FOLLOW THE MORNING STAR (53 page)

‘Perfectly,’ nodded Queenie.

‘I really like to sell, to work the marketplace.’

‘That’s precisely what we’re looking for . . .someone to get out into the marketplace then make it happen back in the workrooms,’ said Queenie with enthusiasm. ‘Can we talk business then?’

As the countess delicately dissected a patisserie, Queenie made it clear that she must be
prepared to make one sacrifice. ‘Your label would no longer be used, I’m afraid. Everything will be under the Tingulla label. It is a known name in the wool industry.’

‘Naturally I understand this,’ said the countess without hesitation. ‘Old-world titles don’t sit too well with the image of a sheep, though I rather feel the merino is the true aristocrat, yes?’

For the next few hours they discussed how the business would operate, its financial structure, development deadlines and distribution strategies. They parted, agreeing to meet soon after both sides had a chance to consider the details.

Queenie and Sarah walked side by side down the wide staircase, their steps echoing on the bare wood. ‘So what do you think, Sarah? Am I being rash? I know I’m like my father and tend to operate on my gut instincts.’

Sarah was as excited as Queenie, but she was trying to take a sensible approach, realising a lot was at stake. ‘Well, John is doing a company search on her and finding out as much as he can. And let’s face it, the over the top countess wouldn’t be everyone’s choice of business partner. But I think we both recognise half of her image is a sales pitch. Underneath is a hard-nosed business woman. And provided she doesn’t have a totally free rein, I think she’d be great.’

‘Yes, it has to be understood she’s working for Tingulla; we’re hiring her and her existing setup and it operates on a percentage basis,’ said Queenie firmly.

‘Actually, I think she’s rather glad to have the weight of running a company by herself off her back,’ said Sarah. ‘She has great overseas contacts, she’s a great saleswoman and very organised. She could be good selling the raw product as well as the clothes, Queenie.’

‘Right. But first things first, and the launch collection is number one priority.’ As they walked along the street to the car, Queenie started to laugh. ‘Hey, can you see Raylene and the countess as a design team? What will they make of each other?’

Sarah unlocked the car door. ‘From the sound of Raylene I think they’ll both get on fabulously, at heart they’re both no-nonsense practical people.’ She smiled across the car roof. ‘The cultural mix could lead to some exciting new ideas!’

They pulled into Sarah’s driveway and still chattering and tossing around ideas they both walked to the gate to collect the mail. A dark Citroën was parked in front of Sarah’s house and a man in a grey suit and dark glasses got out and walked towards them.

‘Mrs Hamilton?’ He looked from one to the other.

‘Who wants her?’ asked Queenie, not liking the look of the fellow.

He held out an envelope. ‘Special delivery from Braywood and Associates, representatives of Mr Colin Hanlon.’ He turned and got back in his car. Queenie turned over the official looking envelope, her hands starting to shake.

Sarah took it from her and took her arm.
‘Well, that saved us a trip into town. Let’s do a Millie and brew a pot of tea and see just what it is Colin wants.’

Queenie was grateful Sarah was holding her arm. She felt quite unsteady and she cursed Colin for his ability to make her feel so vulnerable. ‘Damn and blast him,’ she muttered. ‘Well at least his cards are on the table now.’

Chapter Thirty-Six

It was a walled garden, with neat flowerbeds, rosebushes, shady trees screening neighbours and an ornate birdbath. The laughter of Tim and Pauline playing with a frisbee on the crisp green lawn came faintly into the elegant sitting room.

But Queenie, staring through the bay windows overlooking this garden, saw a different scene. She saw the flat hot earth surrounding the house at Cricklewood where a garden struggled beneath the endless blue days. She saw her father riding round its barren acres with her, a small girl, clinging to his waist as he rode, and heard him voice his dream that one day fat cattle and good horses would graze there. She saw the tumbledown homestead where she and Millie had spent the lonely months of her secret pregnancy; and she saw it as it was today, cherished land carrying prize and stud cattle, the garden flourishing and the homestead restored and welcoming.

Queenie forced her attention back to Sarah and John sitting opposite her. ‘I won’t give it up. Cricklewood is part and parcel of my parents’ dream. We’ve all worked so hard to get it where it is. Colin hasn’t set foot on the place in years; he’s never cared about it. I won’t let him have it.’ Queenie’s voice trembled asshe spoke. After everything that had happened, she knew that losing Cricklewood would destroy her.

John lifted one of the papers from the coffee table. ‘I t seems your father wanted him to have it, Queenie. He obviously had a change of heart just before he died.’

Queenie took the copy of the document now held by Colin’s solicitor. Her heart lurched at her father’s familiar writing. Written just two weeks before he was killed, it contradicted his will and the letter he’d left for Colin in which he’d explained why he had left Tingulla and Crickle wood to Queenie, leaving only money and real estate to Colin. But in this later letter, he wrote:

. . .it doesn’t seem right or fair that my son, who was brought up on our land, should not inherit a share of it in order to continue the tradition of the Hanlons. After considerable thought I feel it only right you should own Cricklewood to do with it as you see fit and therefore I make this bequest to you which is in addition to my previous will and testament which remains unaltered. I will advise my solicitor to make this amendment, but I wanted you to know this is what I want for you, Colin.

   
With loving thoughts, your father,

Patrick Hanlon

‘I’ve read it, I understand the words, but it doesn’t make sense. It just doesn’t sound like my father,’ said Queenie angrily.

‘Are you sure that’s not because this is a shock and you don’t want Colin to have it?’ asked Sarah gently.

