The Silent Country Read online

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Acknowledgments

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Di Morrissey

  The Silent Country

  First published in Macmillan in 2009 by Pan Macmillan Australia Pty Limited

  1 Market Street, Sydney

  Copyright © Lady Byron Pty Ltd 2009

  The moral right of the author has been asserted.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted by any person or entity (including Google, Amazon or similar organisations), in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, scanning or by any information storage and retrieval system, without prior permission in writing from the publisher.

  National Library of Australia

  Cataloguing-in-Publication data:

  Morrissey, Di.

  The silent country / Di Morrissey.

  ISBN 978-1-4050-3939-0 (pbk.)

  Northern Territory – Fiction.

  A823.3

  Typeset in 12.5/15 pt Sabon by Post Pre-press Group

  Printed in Australia by McPherson’s Printing Group

  Internal illustrations by Ted Hutchinson © Ted Hutchinson

  www.tedhutchinson.com

  The characters in this book are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Papers used by Pan Macmillan Australia Pty Ltd are natural, recyclable products made from wood grown in sustainable forests. The manufacturing processes conform to the environmental regulations of the country of origin.

  These electronic editions published in 2009 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.

  The Silent Country

  Di Morrissey

  Adobe eReader format

  978-1-74198-655-6

  EPub format

  978-1-74198-767-6

  Mobipocket format

  978-1-74198-711-9

  Online format

  978-1-74198-599-3

  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.

  Di Morrissey is one of the most successful bestselling writers Australia has produced. She began writing as a young woman, training and working as a journalist for Australian Consolidated Press in Sydney and Northcliffe Newspapers in London. She worked in television in Australia and Hawaii and in the USA as a presenter, reporter, producer and actress. After her marriage to a US diplomat, Peter Morrissey, they were posted to Singapore, Thailand, South America and Washington, DC. During this time she worked as a freelance journalist, TV and film scriptwriter and radio broadcaster, appeared in theatre productions and had several short stories published. Returning to Australia, Di continued to work in television before publishing her first novel in 1991.

  Di has a daughter, Dr Gabrielle Hansen and her daughter, Sonoma, is Di’s first grandchild. Di’s son, Nick Morrissey, is a Buddhist scholar and lecturer.

  Di and her partner, Boris Janjic, divide their time between Byron Bay and the Manning Valley in New South Wales when not travelling to research her novels, which are all inspired by a particular landscape.

  www.dimorrissey.com

  Also by Di Morrissey

  in order of publication

  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

  The Valley

  Monsoon

  The Islands

  There has come a time when we can no longer remain silent, but speak up for our country which is being sold, abused, mined, depleted, drained, over-worked, over-loved, its plants and animals becoming endangered and exterminated faster than we can know them.

  Our country is silent. So we must speak and act to save it.

  This novel is set prior to the Federal Government’s intervention in 2007 into the Northern Territory.

  DM

  July 2009

  To Sonoma Grace . . . my first grandchild.

  With the hope that you will experience the natural

  beauty of Australia and know a country which has been

  cared for, respected and left for generations to enjoy and

  appreciate. And that you too, will fight to keep it so.

  Acknowledgments

  To Lloyd Wood, (and lovely Margaret) who shared the story of his outback expedition which inspired the idea for this novel.

  To my family who share my days and to those we remember with love.

  Special love to my children Nick and Gabrielle (and all their extended families who love them too).

  Darling Boris, thanks for being there for me every minute of every day. I love you.

  Elizabeth Adams. Thanks for all your advice (even that unasked for!) and being a shoulder and a friend through life’s daily tribulations. And for being such a fantastic editor. Your input is invaluable and I even enjoy our arguments!

  There are so many kind and helpful people who took time and trouble to answer questions, show me places, share knowledge:

  My friend Susan Bradley for sharing her passion and knowledge of the North. Graeme Sawyer, Lord Mayor of Darwin and fighter for the environment. Ian Morris, Ecologist and Conservationist who shared his deep understanding of the landscape of Kakadu, Arnhem Land and its people. Françoise Barr, Archivist, Northern Territory Archives Service for her help in the Darwin Archives. Keith Adams (see www.crocodilesafariman.com) and my good friend, the Honourable Malarndirri (Barbara) McCarthy, M.L.A., Member for Arnhem.

  To everyone at my publisher, Pan Macmillan – James Fraser, father of the lovely Casey, for being supportive, understanding and always ready with a laugh; Ross Gibb, our fearless leader; my great buddy Jane Novak who is a tower of strength when we hit the road and whose awareness and sensitivity to indigenous issues has been helpful; Roxarne Burns, Jeannine Fowler, Elizabeth Foster, Katie Crawford, Jane Hayes and Maria Fassoulas and all the phenomenal sales team; everyone at the warehouse and the fabulous reps; and Rowena Lennox for her meticulous copy editing.

