Ron McCoy’s Sea of Diamonds (23 page)

He guzzled down the bright red pasta and soaked up the remains in the bowl with a piece of thawing bread. He looked around the big room. Timber lined, slate tiled, a mezzanine with the potbelly flue soaring up through the gable. For some reason, probably because it was the middle of the night, the room looked particularly big
and empty. He belched and then thought he felt a little bit sick. He gulped down some water and then realised he needed a shit. Sitting on the toilet he could hear the possums in the eaves and an owl calling
mopoke mopoke
further off down the road.

W
hen Craig, Liz, Reef, Carla, Paul and Marisa arrived at ‘The Orchard' for the auction on Saturday morning their stomachs were full with a cooked breakfast and the sun was shining out of a mottled, violet coloured sky. Because Libby had gone off horse riding with a friend, the Wilsons' big Tribute jeep was not quite full, with Craig and Liz in the front, Carla and her kids in the back and Reef alone in the tail seat, giving Paul backward high-fives and calling out ‘Whoa!' loudly every time. Paul giggled as their hands met, and little Marisa threw her tiny, fine-boned hands up in an attempt to get in on the fun. Although she was only five, Marisa was already frustrated at the way people, especially her brother, excluded her from things. It had occurred to her that all people over the age of six, her mother included, were cruel and quite selfish.

Craig parked the car on the freshly laid Lilydale toppings of the parking bay right in front of the main house. He was dressed formally for work, unlike the rest of the gang in the car, but whereas normally he would've worn a nice suit to an auction, today he'd
chosen the moleskins his mother had given him the previous Christmas, an earth coloured Abelard business shirt and a Harris tweed jacket which Liz had bought from Henry Bucks in Melbourne, complete with dark olive leather patches on the never worn elbows. As he got out of the car and looked at the gleaming white picture-frame windows of the solid house above the beds of azaleas and hydrangeas, he felt as if he'd got it right with his choice of clothes.

‘The Orchard' was an old Western District summerhouse, a bastion of landedness, and that's how they were planning to sell it this time. ‘Forget the “sanctuary on the Riviera” stuff,' Colin had said on his mobile to Craig in the morning. ‘It's all horses and hounds today, mate.'

Already there were a few cars parked, both back out on the road and within the property, but Colin Batty himself was nowhere to be seen. Craig looked briefly up at the sky and then made his way along the corduroy path that split the flowerbeds, and knocked on the door.

Inge Svensson greeted him with a curt hello and stood aside to allow him to enter. Her once blonde hair now had a pewterish sheen to it, and her pale blue eyes were full of an icy beauty. Craig was polite, in a deferential kind of way. He knew the Svenssons were convinced that by living at ‘The Orchard' they had surrounded themselves with rednecks and morons.

Inge Svensson ushered Craig down the wide and airy hallway. They stepped into the large living area, which looked out the northern side of the house through French doors onto a swimming pool that had been over-chlorinated. The colour of the water reminded Craig of Gatorade.

As they entered the room, Lars Svensson stood beside the French doors near the TV with the remote control in his hand. He was dressed in a bright red pair of golf slacks and a white Pringle crew-neck jumper and was half watching the
BBC World News
. He
told Craig, in a thick Scandinavian accent: ‘Your boss is taking a microsleep.'

‘He's what?' asked Craig, scrunching up his face in friendly amusement.

‘He said he was nervous before an auction, always he said, and that a small sleep in the car would help. He said you'd be here soon and would manage the inspections. Do you remember it was you who showed us through the place on the day we bought it?'

‘Of course. Yes, I'll show everyone through.'

‘Good then. Mr Batty knows what our expectations are.'

Lars Svensson flicked off the TV and for a few moments Craig stood with the vendors in a silence that only he seemed to find awkward. He recognised an intense European inscrutability on their faces, and as he turned and walked alone back down the hallway to the front door he saw himself again on Boulevard St Michel as a twenty-two year old, feeling like a simpleton as he talked to students he'd met from the Sorbonne about life and politics and morality. In 1988 he'd interpreted that inscrutability as honesty, and a lofty indifference to social graces, but now with the Svenssons he knew it meant more. With them the silence was full of disdain.

