Heart of the Dreaming (28 page)

Roger Ambrose had made his decision. Tingulla had a lot more possibilities for
Red Jack
than he'd ever imagined.

It was early morning and raucous bird calls rang through the bush. In the stillness a heavy, dead eucalypt branch crashed to the ground, causing the birds to shriek and with beating wings, sweep away. An immaculate magpie flew from the cover of the trees across the cleared ground to land on a smart white paling fence. It cocked its head at the sound of galloping hooves in the distance.

Carved from the natural bush setting was a neatly fenced, dirt racetrack, where a horse thundered around the circuit in the haze of morning light.

An old man sat on a log bench beside the track, his chin sunk on his chest. He was not dozing in the sun but watching the spinning second hand of his fob watch. He glanced up as the horse approached, striding broadly and easily as it neared the end of the two mile gallop. A frail Aboriginal boy was perched on
its massive back like a dragonfly balanced on a charging rhino.

TR drove his new Range Rover past Guneda's tidy green paddocks to the racetrack and joined old Bobby on the bench.

Bobby looked back down at his watch and gave a soft whistle.

‘Bill doing all right, hey?' asked TR.

‘Going like the clappers. Bugger can run all right, TR. What we don't know is whether he wants to win every race.'

‘Won't know that till he has some competition.'

‘Yeah. He's strong. And big. But still a youngster. He's not ready yet.'

TR grinned as the horse slowed and the young jockey turned it towards them. ‘I have to admit he's grown into a better looking fella than that gangling great dane we picked up at the auction.'

‘It's all the attention he gets. He thrives on affection,' said Bobby.

The big russet horse lifted his head and turned at the sound of Bobby's voice, and trotted to the two men as they leaned over the railing.

‘How's he doing, Mick?'

The boy slid down from the tall animal, unbuckling his hard hat, allowing the shock of blue-black curls to spring free. ‘Good, boss. Still likes to have his own way a bit. But he's learning.'

‘You both are. You're coming on real good, Mick,' said Bobby. ‘You got a ride this week?'

‘Yeah, for Donaldson at the Timbarloo picnic races. Don't think much of me chances. I'm waiting for the day I get to ride Bill here in the Melbourne Cup.'

‘You may be a little kid, Mick, but you've sure got big dreams,' laughed TR.

The horse leaned forward, sniffing TR's jacket and giving him a disdainful nudge with his nose before turning his attention to Bobby, snuffling and forcing his way into Bobby's coat where he knew there was a treat waiting. Mick took the saddle and blanket from his perspiring horse.

Bobby ducked under the railing. ‘I'll take him back and groom him. See you later, TR.'

‘Mick, throw the gear in the Range Rover and I'll take you back to the stables.'

They drove off and Bobby strolled through the paddock with the devoted horse walking beside him unguided, his reins swinging free. The two of them spent a lot of time together, ‘going for walks'. The old man would drag on his hand-rolled cigarette as he enjoyed the sight of the trees and the song of the birds; the horse beside him, occasionally pausing to sniff the ground or nibble a bush. It was always Bill who decided when it was time to go home, turning around and giving Bobby a gentle nudge just to make sure he got the message.

TR and Mick went into the stable set aside for Bill, and TR looked on as Mick began pulping Bill's feed.

‘He's giving him pineapples and beetroot.' Mick shook his head. ‘Never heard of a horse loving pineapples. Bill's crazy about 'em. Bobby has some friend in Queensland with a farm who sends down tons of them. Old Bobby sure got some funny ideas. Says Bill's never gonna wear shoes either.'

‘Whatever he's doing, Bill seems to be happy. Well, I better go check on that temperamental mare of Sir Ashton Holloway. She won't let the stallion near her.'

‘Them's women, hey, boss?' commented the worldly wise seventeen-year-old.

‘So what exactly is this movie
Red Jack
all about, Roger?' asked Queenie as she poured the tea.

