Piping Her Tune Page 8

  “A flying business office—wow! So, where are we headed? Nobody’s told me a thing.”

  The secretary made a clicking sound with her tongue. “I canna understand Victoria sometimes. She should have told you. We’re flying into a Central Queensland city and then driving from there. The small town, Wilga Plains, hasn’t an airstrip long enough for the jet. We left much later than planned, which means an overnight stay at a hotel to avoid driving at night. Apparently the gravel road to Glenreagh hasn’t been graded for quite a while and is rough in patches. Bill and Ellen Norman, friends of Malcolm’s, own the cattle property. The company is negotiating to buy a section of their land for a new coal mine, hence the reason for the visit. They’ve invited us to spend the weekend to relax before the business discussions.”

  “Sounds exciting. I’ve never been so far north.” As they sped down the runway, Abby looked across at the rows of commercial planes at their loading bays in the distance. The aircraft shuddered as it climbed through the layer of dark clouds hovering over the airport and Fiona uttered an audible gulp at the turbulence. Abby instinctively reached out a hand to reassure her. “We’ll be right once we get higher. It won’t be long.”

  Once at cruising height, the Scot began to relax and rubbed her stomach. “Ma baggie won’t be able to take much of that. Thank you, lass, I think I have misjudged you.”

  “I know we’re going to become good friends. What part of Scotland are you from?”

  “Thornhill. My mother still lives there.”

  “That must be hard for both of you. How long have you been in Australia?”

  “Over twenty-five years.” Fiona took off her glasses and wiped the lenses. “I came out to help my Aunt Moira when Uncle Angus died. By the time she passed away, Australia had become my home and I had made good friends here. Aunt left me everything she had, and I had an excellent position with Orianis, so I stayed.”

  Abby felt a wave of compassion for the woman, aware how difficult it must be to have divided loyalties. “Do you get back to see your mum often?”

  “I try to fly over every eighteen months. She’s getting old, so I’m pleased I’ve the opportunity to stay a month with her after this trip.”

  “So tell me about Thornhill.”

  Fiona’s face lit up. “I’d like to very much, lass.” She chuckled. “It’s not often I have a captive audience. It’s a pretty wee village south of Glasgow, and Drumlanrig Castle is nearby, one of Scotland’s grandest buildings. The town used to be an old stage post in the eighteenth century; a number of the coaching inns are still in business…” She chatted on happily, animated now that she was talking about somewhere she loved. As Abby listened, any anxiety she harboured melted away. She had an ally on the trip.

  * * *

  Victoria unclipped her seat belt after the pilot advised over the speakers they were free to move about the cabin. Perched on a barstool, she poured a Diet Coke. As much as she tried to relax, she couldn’t resist stealing looks at Abby and Fiona deep in conversation. Well, well—thick as thieves already. And Chantal’s continuing to creep after Abby. She’d better back off. Abby’s at my disposal for six months.

  Victoria furtively studied the younger woman. The dimples that appeared with Abby’s smile were cute, and the blond curls looked soft as silk. Abby wasn’t a classic beauty or dollishly pretty, but there was something out of the ordinary about her, something appealing. Her face was one you’d look twice at. It had character, and her body had real curves—she was all woman. Victoria’s eyes dropped downwards to fix on the outline of the full breasts that strained against the tank top. Mesmerized by their swell and hint of nipples, she allowed her thoughts to wander off into the realms of fantasy. They blossomed into visions of Abby on her knees as she grovelled for forgiveness. The image turned into Abby naked as she grovelled. Perspiration glistened on her back and trickled…

  “Are you ready for something to eat?” Guilt and confusion swept through Victoria. What had just happened? She straightened and turned to the flight attendant. “Afternoon tea will be great, Marcia.”

  Upset by her traitorous libido and not having the remotest idea why it suddenly kicked in after so many years of hiding in the wilderness, Victoria returned to her seat. She opened the paper to continue the crossword, but her thoughts arrowed straight back to Abby. What was it about the artist that pushed Vic’s emotions so out of whack? Chantal’s phone call to Abby in the limo had provoked a wave of something that Vic had never felt before. She struggled to put a name to it. Not anger exactly—something deeper, more unsettling and complex. Exasperated, she shook off her reflections and tried to focus on the next cryptic clue. Eventually it registered she didn’t have a hope in hell of concentrating, so she gave up, put on earphones and stared out the window.

