SOPHIE

Sweet Wattle Creek, 1986

Gwen’s entourage were reluctant to let her go, calling out, asking for her to pose in front of the old hotel. The actress smiled and made promises for later, and then she strolled up the path and we went into the house and closed the door. But once inside all her professional cheerfulness vanished, and she sank down into a chair. She looked pale and drawn, and every one of her sixty-five years.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘This has been far more exhausting than I expected.’

I fetched her some water. Ian’s house was tidy enough, but Miriam was also staying here and her possessions seemed to cover most surfaces. The shelves along the walls were full of books, and there was a lingering aroma of beef and black bean sauce from Chinese takeaway.

Gwen drained the glass. ‘That’s better,’ she said with more energy. ‘Now we can talk.’

That was when I finally understood that it wasn’t just me who was desperate to delve into the past. Gwen was just as desperate to tell me. For whatever reason, she wanted to talk, and I was the lucky person chosen to listen.

‘The, eh, the wedding dress. Can you tell me about that?’

Gwen was watching my face. She’d taken off her sunglasses so now I could see her eyes. ‘If you mean Belle’s wedding dress, she kept it in her wardrobe at The Grand. Tilly and I tried it on once, or at least Tilly did. It was too big for me. Belle didn’t know about that.’ She gave a little smile. ‘She would’ve been upset with us if she’d caught us. I thought it was destroyed in the fire, or I did until I read your article.’

There was a speculative look in her face now, and I wondered if Miriam would be proved right and Gwen would try to get her hands on it.

‘You collect Eileen Nicholson, don’t you?’

‘Yes, I do. Her designs remind me of happier days. Eileen and I got on well together and she encouraged me to follow my heart. I’m grateful to her for that, and grateful to Belle. She was a good person and she tried to do her best for us. People weren’t so kind to travellers then.’

‘I read about that in Bill Shaw’s —’

But Gwen wasn’t listening to me. ‘Belle took us in. We stayed at The Grand with her. And Michael, of course. You’ve heard of Michael?’ Her gaze slid over my face without really seeing. ‘Eadie and Mo came along afterwards, and there were always the odd strays who stayed for a night or two.’

‘But not everyone was so sympathetic.’

Gwen pulled a face. ‘You have to remember that country towns have their good and bad sides. Sweet Wattle Creek was a small place and in the Depression the people here had struggles of their own. They didn’t want to be burdened with strangers who meant nothing to them.’

‘So the fire was deliberate?’

She stared at me. ‘Yes,’ she said quietly, ‘it was.’ She held out her glass. ‘Do you think I could have some more water?’

I went to get it, telling myself not to panic. She wanted to tell me and she would, she just liked to stretch it out. I could wait. I had time.

‘Thank you.’ She took a sip. ‘The Grand should’ve been Michael’s, really. Martha left it to him, but then she changed her mind and left it to Belle. Michael was hurt in the war, the Great War, of course, but it never seemed to matter to him. There were tensions between him and Frank Davies. His older brother, Ted, died in the war and for some reason Frank thought Michael should have died instead.’ Her mouth tilted up in a smile of malicious delight. ‘But he got his own back on them.’

When she didn’t go on I was forced to ask her why.

‘Why? Because Frank was in love with Belle but Belle loved Michael.’ She smiled again, as if reliving something in her head, something enjoyable. It was frustrating, but I gritted my teeth and waited.

‘On the track life was … unpredictable.’ Gwen looked up at me and now her smile was gone. ‘We’d been so poor, scrounging anything we could, stealing when we had to. I knew I couldn’t bear to do that again. I couldn’t go back on the track no matter what.’

I had a feeling, that sick sort of excitement you get when you know you’re about to hear something awful. ‘Miss South … Gwen. Are you trying to tell me that it was you who started the fire at The Grand?’

She blinked at me and then began to laugh. ‘Me?’ she spluttered. ‘Of course not. It wasn’t me. I had nothing to do with the fire. I didn’t even like fried bread.’

I blinked. ‘Do you know who did start it, then?’ I leaned closer, smiling as if I was her best buddy. ‘I think you do know. My friend, Miriam, thinks it was Belle herself and she wanted to claim the insurance.’

Gwen snorted. ‘Ridiculous. Belle loved The Grand. It was her home. She’d lost everything once already, do you really think she’d want to lose it again? As for Michael … his parents had died in a fire when he was young. They both had their past tragedies, Belle and Michael.’

