“Are you sure it wasn’t Danica? She has a friend in Australia whom she is very fond of.”
“Hmm... maybe that was it,” Robere puzzled.
*~*~*~*
The morning papers carried a headline throughout Switzerland and Europe: Kaftan-clad man rescues girl from ancient castle and then provides best doctors and facilities from all over the globe for her care. In the centre of the front page, Robere’s beaming smile captivated his adoring audience with a charismatic smile and authoritative eyes.
*~*~*~*
Chapter 66
Niccolo pushed open the door hiding the band room from the rest of the island household, halting the band’s practice immediately as if an unseen hand had pulled the plug from an old time record player. The usual round of loud mocking boyishness escaped the frolicking band members as Niccolo made an entrance, but abruptly stopped as a dark haired beauty stepped into the scene behind Niccolo. With all eyes focused on Vincenza, the room fell deathly quiet until Niccolo took Vicenza’s hand affectionately and dropped a bombshell.
“This is my madre,” Niccolo offered proudly.
The stunned silence extended for many moments as the band stood staring, trying to reconcile what Niccolo had actually said to the woman standing in their presence shyly glancing from person to person. Realising they were gawking and making Vincenza feel uncomfortable, many voices exploded from all over the room talking at once and eagerly welcoming Niccolo’s madre in an animated babble, although cautious and still suspicious Niccolo had somehow set them up. After Vincenza affirmed her son’s announcement and Niccolo drew out his photograph as proof, the room took on a carnival atmosphere and Vincenza was immediately adopted as the band’s madre, too.
The practice that afternoon was the best the band had ever produced with Vincenza seated watching and tapping an elegant foot along with the enervating music. Even Niccolo seemed more energized than normal and particularly with sfidare le tradiziones belting out a heart-wrenching beat.
Vincenza jumped to her feet once the stirring rendition had ended and applauded the boys with apparent enjoyment, proudly showing her appreciation. “Bravo! That was so beautiful!” she gushed.
Performing for Vincenza could have gone on all night, but with the concerts approaching fast, the young musicians finished up for the day and packed away the instruments, preparing for the evening performances and one by one they left the band room, hugging Vicenza and kissing her cheek. “You will be there tonight, Madre Vincenza?!” each one chortled, trying to find a reason to capture her attention for just a moment longer as they departed her presence to prepare.
*~*~*~*
Marie-Laure perched uncomfortably on a hard wooden chair beside Ryan’s bed and rested her head across her son’s chest, exhausted from the emotional overload of the past twenty-four hours. The island house appeared strange but welcoming in a peculiar way and Natalya couldn’t do enough to make both mother and son feel comfortable and at home.
Earlier, Ryan had taken the opportunity to show Marie-Laure the gift Maestro had given him and offered to play her a new song he’d written after the ordeal with the attack. In the muffled background, pleasant rhythmic music drifted up from another part of the house and competed with Ryan’s rendition, but she’d blocked it out and listened intently to the raw emotion paining her son and the words describing the confusion he felt. Only now, Marie-Laure was beginning to understand the battle raging so fiercely in Ryan’s heart.
Realising they had both fallen asleep, yet something had disturbed Marie-Laure from a deep exhausted nap and as she lifted her head stiffly from Ryan’s chest, she noticed the room had darkened considerably and the sun had shyly hidden its calming light behind the mountains. The house creaked in the quiet and seemed to have fallen asleep too, with the vibrant but tantalising music now silent and no longer seeping into the room from some other distant part of the house. From a corner in the room where Marie-Laure had left her handbag, the tuneful liturgy of an incoming call woke Ryan also. Gazing at her stirring son and smiling, she stood stiffly and ambled over to her phone, removing the beckoning communicator from her handbag. She recognised the number displayed immediately and quickly answered.
“Allô, honey! I am with Ryan at the moment. Did you find my note on the kitchen table?”
There was a long pause as Ryan’s dad narrated the details of his pointless search and the fact he’d forgotten to charge his phone in the day’s disturbing confusion. After a long interlude between husband and wife, the call ended with Jonas understanding Marie-Laure’s purposeful intention to spend the night at the island with Ryan.
