The Songmaster (7 page)

‘You mean sitting under a tree and laying down the law doesn’t cost you anything,’ said Susan, her eyes sparking. ‘Indigenous people are entitled to their rights under law, bureaucratic or otherwise.’

Andrew readjusted his opinion of this girl. She was a fighter, and possibly a bit of a leftie. And she’d obviously come by her opinions in the city and not the bush. The warmth disappeared from Andrew’s manner. ‘Listen, you’re a city lawyer, probably an idealist. I’m not taking away any rights from my Yandoo mob, but you try dealing with a bloke who goes into town, gets boozed out of his skull, gets back, bashes his wife, and tries to rape a three-year-old kid. Happens a lot. You don’t deal with that by talking human rights and reconciliation with screaming women and all hell breaking loose around you.’

‘How do you deal with it?’ asked Alistair MacKenzie quietly.

‘Lock him up in the washhouse. Then call in
the old men when he’s sober. No point in trying to send the women away till they’ve come to their senses. Or tell them to leave the bloke. They come back and end up with another bashing later down the track. It’s a way of life. They’re good when they’re working but come sit-down time every couple of months there’s trouble. We ban the booze on Yandoo, but they get it. There are some white bastards who sell it down by one of the boundaries. Dad says he’ll shoot them if he ever catches who it is. Disrupts the station every time it happens.’ Andrew shook his head. ‘It’s the bloody booze. They can’t handle it. Letting them drink was the worst thing that ever happened to them.’

‘And vote too? I guess white society has to take some of the blame for that,’ said Susan, adding, ‘You referred to them, as “your people”. That sounds a bit paternalistic. Is that how it is on Yandoo? You’re the whitefella boss dealing with the troublesome blacks down by the billabong?’ Her tone was pleasant but Andrew’s head jerked at the barb.

‘I’m not buying into the guilt trip . . . that we have to take the blame for everything that’s happened to Aborigines in the past two hundred plus years. I’m just dealing with facts and issues that come up day by day,’ he answered, giving her a challenging stare.

The judge quickly jumped in. ‘Steady on. You’re missing the point. We’ve all been treading water for bloody years . . . looking for
someone to blame, sticking bandaids on a bleeding sore that is becoming gangrenous.’ The judge’s broad accent, its rising nasal twang speaking of his days as a waterfront labourer where he earned money to put himself through law school, cut through the more diplomatic approach of Alistair MacKenzie. ‘Strike a light. It’s time, as the old comrade has been known to say. It’s time we rethink how we deal with our relationship with native Australians.’

‘They’re doing pretty well thinking for themselves,’ said Andrew. ‘Land claims, demands for more money, royalties from mines and development, more bureaucracies, you name it. You urban people don’t appreciate what’s happening outside the cities. It’s getting way out of control. None of it’s doing us, them or the country any good.’

Veronica arrived just in time to take the sting out of the discussion and detached the two legal men and led them inside. Andrew and Susan found themselves feeling a little awkward, alone under the old backyard loquat tree that had somehow survived inner-city living for a great many years.

Andrew spoke first. ‘Listen, I just want to apologise. I wasn’t attacking you personally, or your profession. But it’s another world out in the west. The Aborigine problem is a hard one. I guarantee whatever views you have about these issues would change if you could spend
time out there. Most white Australians haven’t got a clue what the real problems are. Especially the politicians and the media.’

‘Maybe I should.’ The words were out of Susan’s mouth before she realised she’d spoken them.

Andrew gave her a puzzled look. ‘Should what?’

‘Spend time out there. Could I visit Yandoo some time?’

A delighted grin spread over Andrew’s face, but he spoke with caution. ‘Of course. I hope you realise how remote it is, we’re deep in the Kimberley near the Territory border. But I don’t know what you expect to find.’

‘I don’t either. But it’s true, I do mouth off about standing up for underdog issues and causes – you know, single parents, gay rights, harassment and abuse cases, the rights of children and the elderly, Aborigines – and tonight I realised I’ve never known or observed anything close to what these people might experience.’ She gave a smile. ‘Perhaps I should.’