‘Did she die in the fire? Belle, did she … ?’

Gwen looked at me as if I was stark raving mad. ‘No one died in the fire, Sophie. Don’t you journalists believe in research?’ She shook her head and said firmly, as if she knew for certain, ‘No. It was someone in the town who started it. After Frank and Michael had their fight, someone must’ve decided they wanted us gone. They waited until the next day. Did you know Charles Kingsford Smith was in Riverton? The crowds who came to see him, it was amazing, but he was famous. Real fame, I mean, not the manufactured kind of fame we see these days.’

Someone was knocking on the door. ‘Miss South? Miss South?’ It was time to go.

Gwen was enjoying herself, and she had taken me along for the ride, but she didn’t have a clue who started the fire.

* * *

The ball had been opened by a local politician and was now well under way. Nola whirled past me in Ian’s arms, her face flushed and ecstatic. For such a clumsy man he was a very good dancer. If only Nola wasn’t wearing a hooped skirt that threatened to upset anyone close to her. She waved merrily as she passed. I smiled and waved back.

Ian had his hair slicked back and wore dark, straight-legged trousers, a white shirt and red braces. He looked more like a gambler from the American West than a Sweet Wattle Creek pioneer, but I thought it suited him.

The day had been a huge success. Gwen South had left an hour or so ago, waving and smiling at the crowds. She’d been good value, posing for photographs for all and sundry, and chatting with visitors as if she was their best friend. I didn’t have a chance to talk with her again, although I’d seen her closeted with Ian, her hand resting possessively on his arm. By the time I remembered I hadn’t asked her what exactly had happened to Belle after the fire, it was too late. Anyway, I wasn’t sure she would tell me anything more.

The Grand had burned down fifty-five years ago and no one had died. I’d enjoy discussing the possibilities with Ian, later, when we could be alone. Whenever that might be, with Miriam staying with him, while I was crammed in with the Shaws.

I looked across the room at Dillon and Christy, in a huddle with Tim and Maureen. They seemed to be having a good time, especially as Baby Belle was asleep in her carrier. I’d already admired her pretty bonnet of lace and ribbons.

‘You look ravishing.’

Ian had escaped from his duties and come to stand by my side. His gaze slid over me appreciatively and I pinched his arm to stop him. Actually, I was pleased with my dress—Christy’s dress. The slim elegance of it was wonderful and when I danced it swirled around my ankles in a way that made me feel as if I had stepped back in time, into the thirties. It was funny, but it was an era that I always imagined was very sophisticated. Clarke Gable and Joan Crawford, Spencer Tracy and Katharine Hepburn. But of course I’d forgotten the Depression and the lingering tragedy of the Great War, with the loss of millions. It had taken my search into history for Belle and Charlie to give me a clearer view.

‘Hey.’ Ian slipped an arm about my waist. ‘Are you all right? I see you have a guard tonight.’ He nodded towards the door and I saw the sergeant from Riverton standing there. He was out of uniform but there was no doubting it was him.

‘Have you heard any more about Walter?’

I shook my head. ‘Only that they’re still looking. I’m not sure that’s a good sign, are you? If they haven’t found him by now then they probably won’t.’ Until it’s too late.

He gave me a reassuring squeeze in reply. ‘Enjoy yourself,’ he said. ‘Don’t let him spoil this for you, Sophie.’

He was right, I knew he was, but it was hard to pretend Walter wasn’t there, looming at the back of my mind. ‘I take it the committee’s happy?’ I asked him, changing the subject.

‘Ecstatic. They’re paying me a bonus.’

I looked at him sceptically.

His smile made my heart flutter, just a bit. ‘No, you’re right, they’re not. But their praise was unstinting.’

‘You deserve a bonus, Ian. You’ve done a wonderful job.’

‘Well thank you. I’ll expect my name to appear in your book when it’s out. “The marvellously clever Ian McKinnon” and “I want to thank Ian, without whom I would never have written this” and such like.’

That made me laugh.

By the time I’d recovered he was serious again. ‘So, if Sophie Matheson isn’t your real name … what is?’

I chewed my lip, deliberating, and then I told him.

He considered it. ‘Nice,’ he said.

‘Dillon wants to be Dillon, he tells me. A new leaf. Maybe Sophie is my new leaf. It seems to have worked for us so far.’

He smiled. ‘What did Gwen South have to say?’ he asked after a beat. ‘I noticed you were a bit distracted after your interview.’

