Heritage (8 page)

To ensure discipline and avoid accusations of favouritism, Rob Harvey maintained a certain distance from his workers at Spring Hill, but he stretched the rules where Lucky was concerned, the two regularly meeting up for a beer in Cooma. Both well-educated men with a strong love of the land, Rob and Lucky shared a friendship of like minds, and Rob was thankful to have someone to whom he could speak openly. Loyal as he was to his employers and to the Scheme in general, there were areas which didn't entirely meet with his approval, the method of land purchase being just one of them. ‘They're striking each deal individually,' he'd told Lucky, ‘and taking advantage of the farmers' lack of negotiation skills. It's all a bit dodgy, if you ask me.'

‘Thanks, mate.' Cam accepted the beer Lucky handed him and they again edged clear of the liquor booth.

‘But I believe there are many receiving double that price now,' Lucky said after the obligatory clink and the ‘cheers'. Rob had told him as much. One or two of the farmers, Rob had said, were determined to hold out until the very last minute, which was causing a few headaches for the SMA. ‘Good on them, I say,' Rob had added.

‘And I hear the price is still going up,' Lucky said after he'd taken a swig from his glass.

Cam wasn't sure whether he was gratified or disappointed by the German's awareness of the state of play; he'd rather looked forward to explaining things from his point of view. But then, he thought, the German seemed like a very intelligent bloke, and so he decided to move on to his other pet topic, which was a little more sophisticated.

‘Yeah, well, they'll need fifty quid an acre before they'll shift me,' he said. ‘But I'll tell you something else for nothing, Lucky.' He lowered his voice, more for dramatic effect than anything. ‘There's a conspiracy going on with that mob.'

‘Oh? Really?' Lucky was most interested.

‘Yep.' Cam was pleased that he'd captured the German's attention. Despite his wonky eye, there was something about the bloke that commanded respect, he thought. He was a man's man, Cam decided, that was it. ‘Right from the start of the Scheme,' he said, ‘when they approached us farmers, they told us that the alpine pastures'd be virtually unaffected.' He snorted derisively. ‘Dumb cockies, that's what they think of us, the bastards. And they're right, we are. Or rather we were: we bloody well believed them. How dumb's that?' He took several gulps of beer to calm himself down. ‘The high country's important to us, Lucky,' he explained, ‘it's our summer grazing land. We take the cattle and sheep up there to feed on the new grass after the thaw, and we leave them up there for a good five months. That way the lower land regenerates and we get top feed for the herds during winter.'

Lucky remained attentively silent, aware that Cam Campbell was bent on letting off steam and didn't require a reply, but he was recalling a particular conversation he'd had with Rob Harvey. It had been several months ago now, shortly before young Pietro had arrived at Spring Hill, and he and Rob had been sitting upstairs at the Australian Hotel. ‘Life is going to change for the Snowy River men,' Rob had said, looking down at the broad avenue of Sharp Street and the convoy of trucks carting supplies newly arrived by rail to the work camps out of town. He'd been in a reflective mood, as he often was with Lucky. ‘In a few years, there'll be no more stockmen droving sheep and cattle by the thousands up to the high country. There'll be no more herds of wild brumbies rounded up on the plains. It'll be the end of an era.' He'd looked sad as he'd said it. ‘The days of the mountain horsemen are numbered, Lucky. The trouble is, no-one's told them that yet.'

‘And now they're talking about banning us from the high country,' Cam continued, outraged. ‘They reckon the stock's causing soil erosion. Soil erosion! How's that for a joke?' He was getting carried away again. ‘Have you seen the damage those bastards are doing up there? They're murdering this land, and they know it. What's more, they know that
we
know it. And
that's
why they're trying to ban alpine grazing,' he finished triumphantly. ‘It's got bugger all to do with soil erosion! They don't want us up there because they don't want the truth to get out. It's a conspiracy, mate!'

The man's passion was understandable and Lucky was sympathetic to his predicament, but he didn't at all agree with Cam's theory. It was a simple fact that thousands of stock wandering the mountains would certainly cause erosion problems, and eventually siltation of the dams, which in the long term would affect the power stations. He'd said as much to Rob Harvey. ‘It is the price of progress, Rob,' he'd said realistically, even as he'd agreed with Rob that the passing of the mountain man's era was regretful. ‘But there may be a far greater price to pay one day. Who can tell what the future has in store for an undertaking as vast as the Snowy Scheme?'

