Kimberley Sun Page 2

  Blossom headed up the steps to the top corner apartment, carrying Lily’s bag with ease. ‘No rush. Everyone knows you were coming in this arvo. Are you going to Pauline Despar’s bash tonight?’

  ‘I am. But I need a rest first. I was up at 5 am. Sydney seems a long time ago.’

  ‘You’re on Broome time now. Take it easy.’

  ‘I really intend to work at it,’ said Lily with light hearted determination as Blossom put her bag on the double bed. In her forties, Blossom had drifted into town for a visit years ago, caught the Broome bug, as she put it, and stayed. She was dressed in khaki shorts, T-shirt and sturdy boots but around her neck was a beautiful pearl hanging from a gold chain. ‘That’s new,’ Lily said, reaching out to gently touch the pearl. ‘Been treating yourself?’

  ‘Yeah, why not? Every girl in Broome owns a pearl or two.’

  ‘I’ll be interested to see what Pauline’s come up with. Her carved pearl jewellery sounds wonderful.’

  ‘It should be quite a party. I hope you enjoy it. Yell if you want anything, Lily.’

  ‘I will. Thanks, Blossom.’

  Lily went to the balcony, leaned on the rail and took in the scene. She never tired of Roebuck Bay, an expanse of glittering kingfisher blue and turquoise to the horizon, a milky tidal swirl in the long fringe of mangroves at the edge of the lawn below. Moored well out in the bay was a cattle ship from Indonesia, closer in, a scatter of private cruisers and yachts, and alongside the distant long jetty, a container ship from Perth.

  She couldn’t help contrasting how she felt now with the first time she’d come here seven years ago after the death of her mother. How alone she’d felt. And yet her impulsive decision to try to uncover something of her family history from the few clues amongst her mother’s possessions had brought her back to her family roots.

  It was a fantastic family she’d unearthed. A story had unfolded from the yellowing pages of an old diary and had come to life. Lily was still trying to immerse herself in the history of a family that for years she hadn’t known existed. It had taken her some time to adjust to the knowledge that she was part Aboriginal, even if it was a very small part. But gradually in visits over the past years, with long talks and shared experiences she had learned much and knew there was still a lot to learn. Her extended Aboriginal family too had slowly come to accept her as one of them. Now there was mutual love, respect and friendship. They recognised each other’s faults and strengths, they had their ups and downs – as any family. And still there was the uncomfortable reality that her thirty-year-old daughter Sami didn’t want to know about any of this.

  It hit Lily, yet again, how empty so much of her life had been without a family, how much she had missed as a little girl and as a woman. Her mother, in pursuing her own dreams and independent path, had cheated Lily of the ordinary but important building blocks of relatives and shared experiences, the strong ties that bring people together. Once fearful that she would follow her mother in being a divorcee with only a daughter and no extended family, Lily was now blessed with a significant heritage, a connection to a place and to traditional people she could call family. The more Lily learned about her past, the more determined she was to connect it to the present and her future. But how?

  The phone ringing broke her reflections and she knew it would be Dale.

  ‘Hi, darling. I thought you’d be in by now. How are you?’

  ‘Tired of course, but fine. I’m just so glad to be back.’

  ‘Me too. I wish you’d let me pick you up.’

  ‘The airport is only ten minutes away and I wanted to hire a car. And if you were here I wouldn’t have a rest.’

  ‘That’s for sure. I’ve missed you.’

  ‘Now, what time will we meet this evening? I’m so excited about going to see the show. Sounds like it will be a chance to catch up with everyone.’

  ‘Yeah. It’s turned into quite a deal. Your little friend’s gone all out, I hear. Can we have supper afterwards?’

  ‘Do you mind if I see how I feel? I mightn’t last the distance. Is Simon coming?’

  ‘No, cocktail parties and jewellery openings aren’t my son’s scene. I’ll pick you up at six-thirty.’

  ‘Wonderful. See you then. Bye, Dale.’

  ‘Bye, gorgeous.’

