Rupe had locked the gate on his way out after dinner the previous evening, so Abbie, armed with a hammer, a nail and a spare key, went down in the crisp clean air of early morning to open it. The sun hadn’t appeared over the hill behind the house when she set off, and dew seeped into her shoes when she walked across the unkempt grass to the driveway.
Sleep had been hard come by and she’d woken for the final time before dawn, to lie listening to the first birds calling to each other. She always imagined they woke up alone in the dark and whistled and sang to find out where the others were, their friends, so as to join them for breakfast and the day’s activity.
A lone cockatoo flew overhead, screeching like a tightly jammed door being forced open. He’d be the lookout. The rest of the flock would be out there marauding and creating havoc with the fruitgrowers’ crops. Secretly, because they weren’t popular round here, they were her favourite of the local birdlife. Bold and brassy, sleek, cheeky and confident as a hoon out on the town. Perhaps she could do a series of bird pictures. Watercolours. When the landscapes were done.
Rupe’s presence had been comforting, and despite his gentle, and relatively unproductive for him, probing, she’d enjoyed chatting. It was almost like a date except it wasn’t, but she hadn’t had dinner alone with a man for some time. Hadn’t had the desire after the Greg experience, or the opportunity if she’d had the desire—a woman in her early forties wasn’t exactly a catch. Looked upon as probably too old to start a family, and too old for a man of a similar age who would look for a woman in her thirties or even younger, she wasn’t inclined to look for a partner in his fifties or up. It was easier to let that side of her life be, concentrate on her work.
It would be a much smarter attitude, given her form and the ensuing destruction she caused, but a handsome man was a handsome man and if anyone could make her rethink her status, Rupe could. She chuckled to herself as she strolled, remembering how different he looked in his work jeans and shirt. Comfortable and relaxed. A man who could fix things was extremely attractive in her view. What a swag of new information she had about the secretive and universally desirable Constable Rupert Perry. She knew for a fact his widower status hadn’t reached the town grapevine, which in itself was an extraordinary piece of subterfuge on his part, and proved he definitely knew how small towns worked.
What was particularly pleasing was that he’d trusted her with his revelation and there was no way she would break that trust by gossiping.
She unlocked the new padlock and hooked the chain behind the post. The gate moved easily and beautifully on the weathered old gatepost now. He’d done a great job, clearing the weeds and accumulated earth from where the open gate had sat for decades, as well as fastening the hinges firmly onto the post. Abbie swung the gate back and forth a few times just because she could, then left it open and went to one of the bigger trees a little back from the gate and off the driveway a metre, as Rupe had suggested.
On the side of the tree away from the driveway, she hammered the nail in with pleasing accuracy and hung the key on it. She’d have another one cut as well, to leave in the garage just in case. And while she was at it, she’d have spare front and back door keys cut too. Bury one of each in a container in the garden as she had in the city. Keeping track of keys wasn’t her forte, similar to her relationship with sunglasses.
She turned for the walk back and was blinded by the sun as it breasted the trees on the hill behind the house. She blinked and moved to the side of the track into the shadow. Magical, pale golden light streamed through the leaves sparkling off the dewy drops, which hung like diamonds. That’s what she wanted to capture. She moved faster, taking mental notes as she walked, anxious to get to the studio and transfer the impression to the canvas. More yellow in the sky; not white, a pale, pale yellow with a hint of pink or even orange.
She charged in through the back door, dumped the hammer on the kitchen table and went straight to work.
Two hours later, she laid down her brush and stepped back from the canvas, tilting her head as she studied the results. Good. Satisfied. Time for breakfast.
Holding her tea in one hand and a piece of toast and honey in the other, she went to stand in front of the easel in case what she thought she’d achieved was a delusion. Got it! Smiling, she went to toast another slice of bread. She’d start on the giant tree next, down the right-hand side and arching over the scene like a protective parent.
During her next break she phoned Connie and Tim to check on the puppy situation. Connie said they had two left but one was promised and the other they intended to keep themselves. The kids would be very upset if she gave it away.
‘I understand,’ said Abbie. ‘If you hear of any more anywhere, let me know.’
