Kimberley Sun Read online

  DI MORRISSEY is one of Australia’s bestselling international novelists. She trained as a journalist with Australian Consolidated Press and became Women’s Editor for the Daily Mail Group in London and worked as a creative copywriter for Ogilvy and Mather Advertising. She had her own television program in the United States on CBS and was a regular presenter on Network 10 Australia. In addition to radio broadcasting, she has written for TV, film and theatre. Di has also directed and produced films, TV programs and commercials. Kimberley Sun is her eleventh adult novel. Buster and the Queen Bee is her first children’s book.

  Di lives and works in Byron Bay, in New South Wales, in between travelling to research her books.

  Di Morrissey can be visited at her website:

  www.dimorrissey.com

  Also by Di Morrissey

  Heart of the Dreaming

  The Last Rose of Summer

  Follow the Morning Star

  The Last Mile Home

  Tears of the Moon

  When the Singing Stops

  The Songmaster

  Scatter the Stars

  Blaze

  The Bay

  Kimberley Sun

  Barra Creek

  The Reef

  Kimberley

  Sun

  DI MORRISSEY

  Special thanks to . . .

  Jim Revitt, uncle extraordinaire, for sharing the Broome experience and adding his valued comments.

  My daughter Dr Gabrielle and son Nick Morrissey for their love, humour and input from their own disciplines (relationship/sex counselling and Buddhist Studies). And Leila Shamsolkottabi for her Persian poetry and knowledge.

  Boris Janjic for his patience, love and constant care.

  The other men in my life, Publisher James Fraser, Lawyer Ian Robertson, with love and thanks. And for not minding when I don’t always do everything they suggest.

  To all my dearest family – this book has made me realise how special family is.

  To everyone at Pan Macmillan who works so hard for my books with such good spirit and humour. Especially those I bother the most – Bernadette Foley, Jane Novak, Roxarne Burns, and Chrissa Favaloro.

  And to everyone in Broome. Especially Wendy and Joe Albert, Penny Arrow, Val Burton, Roger and June Colless, Patrick Dodson, Bev Kinney, Pat Lowe, Georgia Morgan, Rod O’Halloran, Jimmy Pike, Martin Peirson-Jones, Bill Reed, Emily Rohr, Gaye Wotherspoon, and so many, many others who had time to answer questions.

  And also love and thanks to my Kimberley mentor, Susan Bradley, and Milton Cater for his carpet expertise and knowledge of Afghanistan.

  This edition published 2003 in Pan by Pan Macmillan Australia Pty Limited

  1 Market Street, Sydney

  Reprinted 2004 (twice), 2005, 2006

  Copyright © Lady Byron Pty Ltd 2002

  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 informational storage and retrieval system, without prior permission in writing from the publisher.

  National Library of Australia cataloguing-in-publication data:

  Morrissey, Di.

  Kimberley Sun.

  ISBN 0 330 36418 9.

  1. Interpersonal relations – Fiction. 2. Mothers and daughters – Fiction.

  3. Kimberley (W.A.) – Fiction. I. Title.

  A823.3

  Typeset in 11/13pt Sabon by Post Pre-press Group

  Printed in Australia by McPherson’s Printing Group

  Cover and text design: Deborah Parry Graphics

  Cover photograph: Pelusey Photographics

  Author photograph: Frank Petsch

  Quotes from Did I Tell You? by Elizabeth Knapp used with kind permission of the author. See: www.diditellyou.com

  Kimberley Sun is a work of fiction. The story, events and most of the characters in it are fictitious, although some people have kindly allowed their names to be used in the book.

  These electronic editions published in 2003 by Pan Macmillan Australia Pty Ltd

  1 Market Street, Sydney 2000

  The moral right of the author has been asserted.

  All rights reserved. This publication (or any part of it) may not be reproduced or transmitted, copied, stored, distributed or otherwise made available by any person or entity (including Google, Amazon or similar organisations), in any form (electronic, digital, optical, mechanical) or by any means (photocopying, recording, scanning or otherwise) without prior written permission from the publisher.

  Kimberley Sun

  Di Morrissey

  Adobe eReader format 978-1-74197-047-0

  Online format 978-1-74197-650-2

  EPUB format 978-1-74262-207-1

  Macmillan Digital Australia

  www.macmillandigital.com.au

  Visit www.panmacmillan.com.au to read more about all our books and to buy both print and ebooks online. You will also find features, author interviews and news of any author events.

  Contents

  Cover

  About Di Morrissey

  Also by Di Morrissey

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Thanks

  Copyright

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-one

  The Dune Party

  A Note from Di . . .

  For my mother, Kay Warbrook,

  her great friend Olga Parsey

  and in memory of Mum’s sister Annette Hutchinson.

  For my daughter, Gabrielle Morrissey and

  Gabrielle’s grandmother, Dorothy Morrissey –

  all inspiring women

  P r o l o g u e

  IN THIS REMOTE PART OF OUTBACK AUSTRALIA dawn was the most comfortable time of day. The lingering cold night air still had bite even though the warming early morning glow hinted at another day of soaring temperatures. Soon the blurry bush of the Kimberley landscape as seen through the dust-covered windscreen would transform into a harsh vista etched in bright light. The once-white Broome taxi was smothered in red dust and despite the air-conditioning, the passenger in the front seat felt he was breathing nothing but powder-fine grit.