The auction was scheduled for 11 am and at ten past, having shown people through the house and around the grounds and prepared the stage on the lawn next to the parking bay, Craig had still not set eyes on Colin. Not even on his car. Then, as the crowd started to mill about and tap their brochures impatiently on their palms, the Minapre locals happily chatty but the genuine buyers getting edgy, the auctioneer appeared, walking up the driveway eating a nashi apple he'd picked from a tree near the gate.

Like Craig, Colin Batty had on a pair of moleskins, along with a tweed jacket and a chambray shirt, but he also wore a brand new camel-coloured Akubra hat with a red Legacy pin in it. He arrived amidst the crowd like a politician, smiling, recommending the apple,
winking at people he knew, and eventually at Craig, who he then went over to and said, ‘Geez, that friend of your better half's a good sort.'

After a moment's hesitation, Craig realised he was talking about Carla and couldn't help but laugh and agree.

‘I think all these people want an auction to start, Col,' he told his boss.

Colin took a last and demonstrably savoured bite of his apple, threw the core into a nearby gardenia bush, referred to his notes and, with a quick glance at the Svenssons, who were now sitting on stainless-steel outdoor chairs on the granite patio near the front door, idly flicking through the weekend papers, proceeded to the lawn and cleared his throat.

Tipping his Akubra slightly back from his forehead he began proceedings by greeting the assembled crowd, which by now had grown to nearly one hundred people, all standing in a deep semicircle on the still dewy lawn around him.

‘Thanks for coming this morning, ladies and gents, and welcome on this lovely spring day to “The Orchard”. Before I start I'd just like to take a moment to acknowledge the prior ownership of this land by the Katubanut people.'

Straight away then he laughed and spread his arms wide, turning his body through a 270-degree arc which ended in the direction of the main house behind him and to his right.

‘It's a delicate thing, this property,' he said charismatically, and with a tone of disclosure. ‘It's a treasure that requires not just someone to live here but someone to
love
living here, to handle it well.' He gazed directly at the assembled throng, paused briefly, and continued: ‘But take a look, ladies and gents. For whoever the lucky person is at the end of today, I'm sure you'll all agree that learning to love “The Orchard”, 234 Minapre Road, is hardly going to be difficult.'

In the late morning sun, ‘The Orchard' did look magnificent. The house was clean and elegant, the flowerbeds ablaze, the bed and breakfast studios and cabins dotted around the place looked like well-established bowers in a larger haven.

‘Everything moves so fast these days,' Colin Batty continued, tipping his hat further back on his head. ‘Things change in front of our eyes and we love, amidst all the change, to shape our properties so that they express who we are. I love my fellow Australians for that. I think it's great that we have that kind of DIY initiative. But occasionally, ladies and gents, and perhaps more and more often these days, we're beginning to desire something that we won't need to shape or renovate, something solid and unchanging, something with a bit of old world integrity to help us brace our lives against the pace of modern life.

‘Well, as we know, this kind of thing is increasingly hard to find. In my business, we see one, maybe two of these properties a decade. And that is why, ladies and gents, this auction today is one out of the box, why it's special, and why I feel genuinely excited to be conducting it.

‘You would've felt as you drove in here today the immense store of unbroken history that this elite property has. The fruit trees that you can see over there in the far corner by the bluegums are over a hundred years old. No doubt you noticed the two quince trees – the size of my real estate office back in Mangowak! Unbelievable. And of course you would've also noticed under the grand old oak by the stables the child's rope-swing that looks as if it has been frozen in time. Absolutely priceless. It's as I always say, you can't put a dollar value on memories.

‘So today, ladies and gents, is your chance to buy a piece of beautifully appointed history, a slice of heritage Victoria in great nick, old but immaculate, never having been owned by anyone, if I might say, short of a quid. I'm sure if it wasn't for certain physical ailments
there'd be no way known the current vendors would be moving anywhere else.'

