Licence to Dream (9 page)

Then one weekend she drove out to York, which she hadn’t visited before. It lay about a hundred kilometres east of Perth and had been one of the earliest inland parts of the State to be settled by Europeans in the 1830s.

After leaving Perth, she drove up the long slope of the Darling Scarp, finding the busy city traffic giving way to fewer vehicles and the open stretches of a wide country road.

She took a right turn to York, and found very little traffic at all. The road wound its way through gentle, hilly countryside with forests on either side. The white lines on the edges of the road were bordered by red gravel in various shades from pale dusty orange to a richer red, and these accented the dull greens and light trunks of the trees. This was regrowth, with none of the huge trees of untouched bush. In places the ground and trunks were blackened, the smaller plants shrivelled to nothing, where a small bushfire had gone through.

Then the road came out into farm land, the cleared pastures a beige-green in the dryness of summer, dotted with small clumps of trees. Every now and then there were smooth rocky outcrops that made her itch to get out her sketching pad.

She’d read enough history to know that the place names reflected the early days of settlement when people were limited to horsepower and marked the road by watering points: 13 Mile Spring, St Ronan’s Well, 6 Mile Brook. When she stopped at the latter she found only a dry watercourse that had cut a v-shaped twisting path through the land, a mere couple of metres wide. It’d be a winter creek, she decided, only flowing during the winter rains and drying out in summer.

It made for an interesting visual mix and she would paint it one day.

Reluctantly she got back into the car and drove on into town.

This was another delight. The facades of the buildings that lined the main street were in a mixture of styles but looked like the originals to Meriel. Thank goodness no one had knocked them down in favour of modern box-like structures.

She was entranced and strolled up and down Avon Terrace, shaded from the hot sun by the awnings in front of most shops and businesses. She’d take time later, she promised herself, to visit the motor and residency museums and find out more.

Was this . . . could she have found the right place to settle?

* * * *

After yet another row with Phil, Ben said quietly, ‘We’ll never work comfortably together. I think you should look for another job.’

‘I already have a job that I like and my father has put a lot of money into this firm, so I’m not going anywhere.’

‘Then I will.’

Phil laughed. ‘I don’t think so. It’d mean abandoning everything you’ve worked for.’

‘If you go on trying to cut corners and treat customers shoddily, you’ll destroy the business anyway. It cost us twice as much to fix things with Sheverson as it would have cost to use good quality plants from one of my approved suppliers in the first place.’

‘Sheverson had no legal claim on us, so I don’t know why you put in new plants. He’d neglected to water that garden during the hot spell, too.’

‘Even so, he still shouldn’t have lost that many plants, so I consider he had a moral claim. If I’d been working on that project myself I’d have sent those plants back. You were banking on my being away when you arranged that. I’ll go and see Uncle Rod, tell him I’m leaving.’

‘Don’t you dare. He’s just been diagnosed with cancer and is going in for treatment.’

Ben stopped short. ‘He’s got cancer? Oh, no. I’m so sorry. What’s the prognosis?’

‘Not good.’

‘That’s terrible.’ As Phil scowled and turned to go back into his own office, Ben added. ‘But I’m still leaving and in the meantime, don’t try any more cheapskate tricks on our clients.’

* * * *

Meriel delayed telling her family about her Lotto win because she knew her plans would upset them, but in the end she rang her mother.    

Once she had stopped exclaiming in delight at her daughter's windfall, Denise's first question was, ‘So when will you be returning to England?’

Here it came. She took a deep breath. ‘I won't be coming back, Mum. I really like living in Australia. I don't think I could face life in a cold climate again.’

‘But Meriel, your family are all
here!
Surely you're missing us now that the novelty has worn off? I mean, I can understand your need to fly the nest for a while. I only wish I'd had the same opportunity, but I made a martyr of myself for my husband and family. A martyr. And – ’

‘Mum, I've made a new life for myself here. I've got friends and business contacts and – ’

‘Well, you can easily make business contacts in England. And some of your old friends are still around. Why, with the money you've won, you'll be able to buy your own accounting business, meet some nice men, maybe settle down at last.’