  And of course, the wise and wonderful Ian Robertson, gourmand, raconteur, family man and friend who also happens to be my lawyer.

  1

  IT WAS A SHORT, dead-end street lined with small white cottages. Years before, children had ridden bikes and scooters along the quiet road in safety. Now cars lined it, or were parked on the grass and double parked at the rear of the houses in a small laneway. Children�
��s laughter was absent. Men and women came and went in a hurried, sometimes harried, manner. Lights frequently burned late into the night.

  Behind the tiny street rose a large tower spiked with aerials, antennae and metal dishes. Around it were large grey cement studios surrounded by a bitumen parking lot filled with trucks, vans and a helicopter landing pad. The shadow of the Network Eleven tower fell across the red rooftops, a sentinel that dominated the surrounding residential suburbs.

  A car pulled up and double parked outside the cottage with number 8 on its letterbox. A girl jumped out and hurried up the path, opening the front door where a small stencilled sign said ‘Our Country’. The noise inside contrasted with the silent street. Chatter, people calling to each other, ringing phones and, from what was once a bedroom, voices on a tape that was being rewound forwards and backwards to edit.

  She tossed her car keys in a bowl on the table inside the front door. Like all the other key rings there, it had a tag attached to it for identification. She strode into the kitchen and poured herself a cup of coffee from the large coffeemaker. A man was making himself a piece of toast.

  ‘Morning, Stu, I’ve parked behind you. You must have got here early.’

  ‘I’ve been editing all night. What’ve you got on this week, Veronica?’

  ‘Chasing stories. We’re a bit thin on the ground. Everything seems a bit too peaceful and dull.’

  ‘That might change. Andy was looking for you.’

  ‘I’m travelling. See you, Stu.’

  As he took a bite of his toast he watched the pretty senior producer stride down the hallway. The word ‘petite’ certainly described Veronica Anderson. She was average height but with a narrow frame and tiny bones, yet her slim shape belied her energy and vibrant personality. She was strong, too. He’d seen her lift camera cases, help a crew carry equipment and she never seemed to tire. She was firm and determined but could also be a lot of fun. Veronica had a gutsy laugh and could tell a good story. At twenty-nine she was younger than some of the production team she oversaw, but everyone liked and respected her.

  She went into what had been the lounge room of the house, which now served as the central production office. In the centre was a large table covered in newspapers and magazines with a dozen chairs pulled up around it. The rest of the room contained a sofa, a small desk with a computer, phone and fax machine, filing cabinets, a large whiteboard and two TV sets both going at once. A tall, distinguished-looking man with glasses pushed back on his dark, grey-streaked hair was rifling through a pile of files and newspaper clippings.

  Veronica put down her coffee. ‘Morning, Andy. How was your weekend?’

  Andrew Fitzgerald, the executive producer of Our Country and Veronica’s boss, answered in a soft, well-modulated voice. ‘Quiet. Did you go out raging? Dancing? Indulge in riotous behaviour?’

  ‘Nothing of the sort.’

  ‘Pity.’

  ‘If you recall, you gave me a fat file on Aesop Gardiner to read. And I planted some herbs.’

  ‘How nice. So what’d you think of slippery Aesop and his dubious art collection?’

  ‘He’s got one of the world’s best collections of fake Buddhist art. I don’t know that it’s a story for our audience though.’

  ‘I like the fact that those big sculptures were found in a machinery shed in a Victorian country town. What on earth did the locals think about that? And have you had any other ideas?’

  ‘Why don’t we wait till the rest of the team arrives for the morning powwow?’ she answered as she flipped through the newspaper cuttings one of the researchers had collected as possible story ideas.

  ‘I’d like to bounce some thoughts around with you first,’ said Andy warmly. He liked to tease and chat with Veronica on a one-to-one basis before the rest of the program staff came in. While he regarded Veronica as a great producer, organiser, a details person, he knew that if there were a potential story where he needed someone to get people to open up and talk freely, Veronica was the one to do it. As she worked behind the camera and was not a familiar TV face but a sensitive young woman prepared to listen, people seemed to want to share their stories with her. And while she was adept at uncovering information, she never abused people’s trust but was candid and sincere, getting them to agree to talk on camera, allowing them to tell their story.

  Veronica, thought Andy, could easily have faced the cameras. She was very attractive in a classical way, long dark hair, wide brown eyes, a heart-shaped face and a slender, shapely figure. He often thought she looked feather-weight, as if she’d blow away in a decent wind. But Andy knew of her terrier-like determination, her tireless energy and drive and how forceful she could be. Anyway, Veronica preferred to work behind the cameras because, as she had told him, ‘I get to determine what makes a good story. It’s my call and my responsibility and I like that.’