He looked a little bewildered but returned her smile anyway as Alistair MacKenzie sought her out. ‘Susan, could we have a small professional chat?’

‘Oh dear, am I getting a lecture from my better and wiser?’ She grinned disarmingly and gave Andrew a wink as she followed the handsome QC into the sitting room. He put a liqueur glass and his coffee on a side table as she settled
into the chintz armchair. ‘Can I get you something? I have a brandy.’

Susan shook her head. ‘I might get a glass of wine later . . . or something stronger. Depends on what you have to say to me.’

He allowed himself a small smile. ‘Relax. This is a social occasion. I spoke to Veronica who’s told me about your work.’

‘What did my good friend have to say?’ she asked.

‘That you are bright, thorough, ambitious, but wildly indiscriminating in your choice of men. She suggested I introduce you to my elder son.’

Susan raised her eyebrows. ‘Oh thanks, Veronica,’ she said to the ceiling.

‘You are, I believe, just the sort of person in fact, who’d take on a case against odds of winning because of a personal belief or commitment.’

‘I’m not always that wild.’

‘Would you be interested in taking on a case that has come to my attention?’

‘What sort of case and why would you pass it on? Messy? Small potatoes? Too easy? Too hard?’

‘Hear me out, my learned friend. The defendant is a friend of a friend of mine, Beth Van Horton. I said I’d recommend a solicitor for him. He can pay for good representation. The man is urbane, intelligent, educated and a bit of a charmer.’

‘What’s he charged with?’

‘Break and enter with intent. But he’s a bit of a celebrity, I believe.’

‘Quite a charmer.’

‘There are several factors that make it an interesting case. I think you might find it stimulating and of value.’ He stretched his legs and crossed his ankles, revealing silk socks and Bally leather moccasins. ‘I have to confess I only thought of this scenario an hour or so ago. Since meeting you.’

‘It’s one of those nights.’

‘Oh?’

She gave the older law man an open and honest look. ‘I’ve made some sort of decision tonight while standing under Veronica’s loquat tree. I’ve decided to take leave and go west. To the Kimberley.’

‘Just like that?’

She snapped her fingers. ‘Bingo. Just like that.’

‘Wouldn’t have anything to do with the handsome cattleman across the salad?’

‘Not really. I’m just using him. A pit stop shall we say. I have no idea why I have this sudden urge to go there.’ She couldn’t help a small grin. ‘So tell me more about my possible client.’

‘I don’t know him. But I trust my instincts and Beth’s judgement even though I haven’t known her very long.’

There was something about the way this conservative man made reference to trusting his instincts that caught her attention. ‘Let’s back
up a bit. Who is Beth, seeing she seems to be an important facilitator in the scenario?’

‘Beth’s story is a long and intriguing one. Professionally she is a white adviser to the Barradja people of the Kimberley. This stems from her work teaching cultural awareness and her involvement with these people.’

‘Who does she teach cultural awareness to?’ asked Susan.

‘The police, the mining industry, universities, and this was back in the mid to late eighties. She’s a consultant and adviser but she’s no bureaucrat. She’s a special woman, a white woman with an Aboriginal soul and spirit. That’s why they trust and respect her. She’s one of them.’

‘Where did you meet her?’

He grinned. ‘At a dinner party. And from then my life changed. Beth has a mission and I’ve been swept up in it. Though it happened innocently enough.’

He looked thoughtful and Susan kept quiet, waiting for him to elaborate. He began slowly. ‘She was asking me about my “illustrious” career and I suddenly found I was blurting out a truth I’d been aware of but hadn’t voiced till that moment.’

‘And that was . . .?’ Susan probed gently.

‘As I told her, I have been very successful, I’m sixty years old and I’m at the pinnacle of my career. Yet I have a feeling of frustration and sadness that I haven’t done anything that I can be truly proud of.’

This simple, honest statement shocked Susan. She almost had to stifle the desire to look over her shoulder to check that no one had heard him.

He continued without embarrassment, ‘I’ve won cases for big corporations, saved them money, made money myself, but I’m now asking, why?’

‘And what did Beth say?’