Craig shut his eyes as Colin Batty spoke. He was amused now to learn that the Svenssons were unwell. It was the first he'd heard of it. His boss was on a roll, making it up spontaneously. Colin knew that no untruths would matter to the Svenssons if the place came in at the right price.

Craig opened his eyes as Colin wound up his preamble with a long description of The Orchard's six homestay studios – ‘sleek
and
rustic. Old
but
immaculate. Paint your own Frederick McCubbin in peace! Or a lovely still life using the handy fruit on the orchard trees!' Clapping his hands with relish, Colin then announced that bidding would begin at half a million dollars. At which point he set his Akubra aside and signalled to Craig to keep his eye open for shy bids.

As he scanned the crowd and listened to the price begin to rise, Craig could see Reef and Paul chasing each other and falling down over on the grass between the fruit trees. Liz and Carla and Marisa were standing right in the centre of the crowd watching the events.

The bidding began and rose quickly, and as it did, Colin Batty's voice grew in emphasis, his vowels rounding out like a race caller or an old style football commentator. The auction was lured into a steady upward rhythm by his technique, the gestures and sibilance encouraging and cajoling constant excitement and activity. Nothing could stand still, especially not the price, with Colin Batty whipping it up into a frenzy.

Of course a lot of people in the crowd had seen him in action before. The Minapre locals were, in fact, quite blasé when it came to an auctioneer's techniques but were interested in what ‘The Orchard' would fetch and what relation that might bear to their own properties. Liz and Carla noticed familiar faces too, including, to Liz's surprise, her yoga teacher, Walker Lea, from Vrindarvan.
He was standing off to the far side of the crowd with a younger man, perhaps his son, Liz thought. The younger man had a head of curls just like the musician Ben Harper.

In 2000 the property had sold to the Svenssons for $1.1 million but now, in the rapid flurry, the bidding soared, culminating eventually in an emphatic silence. Colin Batty stared at the crowd. He waited. It was an old trick, compelling someone to fill the silence. But only the crows by the roadside ironbarks studded it now.

He opened his arms wide once again. ‘One point nine million. Does that match up? In the current climate, this is a good price. An excellent catch. One point nine I have. Yes, ladies and gents, we're at one point nine. Now we're looking for passion. Scandinavian-designed industrial strength kitchen with a renovated woodfire oven option as well. Original parquet floors, ADSL broadband and satellite. Central heating. Looking for trailblazers now. With the studios you're purchasing a silent business as well as a home. Yes. One point nine and looking for two. Do we have two million? Can you take us there, sir? I have one point nine, one point nine for bluechip I have. Sir? No? Have a think now. Excuse me, ladies and gents.'

With his Akubra in his hand he stepped away from the crowd and made his way casually up to the patio where, watched by the crowd, he crouched on his haunches and spoke with theatrical discretion to the Svenssons, who remained seated on the stainless-steel chairs with news papers spread. When he eventually returned he informed the throng that the property would definitely be sold that day, but after much encouragement and further rhapsodic descriptions, Colin Batty was left with no alternative but to declare: ‘Going once at one point nine million, going twice here, at one point nine million. All righty then, all offers up? So it is. After consultation with the vendors I declare “The Orchard” sold for the sum of one point nine million. There we have it, ladies and gents. On behalf of Batty Real Estate I'd like to thank you all for your time.'

In the richly scented forest air the coiled tension of the performance was released and the local crowd broke immediately into small talk and smiles as the unsuccessful bidders drifted quietly away. Inside the house afterwards, Colin assured the Svenssons that the sunshine had been worth at least $200 000 on the day.

‘It also shone the day we bought it,' Lars Svensson countered flatly.

‘Well then, it's only fair that it shone again today,' Colin bluffly replied.

The successful bidders were a couple from Hamilton looking to retire early. ‘The Orchard' would be perfect for them, Craig thought. There'd be no disappointment this time. They had the complexion of people who'd worked outside but the clothes and cars of people for whom the hard work had been worthwhile. Craig liked them, he found them professional but also genuinely thrilled as they signed the documents under his guidance on the red cedar dresser in the Svenssons' hallway. Colin was happy about them too. They were solid types. He was sure they'd be staying for keeps.