The Plantation (57 page)

Caroline poured them each a champagne and they touched glasses.

‘So, what’s next, David?’ asked Julie.

‘Plugging on. I’ll be going back to Sarawak. Y’know, I’d love to meet your Aunt Bette before I go. Is that possible?’

‘I’m sure she’d love to meet you,’ said Julie. ‘After all, if it wasn’t for you, we wouldn’t have found her.’

The bypass meeting transformed into a neighbour-hood party to celebrate with people rushing home and bringing food and children back to the Reagans for a barbecue dinner. It was late when Julie headed home, but after a shower she curled up on her bed in her pyjamas to send a long email to Christopher filling him in on all the news about Bette and the bypass.

As she was brushing her teeth she heard the ping of an incoming email and hurried to her laptop, hoping it was a reply from Chris. But it was Shane, answering her email at last about Roland’s friend Bill.

Found him! He used to send Christmas cards to Grandfather Roland years ago, but the last address we have for him is 6 Park Place, Goondiwindi, Queensland. Best of luck and stay in contact. S. xx

Julie stared at the screen then burst out laughing. ‘Goondiwindi! I don’t believe it. Well, that is a turn up! Bill, I hope you’re still out there!’

14

C
AROLINE WALKED THROUGH THE
garden of Bayview to the letterbox and found a letter addressed to her in a spidery hand, from Goondiwindi.

‘It’s from Bill!’ she called to Paul. ‘Well, Shane and Peter were on the money with the right address,’ said Paul.

Caroline skimmed the letter and said, ‘Actually, he’s moved from that address. Listen: “I’ve moved into a retirement village, still in Goondiwindi. Mrs Peterson, who bought my house, was kind enough to bring me your letter when she received it. I remember Roland very well. We were very good friends, especially during the war, and I would love to meet his daughter, if you can get to Gundy.”’

‘I think we should contact the staff at the retirement village to find out how strong he is,’ Caroline said later over the phone to Julie. ‘We don’t want to race out west and find that he’s really not up to visitors.’

‘Mum, he sounds as sharp as a tack, but I will ring, just to check,’ said Julie.

When Julie finally spoke with the manager of the retirement village, she was assured that Bill Dickson was brilliant for his age. ‘He still plays bridge and does the crossword puzzles in the daily paper, and his mind is quite active. Mind you, he’s a bit slow to get around these days. His arthritis can be a problem for him at times. But I can assure you that he certainly loves visitors. In fact, I can guarantee that he’ll give you a warm reception. Bill likes a chat.’

When Julie spoke to Bill on the phone she found him to be as alert and strong as she expected.

‘What a surprise, lass. You’re related to Roland, you say? Let me get this straight, you’re his granddaughter? Are you Philip or Caroline’s child?’

Julie explained that she was Caroline’s daughter, and that she and her mother would love to drive to Goondiwindi and meet him.

‘So, you’re little Caroline’s daughter. That makes me feel like an old-timer. Where do you live? You’re welcome to drop by any time.’

‘Both my mother and I live in Brisbane. How long have you been there, Bill?’

‘In Gundy? Or this retirement place? We came out to Australia in the late fifties and my wife Vera and I had a nice little house down the road. Vera died a few years ago, so I moved in here. Our kids are all scattered to the winds, all over Australia, but they like to visit me. They’re good kids.’

‘You didn’t stay in Malaya?’ asked Julie.

‘Only for a time. After the war I went back there. It was great to catch up again with Roland. I took up my position again in the Civil Service, but once Malayanisation started, I found that there was no place for me, so I went back to the UK. No place for me there either and I couldn’t take the blasted cold weather. I was married by then, and so Vera and I decided to emigrate to Australia.’ He paused as if waiting for her to say something. ‘You’re probably too young to know about the ten-pound Poms,’ he laughed.

‘I do know. After the war, people from the UK could emigrate to Australia for ten pounds, right up till the seven ties, I think,’ said Julie. ‘A friend of mine’s parents did that, too.’

‘Some didn’t settle in and went back to the UK, but most did, like Vera and me.’

‘Why Goondiwindi?’ asked Julie. ‘It seems a long way for an Englishman to come.’

‘Bit of luck, really. I’d been in the Civil Service in Malaya and when I got to Australia I saw an ad for a job in council administration in Gundy. I applied and got the job and moved here. Loved the place from the start. Raised our family here and never wanted to leave. When are you coming to see me, did you say? Friday, is that right?’

‘That’s right, Bill. Next Friday, if that suits you. Mum and I will make a long weekend of it. Is there something I can bring you? Are you allowed a beer?’

‘’Course I am. But I tell you, lass, I wouldn’t say no to a decent glass of red.’

‘It’s a deal. I’ll see you at the end of the week,’ said Julie.

Julie and Caroline cruised in to Goondiwindi the next Friday. The town was typical of Australian country towns, with palm trees dividing its broad main street. They drove past the classic Victoria Hotel, its upper storey fringed with iron lace, and past the statue of the beautiful grey racehorse, Gunsynd, which was the town’s claim to fame in the seventies. They found Bill’s retirement village close to the Macintyre River, and pulled in to the reception area.

‘You’re friends of Bill’s?’ said one of the admin staff as she showed them the way to his suite. ‘He still gets visitors because he has lived in Gundy for so long, but they’re getting on, too, so there aren’t as many as there used to be. Some of his family come by every few months, so this will be nice for him.’

‘We won’t tire him out,’ said Julie.

‘Oh, Bill chugs along like a steam train,’ she said. ‘He plays bridge twice a week, and takes his daily constitutional around the garden. Wish I knew what his secret is.’