‘Will do. Are you going to book group tomorrow?’
‘Yes, it’s my turn to drive us, remember?’
‘I forgot to tell you … I can’t make it … Tim and I are going to a wine growers’ dinner over at Crooked Lane Estate.’
‘That’ll be nice.’
‘Should be. It’s a chance to frock up at least.’
‘Have fun.’
As soon as she put the phone down, it rang.
‘It’s Rupe. Everything all right?’
‘Yes, fine.’ Was she imagining the warmer tone in his voice today? If she was, it made for pleasant listening. ‘Thanks again for fixing the gate. I went down this morning and hung the key on a nail on a tree, just as you told me.’
‘Good. The gate was an easy job and thank you for dinner. It was a nice evening.’
‘Yes, it was.’
‘You’re a good cook.’
‘Thanks. I don’t bother much for myself.’ She used to enjoy cooking for the family; trying an exotic new vegetable every week and insisting Georgia try it, having friends over for dinner and going all out on dessert so she began to get a reputation as the Dessert Queen. Now she knew the whole thing was based on a hideous lie, rotten and stinking to the core.
‘I know what you mean.’
‘Sometimes I forget to have lunch, if I’m working.’
‘That’s no good. I never forget to eat.’ A phone rang in the background. ‘Sorry, Abbie. I’d better go.’
‘Okay. And thanks again, Rupe.’
‘Call if anything is the slightest bit odd.’
‘I will. Bye.’
She hung up, smiling. He was a truly decent man, one who could tempt her out of her manless existence if he wasn’t in his own private state of grief, and if she wanted to complicate her life. She didn’t. But it was still nice to have a man call to see how she was.
Because she’d started early, it was still only late morning when she took a mug of tea, a Gingernut biscuit and the book group novel out to the cane chair on the front verandah. She had the last chapter to read by tomorrow evening and it would take a determined effort to plough through to the end. For a book hailed as a comedic breakthrough and a smash hit in Europe, it was sadly disappointing. She’d barely raised a smile and had skated and skimmed over the middle parts, coming to rest every few pages hoping for the promised hilarity. Nothing so far and time was running out with only twenty-six pages left. Reading in bed failed because she was asleep after a page.
The sound of a car engine filtering through the trees had her on her feet and in through the front door in seconds, clutching the book and mug. It could be Rupe but she wasn’t taking any chances. Through the gap in the curtains she waited for the vehicle to appear, uncomfortably aware of her heart trying to fight its way out of her chest, dreading the appearance of that sinister silver car.
It was white. Dusty but definitely a small white hatchback. Her shoulders sagged in relief but she stayed where she was, watching as it drew to a halt. Both front doors opened and two people got out. Nothing furtive about them, they talked across the roof of the car as they closed the doors and faced the house. A dark-haired young man had been driving, his passenger a young blonde woman about Georgia’s age in jeans and a tight-fitting sky-blue T-shirt. There was something vaguely familiar about her. That thick white-blonde hair held back in a ponytail but with a long fringe constantly obscuring her eyes, the plumply rounded hips and full breasts, rang a distant bell in the depths of her memory.
She stepped back from the window and hovered uncertainly in the small foyer as they clumped up the steps. Knuckles rapped loudly on the doorframe. The screen door was locked as well as the main door. The back door was open though. Abbie scurried along the passage as quietly as she could, dumped the book and mug, and flicked the catch on the back door.
Another burst of rapping came from the front. She strode back, her footsteps sounding clear and sharp on the wooden floor, and opened the door.
‘Hello,’ she said. Up close the pale, thin-faced young man was still unfamiliar but the woman, smiling with an expanse of big white teeth and a hint of uncertainty in her expression, Abbie was sure she’d met before. One of Georgia’s friends?
‘Hello, Abbie, it’s Kaelee, Kaelee Strong. I was at school with Georgia. You might remember me.’ It came in a gush of words and was more a statement than a query, but she was right, Abbie did remember her. Vaguely.
‘Yes, I think I do. You came to the house once or twice, didn’t you?’