  They had last seen each other six months ago on Dale’s annual holiday. He was good looking in a robust way, sixty, had a hint of grey sprinkled through jet black hair he kept fashionably cropped short. Medium height and solid, he was tanned with that weather-worn look that came from working outdoors. He dressed well, if a trifle conservatively. For Lily it was a comfortable relationship they’d developed over the last few years. Having a companion, lover and friend in Broome, and having time for each other, was a welcome change from her busy professional life and single status in Sydney.

  The soft light of early evening gave a dramatic touch to the bold red and black entrance to Pauline Despar Designs. Discreet gold lettering on the front window stated simply ‘Pearls and Pearlshell Jewellery’. The old pearling shed on Dampier Terrace had been transformed into an elegant salon with a creative decor that reflected the romance of the pearling industry in Australia’s northwest. In keeping with its Broome setting the showroom had an underwater theme – part of a sunken wreck, a model of a hard-hat deep-sea diver, hundreds of magnificent shells, walls lined in shimmering blue silk, and a cooling mist drifting down the windows. In the showcases, and worn by beautiful young models, were millions of dollars’ worth of fabulous Broome pearls and exquisite pieces of jewellery carved from the iridescent pearlshell. All the work of a young local jeweller.

  Tiffany eat your heart out, thought Bertrand Shears, the showroom manager, as he scanned the cocktail-circuit crowd at the opening. It was a dream for him to work here. Being an older man, with big city experience in marketing and store management, someone who appreciated class, he felt at ease. The fact that it was also his home town was a bonus. It was about time, he reasoned, that the old place smoothed off its rough edges and offered something of style to the thousands of tourists who made the journey to the remote speck on the Western Australian coast. Lord McAlpine had set the tone with a low-key luxury resort at Cable Beach in the late 1980s. Initially the enterprising British aristocrat was labelled as ‘crazy’, but success soon changed the label to ‘smart’. With so many of the world’s elite, rich and powerful putting Broome on their travel itineraries, the top pearling companies in town jumped on board and set up elegant showrooms.

  But Pauline was different and she was hot. Any pieces that weren’t sold here at the opening were being sent to an exclusive store on El Paseo in Palm Desert, California. Bertrand saw himself one day zipping back and forth to the great stores of the world to represent Pauline’s designs, which featured the most sought-after pearls in the world. And, of course, he knew that pearls were eclipsing precious stones as the latest must-have jewellery of the new millennium.

  ‘Made by living nature, darling,’ Bertrand enthused to an elderly woman dressed in black and diamonds. ‘Just think of all those busy little creatures working away in the ocean coating a nucleus with all that heavenly nacre to make these lustrous big fat beauties. Each one is so special, unique, don’t you think?’

  ‘How much is that necklace?’ She pointed to a string of large glowing pearls.

  Bertrand’s heart skipped a beat and his eyes fluttered shut for an instant. ‘What taste. Aren’t they just stunning?’

  ‘Yes. How much, Bertrand?’

  He lowered his voice. ‘Large golds matched like that are so hard to get. And the clasp – Kimberley pink diamonds –’

  ‘Do you want to sell it or not?’ she broke in with a faintly amused expression.

  ‘Four hundred thousand, Eleanor. It’s a dream piece.’

  ‘I can see that. Put it to one side.’ She handed him her empty champagne glass and Bertrand signalled to the waiter, hoping his hands weren’t shaking as the Perth millionaire developer turned he
r attention from the jewellery to concentrate on the guests. ‘God bless you, Eleanor De Linde, you old dragon,’ Bertrand muttered to himself, ‘you’ve made my night.’

  With champagne in hand, Lily and Dale moved easily through the mix of Broome social set and high-profile interstate and overseas visitors who had turned up for Pauline’s show. Lily exchanged several cheek kisses and quick hellos before catching Pauline’s eye. She excused herself, leaving Dale with the manager of the Cable Beach Club and his wife who’d brought along some important guests.

  Pauline Despar, a slight, elfin-like figure in a simple short white dress, wore a shimmering necklace with a pearlshell pendant intricately carved in the shape of a whale shark. Her dark hair was cut in a short 1920s-style bob and she had applied dramatic eye make-up. She walked towards Lily and they hugged affectionately.

  ‘Hi, Lily. It’s wonderful to see you again. I’m so glad you made it for my show.’

