few ghosts,’ she added with a soft smile.

  ‘You take care, old thing,’ he said. He caught her hand as she stood up and prepared to leave. ‘I know you too well, Ollie,’ he murmured. ‘There’s more to this than just seeing the old house again, isn’t there? Are you sure you don’t want me to come with you?’

  She couldn’t quite meet his gaze, and bent down to kiss his cheek. ‘Just rest,’ she muttered. ‘I’ll need you much more later on.’ She picked up her handbag and left swiftly before he could change her mind.

  Olivia left the hotel, and instead of turning towards the beach, she kept straight on, down the sandy lane that wound between two rows of little wooden houses that would have been called bungalows back in England. Most of them had been painted white, the window frames and screens adding a touch of bright colour. The ones on the left had unbroken views of the sea, the ones on the right were placed so they had a glimpse between each house. Rowing boats, fishing nets and children’s toys littered the back gardens, and beach towels and bathers hung from washing lines. Sea grass poked through the sand and the scent of wattle filled the air, mingling with the rising warmth of the sun. Olivia felt a strong sense of déjà vu. Time had indeed stood still, for this was exactly how she remembered it.

  The house she sought was on the end of the row, overlooking the beach. It was the same as all the oth
ers, set apart only by the large plot of land that surrounded it, and the addition of a shady wrap–around verandah. An attempt had been made to soften the rather severe lines of the house, for someone had planted bougainvillea at the side, now it scrambled up the walls and over the roof in a profusion of purple and pink and white flowers.

  Olivia swallowed and her legs began to tremble as she reached for the latch on the back gate. Her hand touched the familiar, weathered timber and the rusting latch, and she froze. She wasn’t ready for this. Not ready at all. What on earth did she think she was doing?

  She felt her pulse race as she stood there, and despite the loose cotton blouse and thin trousers, she could feel the sweat trickle down her ribs. This is madness, she silently berated herself. Yet, as she remained frozen outside the gate, she knew why she hesitated. The swing still hung from the gnarled tree in the corner of the garden. The shed still leaned precariously against the back fence, and the cluster of Banksias still bloomed in the flowerbed that ran along the side. The ghosts she’d come to lay were alive and calling her, drawing her back to the times when Eva had not been there to protect her.

  ‘Are you looking for someone?’

  The voice, so near, startled her, and Olivia turned sharply, almost stumbling in the sand. ‘I …’ She swallowed as the suspicious blue eyes regarded her from over the neighbouring fence. The woman’s thin face was tanned, her hair pulled tightly back into a ragged knot. ‘I don’t suppose Irene Stanford still owns this place, does she?’ she finally managed.

  The eyes lost their chill and the woman smiled. ‘Jeez,’ she breathed. ‘What’s a Pom doing all the way up here?’

  Olivia’s legs were still unsteady, her nerves shot. ‘I’ve come to visit the Stanfords,’ she said, rather more sharply than she’d intended.

  The gate was unlatched and the woman came out into the sandy lane. She was wearing a red cotton dress liberally sprinkled with bright yellow flowers. Her feet were bare and her skin was the colour of mahogany. A small child clung to her bare legs and peeked around the garish dress. ‘The name’s Debby, good to meet you,’ she said as she stuck out a hand.

  Olivia shook the hand and smiled as she introduced herself. ‘The Stanfords?’ she tried again.

  Debby shook her head, her mouth pursed. ‘They still own the place, but we don’t see much of them,’ she said as her gaze trawled over the house and yard. ‘Mrs Stanford prefers to fly down to Sydney when it’s too hot.’

  Olivia experienced an almost overwhelming sense of relief as the tension left her. ‘Are they coming down this summer?’ she asked.

  The thin brown shoulders shrugged. ‘Who knows? Mrs Stanford’s not one to tell me her plans.’

  Olivia didn’t miss the note of sarcasm. ‘Do they still live out at Deloraine Station?’ she asked.

  Debby squinted in the sun as she cocked her head. ‘Reckon they do,’ she replied. ‘Are they relations or something? You’ve come a long ways to find them.’

  ‘I’ll go out there then.’ Olivia could feel the tension rising again. She no longer wanted to talk to this woman. No longer wanted to stand here in the blazing sun outside the house that had once been home.

  ‘Best of luck, mate,’ Debby said cheerfully as she picked up the small boy and straddled him on her bony hip. She leaned forward, her tone confidential, her eyes glittering with malice. ‘I could be speaking out of turn,’ she muttered. ‘But watch yourself. Irene Stanford isn’t the easiest person to get on with. Thinks she’s better than any of us.’

  So, thought Olivia, she hadn’t changed. ‘I know,’ she replied. ‘We go back a long way.’ She saw the curiosity, the yearning to gossip. Thanking her for her time, and not wishing to linger, Olivia strode out and hurried down the lane. She was aware of the woman watching her, aware of those blue eyes following her until she turned the corner and was out of sight.

  The beach called to her and she couldn’t resist. Sitting on a rock, her bare feet immersed in a pool, she stared out to sea and waited for her pulse to slow. A line of pelicans foraged at the water’s edge, their gait ungainly and full of self–importance. The tiny island on the horizon had come into focus now the early mist had cleared, and she could just make out the golden arc of beach and the pine–covered hill. Yet her mind was fixed on Irene Stanford and the journey she would now have to make to find her.

