Heart of the Dreaming (23 page)

‘My intentions towards Ginny? She's sweet — I like her — but to be honest, Clayton, marriage is the last thing on my mind.'

‘Why, TR? Let's not horse around, here.
You could do a lot worse than Ginny. She's an affectionate little thing, her mother has taught her the niceties of being a good wife, mother and hostess; and frankly, TR, having you in the family would be a sensible business arrangement and we'd be right proud to have you. And I know Ginny is very, very fond of you.'

‘I'm fond of her too, Clayton. But that's all. Fond. I'm not ready to settle down.' He was evasive, giving little away.

Clayton sensed his discomfort. ‘I feel I'm not getting the full story here, TR. But I won't pry. That's your business. But don't throw your life away on a lost cause.'

TR glanced at him quickly, but then realised he wasn't referring to Queenie but to Martine Hoxburgh, an attractive divorcee he had been seeing. Martine was a sleek, well-groomed redhead who ran a fashionable boutique in Louisville. TR had been having a discreet but casual affair with the former beauty queen without commitment from either side. Martine would have liked to make their relationship permanent, but she recognised TR carried a scar and so didn't push or rush him. She was a worldly and sophisticated woman, and TR liked her class and style as well as her company.

Ginny was unaware of his involvement with Martine as they kept their meetings and outings as private as possible, spending weekends at Martine's luxurious ranch. She had done exceedingly well financially from her second divorce, and coupled with her family's money
and a successful fashion business, she was considered a great catch.

She didn't allow TR to guess how determined she was that he be husband number three, for she knew it would frighten him away. Like a fisherman playing a shy trout, she just kept stalking her quarry. She was not prepared to wait forever, however, as she had decided that in the next two years she'd like to have a child. Preferably one with TR's sky-blue eyes.

TR had ambivalent feelings about American women. Charming, always attractive, they made him feel ten feet tall, yet beneath the glossy surface he suspected a barracuda-like force that could strip the flesh from his bones in minutes.

Clayton's voice brought him back from his musings. ‘You're a talented man with horses, TR,' he sighed. ‘And I'm too smart to let a woman get between me and business. Even if she is my daughter.'

‘Clayton, Ginny is one of the most eligible debutantes in the whole South, she has a string of suitors to choose from! She can do better than a simple Aussie cowboy,' smiled TR.

‘There's a heap of hopefuls hanging round the porch, that's true. But I was kinda hoping she'd get herself a real man. Well, TR, I think it's time I made my move into Australia. You ready to start operating that land you bought for me?'

TR chose his moment to confront Ginny who had pouted and flounced away each time she
sighted him. He waited till she was alone, swinging morosely in a fringed loveseat in the garden.

He sat beside her, pushing the swaying seat to and fro with his boot. ‘Ginny, I guess your Dad has told you I'm going back to Australia to work for him there.'

‘You don't have to go, TR. But I guess there's nothing here to hold you.' She turned and looked away from him.

‘Listen to me, please don't feel hurt that I'm not asking you to come with me. My life there is not for you, truly, you wouldn't like it out there where it's lonely and wild …'

Tears welled in Ginny's large blue eyes. ‘But TR, I'd be with you …'

He wrapped his arms about her in a comforting hug. ‘Trust me, Ginny, it wouldn't last. One day you'll thank me. And don't think I don't find you terribly attractive and desirable … because you are.'

A smile hovered through her tears. ‘You think so?'

TR nodded. ‘And, Ginny, you know you have a dozen blokes just panting after you. You just have to snap your pretty little fingers …'

‘But I don't want them!'

TR imagined if Ginny had been standing she would have stamped her foot. ‘Ginny, we don't always get what we want in this world. And sometimes it's better to hold onto the dream than find the real thing is not what you'd imagined. Let's stay good friends.'

‘You're more like family, TR.'

‘And I think of you that way — like my sweet little sister.' He picked up her hand and kissed her fingertips. ‘Goodbye, Ginny … be happy.'

Ginny didn't look at all happy. ‘I'll be seeing you some time, TR, won't I?'

‘Of course. I have to come back and see your father regularly.'

Ginny got up from the swing seat. ‘Then I'll wait for you, TR.' She gave him a mischievous smile and sauntered away, her hips swaying provocatively beneath the summer dress.