Here it came, the second revelation, the one Meriel had been dreading the most. ‘I'm not working as an accountant now.’

‘What?’

‘You know I've always wanted to be an artist. Well, the money I've won will help me do that. It's like a dream come true for me.’

‘But you're not trained as an artist. All you’ve ever done is a few part-time classes.’

‘I've been studying seriously for the past few years and I just finished a Diploma in Art and Graphic Design. It's strange, but I took my final exam on the day I bought the Lotto ticket. It's as if fate was on my side. It’s the only Lotto ticket I’ve ever bought in my whole life.’ She stopped. She was gabbling, nervous about the long silence at the other end of the line. ‘Mum? Are you still there?’

‘Well!’
It was more a whoosh of air than a word. ‘I can't believe what I'm hearing! I simply cannot believe it. Absolutely wasting all that university training!’ Denise's voice was rising. ‘You've run mad, Meriel Ingram! Quite mad. I don't know what's got into you, I really don't!’

Meriel gritted her teeth. She had promised herself she wouldn’t lose her temper. ‘Nothing that wasn't in me already, Mum. I always wanted to be an artist. You know I did. It was you who forced me to become an accountant.’

‘Forced you?
Of all the ingratitude! Accountancy's given you a living all these years, hasn't it? And a good living it is, too. More than I'll ever earn. No one gave
me
any training.’

Meriel tried to divert her mother by asking about her stepfather. ‘How’s Ralph?’

‘Well. He’s always well. And don’t try to change the subject.’

Stay calm
, Meriel told herself,
stay absolutely calm.

Her mother changed tactics, her voice growing softer and more coaxing. ‘Darling, aren't you being just a little bit stubborn about all this? You could buy a nice house in England and work part time if you're really determined to fiddle around with art. You could live near your family.’

Meriel shuddered at the thought. She’d never be able to call her life her own again if she lived near her mother and sister. They’d be forever popping in to see her. And why, in this day and age, did her mother think marriage was the only real future for a woman? ‘I've told you, Mum: I like living in a warm climate and I don’t particularly want to get married. Besides, I've already made contacts here and I’ve been commissioned to do several book covers.’

‘You never told me. You never said a word about it, not a single word.’ Her mother's voice sharpened into viciousness. ‘You're as bad as your father! Secretive and selfish.’

‘Everyone has to find their own way in life, Mum.’

‘What's so special about this York-down-under place, anyway?’

‘It's a delightful little country town, pretty and out of the rat race. In the spring there are stunning wildflowers in that region. Whole fields of purply-blue flowers called Patterson's Curse, and other fields full of yellow flowers. I don't even know their name yet, but I'm itching to paint them. It's fantastic. You've never seen anything like it. It's exactly the sort of place for an artist to settle.’

‘You aren’t an artist yet.’

Meriel had had enough. ‘Look, I have to go now, Mum. There's someone at the door and I’m expecting a delivery. I'll give you a ring in a couple of weeks.’ She put the phone down before her mother could protest. She’d write to her father, she decided. She couldn’t face another harangue like this – or worse, indifference about what she was doing with her life.

Ironically, her father turned out to be much more supportive and wrote back to say how happy he was that she had won the money and to wish her luck in her new life.

* * * *

Ben’s last trip to Perth had been a flying visit to discuss future projects with the head office of one of his major clients. After all the arguments recently, he decided it’d be good to put a little distance between himself and Phil, so made plans to go across to the west and stay there for a week or two in his uncle’s old house. He left his current projects in the hands of men he trusted with strict instructions to let him know if any of the materials or plants were changed for sub-standard ones.

His uncle’s lawyer had sent him a list of the properties he’d inherited and suggested he contact Bill Lansome, the real estate agent his uncle had always dealt with. ‘He’ll know more about them than anyone else. I gather the two of them were good friends, so Johnny only dealt with Bill when he wanted to buy a property.’

