Spaces Between

By Catlyne Hos

This compelling story opens at the height of the 1990s mining boom as Laura moves to Perth to work for a mining company. When she discovers her father’s precious old camera, she embarks on a photographic expedition. The creativity she experiences through the camera is intoxicating and she falls under the spell of the Western Australian bush and the photographer Frank. Her love for him is shattered when he cruelly abandons her after discovering she works for the company he believes is exploiting the land and the Aboriginal people living on it. Laura has to find her path through pain and grief and the excitement and seduction of the heady days of greed, corruption, deceit and misogyny. Her relationships with her charming yet unpredictable boss and with the respectful, trustworthy head of the mine site, force Laura to find the strength to dramatically take a stand. Can the redemptive power of love support her to risk her career for the Aboriginal people she has come to respect and the men she cares for?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris AU
• Release date: Nov 29, 2019
• ISBN: 9781796005431

Catlyne Hos

CATLYNE has loved writing since, as a girl, she won a prize in an ABC Children’s Radio story competition. Her adult writing was channelled into studies and career as an organisational psychologist. Since 2001 she has satisfied her writing itch with creative stories for her grandchildren including photobooks, cards and calendars, which have also captured her love of photography. Now retired, she enjoys incorporating the native landscapes of Western Australia into her fiction. In 2019, together with her sister, Geraldine Janicke, she published the journey of her Dutch heritage, Leaving Home, the first volume of letters and photographs documenting the life of their mother in the Netherlands between the First and Second World Wars. Spaces Between is Catlyne’s first novel.

Book preview

Copyright © 2019 by Catlyne Hos.

Library of Congress Control Number:    2019911664

ISBN:                  Hardcover                        978-1-7960-0545-5

                            Softcover                          978-1-7960-0544-8

                            eBook                                978-1-7960-0543-1

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 permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Rev. date: 11/28/2019

Xlibris

1-800-455-039

www.Xlibris.com.au

799296

CONTENTS

About The Author

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

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Acknowledgements

Further Reading

I would like to acknowledge the Noongar Menang people

on whose land this book was written.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Catlyne has loved writing since, as a girl, she won a prize in an ABC Children’s Radio story competition. Her adult writing was channelled into studies and career as an organisational psychologist. Since 2001 she has satisfied her writing itch with creative stories for her grandchildren including photobooks, cards and calendars, which have also captured her love of photography. Now retired, she enjoys incorporating the native landscapes of Western Australia into her fiction. In 2019, together with her sister, Geraldine Janicke, she published the journey of her Dutch heritage, Leaving Home, the first volume of letters and photographs documenting the life of their mother in the Netherlands between the First and Second World Wars. Spaces Between is Catlyne’s first novel.

"

To my grandsons Leo and Rex, who first inspired me to write for fun."

In the space between yes and no, there's a lifetime. It's the difference between the path you walk and the one you leave behind.

—Jodi Picoult

Between stimulus and response there is a space. In that space is our power to choose our response. In our response lies our growth and our freedom.

—Viktor E. Frankl

In the space between chaos and shape there was another chance.

—Jeanette Winterson

CHAPTER

1

T HE EARLY MORNING in the city is soft and full of promise, like a gentle overture to a performance. She notices the traffic at this hour is slow and calm, not yet caught up in the torrent of peak-hour intersecting lives. She had been ready early, and the taxi ride had only taken a few minutes from her East Perth apartment to the Wellington St. coach pickup point. The pleasure of sitting quietly, watching, and waiting is mixed with a thrill of anticipation. The wind is chilly with the dawn sigh. She shivers involuntarily.

The brochure had promised much, and his voice over the phone had been confident and reassuring. This tour should be the perfect complement to her photography classes. She pulls out the brochure from her handbag.

‘Develop your photography skills while experiencing some of Western Australia’s most interesting and beautiful landscapes. Just bring your own camera and linen—all other camping equipment and meals provided. Nothing to do but enjoy a wonderful experience with other like-minded people.’ And it goes on to describe the tour guide, his artistic and environmental credentials, and the itinerary.

There is a thumbnail photo of him on the back page, which doesn’t tell her much or inspire all that much confidence in his photographic skills, but there is also a lovely photo of a small bunch a smiling people standing around a shiny four-wheel-drive bus. She smiles back at them.