TR groaned. But he suspected Ginny would get over him quicker than she thought.

It hadn't been so easy breaking the news to Martine, but she managed to be gracious and understanding. ‘Maybe I'll come and visit you …' They left the promise hanging between them as a possibility. TR knew she could well afford the trip but he didn't know quite what she'd make of the harsh Australian bush after the luxury and spoiled life style of the South. The thought of the glamorous Martine in the outback made him grin. To Martine's chagrin he didn't insist she come to visit.

There was only one woman TR wanted to see.

Clayton shook his head at the speed with which TR tied up loose ends and settled business matters.

‘You are leaving with indecent haste, TR,' teased Clayton as they discussed their plans for Guneda, the proposed racehorse stud in northern New South Wales. ‘There ain't no
fire on your tail to get the place up and running. Take your time — be thorough, pick the right men, the right animals. I'll come out whenever you say.'

‘I'll keep in regular contact, but I'll miss seeing you, Clayton. I'll do my best for you. Guneda will be a showcase in no time — you'll see.'

‘Remember, you have a stake in this too, TR. You get a share of the profits. I'm glad you're anxious to get started. Good luck to you … mate.'

TR laughed at his pronunciation of the Aussie expression, and shook his hand warmly. He was more than anxious to get started on this new chapter of his life.

He was returning to the vast open land he loved and to be near, yet so far, from Tingulla and the only woman he loved.

Colin and Dina strolled through the warm spring sunshine streaming onto Macleay Street in Kings Cross, laughing as spray from the giant dandelion ball of the El Alamein fountain misted over them. They cut through the lane leading to Kellett Street, avoiding the lingering daytime transvestites, prostitutes and pimps patrolling the clubs, bars and delicatessens of Darlinghurst Road.

Signor Camboni had asked the couple to join him for lunch along with a few of his friends.

‘Why does your father want me to come?'

Dina shrugged. ‘He knows I've been seeing you regularly …'

‘Regularly! We're together nearly twenty-four hours a day, my darling!'

‘Well, he probably just wants to check you out a little bit … he is very protective of me, you know.'

‘Still concerned I might be after your money?'

‘Pappa can be very old-world Italian at times. Don't worry, enjoy the lunch, Natalino is an old friend and always cooks something special.'

They were greeted effusively by the owner Natalino, who took them through to the tiny ivy-covered outdoor terrace. Six large men in dark suits sat around the table where two empty places waited. Signor Camboni rose to greet them, kissing his daughter on both cheeks and shaking Colin by the hand. The signori were introduced, although Colin found he couldn't remember a single name. He felt like an extra in a European movie.

Most of the conversation round the table was conducted in volatile Italian punctuated by bursts of laughter. Dina squeezed Colin's knee and gave him encouraging smiles.

Shouts of greetings and cheers suddenly interrupted the small trattoria as Australian boxing champion, Rocky Gattellari, and his entourage entered. Rocky came to their table where he was greeted warmly and introduced to Dina and Colin.

The handsome young Italian fighter kissed Dina's hand and winked at Colin. ‘You don't mind?'

‘Not at all, champ. Great to meet you,' said Colin, gripping the small but lethal fist.

He wished he could have joined the noisy Gattellari table where Rocky was eating with his minders and a group of journalists. Dutifully Colin turned his attention back to Signor Camboni.

At the end of the meal Colin rose with Dina, farewelling her father's business associates. He thanked Signor Camboni for the lunch, explaining they had an afternoon appointment.

Signor Camboni extended a manicured hand. ‘You are welcome to visit with our family any time. If ever I can be of assistance …' The offer hung in the air accompanied by a faint shrug.

Dina took Colin's hand and they left the men sipping their short black coffee. ‘Pappa thinks you are
simpatico.
It is true what you told me … about your Tingulla.'

‘How do you know?'

‘Pappa has friends everywhere. He told me it is all right to continue our relationship. You are a wealthy young man in your own right, apparently.'

‘One day, I'll have Tingulla for my own, then no one will need to ask who Colin Hanlon is.'

‘What about your sister? You said she lives there.'

‘For the moment. For the moment.'

Dina linked her arm through his. ‘You are plotting something, eh, Colin? Come, we have an appointment … back at my apartment.'

