Outback Sunset (17 page)

She smiled as she remembered seeing Vanessa work her guts out to fit in, to learn all she could — much to Curtis’s ire. The man
she
wanted, had wanted, it seemed forever, didn’t like to be proven wrong about anything. Then a thought found its way into her head — if he could be wrong about Vanessa, then wasn’t it possible that he’d come round and see her, Nova, as a woman, not just the kid he’d watched grow up.

Nova was not abnormally vain but she knew she could just about take her pick when it came to men. She had a good body, looked fantastic and she was smart, but the only thing she wanted, Curtis — more than recognition and fame as a country and western singer — remained an elusive dream. She sniffed back a tear of frustration. What was the matter with Curtis anyway? Emotionally, he was over Georgia and he wasn’t interested in anyone else so what did she have to do to make him see her as the future Mrs Curtis Selby?

Because of her background and living with Fran, the most down-to-earth person she knew, she was practical enough to realise that it was smart to have a long-term backup plan. That was why, as a result of Nova’s questions and sly suggesting, Vanessa’s agent had asked around and got the name of a contact. While in Sydney she was going to see an
agent who specialised in bands and artists who worked the country and western show circuit. As early as tomorrow evening she had an appointment with Anthea Dennison, with the possibility — her heart thumped heavily in her chest — of doing a live audition at a Sydney club.

Thinking about the audition made her restless and she shifted along the bench, seeking some dappled shade. It was her hope that seeing Curtis away from the station’s environment, and with her looking spectacular, would create a spark of attraction. Her lips pursed with irritation because she recalled what her stepmother had said before she’d left. Fran had twigged a good while ago that she was in love with Curtis and had remarked in that frank way she had that she didn’t think Curtis would reciprocate. What did the old fart know? Bugger all! Her jaw clenched with annoyance and she quickly dismissed Fran’s opinion as un-important. She had waited too long to give up when, now, she had her best chance. Somehow she would win his love, no matter what it took!

Through her sunglasses she saw Curtis and his daughter coming towards her and waved a welcome.

Curtis, in jeans, a striped casual shirt, a peaked cap on his head and sporting joggers, looked pretty cool, like a real city bloke. He was holding Regan’s hand and she noted that the girl was tall for her age with red hair like Georgia. She hoped the girl’s temperament was different to her mother’s — that would make the kid easier to like. Still, she would do the right thing and compliment Regan on her height and hair. Girls liked you to notice that they were growing up.

Mentally she reviewed the plan she had devised. First: win over the kid. That was easy if you sounded sincere and gave them plenty of attention. Second: work on the father, let him see that you’d make an ideal stepmother, and be so damned attractive, alluring and pleasant that he wouldn’t be able to resist. She knew what not to do because of Fran! She and her stepmother had never hit it off because Fran, in the beginning, had tried too hard. From an early age, Nova had resented Fran taking her birth mother’s place, though Lucy Lee, her real mum, had had no difficulty in giving her up because she was ‘tainted’ with white blood. What had resulted was an overall distrust of Fran’s sometimes clumsy attempts to mother her.

‘Hello.’ Nova bounced up from the bench as they got close. ‘Regan, how you’ve grown.’ She winked conspiratorially at the youngster. ‘I guess everyone tells you that?’

Regan nodded. She was shy because she didn’t remember who Nova was.

‘Nova works at Amaroo,’ Curtis reminded his daughter. ‘She’s known you since you were a baby.’

Nova winked again at the girl. ‘But I didn’t do nappy-changing duty so you don’t have to feel embarrassed. I used to play with you and take you for rides on the little grey pony, Peter Pan. Do you remember him?’

Regan smiled politely, ‘I do.’

Curtis grinned at his daughter, and the warmth of his smile included Nova as well. ‘Any idea as to what we might do today?’ he asked Nova.

‘Have you been on the Manly ferry?’ Nova asked, focussing her attention on Regan.

‘No, I’ve been on the Taronga Zoo ferry on a school excursion but that’s all.’

‘Why don’t we take the ferry to Manly, visit Oceanworld and have lunch on the wharf?’ Nova suggested. Having worked in Sydney she was familiar with several tourist-type places.

‘Sounds great.’ Curtis glanced towards Nova, and his expression said a silent thank you. ‘We can walk to the ferries at the Quay, it’s downhill all the way.’

