Heart of the Outback (21 page)

Les ran Murrundi Downs, he did all the lead up work when CJ embarked on a new venture, he dealt with the media and the politicians
and
he was the only person who knew all the complexities of the Ambrose empire. That, potentially, made him powerful. And through watching CJ operate, he had built up an impressive portfolio of shares and small properties. Good husband material, her father would have said. She chuckled to herself. She missed him and her mum, missed their laughter and their volatility and their caring.

“We’ve done well. Picked up over a hundred strays,” Les told her. “We’ll head back tomorrow and should be at Murrundi by late afternoon. Guess you’re anxious to know what CJ thought of your plans?”

“I wouldn’t be human if I wasn’t,” she said tongue-in-cheek. Which was the truth. Secretly she was pleased with the way the plans had worked out. She had taken a great deal of care over the aesthetics, making sure the conference centre’s architectural style fitted in with the surrounding landscape. Several visits to two building supply companies in the Isa had shown her what type of materials would work best with the landscape and she was confident, after
making sure that the plans complied with the building regulations of the local council, that there wouldn’t be any problems in that regard.

She admitted too, deep down, that she would be bitterly disappointed, no matter how fair-minded she tried to be, if CJ didn’t choose her design.

That night they camped beside a half dried up billabong located too far inland to attract crocodiles. Much of the surrounding ground was marshy, with thin, tall reeds but there was enough open space near the water to pitch camp. Francey’s task was to fetch firewood and while she did this Mike whipped up a damper to go with the plain fare meal of tinned frankfurts, beans and sun-dried tomatoes.

After a long day in the saddle all were hungry enough to scrape their enamel plates clean and drain every drop of coffee from their mugs. Lucky produced a harmonica and began to practise his repertoire of country and western tunes, while Alan and Mike cleared up and set the sleeping bags out around the campfire. Five of them watched a wintry sun set quickly over the western range and then the camp was thrown into almost complete darkness. Within an hour everyone except Les and Francey had retired to their sleeping bags and the sounds of gentle snoring and snuffling mingled with the night noises of the creatures of the marsh: bull frogs, bird calls and the periodic rustling of the reeds as nocturnal creatures sought their evening meals.

Les glanced across at Francey who was poking the fire with a stick and laying a few extra branches on it. The fire light lit up her features, adding extra
dimension and depth to the high planes of her cheeks and the luminosity of her eyes. His throat tightened and for the life of him he couldn’t think of anything to say. Just being with her, watching her, listening to her talk with the guys and seeing her enjoy the whole experience was enough.

He knew she was unconsciously casting a spell over him, and he treasured the fact that she’d relaxed and told him a few things about herself. About that bastard Bryan, and her embryonic relationship with her boss. He frowned. That could be real competition. A man from her world, the life and things she was used to. But not since Nancy had he felt anything so strong for a woman and so he dismissed the doubts before they overtook him.

Oh, there had been other women. Hookers, high-class callgirls on occasion and in the odd foreign city, but lately he’d been considering a few things. He was getting on. He’d be thirty-seven in six months time. Time to settle down, find a good stepmother for his son. For a while he’d hoped it might have been Natalie. They’d known each other for so long, it would have been a perfect match and gained CJ’s approval. But Natalie was a bitch of the first order. She had led him on, let him believe he had a chance and then she’d gone and rubbed his nose in her rejection of him. A muscle at the side of his jaw tightened. Bitch. He’d never forgive her. He didn’t care when she’d told him she preferred women, she had deliberately led him on, given him hope … laughed at him!

Francey Spinetti wasn’t like Natalie. As he gazed at her through half hooded lids he had a gut feeling
about that. Ambitious though, he admitted, she wanted a career, and that might be a problem. Still, he shrugged his shoulders imperceptibly, he’d attack that problem when he came to it. First things first. Get her
interested
in him, not just as an acquaintance, but as someone she might be attracted to.

Les looked up and saw that a three-quarter moon had come up. Soon it would light up the billabong. He stood and stretched, then casually strolled down to the water’s edge. In silence he willed her to follow him, but would she? Minutes later he heard footsteps crunch on the sandy perimeter of the billabong.

