Silver Clouds Read online

  Fleur McDonald lives on a large farm east of Esperance in Western Australia, where she and her husband Anthony produce prime lambs and cattle, run an Angus cattle and White Suffolk stud and produce a small amount of crops. They have two children, Rochelle and Hayden. Fleur snatches time for her writing in between helping on the farm. Silver Clouds is her fourth novel.

  www.fleurmcdonald.com

  Also by Fleur McDonald

  Red Dust

  Blue Skies

  Purple Roads

  FLEUR

  MCDONALD

  This is a work of fiction. The people depicted in this novel are not real and geographical locations are not necessarily described as they are in real life.

  First published in 2013

  Copyright © Fleur McDonald 2013

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without prior permission in writing from the publisher. The Australian Copyright Act 1968 (the Act) allows a maximum of one chapter or 10 per cent of this book, whichever is the greater, to be photocopied by any educational institution for its educational purposes provided that the educational institution (or body that administers it) has given a remuneration notice to Copyright Agency Limited (CAL) under the Act.

  Arena Books, an imprint of

  Allen & Unwin

  83 Alexander Street

  Crows Nest NSW 2065

  Australia

  Phone: (61 2) 8425 0100

  Email: [email protected]

  Web: www.allenandunwin.com

  Cataloguing-in-Publication details are available

  from the National Library of Australia

  www.trove.nla.gov.au

  ISBN 978 1 74237 483 3

  Set in 13/17.5 pt ITC Garamond by Midland Typesetters, Australia Printed and bound in Australia by Griffin Press

  10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  To my brother, Nicholas Parnell and sister,

  Susan Woolford: you are my strength, my rock,

  my core, as family is.

  And, as always, to Anthony, Rochelle and

  Hayden, with much love.

  Contents

  Author’s note

  Chapter 1: London, January 2010

  Chapter 2: London, three days later

  Chapter 3: Nullarbor Plains

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Epilogue: Six months later

  Acknowledgements

  Author’s note

  The Nullarbor is a very special place steeped in history. Although it is vast, and the distance between stations and people is great, the sense of community is strong.

  None of the stations or people in this book are real or based on any one person or place. You may, however, recognise a mixture of family histories and stations all rolled into one to create Danjar Plains.

  I have also taken liberties with the amount of plane action out there. Mostly people drive the distances.

  Chapter 1

  London, January 2010

  Tessa’s first realisation was that her head hurt. Not just hurt, but felt like it was going to explode.

  She opened one eye, but shut it again quickly – the light was blinding. A familiar feeling of nausea rose in her throat. Swallowing hard, she tried to work out where she was. Her mouth was dry and she craved water. What on earth had happened last night?

  She slowly turned over but froze in the tangled sheets when her hand made contact with a warm body. Her eyes flew open. Not again. Please Lord, not again!

  But there was no avoiding it. Or the man lying beside her, for that matter. His face was half-hidden by the bedclothes, but she could see a gold earring in his left ear and a thick gold pinkie ring on his hand, which was thrown carelessly across the pillow.

  ‘Oh no!’ The words burst from her, but before she could say anything more she shot out of bed and ran from the room in search of the bathroom.

  Frantically opening doors, she at last found the toilet.

  Later, her head resting on the cool porcelain tiles, Tessa berated herself for getting so drunk she couldn’t remember the previous evening.

  After a while, she heard a deep, masculine cough through the paper-thin walls and wondered if it was her mysterious companion.

  From the unfamiliar bed.

  In the unfamiliar flat.

  She dragged herself up off the floor. Catching sight of her reflection in the mirror, she gasped. She’d forgotten that only yesterday she’d had her thick dark hair cut so short the waves now hugged her skull, and on a dare from Jaz, had dyed her new locks blonde. There was more fun to be had, Jaz had assured her if you were blonde. She had apparently lived up to that expectation.

  To top it off her olive skin was pasty, her eyes bloodshot and pink-rimmed. It wasn’t Tessa Mathison staring back at her. It was a stranger. She groaned and shut her eyes, letting her head fall forward.

  Now she had to go out and interact with someone she didn’t even know, despite having already shared the most intimate of moments with him.

  As she turned on the tap she heard another voice, female this time, and recognised her friend Jasmine’s throaty giggle. ‘Charlie, don’t do that, you naughty boy!’ said Jaz, though she didn’t sound like she meant a word of it. Still, Tessa was pleased to know Jaz was in the flat, too.

  She wasn’t alone.

  There was a gentle tap on the door. ‘Tessa, are you finished? I’m a bit keen to use the loo.’

  ‘Ah, I’ll be right out, she called and doused her face with cold water. Straightening, she ignored her pounding head and grabbed the nearby towel to wrap around her slight frame. She plastered on a smile. If only she could remember the man’s name . . .

  ‘Sorry,’ she said as she opened the door.

  She tried to pass him without being touched, but the man placed a hand on her bare shoulder and smiled. ‘Good morning. How is my little Australian jillaroo today?’

  Australian jillaroo? Hell. She must have been beyond pissed. Tessa hoped she hadn’t done her kangaroo act with Jasmine in tow.