‘Yes, I was fascinated by you … as an artist, I mean. I studied art. Still am studying art, actually. That’s why we’re here.’
Abbie waited for more. What exactly did they want?
The man filled the silence. ‘I’m Aaron.’ He pronounced it oddly, with a longer second syllable. On closer inspection, he had an air of pretentious self-confidence she recognised from her own student days at art school. Kids who knew everything about everything before they’d even started. Trying to impress.
‘Hello, Aaron.’
Intense grey eyes bored through the screen door with unsettling directness until he smiled suddenly and his face changed completely from brooding artist to charming boy.
‘What can I do for you?’
‘I know this is a bit sudden but we didn’t know how to contact you. We came out yesterday but you weren’t home …’
Tongue-tied and pink-cheeked from nerves, Kaelee snapped into place in Abbie’s memory. She was the socially awkward, slightly overweight girl Georgia brought home once or twice in a group of friends, but who never really seemed to fit with the other rowdy, giggling teenagers. Polite, quiet and uncomfortable was Abbie’s impression.
‘In the morning?’ They would have been in the white car that went by while she was waiting for Rupe.
‘Yes.’
‘Did you see another car? A silver one?’
‘No.’
‘Was there anything on the steps to the verandah?’
Aaron and Kaelee shared a glance. ‘No,’ she said. ‘Should there have been?’
Abbie shrugged. ‘Someone might have dropped something off.’
‘Oh, no, there wasn’t anything there.’ His tone was of mild concern. ‘Was something stolen, do you think?’
‘No, no. So … why did you come here?’
Kaelee said, ‘We wondered if we could talk to you about your work, about painting.’
‘I really admire what you do,’ said Aaron. ‘And when Kaelee mentioned she went to school with your daughter and knew you … well...’
Abbie frowned. Did this qualify as odd? Not really. A couple of keen students wanting to meet someone they admired. Coincidence more like it. She did know Kaelee, albeit vaguely, and Aaron seemed nice enough.
‘I can’t spare you very long,’ she said as she turned the catch on the screen door. ‘I’m working.’
‘Oh that’s all right, we understand. It’s very kind of you to talk to us at all.’ Aaron stepped in first. Kaelee came along behind, as Abbie suspected she would in this relationship, unless something had altered dramatically in her personality during the last five or six years.
He started off along the hallway to the kitchen but Abbie said sharply, ‘Come in to the living room and sit down.’
‘Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t think.’
Kaelee did as instructed, smiling meekly as she sat on the couch. Aaron chose one of the two armchairs and settled into it as though he belonged there, confidence restored. Abbie sat on the other one, forward on the seat, back straight.
‘What would you like to ask me?’
‘Can we see what you’re working on at the moment?’ Aaron crossed his legs.
‘No, sorry.’
‘What are you working on?’ asked Kaelee, quickly, before he could object, which judging by his expression was likely.
‘A group of landscapes for the gallery in Sydney. I have a deadline which is why I don’t have a lot of time to spare.’ She flicked a little smile on and off.
‘Is that why you moved out here?’ Aaron asked. ‘It’s very isolated.’
‘It’s not really. It’s quiet and yes, it is the reason. I wanted to immerse myself in my subject matter. It’s been very inspirational living here.’
‘It’s lovely country,’ said Kaelee. ‘Much greener than I expected.’
‘Yes, it rained a fair bit over winter but it’s drying off now. What medium are you working in, Kaelee? What’s your interest?’
‘Watercolours mainly, at the moment. I like doing birds and flowers,’ she said. ‘I’m in my second year.’ Her second year? She must have taken time off after finishing school.
‘What about you, Aaron?’
‘I’m into expressing myself in a contemporary way, using any medium I choose. I don’t like to restrict myself. I believe in releasing the muse.’ He sat back, a tiny smile playing on his lips. Where did he think her muse was? Shackled in one of the sheds?
Just as she’d initially thought. Nice enough but pretentious, and that lock of hair hanging over one eye, which he probably thought was arty, wasn’t. There’d been a boy like him at art school who talked himself up and spouted all sorts of existential guff about art and self-expression but whose actual work was pedestrian and derivative. Whenever he failed a course and was kicked out, he claimed he was above the confines of academia and they couldn’t understand his talent. What on earth happened to him? Turned into a critic?