‘The bit that bothers me is where he says, “to do with it as you see fit”. Dad wouldn’t say that, there is no choice other than to work it and continue to run it as part of the family.’ Queenie picked up the letter and studied it for the umpteenth time. ‘This makes it sound like he’s giving him permission to put in a manager, chop it up into hobby farms, sell it, whatever mad thing Colin might think of doing. He’d do anything to make money without having to work.’

‘You don’t think this was a conciliatory gesture by your father, hoping to bring you two back together by forcing you both to work the two family properties?’ suggested John.

‘It could have been. But I just feel sure he would have discussed it with me. I was with him all the time, we worked Tingulla side by side after Mum died. Colin was away and had no interest in the place. Of course Colin will say Dad kept it quiet for fear I’d try to talk him out of it. He’s always said I influenced Dad’s decision to leave the properties to me.’

That’s not true, Queenie,’ said Sarah hotly. ‘I was around then too. I remember how concerned your father was about Colin — he talked to my dad about it once. Said it broke his heart not to feel his son would follow on building up what generations of his family had established.’

Queenie nodded sadly. ‘I know. He talked to me about it, which is why I can’t understand why he didn’t prepare me for this change of heart.’

‘How come this has just turned up after all this time?’ asked John suspiciously.

‘According to the solicitor, Dad sent Colin a book of poetry when he was in Sydney and the letter was in the book. Colin, not being a poetry reader, thought his father had just sent him a book and he shoved it in a bookcase. He never opened it so never found the letter. It’s been packed away all these years,’ explained Queenie.

‘Sounds like Colin, I have to admit,’ said Sarah. ‘So what are you going to do, Queenie?’ asked John.

‘Fight it.’

John sighed. ‘Queenie, a challenge in a case like this could drag on for years and cost a fortune. Is that wise? It seems pretty cut and dried. If Colin wants Cricklewood, let him have it and you run it for him.’

‘We know what a mess he made of running Tingulla when he conned you out of it,’ said Sarah. ‘And I can’t see Dina at Cricklewood at all. It’s not as grand as Tingulla. At least when she was there she could play queen of the country till the novelty wore off.’

‘Talk to the family first,’ suggested John with a kind smile. He hated to see Queenie burdened with this weight at a time like this.

‘Like who, John? I don’t want to keep worrying the kids and TR doesn’t remember anything about it. No, it has to be my decision.’

‘But you’ve always shared everything with TR,’ insisted Sarah. ‘Don’t shut him out when you need him.’

‘He’s shut me out, Sarah. There’s no point.’ Queenie picked up the papers and stood. ‘I’m going to talk to Colin about this. Face to face, without anyone else there.’

‘Is that wise? Talk to your solicitor first.’

‘Yes, I’ll call him tomorrow. But first I want to think it through in my own mind,’ said Queenie.

Sarah and John looked sadly at each other as she left the room. ‘I’d give anything to see Colin’s hide tanned and hanging in the shed,’ muttered Sarah.

‘He’s a callous bastard, there’s no other word for it,’ said John, his mouth hardening.

‘Oh, I can think of a few more,’ responded Sarah, plonking the cups and saucers on the tray. ‘I just can’t believe Patrick would have done this without telling Queenie.’

‘Oh, you know how men hate to make waves and be confronted. He knew he wouldn’t be around when his will was read, and coming from the bush myself I can understand his feelings of wanting his son to carry on.’

‘That’s a very chauvinistic attitude, John. Queenie was more of a son to Patrick than Colin ever was!’ Sarah marched from the room, leaving John wondering what he’d said.

Tango returned to Guneda, anxious to pick up the reins of the business. He’d discussed matters with TR but quickly realised he had little
interest in a business, a place and people he couldn’t recall. Tango spent a lot of time with the horses, watching each one work and checking on the mares and foals, questioning all the staff in detail.

He was delighted with their new little colt who had developed a happy and mischievous personality since he’d been away. ‘You’re a special little fellow, we’ll have to find a very special place for you,’ said Tango as he smoothed the creamy white silk of the colt’s mane. His coat was the rich red-gold of his mother’s and the white star on his forehead stood out in clear detail.

Tango went through the office paperwork, marvelling at the attention paid to every detail by young Dennis, and the way in which Mick had followed through on all the training programmes. Tango called them into his office and, leaning back in his chair, said, ‘I guess I can take a break more often, you two have looked after things brilliantly.’

Dennis looked pleased and Mick quickly spoke up. ‘Well, talkin’ of holidays, I was gonna take one too. Now you’re back and there’s nothin’ pressin’. What d’ya say, Tango?’

‘Okay by me, Mick, except there is the matter of riding in the Gold Coast Cup.’

‘Y’ mean on Ambrosia?’ said Mick not looking at him.

‘Of course. Who else?’

‘Well, I was gonna say I don’ wanna ride for them Camboni mob, but they saved me the trouble. Said they wanted their own bloke.’

‘Really? Oh well, we’ve done our best with him, it’s up to them, they’re the owners.’

‘They’re comin’ down to git him and let their jockey try him out. Said they’d call ya.’ Mick changed the subject. ‘So, TR is ridin’ agin, eh? That’s real good news.’

Tango agreed. ‘It was great to see. Strange though, ‘cause he was really quite nervous about it. But he’s going really well now. In fact he seems to like it over there. Enjoys Dingo and is getting interested in all his schemes and things.’ For a brief moment Tango looked disappointed but he concluded, ‘In a way it’s easier for him, starting out fresh with new people and projects. He feels a sort of guilt thing about this place because he doesn’t remember how it was and how he was.’