Their conversation that day had remained vivid in Lucky's mind because it had been the one and only time either of them had spoken negatively about the very reason they were all there in the mountains.

‘To alter the course of a river is to play a dangerous game with nature,' he'd said, not sure how Rob, staunchly loyal to the Scheme, would respond. ‘Engineering projects in other parts of the world have proved it to be so,' he'd added, as if to back himself up in case he'd offended.

But no offence had been taken. Rob had merely wondered, yet again, why a university-educated man like Lucky continued to work as a labourer when he'd long since served out his Displaced Persons contract. Lucky himself always shrugged off any queries, saying it kept him fit. Rob had nodded in his lackadaisical way, ‘Yep, it could be a worry.'

As Cam Campbell continued rabbiting on about his conspiracy theory, Rob's words came back to Lucky, and he rather wished it was Rob he was talking to now. Cam's one-sided view was wearingly dogmatic.

Deep down, Rob Harvey had agreed with Lucky's comments on the Scheme's possible long-term repercussions. Having initially studied geology and zoology before deciding on an engineering degree, Rob was more environmentally aware than most. ‘You can't take all the water from one place and dump it somewhere else without asking for some sort of problems down the track,' he'd said.

The two had remained quiet for several moments, both feeling somehow disloyal – they were, after all, Snowy men – and it had been Rob who'd broken the guilty silence.

‘Course I might be wrong,' he shrugged. ‘I probably am.'

‘You hope you are,' Lucky smiled.

‘Too right, I do.' And they'd drunk to it.

‘A bloody conspiracy, that's what it is!' Cam concluded now, looking about belligerently, prepared to challenge any disagreement, but as the band struck up in the nearby pavilion no-one was paying him the slightest attention. ‘They're not only a bunch of crooks out to rob us of our land, they're liars and hypocrites into the bargain. Well, bugger them! Bugger every bloody one of them!' He drained his glass and then nudged Lucky boisterously. ‘Hey, you haven't finished your beer, mate. Drink up, my shout.'

Lucky, who was not a heavy drinker, looked at his untouched beer. The thought of downing it and embarking upon a third inside twenty minutes made him feel slightly bilious, but he knew that to knock back the offer of a beer was considered almost as rude as not returning a shout. Sighing inwardly, he took a few sips from his glass. No matter how ‘assimilated' he might appear to the locals, and many congratulated him on the fact that he was, he knew he would never become accustomed to the drinking etiquette of the Australian male.

‘Lucky!'

Saved, he thought thankfully as Peggy ran up to him and grabbed his hand.

‘I'm terribly, terribly sorry, I didn't mean to desert you for so long, but they were short of help setting up and …' She broke off as she registered Cam Campbell. ‘Oh hello, Cam.' She released Lucky's hand and shook Cam's warmly. ‘I didn't see you at the show, but then I was stuck in the kitchen most of the time. I heard you picked up half the blue ribbons in the cattle section as usual,' she laughed.

‘Hello, Peggy.' He didn't return her laugh. Cam Campbell's face was a mask. The shutters had gone down as his eyes flickered from Peggy to Lucky and back again. He couldn't disguise his shock and outrage and he didn't attempt to. Peggy Minchin was having it off with the German. But she was a school mistress! The most proper, the most respectable of school mistresses, a woman whom Cam had deeply admired. She'd taught his own daughter for two years; young Vi still worshipped the ground ‘Miss Minchin' walked on, and ‘Miss bloody Minchin' was having it off with a Kraut. The way she'd looked at him when she'd grabbed his hand. Brazen. Cam couldn't believe it.

So much for not giving a bugger where a bloke came from, Lucky thought, and so much for the hypocrisy of the SMA. The animosity that emanated from Cam Campbell was palpable; the man was the biggest hypocrite of them all.