  ‘Um, morning,’ she muttered, blushing. ‘Fine. Bit of a headache, that’s all.’

  ‘I’ve got something to help fix that problem. Top drawer, next to my bed.’ He winked.

  Tessa went to thank him but he’d already shut the door. Feeling like her head was about to fall off she found her way back to the bedroom.

  Pulling open the drawer, she rummaged around in search of Panadol or something stronger. She found something much stronger: a small plastic bag of white powder. Tessa, being no stranger to the London party scene, guessed it was cocaine.

  ‘Damn,’ she whispered and slammed the drawer shut. Maybe she should just pretend she’d never seen it. Yes, that’s what she’d do.

  Clothes, she needed her clothes. Seeing them next to the bed, s
he dropped the towel and lunged towards the pile which had obviously been dropped there in a hurry. She tugged them on, wrinkling her nose at the smell of beer and cigarette smoke. She fixed her hair and makeup as best she could without a mirror.

  Never seen it, never heard of it. Do I know you? It was something she’d always said to her Aunty Spider when she was a little girl and trying to get out of trouble. It had never worked, though. Aunty Spider could always see through her.

  Always, Tessa thought as she remembered her great-aunt’s most recent letter in her handbag. The letter she still hadn’t answered.

  Jasmine stumbled into the bedroom, a man’s white business shirt wrapped around her like a robe. ‘Well, helloooo, daaarling!’ she said, her tone formal. ‘Weren’t you a little party animal last night!’ Jaz wiggled her eyebrows up and down suggestively.

  Grabbing Jaz’s arm, Tessa steered her down the hall and into the front room of the flat. ‘Who are these two?’ she whispered. ‘And what did I do last night? I want to die!’

  ‘Oh, don’t worry, sweetness. I have everything under control. Unnnderrr controllll. Now, I believe we may need a coffee. Or another drink.’

  ‘Are you mad? If I never see another drink it will be too soon! Do you know what his name is?’ asked Tessa.

  ‘John Smith. Come!’ Jasmine slipped her arm through Tessa’s and tried to propel her towards the tiny kitchen, but Tessa pulled away.

  ‘You don’t really believe that’s his name, do you?’ Tessa groaned, putting her hand to her head. ‘Bloody hell, I’ve got to find some Panadol.’ She looked around for her handbag, but couldn’t see it.

  She stuck her head out of the door and combed the entrance. Ah, there it was buried under her coat, which had been dumped on the mat near the front door.

  Tipping the contents of her bag onto the floor, she fossicked around until she found a screwed-up packet with two tablets left in it. Throwing the tablets into her mouth she swallowed them without water, then stuffed everything back into her bag. She’d start to feel better soon. Twenty minutes and at least the edge of the headache would be gone.

  ‘So, what’s with the Queen’s accent?’ asked Tessa, looking up at her friend.

  ‘I’m being impressive,’ Jaz said as regally as a woman wrapped in a rumpled shirt and not much else could before heading towards the kitchen.

  ‘What is she on?’ Tessa muttered after her and clambered to her feet.

  So-called John Smith appeared at the door. ‘What a night, huh, ladies?’ He grinned, his arms stretched out towards Tessa. ‘What. A. Night.’

  Tessa backed away. ‘I’m very sorry, um, John,’ she answered, emphasising his name while feigning disappointment. ‘I have a meeting in . . .’ She glanced at her watch. ‘. . . about an hour and a half and I’ll need to prepare . . . I’m afraid I can’t get out of it. I’ll just call a cab.’

  John pouted. ‘You’re no fun. All work and no play will make you a very dull girl. I wanted to try the, um . . . what was it? The wallaby hop again.’

  ‘Kangaroo,’ Jaz answered.

  ‘Right, right. The kangaroo hop.’

  Oh, no! ‘I really am very sorry.’

  Tessa tapped an app on her iPhone and asked John for the address. After she’d requested a taxi she gathered up her bag and coat and surreptitiously checked to see that her shirt wasn’t inside out.

  ‘Thanks so much for a great night,’ she said.

  ‘I’d like to do it again. Soon,’ John replied.

  Highly unlikely, thought Tessa, but she smiled sweetly because that was what you did when you were in marketing. After all, a girl never knew whether someone she’d met briefly might be useful in the future. ‘I’d like that,’ she said. ‘Jazzy, I’ll catch you at the office.’

  ‘You most certainly will.’ Jasmine inclined her head and turned to the man called Charlie, who had emerged dressed in a burgundy silk robe and matching slippers.

  ‘Going already, dear lady?’ he asked.

  ‘A meeting,’ John supplied.

  ‘Ah. Well, thank you for a wonderful evening.’

  ‘You’re welcome,’ Tessa answered. As she glanced around to make sure she hadn’t forgotten anything, her gaze fell on a swipe ID card similar to the one she wore at work, sitting on the mantlepiece, surrounded by jars and tins.

  Making out the emblem, she froze. Oh no. No, no, no, no!

  Without another word, she turned and ran out of the flat and down the tiny stairs.