Kaelee was totally infatuated by this modern version, if the little glances she sent Aaron’s way were anything to go by. She’d wake up to him soon enough, when she saw that releasing the muse was no substitute for plain old work.
‘What did you think you’d gain by talking to me? I’m a traditionalist,’ Abbie said.
‘You’re not really, you have a unique eye. But apart from that, you’re earning a living from your work. You’ve cut yourself off from distractions, from family. You’re living the life,’ he said. ‘It’s interesting to see it firsthand.’
‘Well, yes, but I had to work hard to make it happen.’ What did he know about her family? What did Kaelee know? How closely had she and Georgia kept in touch? She would have read the papers and watched the news. She’d know the story in all its horror.
‘I’m interested in what inspires you about trees and land, landscapes,’ Aaron said. ‘You didn’t grow up in the country, did you?’
‘No, you’re right. I didn’t. But I’ve always been fascinated by nature, and where I lived in Sydney there were a lot of trees and stretches of bushland.’
‘Hornsby?’
‘Yes. You must have lived near there too, Kaelee.’
‘In Asquith. My parents are still there.’
‘So who did you study with?’ Aaron interrupted, sending a frowning glance at Kaelee. ‘Whose work did you admire? Who inspired you?’
Abbie answered the barrage of questions, discovering that she enjoyed talking art again with people who also loved the subject and had opinions. Despite those opinions being a bit narrow and stated with the deep conviction of youth, the enthusiasm was stimulating.
‘I wish we could talk for longer,’ she said eventually. ‘But I really do have to get back to work.’
Kaelee bounded to her feet. ‘Sorry, Abbie. We should go.’ She turned to Aaron.
‘You should have phoned first.’ Abbie rose to her feet.
‘We don’t have your number,’ Aaron said.
‘You could have written. How did you know where I was anyway?’ Abbie looked at Kaelee.
‘From Georgia. I ran into her and she told me you’d moved out here. She didn’t give me any details, just the town.’
‘So we tracked you down.’ Aaron said with a grin and stood up reluctantly. ‘It wasn’t very hard to find Abigail Forrest, the artist.’
‘How was Georgia?’
‘Okay.’
‘When was this?’
‘About three weeks ago.’
‘Did you ask her where I was or did she tell you first?’
‘I don’t remember. We were at a party. I met Aaron there too.’ She sent a shy little smile his way. He slung his arm around her shoulders and kissed her cheek.
‘Lucky me,’ he said.
Abbie wanted to ask Kaelee more questions about Georgia—how was she? Was she happy? Healthy? What was she doing? Did she mention her mother?—but Aaron’s presence made her stay silent. He didn’t know her daughter, Abbie didn’t know him. She needed time with Kaelee to chat and probe. She may have kept in touch with the other girlfriends, like Sophie, Georgia’s best friend at school, or someone else who may know Georgia.
‘Where are you staying?’ she asked.
‘At the motel on the road into town, but we only booked for last night.’
She licked her lips, pondering the wisdom of what she was about to do. But Rupe had suggested asking someone to stay and two people would be better than one, and she did enjoy their company once she got over the surprise of the unannounced visit.
‘Would you like to stay here? Just for the one night?’
‘Oh, we don’t want to impose,’ said Aaron. ‘Do we, Kaelee?’
‘No.’
‘If you left me alone to work this afternoon you wouldn’t be imposing at all, and to tell you truth I’d like the company this evening.’
‘It’s very tempting …’ Aaron frowned. ‘As long as you’re sure …’
Abbie nodded. ‘You could come back around five and then head off in the morning. We can continue our discussion of the future of art this evening.’
‘We’ll bring back some supplies and cook dinner,’ said Kaelee. ‘It’s the least we can do. Thank you very much.’
‘It’s a deal.’
‘All right. Thanks, Abbie. We’ll get out of your way and see you later,’ said Aaron.
Abbie saw them out. She stood on the verandah steps after they said their goodbyes. As they walked to the car she called, ‘Would you mind locking the gate when you come back this evening? Just fasten the padlock.’