He chuckled. ‘She said I’ll show you how you can do something and feel proud.’

Susan raised a questioning eyebrow.

‘I’m going with Beth to meet the Barradja.’ He shifted in the chair and Susan realised this subject was closed.

‘So tell me more about my possible client.’

‘My friend Beth says he is being unjustly accused.’

‘She would say that.’

‘So, it’s a case with a challenge, a fight to right an unjust claim, and with possible media coverage. Grist to an up-and-coming career,’ he said, with a twinkle in his eye.

‘Sir, I’m shocked! I fight for a client to get justice. Personal gain or promotion is not a consideration,’ she said in mock horror and they both laughed.

Veronica appeared in the doorway. ‘As always, a stimulating evening, my dear,’ said MacKenzie, rising slightly from his seat as their hostess settled in the sofa opposite the two deep chairs. ‘Illustrious and beautiful company, great
food and wine and an ambience conducive to a memorable evening.’

‘Oh, Alistair, put a sock in it. Just say you’re having a good time,’ she laughed.

‘I am, dear Veronica. I am. I’m sorry my wife is away and couldn’t join us. But thank you for inviting me and giving me the chance to make the acquaintance of this new bright light of the legal firmament.’ He nodded at Susan.

Susan turned to Veronica. ‘Mr MacKenzie has suggested I take on a certain case, if my senior partners are agreeable.’

Veronica looked pleased. While she invited guests to her house for their company, it was a bonus if a little networking took place.

‘Are you also aware your friend here is planning to travel into the heart of the Kimberley?’ remarked Alistair.

Veronica stared at Susan. ‘This is news. What brought this on? Surely . . .’

‘Nothing to do with the man on the land. It’s a bit complicated, or confusing, even to me at this point. Let’s talk about it over lunch next week.’ She smiled and stood up. ‘It’s late, I have an early start. Veronica, thank you. An amazing night – as usual.’ She held out her hand as Alistair MacKenzie pushed himself out of the armchair. ‘Don’t get up. It’s been lovely talking to you. By the way, what’s the defendant’s name?’

‘Barwon. Nigel Barwon. I’ll arrange for Beth to contact you, and you take it from there. And
good luck with your journey to the mystic Kimberley.’

‘What makes you think it’s that? Mystic?’

‘I’m envious. I’ve always wanted to get into the heart of the Kimberley. And a wise man once told me a journey that begins beneath a tree will flower in the sunrise – an auspicious time.’

‘You made that up,’ she accused him.

He grinned. ‘Perhaps I did. But I hope whatever path you choose that good things come your way, young lady.’

‘Thank you, learned friend.’ Impulsively Susan kissed his cheek.

‘Good luck. I hope we see each other again.’

‘I’ll get you a cab.’ Veronica took her hand and led her from the room.

‘What a lovely man.’

‘He is. But I always have a sense he’s hiding something sad,’ remarked Veronica. ‘You do the rounds and say your farewell to Boris and I’ll phone for a cab.’

Andrew Frazer was deep in conversation with Judge Mick Duffy as Susan came to bid them good night. Andrew handed her his card. ‘You’re welcome at Yandoo any time, as long as you want. But I’m in town for a while, perhaps you’d like lunch . . . or something?’

‘Thanks, Veronica has my number. I’m afraid I didn’t bring cards.’ She shook the judge’s hand. ‘Been an honour to meet you, Judge. I studied you at law school.’

Mick Duffy clutched his head. The left-wing socialist who had become one of the bench’s most colourful characters looked embarrassed and pleased. ‘So, off to the Kimberley, eh? Half your luck.’

‘You’re welcome too, Judge,’ interjected Andrew. ‘Not often we get visitors dropping in at Yandoo. It would be an honour . . . so to speak.’ As they laughed, Andrew wondered what his conservative blue-ribbon National Party father would make of the ‘red judge’, named for his politics as well as his hair.

‘I’m leaving too. I’ll see you to the gate,’ said the judge taking Susan by the arm. She gave a brief wave to Andrew and, as they met Veronica at the door, gave her a hug. ‘Your cab’s on the way now.’