  When it came to fighting in the trenches, Veronica would be his first choice to have beside him and, with this in mind, he said, ‘Maybe we have to start rethinking our audience. The new regime is sure to start shaking things up.’

  The network had recently been bought by a very rich entrepreneur, William Rowe, who’d made his money in mining among other enterprises. He had a reputation as an astute businessman, but was also a generous philanthropist who had donated millions to various Australian charities and was the patron of several cultural organisations. Indeed, he had been rewarded with an AO as much for his services to charity as for his successful business dealings.

  Veronica and Andy had recently attended the full station staff meeting when everyone who worked at Network Eleven had been summoned to the main studio. This meant the people in administration, the creative departments, wardrobe, make-up, props, electrics, the technicians, the editors, as well as the staff of the big weekly and monthly shows. Veronica listened to William Rowe who, dressed in a suit and flanked by several younger men, also in suits, addressed the staff and suddenly she felt as though she was working in a bank. These were not media men. Mr Rowe, AO, made big promises to improve ratings, break new ground and promote and use cutting edge technology. He assured the staff that he had no intention of sacking anyone, as long as they produced quality shows and he asked for their co-operation to regain the number one ranking in TV land – ‘despite the severe financial constraints of the current climate’.

  ‘That means no extra funding. How’re we supposed to make better programs with less money?’ hissed Veronica.

  ‘T’was ever thus in television,’ Andy had whispered back. Veronica now reminded Andy of the impending budget cuts as she thought about some of the stories she wished they could afford to cover.

  ‘What do you think is going to happen under Big Bill’s regime? The rumour mill is working overtime.’

  ‘Probably pub gossip. But I have been called to a meeting on Wednesday after next. Heads of departments and programs. In the main board room.’

  ‘That sounds ominous. Do you think our program will suffer?’ she asked. ‘Become more tabloid? Having money restrictions on travel means no more far-flung locations. Do we stick to suburban backyards?’ Veronica was aware that while their ratings were good and Our Country had a loyal audience who enjoyed the quirky, intelligent and offbeat stories about Australian places and people, new management always wanted to tinker with a tried-and-true formula.

  ‘New blood likes to reinvent the wheel on occasion and we shall see,’ said Andy, confirming her thoughts. ‘But that is my concern. You and the team just concentrate on finding stories that are different from those that everyone else does. No state of the roads, disaffected youth or shonky builders for us.’

  Competition, beat the others to an interesting story, that’s what it all came down to, thought Veronica as she collected her papers from her tiny office.

  The rest of the production team wandered into the central office and took their seats around the old pine table. Three researchers – two young women and a young man, two road producers, one of the editors
, Tom, the new cameraman and Howard, the head of the camera department, spread coffee cups, notepads, files and mobile phones around the table. The two reporters who appeared on camera and who generally sat in on these meetings were both away on stories. Veronica didn’t miss their presence since they weren’t really involved in the creative side of the program and they didn’t make decisions on what stories to cover. Shelley was brittle, ambitious and bitchy. Kenneth – never Ken – walked around with an air of importance and a constant Bluetooth earpiece, a BlackBerry as well as a smart phone, which were never turned off. Veronica was amused by his self-importance as he really had little to do except read an autocue and convey earnest pieces to camera, many of which were edited out. Our Country was a show that didn’t rely heavily on the talent of the presenter, but allowed the story to tell itself.

  Veronica sat on Andy’s right and ran the meeting. The researchers each made several suggestions for story ideas that were discussed, dismissed, put in a possible pile or given a green light to be followed up later. Suggestions and jokes were made, all the staff enjoying the swift repartee that existed between the closeknit members of the professional team.

  Andy leaned back in his chair, fingertips pressed together with an air of having seen and heard it all before. It was a tactic that made the researchers want to dig a bit harder and try to come up with clever and original ideas. Veronica listened, made notes, fired questions to the researchers about how they thought each story could work, who would be interviewed for it, what visuals they had in mind and what they thought the impact of the story would be on the audience. Howard was consulted about the availability of camera crews and the best way to cover the story from his point of view.

  ‘I think we should be very careful with our budget at the moment, so helicopters are out,’ said Veronica. ‘Accommodation is the local motel, not starred resorts. While our show is national and we want to include as much of the country as possible, when it’s way beyond woop woop – like the Buccaneer Archipelago,’ she raised an eyebrow at Irene, one of the researchers, ‘then we must use stringers. We know plenty of good ones all around the country, although there have been mistakes.’