‘Walk!
You?’
Nova queried, punctuating it with a chuckle. Bren and Curtis weren’t keen on walking. At Amaroo they rode horses, bikes or flew wherever they had to go.

‘You’re right,’ he admitted his weakness. ‘We’ll grab a cab.’ He threaded his arm through Nova’s and still holding Regan’s hand, they headed towards Circular Quay.

Nova allowed a smile to curve her well-shaped mouth. The day was starting well and if she had any influence over things, with Curtis being in Sydney for another week, there would be several more days like today.

The night Nova auditioned for Anthea Dennison’s Management Agency, Curtis came to the club to watch her perform, and it was his presence more than Anthea’s and the gathering of members that made her nervous. Perched on a bar stool, she strummed her borrowed guitar in an elongated arpeggio as she stared into the bright spotlight and sang the opening lyrics of ‘I’ve Never Been To Me’.
Then the desire to and thrill of performing took over. She forgot about Curtis, forgot about the audience and lost herself in the lyrics and melody of the plaintive ballad with flair and an unmistakable, unique style.

Sophisticated week night club crowds weren’t always appreciative of artists plying their trade but this audience took to Nova straight away and applauded long and loud enough for her to do an encore. Nova was pleased, as was Curtis and the agent. Afterwards, they sat at a table together.

‘You’re a natural, Nova. You need to work up a good repertoire, get charts done and have moby backing discs so you can work without live bands. Do that and I’ll have you working your tail off in no time at all,’ Anthea declared with an accompanying sleek, professional smile.

Overwhelmed by the agent’s enthusiasm, Nova began to prevaricate. ‘The charts and CD, they cost a lot of money, I suppose?’

‘Yes, but they’re necessary investments for your future as an entertainer. There’s a lot of competition around and you need to be professional, if you want to get regular work,’ Anthea responded without hesitation. ‘I can help in that respect, give you a few contact names. You should also get a professional to help you organise your repertoire — work out numbers that suit your voice and style, as well as what’s popular on the club scene.’

‘Do it, Nova,’ Curtis encouraged, ‘you’ve too much talent to waste on camp fire sing-a-longs at Amaroo.’

‘It’s a big step, Curtis. I-I want to think about it.’

‘Sure, it is a new world, a new life.’ Anthea agreed. The reed slender woman with shoulder length chestnut hair finished her Campari and soda and stood up. ‘Don’t wait too long. The window of opportunity can close as quickly as it opens.’

Later that night, as she lay in her modestly priced hotel bed, wanting to fall asleep but unable to, Nova did some serious thinking. Anthea had given her a glimpse into a very different life, the world of entertaining, of possible adulation and appreciation but, was it what she really wanted? She thought about Curtis and the years she had waited for and wanted him. If she followed her other dream it was unlikely that he would be a part of it. Damn it, she sighed into the darkness and thumped the pillow for good measure. She wanted both but instinct and commonsense told her that might not be possible. She had to choose one or the other … Curtis or the music.

In the morning the state of the bed — sheets and covers twisted, pillows askew — was evidence of the restless night she’d had, mentally debating the problem. Just before dawn she made her decision. She cared too much for Curtis and he was more important than a singing career.

A
s soon as the worst of the wet subsided, and the rain eased to a steady downpour which was safe to fly in, by way of giving Vanessa a break, Bren whisked her off in the Cessna to Broome to visit his uncle and family. This year the wet had virtually bypassed Broome but with a supply of water from up north guaranteed, the town wasn’t suffering from a water shortage.

The Selby’s home was all and more than Vanessa expected it to be. Two storeys high and of palatial dimensions, it had an internal spa room and all rooms were climate controlled. The sculptured outdoor pool and the sub-tropical gardens reflected an Asian influence which wasn’t surprising because much of Broome had originally been settled by Malay and Japanese divers and their families late in the nineteenth and the early part of the twentieth century. Vanessa was particularly envious of Diane’s garden with its lushness and tall palms, and compared it to the difficulty of keeping a half-decent garden alive at Amaroo.

A few hours after their arrival, Stuart came home. Dressed in shorts, sandals and a singlet top, he
looked more like a run-of-the-mill tourist than one of Broome’s most prosperous residents. The only give-away that he was a businessman was his expensive crocodile skin attaché case. He gave the case to Ling, the house boy, to deposit in the study as he came in.