  Lily kissed her warmly. ‘I told you I would be here, and I keep promises. Congratulations, Pauline. You’ve done it. I always knew you would.’ Lily didn’t add that she was still amazed at the rapid rise of the shy young girl who’d dropped out of university a few years before. Plunging into running an upmarket store to showcase her creations at the age of twenty-five was a big step.

  ‘Dad helped out. But I’m on my own to sink or swim now,’ she confided to the older woman.

  ‘Swimming strongly with the tide, I’d say.’ Lily smiled. ‘Your timing is excellent, good pearls have come into their own internationally and what you’re doing with the carving is so different. Others will try to copy you, of course.’

  ‘Let them try. I have so many ideas, as you well know. Lily, meeting you three years ago, your encouragement back then really made up my mind to go for it. I can’t thank you enough.’

  ‘Goodness, I hope your father didn’t think I was an irresponsible influence, but you’ve proved that going with your dream was the right thing to do. Just keep your feet on the ground and your eyes on the numbers.’

  ‘You were so right, Lily. Dad understands the numbers. I put together a pretty impressive business plan and had offers to design for several big companies and stores. So I figured I’d be better off selling my own stuff directly. For once Dad agreed with me and decided to invest. My brother thinks Dad is mad, we’re both mad, but he’ll see.’

  ‘You’re off to a flying start. This is a great party. Good luck, Pauline. I’ll call you tomorrow and we’ll get together when you’re in less demand, eh?’ Lily pointed to the photographer trying to get the designer’s attention.

  In the spectacular landscape of the east Kimberley region of Western Australia, a slim young woman stood beside her four-wheel drive on the edge of a dirt track, an apology for a road in these parts. She was striking looking – honey-coloured hair, large dark eyes, a wide face with a rare but dazzling smile. She walked a little way into the scrub, looking around for just the right combination of colour and shape. Eventually she lifted her camera, framing the hot sienna earth and the weird shape of a boab tree, its bulbous girth and hips, narrow waist and the top exploding into twiggy grasping arms scratching at the sky. Etched against brilliant blue it was a magnificent if lonely scene. She wondered if the landscape looked just like this hundreds of years ago.

  But the twenty-first century suddenly intruded. Barrelling along the remote dirt road, the rough artery that linked the far-flung pastoral leases and Aboriginal communities, came a cloud of dust. Sami Barton lifted the muslin scarf down over her face to shield it from the fine red powder as a bulky van rumbled towards her. Inside the custom-made vehicle, nine tourists were glimpsing the outback through cool and tinted windows. It began to slow down but Sami stepped forward, smiled and gave them the thumbs up, indicating all was well. As the van disappeared, Sami got back in her car, the sense of isolation now spoiled for her. She glanced at the passenger seat and grinned. ‘Tourists, Rakka. There’s no escaping them, even out here.’

  Two hours further down the track she found a suitable place to camp for the night, near a line of stunted trees alongside a shallow gutter of sand that probably passed as a creek in the occasional wet season rains. A little way from the road she set up her ‘instant camp’ – a small pup tent and portable gas stove. Even with a campfire, she preferred to cook most of her meals on the stove. There were limits to just how ‘bushy’ she was prepared to go. She thought she’d covered every eventuality as so many people had offered advice or cautioned her against going on her own. But while she felt capable and had done her homework about travelling in the outback, she still knew that she was alone in a very desolate area.

  As soon as twilight dwindled, the temperature began to dive, and she pulled on a jacket. The silver slash of the new moon appeared, though it was still too light for the stars to dazzle as they did so far from any large town. Not for the first time on this trip was Sami feeling overwhelmed by a sense of loneliness and fear of the unknown. But she knew these emotions were not being aroused just by the strange environment. Against her better judgment and her intention, it seemed to Sami that she was being swept into confronting a part of her heritage that she had never really acknowledged, or even wanted to know. She was acutely aware that in the isolation of this pared back landscape there was no hiding. Out here the past was staring her in the face.