Colin leaned back on the pillow, his arms behind his head, and kicked a foot out from the sheets. ‘I'm bored …'

Dina rolled on her side to face him. ‘Well that's a wonderful thing to say after we've just made love!'

‘You know I didn't mean it like that! I just think maybe I should look for some sort of job.'

‘Here in Sydney?'

‘Of course. Unless you want to come to the country with me,' he joked.

‘Ugh! You need a job to suit your talents … not riding around on smelly horses and ruining your hands digging fence posts or whatever you do.'

‘I'm good at biting off sheep's balls.'

‘You don't!'

‘I do. Like this …' He buried his face beneath the sheets, diving between Dina's legs as she squealed and jumped from the bed.

‘Colin, I will speak to my father. He will find you a job.'

‘I don't want you telling your old man I need a job. I just want something to give me a bit of a challenge, with a touch of class that will make me oodles of money!'

He slipped from the bed and began pulling on his clothes. Dina watched him, noting with satisfaction how elegant he now looked. She had made him throw away the remaining casual clothes he'd worn in the country. The well-worn riding boots, the broad-brimmed hat that shouted ‘country' and the Harris tweed jacket were tossed out. She took him to her father's tailor for European cut suits and insisted he buy soft slip-on leather shoes and fine silk socks.

Colin balanced on the dainty boudoir chair. ‘Y'know, these shoes wouldn't last a week in the bush,' he remarked, eyeing his fashionable foot.

‘Forget the bush, darling. You are a sophisticated city man now,'

‘Thanks to you, hey?' Colin pinched her rounded hip. ‘Dina, why don't we get married?' The remark slipped out without thinking, but it suddenly seemed like a good idea.

‘That is not a romantic proposal, Colin. You must court and woo me.'

‘Flaming hell, Dina. We've been living together; you've been running my life; we know we get on. Why not get married?'

Dina was adamant. No casual Australian proposal for her.

‘I'm a man of the land, I'm not into flowers,' said Colin gruffly.

Colin thanked his lucky stars Queenie couldn't see him ordering roses in a florist shop, picking out expensive jewellery, and footing the bill for Dina's betting spree at the races. He now accepted this was the best way to win Dina, and he devoted long afternoons to lovemaking, pleasuring and indulging her fantasies.

Despite the last idle year of high living, Colin was still youthfully lean and muscular. Dina, now thirty, was less firm but full, ripe and soft. Colin sucked and nibbled at her dimpled white flesh as if attacking a plate of rich pasta.

Queenie had just returned from her ride on Nareedah and walked into her study when the phone rang. ‘Hi, it's Sarah. How's life at Tingulla?'

‘How lovely to hear from you. It's a bit dry,
warming up, though we had a frost this morning.'

‘This is no time to talk about the weather. Don't you have some news to tell me … some family news?'

‘Sarah, what are you talking about?'

‘I wondered if you knew. Listen, I just picked up the Sunday paper and Colin is all over the social pages. With his fiancée.'

‘His what? Who is she?'

‘It says here that Colin Hanlon of famed Tingulla Station in Queensland has announced his engagement to Signorina Andina Camboni, formerly of Lake Como, now of Vaucluse.'

‘Why didn't he tell me — or discuss it? He doesn't even have a job, Sarah! What's she like?'

‘You know Colin, Queenie. The signorina is very glamorous, she looks older than him and luscious looking in that dark Italian way. Apparently her daddy is very rich, though John tells me he has dubious connections — if you get my drift.'

‘I am hurt he didn't tell us. I suppose he figured we'd try and talk him out of it. I hope he knows what he's doing.'

‘I'm sure you'll get an invitation to the wedding. Sounds like it's going to be the wedding of the year.'

Thanks for letting me know, Sarah. Talk to you soon. Love to John.' Slowly Queenie replaced the phone.

When the ornate invitation arrived from the Cambonis, Queenie was tempted to refuse.

Warwick gently chided her. ‘Don't react badly. Just because he didn't come to our wedding. You are his only family, Queenie. It wouldn't look good. You know Colin is just a little thoughtless.'

Queenie thought that was putting it mildly, but reluctantly she agreed to go to Sydney.

‘We'll leave Saskia here with Millie and we can spend several days in Sydney and go shopping and party a bit after the wedding. You'll enjoy it, Queenie.'