  ‘Oh my . . . Bloody hell!’ She couldn’t stop, she had to keep running, had to get away. She hoped no one she knew had seen her last night, hadn’t seen her leaving with John Smith because if they had Tessa knew it would be the last work mistake she’d ever make. And it was his real name! She kept running, her cab forgotten.

  Tessa had just slept with the manager of Soho Marketing, the biggest rival of Marketing Matters, the firm she worked for. Her boss, Darcy Anderson, would sack her without a second thought, despite their family connections, if he knew she’d done the kangaroo hop with Smith. If only she could remember exactly what happened last night. Obviously there had been alcohol, meeting Jaz, maybe Bar Soho on Old Compton Street . . .

  She remembered the first three glasses of bubbly, which she’d drunk on an empty stomach. Then her insecurities about dancing had disappeared and the dance floor seductively beckoned. So had the bar, again and again. The dim lights, red walls and booze had given her a warm buzz. Sprinkled among the Champagnes there had been beer shooters and goodness knows what else. Then another and another. She gave up counting and trying to dredge up memories.

  ‘Idiot! What an idiot.’

  Hearing her iPhone chirping. She stopped her flight and rummaged in her handbag, cursing. She saw it was her brother. She couldn’t speak to Ryan now, not until she got some more painkillers – surely there was a Boots around somewhere . . . Or maybe she should just have another drink despite what she had said to Jaz. That would certainly fix the problem. Hair of the dog and all.

  She breathed deeply and shut her eyes, glad her Aunty Spider couldn’t see her.

  Her phone rang for a second time. Ryan again. Tessa frowned, calculating the time difference.

  Wow, it’s pretty early at home, she thought.

  ‘Hello, Ryan!’ Somehow she made her voice sound normal, cheery even.

  ‘Tessa. How’s it going?’

  ‘All good here,’ she said, walking on slowly. ‘I’m very busy, though. Just about to go into a meeting. Can I . . .’ She broke off as Ryan’s tone filtered through her muddled brain. Something was wrong.

  ‘No, Tessa, you can’t call back. I need to talk to you now. Where are you?’

  ‘Uh,’ she looked around at the unfamiliar setting. ‘Out on the street. What’s wrong?’ Fear made her voice unsteady.

  ‘There’s no easy way to tell you. I’m sorry. It’s Aunty Spider. She died last night.’

  Tessa stopped, her vision blurring as she tried to answer.

  ‘Tessa? Are you there? I know how much you loved her. We all did. Tessa?’

  Ryan’s voice seemed to be coming from a long way away. She crumpled to the pavement and sat there, suddenly thrust back to the Nullarbor and her dear Aunty Spider. Thoughts crowded her mind, of Spider’s smile, her gnarled hands, of her riding her clackety old yellow bike down the dirt roads of home.

  But the most terrible thought of all was that she’d not only let her Aunty Spider down, but now she could never, ever apologise.

  Chapter 2

  London, three days later

  ‘Mind the step,’ said a monotone voice, but Tessa had heard the recorded message so many times she barely registered it.

  Stepping off the Tube she pushed her way through the crowd. Everyone was in a hurry. She stumbled into the back of a man in a suit who turned and frowned at her, but never stopped talking into his phone. Muttering an apology she sidestepped him, hoisted her handbag over her shoulder and strode off in the direction of St James’s Street, walkin
g as quickly as her skirt would allow.

  Her eyes still felt sore from all the crying she’d done last night. Spider’s death had come as a huge blow. Coupled with the night spent in John Smith’s company, she felt like her new life might fall apart at any moment.

  It was a life Spider had helped her construct as a means of getting away from the memories and the guilt. Spider had contacted her nephew by marriage, Darcy Anderson, in London to see if he’d take Tessa on as a junior in his marketing business. He’d been happy to – he’d even agreed to take her friend Jaz on as well. Tessa had done reasonably well since she’d arrived, winning a small promotion two months earlier.

  She did love London. Sometimes she still found it difficult to believe she was living among places she’d only ever read about as a child: Piccadilly Circus, Leicester Square and Oxford Street. She hadn’t just read about them but learnt about them from the songs and tales Aunty Spider had told her.

  The reality, of course, was something else. None of the stories had mentioned the small corner off-licences or the litter that raced along on the wind as it blew off the Thames. There was little point, Tessa knew, in looking for a rubbish bin in London – bomb threats had put paid to those.

  The city was a melting pot of garbage, history, musty transport fumes and different cultures. In comparison Perth, where Tessa had gone to boarding school and then lived for five years afterwards, was pristine. The smell of the ocean that swept over the city as the Fremantle Doctor roared up the Swan River was fresh and moist. As for the Nullarbor, where she’d lived until she was twelve, its clean, dry air shimmered in the heat of summer.

  She stood waiting for the traffic lights to change. Tessa turned her face away from the bitter wind streaming up the street and recalled the previous night. Her father had phoned to let her know she had a week to get home for her aunt’s funeral. After he’d hung up, she sat in her room clutching the last letter from Aunty Spider and wept. Then, overcome with guilt and sadness, she’d tried to cry silently, without her flatmates hearing.