“I’m sorry for putting you and Dad through this,” Ryan whispered. “I bet he’s angry?”
Marie-Laure turned to face her son and sighed. “No, son, just relieved.”
*~*~*~*
It had been a long and peculiar day by the time Robere and Maestro crossed the short, dark expanse of water from mainland Clarens to the tiny island household. Natalya stood at the back of the small boat, guiding the craft through the intense darkness and using the island houselights as a guide to intercept the small undercover dock allowing passengers direct access to the island’s manicured backyard. She glanced at her passengers a number of times. Maestro seemed exhausted and ready to collapse, but the kaftan-clad Robere was energised and eager to share the happenings of the day.
“Do you know what God did today, Natalya?” Robere excitedly proclaimed.
Natalya shook her head, staring at the shadowy figure in the dim light. His exuberance overflowed like sticky liquid fairy floss oozing into the boat and gluing her attention to the animated speaker. Robere’s description took Natalya deep into the day’s activity and hypnotised her with his narration, warming her as if she was the only person in the world that mattered to him.
Reluctantly breaking eye contact with Robere’s deeply mesmerising starlit eyes, Natalya took a fortunate glimpse around the dark lake and found the island lights drifting away and sending the craft on a collision course with France many kilometres away. Immediately correcting her trajectory and refocusing on the island lights, Natalya decided to concentrate on her task and not Robere’s welcoming eyes, but she found it difficult to ignore the charismatic allure in the lulling voice and within moments, her eyes were drawn back to his against her will.
Maestro’s tired and rasping alarm evaporated the comatic bubble surrounding Natalya with the intensity of a pin in a balloon. “Where are you going, Natalya?!”
Her confused response jolted the boat and it rocked violently, causing Maestro to grab the side in terror as her panicked reaction narrowly averted a collision with the island’s immovable rocky sea wall.
*~*~*~*
It was as if a party had erupted in Ryan’s room and old friends had been reunited after a long and subdued absence. Natalya, Maestro and Robere filled the space and instantly Marie-Laure was drawn to the people responsible for her son’s rehabilitation and rescue, languishing grateful hugs upon the altruistic Good Samaritans who’d selflessly taken them in. Marie-Laure felt an immediate affinity with Robere as he described with great delight the things his God had done this day and the more she listened to his excited narration, the more entwined she became in his joy and exuberance. It was nice to see someone so in love with Jesus Christ and she hoped Ryan would be listening to this man of God and take in the example he was shining.
As the improvised party swung into high gear, Natalya went about her tasks and eventually the room filled with the smells of fresh rye bread and Bavarian sausage. But even this didn’t dampen their spirits and soon Maestro asked Ryan for a rendition on his new guitar. Setting up an amp for the new Stratocaster, Maestro sat back with other members of the party and listened as Ryan sang and played his heart out. An intercepted nod between Maestro and Robere gripped Marie-Laure; she had no idea how talented her son was with a guitar and obviously the two men had enjoyed Ryan’s performance, too.
Robere suddenly turned h
is attention to Marie-Laure. “Ryan is good, Madame, and he may have an opportunity to showcase his talents to a music scout we know, if you will agree.”
Ryan’s eyes were wide like saucers staring at his mother.
“Um... I... I don’t know what to say,” Marie-Laure stuttered.
“Talk it over with your husband and let us know,” Robere gushed.
Ryan’s face fell, knowing his father would never agree.
Natalya had moved a small folding bed into Ryan’s room for Marie-Laure, dodging between people to locate the new addition. After Maestro dismantled the amp following Ryan’s concert, Robere excused himself, intending to leave mother and son to settle down for the night. Marie-Laure watched the tall dark man leave the room and sighed. It was as if the sun had gone out and she was left with the faltering light of mere mortals.
His face unexpectedly reappeared around the door frame, leaning into the room and directing his gaze unswervingly to Marie-Laure. “I’ve heard, Madame, that you have a gift in administration?”