‘She was amazing but she doesn’t know who started the fire. She says she does, that it was someone from the town, but …’ I stopped, struck suddenly by Gwen’s definite tone, as if she was working hard to convince me she was right.

‘Unless she’s trying to lead you away from the real culprit,’ Ian suggested, as if he’d just read my mind.

I looked at him in admiration and he laughed.

‘What? Have I solved the mystery for you? Come on, you can’t stop there. Who?’

But from the corner of my eye I could see Nola bearing down on us. ‘Honestly? I haven’t a clue, but I’ll meet you outside in five minutes and we can discuss the possibilities. That should give you long enough to escape.’

‘Escape?’ he mouthed, just as Nola put a possessive hand on his shoulder. I saw alarm flare in his eyes before he turned with his charming smile.

I watched them twirl off into the crowd. A waltz this time. He really was a rather fine dancer—perhaps it was similar to people who stutter and yet can sing beautifully. No wonder Nola was keen to snaffle him. I told myself I didn’t begrudge her. She was welcome to dance with him all night. As long as he came home with me.

The ball was being held in the RSL Hall, among all the displays, although everything fragile had been taken over to the library, or else moved back to a secure position against the walls. There was nowhere else in town that had enough floor space for so many guests, and as it was they had spilled out into the park.

I could see a group of teenagers mucking around, pushing and shoving, the girls shrieking with excitement, and I went in the opposite direction. The area was well lit and I didn’t feel any need to be afraid, especially as there was another couple seated on the bench close by. The air was cooler out here after the stuffy hall, and I lifted my face to the stars, the Milky Way spread out above me in a magnificent display.

It was good to be alive.

The knowledge washed over me in a warm, soft wave of feeling. I hadn’t felt like this for a long while, and I stood and stared upwards at the stars and smiled. There had been times in my life when I questioned if I’d get through the next minute let alone a year, but I had. I was still here in Sweet Wattle Creek and I was happy.

I was also in love, which seemed a strange state of affairs for someone who had sworn off men. But Ian had crept under my guard, and even while I tried to keep my distance I was longing to get closer to him. Another thing—I was optimistic. I looked into my future and although there were problems ahead—well, big problems actually—I believed I could overcome them and live a life I might actually enjoy.

The touch on my arm took me by surprise. ‘Ian?’ I said, and went to turn.

‘Hello … Sophie.’

That voice, I knew it so well.

I tried to get up, to run, but now he had his arm over my shoulder and around my throat, holding me back against him. Where was the other couple who had been here? They must have gone while I was stargazing, but it didn’t matter. They wouldn’t have been able to save me. I needed to get away … As if he’d read my mind he tightened his grip and I could hardly breathe.

‘Don’t struggle.’ His whispered words stirred my hair. ‘I’m going to take you somewhere nice and quiet and we’re going to get reacquainted. I’m sure you missed me just as much as I missed you.’

I could feel his body against me. I could smell him and I felt sick and terrified. This was what it had always been like. He had the power to sap all my strength so that even if I wanted to escape him I couldn’t. Like a mechanical toy with the batteries run down, I was helpless.

For a moment I really felt that I couldn’t get away. And what was the point in trying? He could do what he wanted to me and I would let him.

But I had got away. For a whole year I’d been free and I was strong and he couldn’t do this to me again. I told myself I wouldn’t let him.

I sagged and whimpered, just like I used to, and he laughed softly in my ear, because this was the woman he knew and he had expected no differently. And then I lifted my heel, the nice sharp stiletto, and brought it down on his instep.

He wasn’t anticipating it. He was so sure of himself, so arrogant, and the point of the stiletto went deep into his foot. He tried to catch his breath but could only manage a strangled moan. I slipped out of his grasp and the shoes and began to run.

I didn’t know if he was following me, but I headed towards the hall. There were lights and people and, if I was lucky, help.

That’s when I saw Dillon.

He saw me, too, and then he saw Walter. His face looked green in the coloured lights strung up around the eaves, his eyes were black holes. He began to yell, and at the same time to run towards us.

‘No,’ I moaned.

Walter was watching my son, and I knew if he couldn’t have me then he’d have Dillon, and there was no way I could let that happen. My life for his seemed a reasonable exchange, but even so I wasn’t going to give myself up lightly. I was going to fight.

I made a sharp turn to the right and headed towards the pepper tree and its long trailing skirts, and beyond that, the creek.

‘Come on, come on,’ I whispered. ‘Follow me …’