FOLLOW THE MORNING STAR (8 page)

‘You want more men?’ asked Jim.

‘It’s not the hands so much as the brain power — keeping track of every little thing, making decisions all the time.’

‘You’ll manage, Queenie. You’ve got good people here; they’ll all be pulling extra hard, we’ll make sure of that,’ said Jim.

‘I appreciate everyone sharing the workload. I want the people that work for us to wake up in the morning and start planning their working day, not wait around for orders. TR isn’t here and I can’t be everywhere at once. It all seems such a lot to do without TR.’ Queenie’s mouth trembled.

‘It just seems a lot at the moment because you’re worried about him and you’re probably run down. I bet you haven’t been sleeping proper,’ said Millie, refilling the teapot with hot water. ‘You’ll see, tomorrow morning things will look better. You’ll sleep well tonight, now you’re home.’

‘Tingulla spirits out there keepin’ watch,’ declared Snowy, taking another pikelet smeared with butter and jam.

And that night, whether it was being back in her own bed — despite the absence of TR — or being under the stars that watched over Tingulla, Queenie fell asleep swiftly and slept soundly.

The next morning she rose at dawn and went down to the stables; but seeing Honey and Star rubbing their heads against the railing, frisky and fidgety, her normal pleasure waned. Conflicting emotions washed over her: pleasure at being back and with her horses, but pain at what had happened to TR.
Queenie sighed, patted the velvety nose of Honey and turned away, deciding not to ride this morning. She went instead to the dogs and let Spike off his chain. TR’s blue cattle dog sniffed her carefully then looked about questioningly.

The boss isn’t here, Spike,’ she said, rubbing his speckled head.

Spike went to the horses and sniffed around the yards. Finding no trace of his master, he walked back to his place beneath a tree and lay in the dust.

After breakfast Queenie talked to the stud manager before inspecting the best of the merino rams. Queenie parted the deep fleece, fingering the white and cream blanket of ultrasoft strands. Each imperious ram with its coiled horns stood calmly, seeming to know it carried a small fortune on its back and in its loins.

‘They’re ready, I reckon,’ she said.

‘We’ve sort of been waiting for TR to get back,’ he said hesitantly.

‘That’s not going to be for some time, so let’s make next week definite. I assume the shearing team is booked?’ said Queenie briskly.

The manager nodded.

‘And everyone is happy using the wide combs? No more hassles from the Darlington mob?’

‘Nope. Everyone’s switched over now. Makes a lot more sense. They’ve settled down all right.’

‘Good. I have enough on my plate, I don’t want any more problems. If there are any, you deal with them. Okay?’

Queenie continued her tour of inspection and close to lunchtime came across Snowy inspecting an irrigation plant. ‘Problem, Snowy?’

‘Everythin’s okay. Just checkin’. Good ting we put in that big top dam — plenty water for feed now.’

‘So long as the rains come.’ Queenie stared off into the blue distance.

‘You feelin’ better, Queenie?’

Queenie nodded. The old man eyed her closely. ‘You bin through some rough times.’

‘Why is life so hard, Snowy? I thought I’d made it through the bad country and was on the smooth track.’

‘Sometime we need remindin’ dat we need rain as well as sunshine. He’ll come through, Queenie, but sometimes you gotta follow the mornin’ star.’

‘What do you mean, Snowy?’

‘Remember when you was just a little kid, ’n’ you git stranded in dat bad bad storm ’n’ lost yer horse?’

‘Pegasus. He was badly injured and I had to shoot him. I’ll never forget that night. You found me, Snowy.’

‘I found you ‘cause I followed the mornin’ star. It your totem that fella.’

‘You mean like my guiding light?’ Queenie smiled at the serious-faced old man. ‘I thought totems were animals and plants and the land.’

‘Sometimes. But for you dat little fella out there watches over you. He there every mornin’, even if you don’ see ’im.’