Feeling like a rock star herself with Robere’s attention turned directly towards her, Marie-Laure’s face flushed crimson red and she coyly downplayed his enquiry. “Before I was married I was an office manager for a large international law firm, but that was twenty years ago,” Marie-Laure explained.
“Well, I have a position for you if you will accept it. I need someone honest and Godly to manage the family’s businesses. It won’t be an easy job but I’ll make it worth your while; let’s say 120,000 francs per annum plus bonuses?”
Marie-Laure breathed in deeply and almost fainted. Was she really hearing what she thought she was being offered?
*~*~*~*
Chapter 67
Mishy lay awake, listening attentively to the shuffling noises outside the tent, trying to stifle a stubborn bout of the giggles and making sure her frivolity hadn’t disturbed her peacefully sleeping family. The heavy canvas structure could easily accommodate the whole family with room to spare for visitors, but Eddie and Bob had opted to sleep by the fire and under the stars in their swags. After a few hours it soon became evident why Bob had decided on the outdoors option, with large, dragging breaths rapidly disintegrating into erupting cavernous snores and reverberating around Nanjilgardie’s rock amphitheatre like a speeding freight train until finally Eddie had had enough. Listening to Eddie’s complaining mumbles, almost drowned out by Bob’s resonating drainage, left Mishy battling to restrain a muffled giggle when she heard Eddie drag his swag as far away from Bob as he could get.
Moments later, the nasally rock concert came to an abrupt end, prompting the inquisitive matriarch to wonder what had just taken place. Crawling quietly to the transparent flyscreen tent flaps, she could just make out Eddie standing over Bob and clandestinely placing something onto his exploding blow-off valve. She stared at the scene with curiosity, wondering what—and how—Eddie had silenced the big policeman’s performance, and then remembered the bag of flour left purposefully on the table for the morning’s use with a clothes peg holding its contents firmly closed.
As Eddie backed away from the silenced policeman and Bob’s heavy frame became identifiable in the lightly glowing embers, she could just make out the apex frame of the peg gently holding Bob’s flapping air intake resolutely closed. Mishy’s shoulders shuddered violently as she crawled back to bed and lay next to Butch, desperately trying to stifle a burgeoning giggle and preventing an outburst that would wake her sleeping family; but her mind wouldn’t cooperate and stimulated the giggles instead, repeating the amusing image of the peg on Bob’s nose and Eddie innocently slinking away, leaving Mishy’s face buried in her pillow trying to regain control.
The next time Mishy’s eyes slowly opened from sleep, the sun had climbed well into the morning sky. The girls were up playing and splashing in the clear waters of Nanjilgardie while Butch lay beside her, propped up on one elbow and quietly watching her sleep. Suddenly awake and pondering him through sleepy eyes, she smiled at her adoring man as he leaned in and chased away any further possibility of slumber with a kiss that lasted many seconds and stole her breath away.
“I love you, Mish; you’re my delight and my soul mate.”
Mishy cuddled closer to her man and drew his arms around her. “I love you, too. I don’t know what I would have done without you.”
“Come on you two! That’s enough of the mushy stuff.”
A smiling Bob Maxwell stood at the tent door with two cups of steaming billy tea in his hands and a red mark on his nose from Eddie’s attempts at pegging off the snoring horrors. Mishy gawked at the policeman’s nose and then burst out laughing. At least now she could give voice to her amusement.
“Yeah, go on, laugh; I suppose it was your idea?” Maxwell chided, placing the cups on the ground by the tent and rubbing his nose.
Mishy shuddered, laughing, shaking her head at the same time and struggling to breath, remembering the image of the peg on Bob’s nose and Eddie’s mischievous image slinking away from the crime scene.
“Your accomplice, Mr Namitijarra, will get what’s coming to him, too,” Bob threatened indignantly.
Mishy drew in a tortured gasp and then exploded with another uncontrolled hysterical shriek, holding her sides with joyous pain and desperately trying to stop laughing but finding it impossible each time her tear-filled eyes settled on Bob’s peg mark.