  Two hours later they landed and confronted a wall of hot air as they exited the plane. Summer was in full force, the air clear, though oppressive with the heat shimmering off the tarmac. There were no traces here of the storm clouds that had blanketed Sydney. The atmosphere was dry as chips, and the surrounding countryside was coloured a light brown with barely a tinge of green. At the door of the terminal, Victoria stumbled as the heel of a shoe caught in a crack in the concrete. She gritted her teeth when she heard Abby snicker. Without a backward glance, she swept inside the building to pick up the keys for the hire car. Once their suitcases were loaded, they said goodbye to the crew who were returning to Sydney.

  Bruce tipped his cap. “See you Tuesday morning at eleven, Vic. Have a safe trip.”

  Fiona struggled out of her coat as they walked out the airport door. She sweated freely in the heat; the beads of dripping perspiration imprinted more of a hang-dog look on her face than normal.

  Abby, who looked comfortable in the tank top (she’d divested herself of her fleecy shirt in the plane), patted her arm. “Don’t worry. We’ll be in an air-conditioned car soon.”

  As the vehicle cruised along, Victoria only chipped in a word occasionally; the other two chatted like comfortable old friends. She took in the country as she drove. The monotony of the interminable scrub had a charm of its own—subdued but also peculiar—so foreign from the urban landscape that had been her home for many years. It was different too from the endless expanse of red dust of the Pilbara Region in Western Australia where her first mining venture had begun. Over 400,000 square kilometres, the Pilbara was known as the engine room of Australia—home to massive mining industry ventures. It also had some of the remotest places on the planet. Orianis Minerals owned two iron ore mines in the area.

  Half an hour into the drive, the road began to climb over the spur of the Great Divide. It levelled out again as they reached the plains beyond; there would be no more hills left to navigate, Victoria knew the road forward was straight and flat. Her mind turned to the coming weekend. She actually looked forward to the break. A few years ago, horse riding had been her main outlet from work. For two hours every Friday afternoon, she’d taken her neat little thoroughbred, Bella, for a trot round the track where she was stabled. After Bella died, Victoria hadn’t purchased another horse, and instead took up swimming as her exercise. She did miss being in the saddle, though. Now relief was in sight: the Normans had promised her some riding time across their expansive property.

  An hour and a quarter later, they reached the town, Wilga Plains. Victoria eased the speed down to a crawl as she drove down the street to find the hotel.

  “There it is,” called out Fiona.

  Victoria parked across the street and stared at wooden two-storied building. Not only did it need of a coat of paint, its overhanging veranda seemed to lean forward a little, though that might have been her imagination. She scrutinized it with a disappointed eye. Victoria frowned at her secretary. “Is this the best you could do, Fiona?”

  The Scot stuck her chin out. “There are two hotels in town and the only motel is closed for renovations. The travel agent advised me to book here. He described the other one as ‘not fit for lad
ies.’”

  “My god,” said Abby, “it must be a doozey if this one is the better of the two.”

  The proprietor, a squat man with a jolly smile, showed them to a room at the top of the stairs. It was situated directly above the public bar. Three single beds, a large wardrobe, and a stand with an ornate porcelain jug with two glasses perched on top, provided the only décor in the room. Threadbare white towels, plus small cakes of soap, sat on the end of each of the beds. Directions to the bathroom were tacked to the back of the door and a faded print of the Sydney Opera House hung on the wall. Victoria sank like a deflated balloon onto the bed. She gave a groan. No personal bathroom. No room service.

  Abby, much to Victoria’s annoyance, seemed in her element as she hummed cheerfully. She tested the bed, looked in the cupboard and walked out onto the balcony to gaze out over the street. “Isn’t it fun? Reminds me of the backpacking holidays my friends and I used to go on. No frills and fuss. You can see the real country this way.”