As she sat in the spacious living room with its view of sandhills and sea, something in Vanessa’s expression must have shown her surprise at the way he was dressed. Stuart prefaced his words with a laugh and said, ‘We dress for comfort, rather than to impress. I’ve been at the pearl farm. It’s located in an estuary and it’s always bloody warm there.’

After all round greetings, the four gravitated to the pool with its covered cabana and wet bar and were soon joined by the two youngest Selby daughters, Gillian and Anna, who were in their late teens.

As Bren and Stuart organised drinks at the bar, Vanessa, watching them, found herself noting a strong family resemblance. They were about the same height and build, though Bren’s hair was brown with a curl to it while Stuart’s was sandy coloured, like Curtis’s, with distinguishing flecks of silver at the temples. There were other similarities too — their eyes were the same colour and when they smiled, their mouths quirked in a similar manner. Quite remarkable, really, because when she mentally pictured Curtis’s features and from photos she had seen of Matthew Selby, Bren bore no close resemblance to his brother or father, but then she shrugged off the observation. Perhaps he was more like Hilary’s side of the family.

Bikini clad Gillian and Anna came out of the cabana and dived into the deep end of the pool where they began to horse around, trying to dunk and out-splash each other.

A wave of water sloshed up over the pool and onto Stuart’s feet as he carried drinks back to the table. ‘Keep the splashing down the other end, girls,’ he ordered, his forehead knitting in a disapproving frown.

‘Oh, relax, Stuart, they’re just having fun,’ Diane defended the girls.

His deepening frown was the only outward sign that Stuart had heard her comment. He directed his conversation to Bren as soon as he’d settled. ‘So, you got over your financial hiccup at Amaroo?’

‘Thanks to Vanessa,’ Bren replied with disarming honesty, saluting his wife with his coldie in its insulated holder.

‘Is that so?’ Stuart glanced speculatively at Bren’s wife and when he spoke his voice had an edge to it. ‘I wasn’t aware that British theatre paid
that
well. I thought stars lived the high life and spent up to their earnings.’

‘Don’t believe everything you read in women’s magazines, and especially not about this star,’ Bren said with a chuckle. ‘If Vanessa never took to the stage again or did another movie role, her financial position would be, shall we say, comfortable.’ He looked at her for confirmation, ‘Wouldn’t it, hon?’

Vanessa didn’t like talking about money and especially not about her money to Stuart Selby even though they were, technically, related. ‘I guess so. Kerri’s a good financial manager as well as a
topnotch theatrical agent. She makes sure my investments do well.’

‘I’ve a couple of ventures on the boil here. Perhaps you’d consider investing some of your much prized British pounds in them?’ he asked, continuing to ignore Diane’s disapproving glance.

‘Sorry, Stuart, Kerri handles all my investments.’

‘You could make a killing,’ Stuart said, his tone changing to its persuasive best.

‘Darling, please, not business,’ Diane interrupted smoothly. She shook her head at her husband. ‘Sometimes,’ her smile towards Bren and Vanessa was apologetic, ‘he doesn’t know when to switch off. Besides, we’ve more exciting news to tell you.’

Bren and Vanessa waited expectantly.

‘Our eldest daughter, Kim, is going to have a baby.’

‘Little Kimmy,’ Bren’s open palm hit the table with a thud of surprise. ‘I don’t believe it, she’s still just a kid.’

‘Some kid. She’s five months older than you, Bren. I despaired that she’d ever settle down and produce a family,’ Diane, proud grandmother-to-be, advised.

‘That’s wonderful,’ Vanessa said enthusiastically. ‘Has Kim been married for long?’

‘Four years. She and Tom are very excited about the baby. They work at the pearl farm Stuart has an interest in. Our other married daughter, Traci, is envious — she and her husband, Vance, have been trying for two years to have a baby. You’ll meet them and their husbands at dinner tonight. But,’ Diana’s mouth quirked in a derisive half-smile that didn’t quite extend to her eyes, ‘I’m not sure Stuart is as thrilled as I am by the news.’

‘I’m too young to be a grandfather,’ he said gruffly, pouting. ‘Walking a pram around town will spoil my image.’

‘And what precisely is your … image?’ Vanessa asked tongue-in-cheek though she thought she had a good idea of what
he
believed it to be.