‘Okay. Goodbye.’
The engine burst into life. Kaelee waved as Aaron reversed the car and turned. Abbie waved back and stayed motionless until the sound had faded into the rustling of wind in the treetops.
Had she made a big mistake inviting them to stay? No. They were just a couple of eager young people taking advantage of an opportunity that came their way, and the attention was actually quite flattering, taking her mind off the other odd events. She’d be able to interrogate Kaelee tonight, too, and that was the main reason for the invitation. Finding her daughter, re-establishing contact, repairing the relationship, or at least making a start.
She looked up as a cloud obscured the sun. The clear sky of the morning was rapidly turning to a patchwork with more white and grey than blue. Rain on the way.
A crow sailed by on wide black wings, uttering its mournful cry. A harbinger of doom, wasn’t that what a crow used to be thought of? Or was that a raven? Abbie shuddered and went back inside, making sure to lock the door.
***
Rupe picked up his phone, checked the caller. Abbie. A slight quickening of the pulse, but whether it was because he was worried for her or pleased she called he didn’t want to examine.
‘Hi, Abbie, everything all right?’ His professional voice.
‘Hello, yes, no problems. I just wanted to let you know I’ve taken your advice and invited some people to stay tonight.’
‘Friends?’ That was quick work. Where did they come from to get here so fast? Canberra? Sydney was an eight- or nine-hour drive, Melbourne roughly the same. She may have friends in other towns nearby of course, but that wasn’t the impression she’d given him last night.
‘Sort of. The girl is an old school friend of my daughter’s. I haven’t seen her for years but she and her boyfriend are art students and came to talk to me about my work.’
‘Did they just turn up?’ He kept the scepticism from his voice with an effort.
‘Yes, I was a bit surprised but they didn’t know how else to contact me. Georgia had told Kaelee about Taylor’s Bend so they came on spec.’
‘Is that odd, given the circumstances?’
‘Coincidence, I think. They called in yesterday but I wasn’t home so they came back today. I saw their car while I was waiting for you. They said they didn’t see the silver car and they didn’t see my shopping.’
‘Did you tell them anything?’ There were coincidences and coincidences and this was a very convenient one.
‘No. I asked them if there was anything on the front steps and they said no. I implied I was expecting a delivery.’
‘Okay but don’t say anymore.’ He hesitated then went on. ‘If you’re happy they’re who they say they are …’
‘Rupe, I recognised Kaelee.’ Her tone sharpened. ‘The boyfriend is okay, quite nice. I sent them away this afternoon while I work and they’ve gone into town to get supplies. They’re cooking dinner tonight.’
‘Abbie, you were very frightened yesterday, I’m just asking.’
‘I’m sure they are who they say they are.’ Silence, then she said, ‘Kaelee saw Georgia, my daughter, just a few weeks ago. I need to talk to her, ask her … things.’
‘I understand.’
‘They’ll be gone tomorrow. They know I’m busy.’
‘Okay. That’s fine.’
She didn’t finish the call. He waited, sifting words in his head. None suited whatever it was he wanted to say. To keep her on the line. Talking.
‘I just wanted to let you know,’ she said eventually.
‘Right. Yes.’
She laughed softly and he pictured her mouth curving in that special way. ‘So you don’t worry.’
‘Good, I’ve stopped worrying about you. Now I can get on with my other pressing work.’ He was smiling now too.
‘Which is?’
‘Talking to the primary school kids about road safety and stranger danger.’
‘That’s important.’
‘I know. And I’m giving a talk to the CWA over in Taylor’s Creek tomorrow. They do a great lunch, I’m told.’
‘That’ll be fun.’
‘I think so.’
‘Who was this Taylor bloke who named everything after himself?’
‘No idea. Haven’t you asked Hannah?’
‘No, but I will tomorrow night at book club.’
‘Hah. The bluestockings of Taylor’s Bend.’
She laughed aloud at that. ‘Thanks, Rupe. I’d better get to work. Looks like it might rain.’
He turned to look out the window. ‘A few drops are falling here already.’