  “You call it fun? More like slumming to me,” groaned Victoria as she poked the thin mattress rigidly supported by a heavy board. “The bed’s hard as a rock and I’ve got a touchy back.”

  “Oh, it’s fine. You’ll sleep like a log.”

  “After we have showers, we’ll go down to eat,” said Victoria.

  By the time they arrived in the lounge, it was full, and the clientele spilled out into the beer garden. The dining area was separated from the public bar by a laminated wall. The room was decorated with all sorts of local sporting memorabilia, mounted bulls’ horns and cartoon sketches of odd-looking people. The air smelt of beer and fried food and the barmaid, a blowsy blonde in a low-cut top, expertly served drinks at a rate only to be admired. A tired jukebox huddled in the corner, grinding out country music. Victoria sighed with relief when the song finished and nobody rose to feed it another coin.

  Abby volunteered to get the drinks. “What’ll you have?”

  “A chardonnay will be nice,” said Victoria. “See if they have a wine list.”

  “I doubt they do, but if not I’ll get you a glass of the best on offer. What about you, Fiona?”

  “I always say, when in Rome. I’ll have a beer.”

  “Good for you. I’ll get you a pot and I’ll have one too. I see we have to order meals at the bar.” Abby looked up to the sign above the counter. “There’s steak, chicken or pork chops.”

  Victoria shrugged. “Steak will do. Since we’re in cattle country, it should be tender.”

  Their meals arrived; the slab of meat overlapped the plate with a pile of chips beside it. “It’s enormous,” said Abby.

  Victoria pushed the chips onto her bread and butter plate before she sliced the meat. She glanced with disapproval at Fiona; the Scot had forsaken her diet. Fiona munched her way through the chips and Victoria could nearly see the fat cells pounce onto her already ample rear end.

  They lingered after the meal over a glass of brandy before retiring for the night; Victoria ordered an extra one for fortification to face the bed. Much to her annoyance, Abby and Fiona seemed to go off to sleep immediately. As much as she tried, she couldn’t find a comfortable spot on the hard mattress. Her back was killing her after an hour. She drifted off at last due to overwhelming exhaustion, but then a crash erupted from the bar underneath. Her eyes snapped open. It sounded like someone had thrown something. Loud voices rang out, followed by electric guitar music. Victoria wrapped her ears in the pillow and cursed. A few hours later the noise downstairs miraculously vanished and she wriggled into the hard bed with the hope she still could get enough sleep. She didn’t have a chance. With no competition, Fiona’s snores dominated the room. Vic jammed a pillow on top of her head again. She itched to strangle the life out of her assistant.

  Victoria had barely dozed off when a cheery voice floated through the room. “Rise and shine, sleepyhead.” She opened her bloodshot eyes to see Abby fling back the curtains. The bright sunlight brought a wave of nausea. “Give me another half an hour,” she begged.

  Abby made a noise that Victoria’s sleep-deprived brain interpreted as a contemptuous snort. “It’s seven—time to get up. Fiona’s already gone for her morning walk.”

  “I said I want more time. She kept me awake all night with her snoring.”

  “Nonsense, I didn’t hear anything. Get up. Bill rang to say he expects us by nine for a late breakfast. Apparently it’ll take us over an hour to get there.”

  Victoria hauled herself out of bed, rifled in her suitcase for clothes and ripped off her PJs. As she reached for her underwear, she caught Abby staring, her face a rosy pink. Victoria realized she was naked.

  The younger woman turned abruptly to hurry out the door.

  Chapter Nine

  Abby stood in the corridor, her emotions in turmoil. The sight of Victoria’s nude body left her breathless. The aftermath still tingled and her thighs twitched. Cripes, I’ve got to get on top of this. Abby fought to calm down, to suppress the unfamiliar longing that seemed to permeate every nerve ending. Her arousal was as unexpected as it was bewildering. She tried to push the surprisingly strong feeling aside, though she had little hope of that. She hurried down to the communal bathroom and bathed her face in cold water. Snap out of it, you idiot. Just because you haven’t had a date for umpteen years, you can’t go gaga over that woman. Ten minutes later, more composed, she slipped back into the room to collect her case. A subdued Victoria sat on the bed, jiggling the car keys in her hand. “Let’s go. We can take down Fiona’s stuff between us.”