*~*~*~*
Today was the day they packed up and returned home, reluctantly leaving Nanjilgardie’s oasis to languish unspoilt and wrapped in the deep anonymity of the vast desert wasteland. The weekend at Nanjilgardie had been a God-send, ironing out the stress and gnarled emotions of the past few days and re-cementing the tattered and bruised family fabric, but at the same time giving Mishy and Butch an opportunity to discuss Danica’s growing isolation and the emotional needs of a vibrant and beautiful station bred young woman. By the time the trailer had been loaded and the family settled into the wagon for the journey home, Eddie had already saddled his horse and packed his swag before mounting the powerful animal for the long, hot trip back to Pearl Springs.
Stretching behind the speeding vehicle, a burgeoning cloud of red dust hung like a curtain in the burnt opal-blue sky and completely obliterated the image of the towed trailer following so close behind the juddering vehicle. In places, Butch had to slow right down for bone jarring corrugations and washouts stretching across the station access track, left behind as a reminder of a bygone era in Pearl Springs’ rainy weather history.
In the distant shimmering heat haze, a figure stood in the middle of the track, prompting Butch to ease off the accelerator and ponder the unusual scene. As the slowing family wagon came closer, the image stretched into focus; but the wedge-tailed eagle standing over a metre tall and firmly guarding a meal of fresh road kill, prepared to hold his ground and compel the vehicle to back off, enforced by the steely, hungry stare of Australia’s biggest raptor. Butch changed down several gears and slowed further, allowing the awestruck family an opportunity to gaze close up at the majestic eagle, but as the wagon overstepped the eagle’s boundaries and intruded on the battleline drawn up by the raptor, the majestic bird took flight. Spreading its wings a full two metres from wing tip to wing tip and using its full span to overcome gravity, the wedgie launched its hungry four-kilogram mass into the cloudless hot atmosphere, circling its dinner and once the threat had diminished and moved on, returned to the dusty table and gorged on its rightful meal.
“That’s a fresh dead roo,” Maxwell offered, turning his attention from the dust ravaged wing mirror to Butch as he coaxed the wagon back up to speed.
“Yeah, it’d been hit by a vehicle,” Butch replied, growing more concerned.
“Could be a neighbour,” Bob tried to play down the incident, but judging by the amount of media interest in the area over the past days, it was highly unlikely. Soon the guessing game diminished and the verbal back and forth over Mishy and between Butch and Bob ceased, internalising t
heir thoughts instead and staring into the afternoon heat.
Butch suddenly flinched as if he’d been stung, but he didn’t have time to verbalise the thoughts before Maxwell mumbled, seeing the image through the windscreen too and now Mishy was pointing at the same distraction. For the second time in just a few kilometres, Butch slowed the vehicle, trying to identify the wobbling shapes through the extreme afternoon heat haze. The Slater family four-wheel drive drew closer until the shimmering image focused through the mirage and took on a huge box shape, looking incredulously like a house blocking the station access track.
As the Slater vehicle approached and drew within two hundred metres of the image, Bob’s deep gravelly voice broke the tense silence. “Stop here, Butch!” Maxwell ordered. “You might want to keep the kids in the car, Mishy; this doesn’t look good.”
The afternoon heat pounded down on the scene and hit the two men like a sledgehammer as they alighted the air conditioned station wagon and cautiously sauntered up to the late model Range Rover. The driver door hung open like a demented, lifeless broken limb and as they guardedly approached the stationary vehicle, it was clear that the dead roo they had just passed and the badly damaged vehicle almost certainly had something in common. Bob Maxwell went into immediate policeman mode, searching through the deserted vehicle, however it soon became obvious whoever the vehicle belonged to were seriously unprepared for the extremes of outback conditions and worse still, footprints indicated they had deserted their main means of shelter from the blistering sun.
Ambling to the front of the vehicle, Bob glanced at Butch and then turned his attention to the severely damaged bonnet and bodywork, noticing the dark water stain in the dust directly under the engine. With an effort, Bob dropped to his haunches and felt the red sand with his fingertips. “The remains of the radiator water and it’s cold, Butch; must have happened last night or early this morning.”