Francey took everything in as she joined Les by the water’s edge. The moonlight cast a silver beam across the water’s surface, the reeds were being rustled by a slight breeze and at the other end of the billabong a mist had begun to rise off the water. It looked primeval yet serene.

“There’s a legend about this billabong.” He chuckled under his breath. “I reckon there’s some kind of story about every billabong in existence.” He could see that she was waiting for him to continue. “There were two Aboriginal lovers. Jenna was married to an old man, a tribal elder called Marrani, but she had fallen in love with a young warrior named Yarramong, who came from another tribe. They used to meet at this billabong. One night the old man followed Jenna and found them together. He stabbed the young man to death and threw his body in the water.

“Look,” he pointed to the thickening mist, “see how the top layer of the mist has a pinkish tinge to it. That’s supposedly his blood. The young wife was
distraught and so the story goes, she took her revenge on Marrani by slowly poisoning him.”

Francey thought there was probably a scientific explanation for the pink mist but she went along with him. “That’s sad.” She watched the mist thicken and the pink colour become more noticeable. Suddenly she shivered and wrapped her jacket tighter to her.

Les noticed the gesture and casually draped his arm around her shoulders. “That’s not the end of it. You see, Jenna was with child, Yarramong’s child. Her tribe thought the son she had was the old man’s and welcomed him into the tribe. When he grew up, Pilaroi became the tribe’s greatest warrior and a tribal elder. But Jenna, feeling guilty about what she’d done to Marrani confessed to her son and instead of forgiving her he had her shunned — no-one in the tribe was allowed to talk or to help her. Legend has it that she returned to the billabong, where the spirit of Yarramong supposedly lived, and threw herself into the deepest part to be with him.

“None of the Aboriginals swim in this billabong. It’s deep in the middle and those who’ve swum across it, according to the legend, have felt icy fingers trying to pull them down.”

Francey looked up and shook her head at him. “That’s not a pleasant bedtime story. I’ll probably have nightmares about your billabong ghosts.”

He swivelled her body around to face him and stepped a little closer. “I can think of something more pleasant for you to dream about.” Slowly, so that she knew his intent, his head dipped to kiss her.

Les’s action took her by surprise. His kiss was pleasant if not toe curling or shattering but as soon as
it ended she diplomatically extricated herself from his embrace.

“No apologies,” he said, his voice deeper than usual. “I’ve wanted to do that for some time.”

“Les, I don’t want you to get the wrong idea. About us …”

“So far I haven’t got any idea,” he countered. “I’m fancy-free and you’re not engaged. We’re two adults who, I hope, find each other attractive. I’m happy to leave it at that and see where it leads.”

“I see.” The trouble was, and she didn’t quite know how to say it without hurting his feelings, that she wasn’t at all attracted to him. But she realised wisely that this wasn’t the time to tell him. Better to do it once they were back in the safer precincts of the Murrundi homestead.

The stood together for a few more minutes in compatible silence then Francey yawned. “Well, it’s bed for me. Goodnight.”

Les watched her walk back to the camp and climb into her sleeping bag. He wanted to chase after her, wanted to talk to her but he had sensed her withdrawal at his embrace and instinctively knew the timing wasn’t right. No matter, he was a patient man. He would court her subtly and he began to look forward to trips to Sydney — though he loathed the city — to entrench himself in her heart.

“
I
t’s bloody marvellous. Magnificent! Just what I wanted. Congratulations.” CJ’s deep voice boomed across the glass walled conservatory to Francey Spinetti. The three sets of plans competing for his proposed conference centre were strewn across the table for all to see. Lisa Dupre and Shellie stood together, with Les and Francey on the other side.

Francey critically appraised the competition. The first competitor had striven for a very different, ultra modern, almost space-age look. The second had gone traditional — not overly imaginative. She studied her own plans and a flush of pride raced through her. They had been worth the extra time she had spent, the long hours worked into the night. Her design harmonised beautifully with the surrounding homestead and buildings of Murrundi Downs.

