Sarah's Baby. Margaret Way

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      “I know that, Joe.” Sarah’s voice, like her body, was growing faint. She stiffened her back. “I could never forget either of you and your kindnesses. No, I’ll stay over the shop. Thank you for ringing, Joe.” Sarah couldn’t manage another word, so she hung up feeling as though she was dying herself. Swiftly she lowered her head to her knees. She would feel better in a moment. She had to feel better. She had things to do. She had to bury her mother. Her mother, her father and her child. She raised a pale, bitter face.

      And, God—are you up there? She seriously doubted it. I’m going to miss her so much!

      IT WAS LATER AFTERNOON when Kyall McQueen touched down at Wunnamurra’s airstrip, taxiing the Beech Baron until it came to rest in the huge silver hangar with the station’s name and logo emblazoned in royal blue on its roof. He’d been in Adelaide for almost a week, looking after McQueen business interests. Wunnamurra had always been among the nation’s finest merino-wool producers, but the family had long since diversified. It was Kyall who had convinced his grandmother to buy Beauview Station, owned by the Youngberg family, winegrowers in the beautiful South Australian Clare Valley. Carl Youngberg, the grandfather and head of the family, had died, leaving the business in crisis. Seeing an opportunity and loving the whole business of wine, Kyall had moved in. The next step had been to secure the services of a great winemaker returning home from years in Europe. It hadn’t been easy persuading the man to take over Beauview—he had a top name—but in the end they had stitched up a deal. It was, Kyall knew, a fantastic coup. Already the newly formed company had bounced back with the promise of wonderful wines from their new production manager/winemaker.

      There were other developments, too. McQueen Enterprises, of which he was now CEO since his grandmother had vacated the position, had moved into specialty foods, growing olives and mushrooms on their properties on the Darling Downs. To prevent waste and enhance that region’s culinary reputation, he had hired top people to open and run a factory making use of tree- and vine-ripened olives and tomatoes rather than see such splendid produce plowed back into the ground. Supermarkets only wanted produce that was picked green, which considerably affected the taste, especially of tomatoes. Now their factory made a whole range of sauces, relishes and preserves; these were proving a big hit in the specialty delicatessens.

      So one way or another, he was doing his bit and making life a little easier for a lot of people.

      Several members of the extended McQueen family had been brought into the company, boosting the capital. Every time he visited Adelaide, the family arranged a few parties, a mixture of business, pleasure and moneymaking. They were all delighted that he was so good at this. Hell, what else did he have to devote himself to but work?

      Yesterday he’d talked over lunch with his great-uncle Raoul McQueen, a prominent merchant banker and McQueen board member, and his uncle’s lifelong friend, Senator Graham Preston. It was all very, very discreet, but he could see that they hoped he’d give running for Parliament a try in the not-too-distant future.

      They were at his uncle’s club, a haven of comfort and privacy, and a natural rendezvous spot for the country’s power brokers when in town.

      “May I remind you, Kyall, the McQueens have always been involved in politics,” his uncle pointed out jovially. “It’s time for you to do your share. After all, you’ve been promoting a whole raft of ideas.”

      “With which I agree absolutely,” said the senator with a little nod of his snow-white handsome head. “If you decide to go in, I can tell you, we’ll be right behind you. The party needs young men like you.”

      “And who exactly would run Wunnamurra?” Kyall had asked laconically, eyeing his uncle, who occasionally spent time relaxing at the family station.

      “Didn’t you tell me you’d found an excellent overseer? What’s his name?”

      “Dave Sinclair. Who will be excellent eventually. Right now he still needs a little help.”

      “But what about Ruth? Enid and Max, for that matter?” his uncle had persisted.

      Kyall had answered patiently, “Gran doesn’t play the dominant role she once did. You know that, Raoul. Maybe she’s still a powerhouse, but she’s seventy-five years old.”

      “You can work it out,” his uncle had said then, plucking at his mustache. “After all, Malcolm Fraser was a sheep farmer before he became prime minister.”

      “Fraser was a big guy.”

      “So are you,” his uncle had returned, smiling. “You have a wonderful combination of assets. Financial and political expertise, brains, daring, imagination. A great sense of mission.”

      Kyall had had to laugh. “All of which could get me into trouble, if not destroy me. Those qualities aren’t admired in some circles.”

      “They are in ours.” The senator had met his eyes directly. “All we’re asking is that you think about it, Kyall. There’s no one I’d like to recruit more. It’s no disadvantage to be a McQueen, either. The McQueens have had a sense of obligation to their country right from colonial days.”

      “People put their trust in you,” his uncle had put in. “You can talk to anyone about anything—a whole cross-section of people—with equal charm and ease. It’s a talent most politicians would give their eyeteeth for. You have a natural aura of authority, but you’re not in the least arrogant. You have very real leadership skills. Lord, didn’t they say that about you all through school and university? Not only that, you really care about people. God knows how many owe their livelihood to the McQueens. All we’re asking you to do is think about it, Kyall. In my view and Graham’s, you have the potential to rise to the highest office.”

      “Praise indeed!” Kyall had answered casually. “But wasn’t I raised thinking my future was Wunnamurra? You know that, Raoul.”

      “There’s a great deal more to it—to you—than that. As we’ve already seen. I’ve heard you debate political issues with a passion. Don’t tell me you wouldn’t like to be on the front lines solving the nation’s problems. Think about it, Kyall. You’ve got the brains and the guts to make a difference. This nation is really on the move. You can be part of it.”

      For a while their enthusiasm had swept him along. Of course, he’d always been interested in politics. He’d grown up talking politics. His family had always been vitally interested in a fair deal for the man on the land. A number of McQueens had played a role in public life, all of them members of the Country Party, then the National Party now in coalition with the Liberal Party currently in power.

      Just as they were parting—the senator had gone off to another meeting—his uncle had asked him about his “love life.”

      “Is Ruth still pushing the Claydon girl at you?” This with a long, steady look.

      “Sometimes it’s very hard to get through to Gran.”

      “Ever hear from that little one, Sarah? Her father was a ringer, worked in our sheds. I’ve often wondered. The two of you were quite inseparable at one time. Lord knows how it went down with Ruth and your mother. An incredible pair of snobs. Sarah, ah, yes! As beautiful a creature as I’ve ever seen.”

      At any mention of Sarah’s name, anger and pain overtook him. “Sarah and I lost touch long ago. For her own reasons she wants no part of me. She’s been back in town a few times over the years to see her mother. Mostly her mother goes to see her. She’s a СКАЧАТЬ