  Bobby Ching, the cheerful young driver, had lightly dismissed his concerns about the terrible conditions. Matthias Stern had expected bitumen, or at least decent gravel roads. But then he had asked to see the real outback on his way to an important appointment. He’d come so far. Taken such risks. And now it seemed that everything depended on the man waiting for him on a cattle station in the Kimberley. Stern smiled to himself, as he thought yet again about the extraordinary combination of circumstances that put him in this place at this time. This trip was going to solve the problems that plagued him.

  Bobby saw his passenger settle down and refrained from chatting. They’d left Broome hours ago, to get a good start before the day got too hot. It was an unusual hire job that the German man had negotiated with Mr Choy, the owner of the taxi – a roundabout trip to Bradley Station for the charity races and a meeting with someone. That had Bobby intrigued. But his passenger had refused to talk about who he was meeting and why.

  Doesn’t matter, Bob
by decided. It’s the job that counts, and there’ll be a bonus in this one if all goes well. Thank you, all you folk out there, for booking all the flights into Bradley, Bobby thought, and making Matthias hire a car and me as his driver. Still, no hardship for him, he seems to have plenty of money. Researches and teaches something about art and archaeology at a university in Stuttgart. Long drive, but I’ll have some time off up there to knock over a few cans of beer with me mates. Ah, life can be good when your luck is in. He started humming, then he looked over again at his passenger.

  He’s pleasant enough. Looks very German. Fair hair, blue eyes, a red complexion, overweight in a doughy way, mid-fifties probably. A bit on the serious side – he doesn’t laugh at any of my jokes. But maybe he can’t handle my accent, Bobby mused. Asked me what languages I spoke and seemed surprised when I said only English. Ah well, that’s what comes with being a mix of Chinese, Aboriginal and Irish blood. People expect all sorts of things.

  The man eventually stirred. ‘Amazing,’ he said with pleasure. ‘It seems that every sunrise out here is spectacular.’

  ‘Look around, mate. You won’t see better than this.’ Bobby waved at the distant red and gold ranges, the stretch of tawny earth dotted with spinifex, dried-out grassland, termite mounds and spindly trees, with almost every branch twisted as if despairing.

  Bobby glanced to his right, attracted by a movement low in the sky, maybe an eagle. At the moment that his attention was diverted there was a flash from the bush on the passenger’s side and, in the next instant, a shuddering crash as a king kangaroo leapt in front of the car. It was hit, thrown onto the bonnet, shattered the windscreen, then tumbled back to the road as the car spun on the rough dirt, crashed through the low bush and crunched into a large rock.

  ‘Shit!’ Bobby reached over to Matthias. ‘You okay? Watch that windscreen glass. Christ, what a mess.’ He got out and examined the roo. ‘It’s a goner. Hell, the car’s a write-off. Mr Choy is gonna freak.’

  Matthias climbed out the driver’s door. ‘My side is jammed shut. What do we do? Where do we get help?’ He looked around as if expecting to see a sign to a garage or a phone box.

  ‘Help will come to us, mate. That’s the way it goes out here. All you need is patience. Still, we’ve got to see what works and what doesn’t.’

  A couple of hours later they were still there, leaning against the car on the shady side, trying to cope with increasing heat, the flies and the sense of isolation. They’d rigged up a small awning using a plastic sheet Bobby had found in the boot and some leafy branches broken off nearby trees. The radiator had smashed into the engine, making it useless, and the battery and radio were kaput.

  ‘I find it hard to believe that we’ve been here for hours and not one vehicle has come along,’ Matthias exclaimed, making no attempt to conceal his concern. ‘You know how important it is that I get to Bradley Station on time.’

  ‘Someone will be along some time today. It’s a big event, plenty of people will be going there along this track. Don’t worry.’ Bobby was more worried about getting the car back to his boss. What a bummer. He’d just started driving for him too.

  He was startled out of his reverie by Matthias getting his camera from the car and announcing, ‘I’m going for a walk.’

  ‘What for? There’s nothing to see out there.’

  ‘I need to relieve myself. And I want to take some pictures.’

  ‘Hey, no bushwalking. Just nick into the bushes and don’t go far from the car. It’s bloody dangerous out there,’ Bobby said.

  ‘Dangerous? You mean there are wild animals?’

  ‘Well, there are but not enough to worry you right here. I just don’t want you to get lost. It’s amazing how disoriented you can get in this sort of country. No landmarks, no tracks.’

  ‘Thanks, but I shall walk only a short way. I would like to take photos to impress my friends back home.’ He crossed the road and turned to focus on the car, took a photo, then strode into the bush to a large termite mound with a boab tree in the background. ‘Very nice pictures,’ he called to Bobby.