Making allowances for the three-hour time differences between Western Australia and Queensland, Ben phoned Bill. The man talked very enthusiastically about the properties and was able to describe them in detail.

That left him with a lot to think about. He’d been surprised at how much land his uncle had owned, though no single property was big enough for what he needed for his own pet project. Maybe there would be land for sale near one of them, though.

It might be good to base his project in the west and get right away from Phil. Besides, any land suitable for what he wanted in the southern part of Queensland had been snapped up by property developers and would be way too expensive for him now.

As the plane took off from Brisbane Airport, he felt as if he was shedding a heavy load and leaned back, sipping a glass of red wine with pleasure. It was a long time since he’d taken any holidays and his mother had been nagging him for a while to get away and unwind properly.

He grinned at the thought. No, not nagging. She never nagged in that sense, but trying to persuade him. She was a red-hot persuader when she thought something was right.

* * * *

Meriel visited York several more times and in December she found her dream home. It was a hot windy day, with summer dust and dried gum leaves whipping around her car in a strong easterly wind that promised soaring temperatures for the next few days. She followed the directions the real estate agent had given her, driving out from York and losing her way only once on an unmarked side road. In the end, it was the FOR SALE sign which alerted her to the fact that she had arrived.

She unhooked the gate and drove along a dirt track. The house stood on a small rise a couple of hundred metres inside the boundary. Somerlee, it was called.

She stopped the car and listened before she got out. Not a man-made sound to be heard. Wonderful! The house was new, but built in the old colonial styling with red bricks, creamy limestone quoins and window frames. There was a corrugated iron roof, gleaming silver in the sunshine. Best of all, there was a huge veranda all round the house. She had always loved houses with verandas.

To the rear and down a gentle slope stood a row of European willow trees, probably planted long ago by some homesick migrant. Near them the land looked greener. That must be the creek the agent had told her about, a winter creek which only ran properly in the rainy season. There was a nearly full dam at the bottom of the slope, an ugly shed stood behind the house and a smaller ramshackle one was half-hidden behind it.

She stood stock still, staring, then smiled ruefully. She really liked the look of Somerlee, for some reason she couldn’t define. She even liked its name, which made her think of the summer sunshine which gilded everything today. A warm breeze ruffled her hair and cockatoos were shrieking somewhere nearby. Or were they parrots? She still got confused about which was which.

It felt . . . it really did feel as if she’d come home.

Her artist's eye noted immediately that the house was well sited, standing at an angle to the road just before the land began to slope downwards. Another garish FOR SALE sign marred the greenish-beige patch in front of it, which would have been lawn if anyone had given it the slightest encouragement.

She already knew the house was on a combination of bore water and dam water, not a tank filled by rain or a delivery man, so doubted they’d be short of water. Before she went inside, she dragged out the hose pipe and lawn sprinkler, which were lying in a tangled heap at the side of the house, and turned on the tap, standing near it for a moment to let the droplets it flung outwards cool her face. She loved standing under garden sprinklers on hot summer days.

The front door was already unlocked. It seemed like an omen, somehow. Holding her breath she pushed it open.

The house was larger than it had appeared from the outside, but as the agent had told her, it wasn’t completely fitted out. There was a big farm-style kitchen, open plan and running into a family room. She could just imagine how that would look in winter, with a log fire in the big iron stove. She would probably be able to find the wood for it on her own property. It would be fun gathering it and sawing it up.

The other living area consisted of a long room stretching from the front to the rear of the house, probably meant to be both lounge and formal dining room. It would make a wonderful studio. It had the right sort of light, and if she added a skylight, it would be perfect for her needs.

She wandered along to the master bedroom, which had its own en suite bathroom, then into the unfinished wing, which contained three more bedrooms and the bare concrete shell of another bathroom, without tiles or fittings. ‘I shan't need two bathrooms, so you can just stay unfinished,’ she told it, then corrected herself. ‘If I buy the house, that is.