The wedding festivities passed in an agonising blur for Queenie. She felt as if she had been caught up in an Italian art film which had a cast of deported immigrants from Calabria and was set amidst the ugliest of the
nouveau riche
social scene.

She and Warwick sat in the middle section of St Mary's Cathedral as the High Church ceremony dragged on, complete with choir, harps and the twelve attendants escorting Dina, who was buried beneath a mountain of beaded tulle and a long lace train.

After the service the crowd milled around the lawns as the bridal party posed on the steps in front of the historic sandstone church for the formal photographs.

‘Colin looks quite pleased with himself,' whispered Warwick. ‘And no wonder — Dina's a sexy looking lady.'

‘I hope he realises he has also married the family,' added Queenie, looking around at the predominance of short men in dark suits and sunglasses, and women who wore either
widow's black or were outrageously overdressed in cocktail outfits, hats, furs and jewels.

A procession of long black cars glided to the front of the church to bear the wedding party away to the reception at a private club.

‘This looks like a wake rather than a wedding,' said Queenie stepping into their rented American Chrysler.

The photographer from the society pages trailed them to the Mandotti Club and continued his frenetic clicking of candid shots. He left before the lavish food — seven courses — appeared and the many speeches were given. The wine, imported from Italy by Alfredo Camboni, gushed from tall dark bottles and the music, dancing and laughter became louder and faster.

Within a few hours the formal reception resembled a drunken village festival.

‘Warwick, I can't take this dancing on the table tops and all the men singing and dancing together any more. I can't talk to these women, and Colin and Dina left hours ago,' said Queenie stifling a yawn.

Warwick had been rather enjoying himself. ‘If you insist. But we must say goodbye to the Cambonis.'

Mrs Camboni, her blue rinsed hair set in corrugated waves, her bulk encased in cyclamen satin, held out a bejewelled hand, and in a heavy accent thanked them for coming from so far away.

‘She makes it sound like we came from the moon,' hissed Queenie as they approached Signor Camboni to bid him good night.

‘You cannot leave yet! I have not had a dance with the beautiful sister-in-law of my daughter.'

Before Queenie could protest she was swept onto the floor as Camboni clutched her against his crushed carnation buttonhole. ‘I hear you have a very magnificent property at Tingulla. But far from everything, no?'

‘Depends what you want to be near, Signor Camboni. I don't feel at all isolated.'

‘Please, call me Alfredo. And you make good business at Tingulla? Perhaps we can do business together, now that we are all family?'

Queenie pulled away to study the ever-smiling face and suddenly wondered if he dyed his jet black hair. ‘What exactly is your business … Alfredo?'

He tightened his grip around Queenie's waist and executed a fancy turn. ‘Import and export. A little of this, a little of that.'

‘Well, unless you're importing bull semen I don't think we can do business together.'

She smiled sweetly and Camboni smiled unsurely back at her. ‘Bulls? I thought you kept sheep?'

‘I run both, Signor. Perhaps you and Mrs Camboni would like to visit Tingulla one day?'

A broad smile creased his face. ‘That I would like. Mrs Camboni … I don't think so. She doesn't go out much.'

‘Thank you for your hospitality. I'm sure Colin and Dina will be very happy together.'

‘If he doesn't make my daughter happy …' Grinning, Alfredo Camboni made a slicing gesture across his throat and laughed at his joke.

‘Good night … Alfredo.'

‘Good night, bella Queenie. I look forward to seeing Tingulla one day.'

They waited outside the club for their car to come around to the front. ‘I hope Colin knows what he's getting into. Thank God they're not interested in the land. Can you just see all those heavies in their black suits and patent kid shoes tramping around Tingulla!' Queenie laughed. ‘Alfredo has promised to visit … one day. Somehow I think it will be a long time coming.'

‘I think it could be fun. We could show them what country hospitality is all about. Camboni could be useful though. He has contacts all over the place.'

‘Not the sort we need. The Hanlons have always managed their own affairs quite well on their own,' remarked Queenie tartly, sliding across the leather seat and kicking off her high heels.

The following day the wedding party had been invited to the Spring Carnival at Randwick Racecourse as guests in the Cambonis' private box. Warwick told Queenie the family had racing connections and they were guaranteed a few ‘sure things'.