  5

  Olivia walked past the entrance to the bar and let herself in through the side door. After the reception yesterday, she had no wish to ruffle any more feathers despite that, in her opinion, it was ridiculous that a woman couldn’t go into the bar.

  The square hall was central to the hotel. Doors led to the dining room and ladies lounge, and there was a hatch through to the bar. The staircase swept down from the first floor, and would have been quite a grand affair, if it weren’t for the shabby carpet. Sam was polishing glasses behind the bar, his back turned to the hatch.

  Olivia cleared her throat. ‘I was wondering if you could help me,’ she began.

  Sam flipped the cloth onto his shoulder and turned, his smile broad, making him very handsome. ‘Glad to do what I can,’ he drawled.

  Olivia was almost mesmerised by his eyes. The direct gaze held her and she had to blink to break the spell. ‘Is there anywhere I could hire a ute?’ she said finally.

  ‘Going up north to Cooktown, are you?’ he asked as he leaned on the counter between them. His shirtsleeves were rolled up and his muscular arms were deeply tanned beneath the dark fuzz of hair. ‘Bonzer place. Used to be a thriving pearl fleet up there.’

  Olivia dug her hands in her trouser pockets. She was far too aware of his magnetism, of how, if she just reached out her hand, she could have run her fingers along those sturdy brown arms. She cleared her throat. ‘I thought it was Broome where they did the pearling.’

  He laughed, showing straight white teeth. ‘Common mistake, luv,’ he said. ‘Cooktown was bigger than Broome – now they’re both gone.’

  She frowned. ‘Gone? I thought Broome was still thriving?’

  He shook his head and ran his fingers through the thick black hair that was enticingly threaded with silver at the temples. ‘Japs knocked seven bells out of it. Doubt it will ever be the same.’ He sighed and folded his arms. ‘I can let you borrow my ute,’ he offered. ‘It’s not much, but the engine’s good, and you’ll need something sturdier than that hired car to get you over the tracks to Cooktown.’

  Not wishing to disillusion him about her true destination, Olivia thanked him. ‘But won’t you be needing it? I could be gone for some time.’

  He grinned and she had a glimpse of the young boy he might have once been – full of mischief and cheeky with it – goodness he was handsome.

  ‘Reckon I’ll be stuck here for a while,’ he drawled. ‘Maggie’s gone walkabout.’

  Olivia found she was grinning back and had to pull her thoughts together. ‘I’m going to need a map,’ she said as she avoided his gaze.

  ‘Reckon we don’t have any,’ he said regretfully. ‘Not much call for tourists up this way, and the roads to Cooktown are only tracks anyways.’

  Olivia realised she would have to tell him the truth. She’d been out to Deloraine years ago, but Eva had been driving and as a child, Olivia had taken no notice of her surroundings. ‘I’m actually going out to Deloraine Station,’ she admitted. ‘I don’t suppose you could draw a map or something?’ Her voice faded as his blue eyes widened.

  ‘That’s a ways to go,’ he muttered. ‘And if you don’t know the track, you could easily get lost.’ He thought for a moment, his gaze resting on her face. ‘I could take you there, but it won’t be for a day or two.’

  Olivia stood there, the impatience beginning to build. ‘But I have to go now,’ she blurted out. ‘It’s important.’

  The gaze was steady, holding her there, the unspoken questions almost tangible between them. Then he reac
hed under the counter and tore a page out of a notebook. Licking the end of a stub of pencil, he began to draw. ‘You leave the town and head west,’ he began.

  Olivia leaned forward to follow the lines he was drawing, all too aware that their heads were almost touching. All too aware of the heat and fresh clean smell of soap emanating from this attractive man.

  *

  Maggie had frittered away the morning. The early swim had chased away the dark dreams and left her tingling as she sat in the sun and dried off. She had seen Olivia come down to the beach and had been on the point of approaching her when she realised the other woman was deep in thought. Whatever the reason for her being here, she decided, Olivia was obviously a troubled woman.

  After washing her hair and cleaning up the cabin, she was at a loss as to what to do next. She could have caught the weekly bus into Cairns, but it was a long slow journey, and not much fun in this heat. Borrowing Sam’s ute was not an option after she’d almost totalled it a few months back, so she was stuck here. She could have mooched around the shops, but there was nothing she needed, and the shops in Trinity were mostly practical. No department stores and fancy little clothes shops like in Sydney. No coffee houses and teashops. Just feed merchants, grocers, butchers and hardware.

  She eyed her reflection in the mirror and flicked a few stray strands back over her shoulder. Her hair was loose for once, shining from the shampoo, falling in soft, light brown waves around her face and shoulders. She leaned forward and performed the tricky act of brushing on mascara, then added a dash of lipstick to celebrate her first day off in months. With a nod of satisfaction she stepped back and eyed the full effect. The cotton dress was pale green and freshly ironed, the sweetheart neckline disguising the lack of bosom, the narrow belt emphasising her tiny waist. Her sandals were tan leather and showed off her long, slender legs. All in all, she decided, she didn’t scrub up too badly.

  ‘Right,’ she breathed. ‘Sam White, here I come.’

  There were already a couple of utilities parked in the back yard, and Maggie could hear the lubras gossiping in the kitchen as they prepared yet another gargantuan meal. She pushed through the door, and instead of going into the kitchen, she headed for the hall. Sam would be in the bar, but for once she would not be in there to help him, she decided. She would order a drink from the hatch and go and sit in the lounge. It was about time she started behaving like a lady, not a doormat.