‘It may surprise you. It's an Australian story but with universal appeal — a romance. It's loosely based on a poem by one of your old bush poets. Red Jack is a wild and beautiful young woman no man can tame. A woman who can outride any man — a real tomboy and rebel. Being Edwardian times, her behaviour is considered rather shocking. She lives with her poor widowed father who is in danger of being thrown off his land by the rich landowner next door. The landowner has a handsome son who thinks of himself as the best horseman in the district. The girl's father has a young racehorse and it comes down to a gamble between the rich son and his horse, and the poor father and his horse to decide the fate of their land. If the father's horse wins, he stays, if Benton the landowner's son wins,
his
father takes the land and Red Jack, and her father will be homeless. It all hinges on this race.'

‘And naturally the girl rides her father's horse and wins,' said Queenie drily.

‘Of course! But she rides disguised as a man. And naturally Benton falls in love with her and they end up together, so the father can stay on his land the rest of his days. There's
a bunch of other stuff in there, like how Benton has to win Red Jack over. She's called Red Jack because of her wild red hair. You'd make a wonderful Red Jack.'

‘I don't go to the pictures, let alone act in them,' replied Queenie. ‘I hope you can find an actress who can ride well.'

‘Oh, that doesn't matter …' Roger paused, a smile spreading over his face. ‘Say, you'd be perfect as Red Jack's double!'

‘As what?'

‘If we dyed your hair red you could stand in for the actress by doing all the actual riding scenes. Would you? We'd pay you well for it, of course.'

‘Roger, I haven't agreed to this film being made here yet! I still have to run Tingulla. My time is very valuable.'

‘Name a price.'

‘I'll think about it. Warwick and I will discuss it all and get back to you.' Queenie cocked her head, hearing the distant drone of a Cessna.

‘I can't thank you enough for your hospitality. These past couple of days here have been truly wonderful. It's too bad you couldn't take in paying guests. This is the Australia tourists should see.'

‘Please! I have enough to contemplate — what with movie crews and stunt riding or whatever, without thinking of going into the tourist business.' Queenie shook his hand warmly. She had found the American charming, polite and practical. Not at all what she had expected from a Hollywood movie man. 'As I said, well think it over.'

‘Can't ask more than that.' Roger Ambrose picked up his bag. ‘Say goodbye to Warwick for me.'

‘He's gone to collect two of our men who are out after a killer dingo … a wild dog. Hopefully they've got him. He's been slaughtering our sheep.'

Roger Ambrose nodded. He was still finding it difficult to adjust to this beautiful and authoritative woman. She was totally feminine but there was a capable toughness about her that he found fascinating. It was interesting to compare the helpless beauties he knew with this gorgeous woman who was utterly self-sufficient. He realised that if they were out there alone in this wild country he would be dependent on her for survival.

As the plane rose above Tingulla homestead he saw Queenie walking across the front lawn. She had a lot of qualities of the heroine of their film. If only she'd allow them to shoot there. It would solve a lot of their problems, but in his heart he knew Queenie was wise to be cautious. He'd never allow a film crew anywhere near his home. It was like inviting a full-scale circus, an opera company, and the government of a banana republic to take over your life.

It took Warwick some time to locate Snowy and Jim from the rough directions they had given above the static of the two-way radio. It was late afternoon before he spotted the curl of blue smoke from their campfire.

Snowy had pegged out three dingo skins and Jim sat by the fire, his rifle and walking stick
resting beside him. He lifted a hand in cheerful salute as Warwick drove through the trees.

Snowy poured tea from the old billy into a mug and handed it to Warwick. ‘Jim's medicine worked real good. Them dogs come in sniffing after his brew quick smart.'

‘Potted the first one, no trouble,' Jim said. ‘The other two were more wary. But we reckon we got the bugger that killed our sheep.'

‘Any more of them around?'

‘Hard to say. Snowy can't find any fresh tracks. Think it was just one group. Haven't seen any elephants or tigers either,' grinned Jim, indicating their brush hide which had sheltered and hidden them for the last few days. ‘We were beginning to feel like two big-game hunters. Started making up stories to pass the time.'