“Well done, Francey,” CJ enthused as he patted her on the back. “As always, it pays to get the best. What do you think, Les?”

Les was still studying the plan, shaking his head in admiration. How had she so cleverly managed to make the planned conference centre look almost like a carbon copy — but not quite — of the homestead itself? The roof line was similar, the building stood up off the ground with steel pillars and had a concrete slab base underneath. There were wide verandahs around the accommodation area, but the master stroke was the inclusion of a glass roofed courtyard garden and spa with several of the function rooms opening onto it. Underneath stood the kitchen and the staff facilities. It all blended well, and the coloured artist’s sketch, done by Francey herself, showed a good relationship between the conifers, the pool and the tennis court.

“I agree,” Les said in a slow drawl. “I don’t know how Francey managed it but it looks fabulous.”

“Sure does,” Lisa chipped in.

“You’ll note that I’ve stipulated in the specifications that materials used should be of the low maintenance type and that the use of solar panels will help to offset electricity costs,” Francey pointed out.

“How long will it take to build?” CJ asked. Full of enthusiasm, he wanted to start straightaway. He’d known instinctively, almost straight after he had met her that she’d come up with the goods. Not only was she a fine-looking woman but she had a good brain too. Soon he would put plan B into action and it helped to know that he had Aden Nicholson’s blessing. The man was astute when it came to
business dealings. But more importantly, it would allow him to get the best architect — Francey Spinetti — for the job.

“Oh, between six to nine months, maybe longer. It depends on several factors. Weather, readiness of materials, labour. First, you’ll need to get a peg out survey and council permission. Then you’ll have to advertise for tenders. I suggest you try and get someone local, if you can. That way it should get built quicker.”

“Someone with intimate knowledge of building construction should supervise and coordinate the project,” Les suggested.

“It might,” Lisa ventured, unaware that Les was subtly suggesting Francey, “be something Pierre could do. He worked for a large construction company in Marseilles, before he came here. He knows a lot about building.”

“That sounds good, but surely the architect would make the best supervisor,” Les stated pointedly.

Francey laughed. “Aren’t you jumping the gun a bit? One step at a time. Survey, council approval, tenders. That’s usually the order of things.”

“Council approval’s a matter of form,” CJ said confidently. The mayor and half the other councillors owed him big time. “I’d like to think we could get a good deal of the project under way before the wet.”

“Which usually starts in November, right?”

“It starts when it starts,” Shellie advised cryptically. She liked this young architect and not just because she’d stood up for her against CJ. She could talk to Francey and had often bent her ear for half an hour or
so while she’d worked away at her drawings. She also knew that Les liked her, a lot. That was interesting. Somehow she didn’t think Francey was Les’ type but time would tell. And she had, almost miraculously, mellowed her brother. CJ seemed more affable and less cantankerous and impatient when young Francey was around. He sought her out too, to ask her opinion on the odd business matter, even though she had little experience in business. Funny, she had never seen him do that before, not with Richard or Natalie or herself. Somehow Francey seemed to have won a special respect and affection from him and she knew that CJ was a hard man who gave little of either lightly.

CJ gestured and Shellie poured champagne into the five glasses and handed them around. He held up his flute and made a toast. “To Francey. Congratulations. Your company has won the project design hands down. I hope your boss intends to give you a nice bonus for this.”

“Thank you,” Francey replied. She smiled modestly at CJ’s praise, then followed up with, “He’d better if he knows what’s good for him.”

“I suppose this means you’ll be heading back to Sydney soon?” Lisa said.

“‘Fraid so. I’m running out of excuses to stay on.” She looked at CJ. “I’d like to take this opportunity to thank you, CJ, in fact all of you for your hospitality. I have enjoyed my time at Murrundi and will treasure the memories.” She meant it. The weeks here had been enjoyable. It had not only widened her business horizons but allowed her to see a different way of life other than what she had experienced. Meredith and her mum, as well as her
cousins Rosa and Daniella would stare goggle-eyed when she told them about roughing it on a muster and the other bits of exploring she had done.