  By the time they loaded up the Landcruiser, Fiona appeared, looking cheery and refreshed.

  “We better make a start,” said Victoria as she stretched her back and cricked her neck.

  Two kilometres out of town the bitumen ended and the wheels hit the gravel surface with a thud. From then on, the road was an obstacle course. The vehicle bounced over corrugations and Victoria had to use all her skill to dodge potholes etched into the bulldust like miniature moon craters.

  “It’s a road from hell,” moaned Fiona.

  Abby privately agreed and wished she’d worn a firmer bra. Then, when a calf darted out from the grassy fringe, barely missing the vehicle, Fiona began to backseat drive. Abby could see Victoria’s knuckles whiten as she clutched the wheel. Tension hung like a storm cloud in the car by the time they reached the turnoff to the homestead.

  Ellen Norman waited at the gate to welcome them. With a scathing look at Fiona, Victoria pushed open the door.

  Ellen hugged her with affection. “Welcome, Vic. It’s so nice to see you again.” After the introductions, she waved a hand towards the door. “Come in and meet Bill. He’ll show you to your rooms where you can freshen up while I put on the jug. I’ve put Fiona and Abby together in the two-bed room and you in the other.”

  Abby liked the couple immediately. Ellen was a short, matronly woman, with a face scored with fine lines and hair the colour of light chocolate streaked with grey. Her eyes were a washed-out blue and a perpetual smile hovered over her mouth. Bill towered over his wife, his rugged face long and angular, his skin burnt brown by the sun, his eyes bright and watchful.

  As Bill led them up the inner staircase, Abby gazed with approval at the polished cypress pines walls that stretched to high ceilings. The old house was grand. Their room had its own en-suite, with two queen beds and ample space for them not to be falling over each other. She had a peek into Victoria’s room next door. A huge four-poster bed sat in the middle of the room and bay windows led to a small balcony. The room was as big as half her apartment at home.

  The day passed quickly. After breakfast, Bill took them for a tour of the property. They looked at the proposed mine site and Abby took snapshots of the surrounding vegetation. She had offered to be the official shutterbug on the trip, for photography was a particular hobby. Not only was it a fascinating pastime, but the activity proved essential for accumulating subjects for her portraits. Whilst commissions would pay the bills,
she really wanted to capture intriguing people for an exhibition one day.

  Back at the homestead, they had barely enough time for a rest before dinner. After her shower, Abby went out onto the balcony. The bush had changed its mood. It no longer looked harsh as it had in the middle of the day. Now it exuded a mythic quality, a sensual glow in the light of the setting sun. On the crimson dusk, a flock of grey and pink galahs wheeled above the garden, and then disappeared over the trees in the distance. The intense heat had diminished into a warm, friendly night and the countryside had come alive. Birdsongs mingled with the buzz of insects, and the croaks of frogs echoed from the house-dam nearby. The gentle sounds were so soothing it took an effort to go back inside.

  At six thirty, Abby, with Fiona in tow, went downstairs to join the others. She sat back, content to listen to the conversation, conscious she had little to contribute as they talked about people far removed from her own limited world. After a while, a melancholy sadness swept over her—as much as she would have liked it to be true, she didn’t have anything in common with these people. Hers was a life of struggle, mortgage and personal sacrifice. Suddenly she felt like crying; she should have stayed home where she belonged. She forced herself to perk up when she caught Victoria’s gaze of concern.

  Her hostess must have caught the interchange of glances, for Ellen turned to her with a smile. “I’m sorry, Abby. You must think us rather rude, but it’s been such a long time since we’ve seen Vic. Have you seen much of Queensland?”

  “I’ve only been to Brisbane. It’s been a real treat to see your property.”

  “Good,” said Bill, “then you should enjoy the itinerary tomorrow. Come into the dining room and I’ll tell you what we’ve got lined up.” Once they were seated around the long cedar table, he continued. “We’ll muster the back paddock to brand the calves. I believe you’re keen on having a ride, Victoria?”