‘I see you've been keeping busy,' said Warwick to Jim.

Jim lifted the strips of leather he was braiding into an intricately patterned belt. ‘Roo hide. Thought I'd make a present for Queenie. I'm working her initials into it.'

‘Looks good, Jim. Christ! What was that noise?'

Snowy and Jim exchanged a glance then Snowy reached under the blanket beside him and lifted out a fat golden-brown ball of fur. ‘Dingo pup. We killed the mother. This little fella crawled into our camp.'

‘Well, kill it. Bash it on the head. We don't want more full-grown dingoes about the place,' said Warwick.

Jim and Snowy looked uncomfortable. ‘He put up such a fight we figured he'd earned a chance. I thought I'd take him back and give him to Millie to feed till he can manage on his own, then take him up into the hills and let him go.'

‘What the hell for? You can't make a pet of these dogs, Jim. Their killer instinct is bred in too deep.'

Jim took the pup. ‘If he puts a paw wrong, I'll do him in.'

Warwick shook his head and refilled his mug of tea. ‘Reckon you blokes have been out in the sun too long. Pack up and we'll head back.'

‘You ever hear the story of giant devil dingo?' Snowy asked Jim as they started gathering their gear together.

‘Nope. Tell it to us, Snowy.'

Warwick helped the men break camp, throwing the dingo hides in the back of the truck, but found himself avidly following Snowy's sing-song recital of one of his favourite Aboriginal tales, and soon forgot all about the dingo pup.

Colin and Dina joined the Camboni family for their traditional Sunday lunch. Eighteen people were seated around the long wooden table under the grapevine in the garden.
Antipasto
of home-baked bread, olives pickled in the Australian sun, goat cheese and assorted salamis were spread on platters. Frascati wine in raffia-covered bottles was passed up and down the table, while in the kitchen the Camboni women prepared and garnished the main courses.

Included among the guests was Roger Ambrose who once again enthused about his visit to Tingulla. ‘Colin, if you have any influence with your sister, please ask her to agree to letting us film there. It's perfect. The location, the house, the animals, extras who can ride — it's all there. I told Queenie she'd be a great double for the leading lady. Boy, can she ride!'

Dina turned to Colin. ‘I must see Tingulla and your sister at home on the range, darling.' She turned to Roger. ‘It's hard to imagine her like that. I've only seen her dressed up here in Sydney where she seems such a …' She was going to say snob, but knew that wasn't right. What was it about Queenie that faintly irritated Dina? Her aloofness maybe.

‘… a lady,' supplied Roger. ‘Elegant and gracious one minute, then a sort of free spirit on horseback the next.'

Colin changed the subject. ‘The film is definitely going ahead then? You've found all your investors?'

‘The studio put up the distribution guarantee and half the budget so it wasn't too hard to persuade a few wily businessmen it was a worthwhile investment.'

‘Gamble, you mean.' laughed Alfredo Camboni. ‘Movies are always a risk unless you are prepared to lose money or have a clever accountant.'

‘Surely if the film is a hit you can make a big profit,' commented one of the other men.

Roger leaned forward. ‘Of course you can. And a film like this is sure to make money. It has American studio backing, it's got two
major American TV stars in their first big film, it's a great script and the Australian setting is going to knock the socks off American audiences — and the rest of the world. They'll love it. Can't miss.'

‘So where do I send my cheque?' laughed the old Italian.

Colin held out his hand. ‘See me. I'm handling the financial side. I thought I'd even put up some of my own money, I believe in the project so much.'

Dina gave Colin a bemused glance but said nothing.

Colin later called Warwick and spoke to him privately. ‘This
Red jack
movie deal could be good. I've lined up several investors this end so, frankly, I think you should persuade Queenie it's a good idea. If you could scrape up some of the ready to invest yourself, Warwick, I reckon you'll make a killing too.'