‘The morning star is Venus, symbol of love. I like that idea, Snowy.’

‘Keep followin’’im. Dat way you always stay on right track — go forward.’ Snowy nodded. ‘Yep. You gonna be all right, Queenie, ‘cause I’ll always be lookin’ out for you. Old Snowy never wrong.’

Queenie reached out and put a hand on his shoulder. ‘Thanks, Snowy,’ she said softly, both knowing the two words said much. In her heart she knew that he would always be watching over her, just like her morning star, and that gave her great strength and comfort.

Chapter Six

Colin stepped from his rented Audi and handed the keys to the valet outside the restaurant. If it hadn’t been for the young man’s broad Aussie accent — ‘How long d’ya reckon you’ll be, mate?’ — he felt he could have been back in Italy. La Venezia Trattoria was built as a Mediterranean villa with genuine southern Italian cooking served by waiters who looked and sounded genuine too, even if the look was Calabrian as interpreted by Hollywood.

He was ushered through the bistro to the garden at the rear where thick grape and bougainvillea vines clung to pergolas, shading the private courtyard. Alfredo Camboni was already there, dressed in white, wearing heavy-rimmed dark glasses. His companions at the table were two men and a woman. No introductions were needed as far as the giggly, busty redhead was concerned. Ex-showgirl, bimbo city, thought Colin as Camboni rose to greet him.

‘I’m sorry, am I late?’ asked Colin apologetically.

Alfredo brightly dismissed the thought. ‘No, no. We had a little business meeting before you came, now we can enjoy lunch . . . and talk a little business too. This is Signor Cuomo, Antonio Cuomo.’

‘Call me Tony,’ he said in a heavy accent. He wore a black silk turtleneck beneath a black cashmere sports jacket, both obviously from an expensive Italian designer. But the exquisite tailoring couldn’t hide his bulky muscles. This was a man who used his fists as well as his wits, thought Colin. There was a definite sense of menace behind the smooth smile.

‘And this is Georgy,’ grinned Alfredo. ‘George Bannerman, known as Georgy as in Georgy Porgy pudding and pie . . . si?’

‘Kissed the girls and made them cry, eh?’ added Colin as Alfredo expected him to do, and everyone laughed. As they shook hands there was no mistaking this man was an Australian. He had the grip of a fence-post strainer, the look of too much sun and beer, and he wore trousers by Fletcher Jones and a discreetly checked shirt by Pelaco.

‘G’day, Colin,’ he said affably.

They all settled themselves at the table once more. ‘Grappa or beer?’ asked Alfredo.

‘A cold Pilsner thanks,’ said Colin quietly to the waiter.

‘Back in the land of good beer,’ said Georgy, lifting his own beer in salute.

‘And a few other good things. I’ve been away some years. The place is getting pretty
civilised,’ Colin observed, gesturing around the restaurant. You on the land?’

‘Yeah, how’d ya guess?’ Georgy roared with laughter. ‘I grow a few horses, mix around the racing circuit a bit. Got a small place out the back of Tamworth.’

Racing, that explained his connection with Camboni. Colin looked questioningly at Tony but Alfredo cut in smoothly. ‘Before we exchange the small talk, do you want to order anything
speciale
or do you trust me? They know me here, it will be good if we leave it to them.’

The other men folded their menus and handed them to the waiter. ‘That was easy,’ said Georgy with relief. ‘I only know spaghetti bolognaise.’

While they waited for the antipasto they talked about the Gold Coast and the promise and excitement of its rapid expansion and development.

‘There are many opportunities here, in many areas,’ said Tony, an observation clearly directed at Colin.

‘And what interests you?’ responded Colin.

‘I’m a developer. Everything interests me,’ he said with an easy smile. ‘At the moment I am involved in the new casino.’

Camboni interjected for Colin’s benefit. ‘Really, the primo casino, Tony. You can’t count that RSL palace up the road. A terrible place. Very New South Wales. No style, full of grossly dressed pensioners. But I envy the money they take. Just a small percentage would do me fine.’