Lucky had suffered many a bigot in the past, particularly when he'd first arrived in Australia. Bigotry was nothing new to him and he felt little more than annoyance at having been so easily taken in by Cam Campbell's bluster. But he was angry for Peggy. Why should Peggy be judged by the company she kept? And he was angry with himself. He should not have come to the ball, he should not have placed her in this compromising situation. Above all, he was angered by his powerlessness. He dared not call the man a fraud, much as he longed to – any form of confrontation would create a scene, and that would be far more damaging for Peggy. So he smiled instead.

‘There is no need to apologise, Peggy,' he said. ‘I have been excellently entertained by Mr Campbell.' He couldn't bring himself to call the man by his nickname, and as he turned to Cam the smile froze on his lips.

You smarmy bastard, Cam thought. Pretending to be a good, honest, working bloke, sharing a beer, listening to a man pour out his troubles, and all the time you're fucking the school mistress, you dirty rotten Kraut. Cam wanted to belt him one.

‘Thank you for looking after Lucky, Cam, I'm most obliged.' Peggy's smile was bright and her crisp schoolteacher's voice held no added edge. ‘How's Vi?'

‘You tell me. Since she's moved into town you'd see her more often than I would now, wouldn't you?' Cam's animosity was plainly not reserved for Lucky.

‘Yes, of course I would,' Peggy agreed, undeterred, ‘and I do. But you'll have seen her yourself during the show, and you must be very proud. She won several events, I heard.'

‘Two jumps and one dressage. She only entered three this year.'

‘Cam's daughter, Vi, is a wonderful horsewoman,' Peggy said to Lucky. ‘It runs in the family.' Another bright smile. ‘And she's looking so pretty lately, isn't she? I see her around town a lot. Quite the young lady.'

‘She should be back home where she belongs.'

‘Don't worry about her too much, Cam, she's just turned eighteen, she wants to grow up.' Peggy's tone, while still briskly polite, was caring. It always was when she spoke of her ex-students. Each and every one was special to her, and Violet Campbell was no exception. ‘She'll come back when she's ready.'

He did not respond. To think that less than a year ago he'd been telling young Vi to heed every word Peggy Minchin uttered. ‘You listen to Miss Minchin, Vi,' he'd said time and again, ‘she's a real lady, and she's got brains, what's more.' Well Miss bloody Minchin had now lost the right to offer any form of advice whatsoever where his daughter was concerned.

Cam was staring sullenly at the ground, so Peggy didn't wait for a reply. Turning to Lucky, she said, ‘The band's playing and you haven't even asked me to dance.'

‘May I have the pleasure?' he asked.

‘You may.'

As she took his arm and they walked off to the pavilion, Lucky didn't look at Cam, but he could sense the farmer's eyes burning a hole in his back.

He whirled her onto the dance floor and into a speedy quickstep to the tune of ‘Don't Let the Stars Get in Your Eyes'. Lucky was an excellent dancer and, as the band continued to play up-tempo numbers for most of the bracket, Lucky and Peggy didn't even think of taking a break – they danced to every single one. It was only when they'd finished waltzing to ‘How Much is That Doggie in the Window', and the band announced it was taking a break, that they were forced to leave the dance floor.

‘I have never danced for so long and with such energy – I'm thoroughly exhausted,' Peggy panted as they walked outside to buy a soft drink from one of the booths.

She was radiant. She didn't know it, Lucky thought, but she was wearing her femininity like a badge. Her bosom heaving, her face glistening with perspiration, her eyes gleaming excitedly, she looked as wanton and womanly as she did after they made love. He wished he could capture the image, he would have liked to have shown it to her. Not that she would have believed him, he thought – she would simply have said that she looked ‘untidy'.

But, as he watched her, Lucky realised that he'd learned something new about Peggy tonight. His fears that he might compromise her had been unwarranted. She didn't need his protection. She didn't want it. She had brought him to the ball for the very purpose of social confrontation. By openly admitting to their relationship, she had defied others to disapprove, and he had a feeling that she'd enjoyed testing them. Even those who'd been found wanting, like Cam Campbell. Lucky realised, possibly for the first time since he'd met her, what a truly liberated woman Peggy Minchin was.

‘“Charmaine”.' As the band struck up the first chords of its Mantovani bracket, Peggy put her glass of lemonade on the counter and started swaying to the music. ‘Golly it's a pretty tune, isn't it?'