  In moments like these she always sought comfort from her travelling companion – a three-year-old red kelpie named Rakka. She was a devoted friend in whose eyes Sami could do no wrong. Rakka was clever and she guarded Sami with her life. Beneath the playful manner, friendly face and lean but strong body there was an intelligence that Sami trusted. Rakka had a sixth sense about people and if she stood close to Sami, ears back, muscles tense, wary and watchful, Sami knew that person was not to be trusted.

  Later, after a simple meal beside the small campfire, with Rakka stretched out at her feet, Sami’s mind was free to wander. More and more she thought about the irony of her journey. For someone who had deliberately kept away from indigenous issues in her life and studies, here she was heading to a remote Aboriginal community to learn about their ancient rock art as a field assistant for her professor and as part of her own PhD research. It wasn’t a comfortable exercise, and it seemed to be growing more complicated every day she spent in this part of the outback. She often felt that someone was looking over her shoulder and into her thoughts. And she knew these feelings were all linked to one thing that she found so difficult to accept – a distant bloodline connection to the Indigenous and multiracial people of the Kimberley coast.

  Ever since the death of her grandmother Georgiana and her mother Lily’s first journey to Broome, her life had changed dramatically. Sami knew her mother was stalling about making a permanent home in the north in the hope that Sami would agree to come to Broome to stay, at least for a while. But Sami had refused to countenance any such idea and preferred to ignore the connection with her distant relatives.

  Her great-great-grandmother was of mixed blood and Sami dismissed their relationship as too tenuous for any social or emotional link. The fact that Lily felt a deep attachment to this part of her family had become a taboo subject between them, almost from the day she had told Sami of the discovery she had made about their heritage. It seemed to come up spontaneously. Lily saw an opening and grabbed it, throwing out her carefully prepared plans of a ‘heart to heart talk at the right time’.

  Sami was twenty-three and had been talking about friends she’d stayed with while Lily was in Broome on that first memorable trip.

  ‘They’re so cool. Such fun and so interesting. A real mix – Italian and Vietnamese. I love the cultural blending of food and religion and custom,’ she enthused.

  ‘So you think our WASP background pretty ordinary?’ said Lily quietly.

  ‘Yeah, really dull.’

  ‘So what if you could suddenly have an interesting family, how would you feel?’

  Sami caught something in her mother’s voice. ‘L
ike what? And why ask? You know we don’t.’

  ‘Sami, I found out a lot more about our family in Broome –’

  ‘You mean other than the infamous Captain Tyndall and beautiful Olivia? Your Grandpa Hamish and Grandmother Maria who had dear Granny Georgiana, who never wanted to be called Granny. It’s not that colourful, Mum,’ said Sami tartly.

  ‘Sami, I haven’t told you the whole story. It’s very . . . complicated,’ Lily said softly, closing her eyes briefly as if seeking an inner strength for the task.

  Seeing her mother’s expression, Sami realised that the conversation was getting serious. ‘I think you’d better tell me.’

  Lily drew a deep breath. ‘Probably the first person I had a meaningful conversation with in Broome was an old Aboriginal woman fishing down on a sand spit – Biddy. It didn’t seem odd at the time, but looking back it was a portent. She had worked for many families in town so she knew a lot of the history, which I found fascinating. Guess who she worked for the longest? John Tyndall, my great-grandfather. Then I went out to the Cable Beach Club and saw an art show where there was a painting identical to the carved shell pendant I found among my mother’s things after she died.’

  ‘The Christmas when you gave me that pearl ring?’

  ‘That ring was Olivia’s. The first pearl found by their Star of the Sea pearling company. Tyndall, Yoshi and Ahmed, his Malay offsider, made it for her.’

  ‘You read this in her diary?’ Lily had told Sami of reading Olivia’s diary in the Historical Society in Broome.

  ‘Yes. The carved pendant came from John Tyndall’s Macassan mistress, Niah. Her mother was Aboriginal – a Bardi woman.’

  ‘His mistress? Before he married Olivia? What happened to this Niah?’

  ‘Tyndall and Niah had a daughter, Maya,’ Lily continued. ‘And Maya’s story is also sad and beautiful. Just like Niah’s, it’s a tragic tale.’

  Sami was stunned. It was like hearing the summary of a saucy novel. ‘What’s that got to do with us? It was ages ago.’