She shifts in her seat on the bus shelter and looks around. Three young Asian girls, with impossible, impeccable early morning grooming, stylish little backpacks, and dainty high-heel shoes, are standing in the median strip in the middle of the road, looking at a tourist map. A large Cobb & Co. tour bus pulls in at the stop further up the street, and the girls totter as quickly as they can towards it, like a fluster of flamingos. There is little other traffic and no one else waiting at her stop. A flutter of rainbow lorikeets shrieks by and lands in the bottlebrush bushes behind her, heavily blossomed and groaning with the weight, drooping and dripping with deep crimson. The city has a fresh-washed feel from the overnight rain. The soft lilac greys of the sky are now turning to a recognisable pale blue, with veiled layers of colours, delicate pinks, peach, and apricot with hints of deep red edging through the clouds in the east. Behind the tall towers, opposite the sunrise, clouds glow startlingly bright orange. As she watches, the sun hits the top of the tallest buildings and slowly transforms the pale wash to a bright yellow. Her mellow mood lifts with the light. The occasional traffic noise drifts through but her awareness is drawn to a pair of magpie larks, singing their synchronised love duets in perfect harmony.

The lorikeets screech suddenly and fly away, disturbed by a figment. She looks at her watch; she really would have expected him by now. Another full minivan is pulling away, confidently proclaiming, ‘Adventures to Wild Places’. There are a few other people around the bus stop furthest away and another minivan pulls in. The mud larks have flown away, leaving only some Asian turtle doves and honeyeaters. A funny mixture, she thinks, typical Perth really, interlopers from all over the place and few birds left that actually are native here, just like herself. She smiles to no one in particular. She had come to Perth 18 months ago, wanting a fresh start, to focus on her own needs and build up a new life. And she is proud of how far she has come.

She had thrown herself into her work. The mining boom created good opportunities, and she found a job as Human Resources manager for Mt Acacia Mines. It’s a small but expanding family-owned nickel-mining company, and the challenges suit her, leaving little time to do much else, no time to think of the past or be lonely. Her reward has been that her work is praised and noticed, pay rises and promise of more, enough to give her the confidence to buy a small top-floor apartment in the fashionable new development east of the city. Adopting an old Burmese cat eased loneliness. The company is exciting and growing and her role expanding. She has made a few friends, but that hasn’t been her priority. It never has been really, she reflects.

She allows her thoughts to range a little more, realising how much she misses her children since they had all left home. She had told them all about her trip and listened to their concerns. ‘You’re crazy! A single old woman can’t just go off with some man into the bush—besides, you hate camping,’ was the consensus.

‘Don’t worry,’ she had purred at them. ‘There’ll be others there, and his reputation is fine. My photography tutor recommended it.’

Back in the present with a start, she realises it is well past the pickup time, and she is anxious, her children’s doubts and fears becoming her own. There is no one else in sight at any of the coach stops now. City working life is ramping up, and the sunlight has become stronger and harsh. Maybe this isn’t such a good idea after all. She fumbles in her bag for her mobile phone and picks up the brochure.

A door slams in front of her, and she jumps. Instead of the luxury four-wheel-drive bus promised in the brochure, there is an old Land Cruiser that has seen better days and is none too clean. There is no one in it. A man is walking behind the Cruiser and loading her bags into the back. Laura is so startled she can hardly take in the scene.

‘What are you doing? Where are the others? What about the bus?’ Laura blurts in a rush, mixing and stumbling her words and thoughts in her confusion.

She turns to confront the man as he comes from behind the Cruiser and stands with his back to the sun. With the strong light behind him, she can hardly see his face under the shade of his hat. Her anger and bewilderment just take in that he is taller than her and wearing khaki shirt and shorts. She groans inwardly, just what I don’t want—someone who thinks he is the Crocodile Hunter or Crocodile Dundee all wrapped in one.

‘Laura Williams?’ He ignores her questions and offers his hand. ‘I’m sorry I’m late. I had major problems with my bus, none of it my fault. A friend has lent me this old Cruiser. I reckon she’ll do just fine.’

‘But where’re the others?’ Despite her efforts at composure, Laura’s voice shakes, and her hands are clenched by her side, unable to accept his hand.

‘You’re it!’ he says. ‘By the way, I’m Frank—Frank Kinkade.’ And he tries again with his outstretched hand, stepping forward. This time, she feels she has no choice and takes it. His grip is strong, warm, and reassuring, and for a moment, she softens. She is a little closer to him now and looks at him, trying to see his face, to work him out, registering that he is grinning at her.

Laura pulls away. ‘What do you mean, there’s no one else?’

‘Well, I had three American tourists confirmed, who decided last week to fly to Uluru instead, you know, Ayers Rock. There was no way I was going to cancel, so here I am.’

‘Why didn’t you tell me? I wouldn’t have come if I’d known it was only me.’

There is no mistaking his wide grin. ‘That’s why.’