‘He asked us to bring him some red wine. Is that all right?’ said Caroline.

‘Perfectly. Bill doesn’t smoke, but he does like a tipple now and then. There’s his room, number six. He has a bell in there to call for anything if he has a problem.’

They heard the scuffing of feet as Bill called out, ‘Door’s open.’

When they opened it, they found a sprightly, smiling man, a thin scattering of white hair over his pink scalp, bright blue eyes, a silver moustache and skin that sagged in folds but had few wrinkles. He was straight-backed, but moved with the aid of a walking stick. He smiled at both women and held out his hand in a friendly manner.

‘Welcome, dear ladies, to my humble abode. Would you care to sit outside in the sun?’

‘That sounds lovely. I’m Julie, and this is my mother Caroline.’

‘Yes. I remember you, Caroline. You were just a little girl when I saw you last. A bundle of energy, as I remember. Kept that amah of yours on the hop,’ he chuckled to himself. ‘I can make us tea or coffee and I’ve ordered some sandwiches.’ He led the way through the large bright room which served as the sitting room. It contained a little dining table, as well as a small lounge and two chairs, and it had a kitchenette in one corner. Folding doors evidently hid his bedroom and bathroom. There were no steps, and Julie noticed that where the sliding glass door opened onto the tiny patio with its seats and small table, there was no ledge or strip for Bill to trip over. The patio looked out onto the communal garden, while the unit next door was screened from Bill’s by a hedge which was low enough to chat over. The area was decorated with flowerpots and a small bird bath. Through the distant trees, Julie and Caroline could see the glimmer of the river.

‘This is pretty. Very peaceful.’

‘Make yourselves comfortable. The birds are noisy. They love that bath. I feed them scraps. I shouldn’t, but they entertain me. It’s lovely to be visited by two such delightful ladies and to be presented with such a nice bottle of wine. I know I shouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth, but why are you here?’ His eyes twinkled.

So Caroline and Julie told him the story of Bette’s book and how that had led Julie to visit the family plantation in Malaysia and meet Peter and Shane and then how they’d finally tracked down Bette, whom Caroline had not seen since she was a toddler.

‘Mum and I are still sorting it all out in our heads. It’s been quite a revelation to us. The more we learn, the more questions we seem to have,’ said Julie as they reached the end of their story.

Bill nodded. ‘I can imagine.’

‘From my mother’s point of view, she always …’ Caroline began.

‘Ah, Margaret …’ interjected Bill.

‘That’s right, Mother told me about her life in Malaya before the war, but never wanted to talk about her sister, or about her marriage, after the war. And we know that Bette and Philip were in the POW camp in Sarawak, but Mother told me nothing about that at all. Now I wonder if maybe Roland changed as a result of the war, as well.’

‘As so many did, but not Roland,’ said Bill.

‘So what happened after the war was a closed chapter. My grandmother seemed content in her big old house in Brisbane while grandfather Roland stayed on in Malaysia with my uncle Philip and contact between the two parts of the family has been rather sparse, especially after Philip died,’ said Julie.

‘Now you must think that it’s rather strange for me to want to know what happened between my parents after all this time. Until we met Bette and found out what my mother had told me about my aunt’s marriage was not exactly the truth, I really hadn’t questioned my parents’ relationship. I had accepted that it was just the way things were. Now I want to know if you have any idea what the real reason was for my mother’s return to Brisbane?’

‘Yes, actually I do. It was all very unfortunate.’

‘What do you know, Bill?’ asked Julie softly.

‘I kept in contact with Roland after the war, when we both returned to Malaya, and after I came to Australia, too, for that matter. We’d shared some experiences in the war, and we knew things that very few people knew. We were in intelligence, you know.’

Julie nodded. ‘I’ve read Roland’s account of his war service, so I have a good idea of the work you two did behind the lines. I know that it was very, very dangerous. But I can’t see how that would affect Roland’s and Margaret’s relationship after the war.’

‘Yes, I always assumed my mother wasn’t happy in Malaya after the war, because of all the changes. It wasn’t the grand life any more,’ said Caroline.

Bill nodded. ‘I suppose that was part of it. The communist insurgency made things uncomfortable for people living in the rural areas, but attitudes were changing as well. There was talk of independence, which would mean a big shift in political power. It was clear that things would not return to the way they were before. But I think, at the bottom of it all, was that Roland found it very hard to forgive Margaret.’

Julie stared at him. ‘Forgive Margaret? For what? What happened?’

Bill paused as if deciding whether to say more. Then he shifted in his seat. ‘Julie, why don’t you make us some tea? All the makings are in the kitchen. The lassie will be around with the sandwiches any minute.’

‘Of course.’ Julie got up. ‘So you can get your meals provided, or do you make something for yourself, Bill?’

‘I usually eat in the dining room, but I can make up a brew or a bit of toast if I want to. Never did get into the cooking caper. There’s the doorbell. That’ll be our sandwiches.’

A smiling young woman came in carrying a tray. ‘You want it out there in the sun, Bill?’

Holding mugs of tea and triangle sandwiches, Julie and Caroline looked expectantly at Bill.

After he’d settled himself he turned to them. ‘It’s quite a story. I don’t wonder that Margaret never told you the real reason she left Malaya, it doesn’t surprise me at all. I know that she would not approve of my telling you what happened, but I feel I owe it to Roland to tell you, Caroline, the truth about your parents’ relationship.’

‘Thank you,’ said Caroline. ‘I would like to know, for better or worse, what happened.’

‘I’m glad that you feel like that, lass. I was there, as it happened, when the whole thing blew up. But it’s so late in the day now I know I’m not breaking any confidences by telling you about it.’