The woman, who hadn’t been introduced, giggled and Camboni slapped his head in a gesture of despair. ‘Mandy! Mandy, forgive me. You didn’t meet Colin. This is Mandy, Georgy’s friend.’

‘Hi, Colin.’ She managed to pour coquettish and flirtatious innuendo into the two words.

‘Hi, Mandy,’ said Colin with a slight nod, then pressed on with the conversation, ignoring her. ‘Does it matter how they’re dressed so long as they spend money?’

‘We don’t want retired groups on bus tours. We want people who understand what a casino should truly be. We will have a lot more class,’ said Tony with proprietorial pride. ‘And we’ll have the big spenders.’

Camboni narrowed his eyes at Tony. ‘How are the . . . negotiations going in that quarter? I trust you have dropped the right word . . . or gift in the appropriate quarters?’

Tony smiled a sharklike smile. ‘It’s been taken care of. Things should start coming our way very soon.’

Colin glanced at Georgy, wondering where he fitted into the casino picture. Camboni answered before he asked. ‘Georgy isn’t connected with the casino, Colin, but we are discussing a plan that might interest you. You seemed a little bored with Europe. Dina says you’ve been a little . . . distracted, shall we say. Would you like to work back here again?’

‘Depends. Doing what? And what about Dina? I don’t know that she’s ready to settle in Australia again.’

Camboni waved a hand. ‘Women adjust.
Besides, she can travel, she loves to travel. Send her back to Europe every few months.’

I hope you’re going to pay me enough for that, thought Colin as he smiled at Camboni’s easy dismissal of the problem and of women. The idea of Dina out of his hair in Europe for months at a stretch was appealing. He gave Mandy a charming smile and sly wink.

Camboni continued, lowering his voice and leaning forward conspiratorially. ‘We need another business here that is legitimate and inconspicuous which we can use for financial purposes. It doesn’t need to make money, you understand?’ Colin nodded as Alfredo explained. ‘What we are planning is to develop a resort, but we need someone to supervise it. Tony has made an offer for a place that’s been set up but is not doing so well, now he moves over to the casino project and we wondered if you would consider the challenge of this matter.’ Camboni’s false teeth flashed in a showy smile.

‘Does the Gold Coast really need another big resort? It’s already known as tombstone territory because of all the highrises which shade the beach by three every afternoon,’ said Colin carefully. ‘And I thought every decent strip of beachfront already had a development on it — units, hotels, low-rise resorts. Though I suppose you’re planning the ultra resort. Bigger than the Miami Miasma even.’

Camboni and Tony were unfazed by his cynical tone. ‘You’re right, you’re spot on,’ said Tony enthusiastically. He paused to sip his grappa, then continued. ‘The Gold Coast is
pretty overdone. All you can do now is pull down old places and put up new ones. No, what we have in mind is quite different — we are attacking the hinterland.’

Colin gazed at him, pondering on the images of the territory to be ‘attacked’ — the lush rolling hills of farmlets where a few cattle grazed by small creeks that meandered through the remains of stands of rainforests. Just a matter of a few kilometres inland from the glitzy coast was another world where progress was interpreted by most of the locals as changing nothing.

Colin raised an eyebrow and leaned forward. ‘But it’s just smallish acreages, very pretty, but there’s nothing there. What would tourists do? Do you bus them in to the beach? Or give them lessons in how to contemplate their navel?’

No one smiled at what Colin had meant as a joke.

‘It’s a new wave resort,’ said Georgy triumphantly.

‘New age,’ corrected Tony. ‘A sort of health farm, bush holiday, and healing centre for the mind and body.’

Colin was surprised and kept silent for a moment. The scheme didn’t fit the image of Camboni and his friends. ‘How much? This doesn’t sound like an upscale place, how do you make money?’