  Bobby was dubious about the German’s self-assurance and shouted back, ‘Don’t go far. Be back in fifteen minutes max, right?’ He then stretched out and tucked his rolled-up jacket under his head and covered his face with his hat.

  Matthias was fascinated. Through his camera lens it was like looking at a different planet. Startling a strange prehistoric-looking lizard, he chased after it and eventually got a shot of it as the lizard stared down from the safety of an overhanging branch. Matthias walked on a little, attended to the call of nature and used a piece of bark to scrape dirt over the spoiled spot, a gesture of respect for the land, he reasoned with a grin.

  A bird call led him to another tree, and another picture, this time of a brilliantly coloured parrot. He then turned around and realised that there was nothing to indicate the direction of the road. ‘Ah, that’s the way, I’m sure,’ he told himself on seeing another lizard running from him, assuming it was the same one he had photographed. Unfortunately it wasn’t.

  After half an hour of walking he realised he was lost. He climbed up to the low branches of a straggly tree, but couldn’t see any sign of the road. But he did notice a stand of slightly taller trees in the distance, and headed towards them.

  The sun was unblinking in its blazing glare when Bobby woke up. His clothes were soaked in sweat and he felt baked dry inside. He took a bottle of water from the front seat and gulped it, then looked around and realised Matthias wasn’t there. He glanced at his watch. It was eleven o’clock. ‘Jesus!’ he exclaimed. ‘That’s just what I need, a bloody tourist lost out here. Shit.’

  He walked into the bush a little and shouted, ‘Matthias.’ But after calling a few times there was still no response. Bobby went in a little further and called again. ‘Matthias? Matthias. Get back here. Cooee!’

  ‘No sign of the silly bastard.’ He ran back to the car, grabbed his hat and screwed the cap back on the water bottle. Breaking a branch from a tree he set out in the direction he thought Matthias had gone, dragging the branch in the dirt to leave a trail as he walked.

  Two hours later Bobby was back at the car, alone. He’d found no trace of Matthias and the heat was unbearable. He could only hope the German would find his way back or someone would come along the road to help with the search.

  Matthias too had called out many times, but heard nothing. He kept walking, although by now he was utterly exhausted. He could feel the heat sapping his energy, his face and neck were burning, the sports cap he was wearing was totally inadequate against the sun.

  Water. That was the prevailing thought in his mind. A drink of water. He’d left a bottle by the wheel of the car he was using as a back rest. He could picture it in vivid detail, every feature of the label’s bubbling spring. Now he could see a stream ahead, yes, real water over by that line of trees. He stumbled forward, and the stream disappeared.

  What am I doing in this God-forsaken land? ‘Help,’ he shouted, but no sound came from his lips. The world began to spin and he staggered over to a tree for support, then collapsed.

  What had seemed a straightforward proposition in Kuala Lumpur had led him down a tough road. If only his contract at the university had been renewed he might not have been so tempted to compromise his ethics. It had been his own fault, but each time he succumbed he swore this would be the last time, that this would pull him out of the mess he’d made of his life, his career. All he had to do was deliver his part of the deal to the contact in the Kimberley and do a little translating when the time came.

  But now every breath felt like a furnace blast. He struggled up, but fell again. Pulling himself to his hands and knees, he crawled a little further.

  Yes, there’s the car, shimmering in the distance. No, now it’s gone. The earth is cracking open. Is it going to swallow me? I can smell water. I can smell apples. Mother’s kitchen.

  He fell flat on his face and bit the red dirt, expecting
the taste of apple pie. He coughed, choked and lifted his head in dismay. The ball of the sun flared, blinding him. He saw the distinctive sun rays. ‘I have it, Hajid. We can begin the search.’

  His lips were swollen. No more talking. He bit his tongue, tasting salt and blood. Spreadeagled and helpless, his fingers clawed the clay pan. Then came oblivion.

  C h a p t e r O n e

  ‘DID YOU CRY AGAIN, LILY?’ The woman who was raking frangipani flowers from the carpet of green lawn outside the reception office leant her rake against the tree and walked over to Lily as she stepped out of the hire car.

  ‘Hi, Blossom. You bet. The minute the plane banked and I could see the red rocks, the colour of the water, the bay, the mangroves, the tin roofs, I was gone. Broome gets to me every time.’

  ‘Happens every year, eh? When are you going to move here, Lily?’ She looked at the elegant woman dressed in pale lemon linen pants and a cream silk shirt, with soft blonde hair reaching to her shoulders. Hardly a line on her face and she must be fifty, thought Blossom. So stylish and yet Lily fitted into Broome life.

  ‘Hey, come on, I’ve only just arrived. Swim first then a nap. Then I’ll think about tomorrow. But no further ahead than that.’

  Blossom, the tanned and wiry woman in charge of garden maintenance at Moonlight Bay Apartments, pulled Lily’s bag from the boot. ‘I’ll take it upstairs. Diane has put you in your usual apartment. It’s open. I’ve left some mangoes for you.’

  ‘Good on you, Bloss. Thanks. It’s so great to be here. I’d better go and check in, say hi to the big boss Martin.’