Laura stands there facing him, conscious of the rose flush on her neck and face as she struggles with her emotions. She turns away, aware of the tears hovering, needing only the slightest tremor in her resolve to overflow. As she takes deep breaths, she realises how much she wants this trip. The thought of the loss of her hopes for an adventure, for something different, for fun with photos, is almost more than she can handle. But this wasn’t what she had expected. Pull yourself together, is the best she can manage to herself, but as she holds her disappointment at bay, her anger rises.

She turns back to look at him, her fists clenched, in shock, not yet able to speak or think clearly through her emotions. Frank shows no sign of feeling the morning chill as the sun caresses his back. Bits of detail float to the surface as she breathes slowly to calm herself: his boots look expensive but well worn, his bush-uniform khaki shorts and short-sleeved shirt are neatly ironed, showing off powerful arms and legs, a slouch hat partly obscures his face. She tries to guess his age, but the tendrils of bleached sandy hair, tanned skin, and shaded face give little away. Nothing in his appearance does anything to give her confidence about his knowledge of art or photography. At last, her eyes meet his, and she realises with embarrassment that he is sizing her up too.

Laura feels humiliated enough to look away again. Breathing deeply, rubbing her hands together, she wonders how she might look to a confident bushman. Certainly, she has tried to dress smartly, in casual pants, white leather sandals, silk blouse, and scarf and with a gelato-coloured parachute silk jacket. Her hair is tastefully dark blonde, freshly washed and pinned neatly back. Judiciously applied makeup and her favourite turquoise drop earrings complete the picture. She figures he’ll have some difficulty working out her age and size under all that, but he shouldn’t have any trouble working out that she is angry. Frank stands quietly; he seems to be waiting for her to compose herself.

With a set jaw and clenched teeth, Laura moves towards the back of the Cruiser to get her bags, but Frank is too fast, arm outstretched leaning on the Cruiser and firmly in the way. Laura’s anger flares and at last finds expression.

‘How dare you! Get out of my way! Give me my bags!’

Frank stands his ground. ‘Well, I’m booked for a tour and this old bus is loaded ready to go, so I guess these bags are going with me.’

He must have realised he had gone too far; her distress is instantly visible on her face.

‘Look, I’m really sorry about the confusion.’ He moves slightly towards her, his tone softer and hinting at some sympathy for her, registering the extent of her discomfort.

‘I can assure you that I haven’t intentionally misled you. I usually run these tours with up to six people, and I really do have a nice new bus as pictured in the brochure.’ His tone is now smooth and confident as he moves away from his blocking stance to lean on the Cruiser. ‘This old bus really does belong to a friend and is actually more comfortable than the new one, would you believe?’

For the first time, Laura sees his face in the light and receives the full effect of his smile and sparkling blue eyes.

‘She’s a tried-and-true faithful packhorse, in great condition, raring to go and loaded up with everything you need. Just like me!’ And he laughs aloud.

Laura feels her anger ease a little as his humour penetrates her reserve. He is still leaning on the vehicle and seems happier now to let her take her time.

She takes in his fine face, strong features, noticing the laugh lines around his eyes, which have lost all sense of their earlier sense of menace. He is staring at her, searching, insistent, probing for the vulnerability, the sweet possibility where she would yield to him. Laura flushes as she recognises the seduction and her willingness to respond to it, like a fish moving towards the bait, knowing the danger and yet wanting the temptation. She catches her breath and looks away, turning slightly, unsure of the glimpse of herself she has just seen. He moves closer, not wanting to let her get away, sensing the potential, reeling her in.

‘Nothing has changed,’ he says at last, his voice calm and soothing. ‘You’ve paid for a trip, and I’m here to offer it to you. I give you my word that I’ll do everything in my power to give you a great photo journey. The weather is good, the places all booked, and’, he gestures to the back of the Cruiser, ‘there are several eskies with great food. I’m a bloody good cook—did I tell you that in the brochure?’ Again his smile is open, warm, and seemingly sincere. ‘Look, hop in—let’s get out of the city. We can stop for a coffee down the road. You can tell me a bit about yourself and your camera and where you’re at with your photo classes, and I’ll tell you a bit more about me and the program. And if you’re still not happy with the tour after that, well, we can call it quits—no questions, full refund. I’ll take you back to the city—no worries.’

He is close; Laura knows instantly she can be convinced. Her extreme disappointment has shown her that. She also doesn’t want to crawl back to the office, feeling a fool, having to explain. Explain what? In an instant, the gloating voices of her children insinuate themselves through her consciousness.

With a smile (or is it a smirk?), Frank opens the door of the Cruiser and invites her in, sweeping his hat in a deep theatrical bow. Laura is disarmed and can no longer find a reason to refuse.

CHAPTER

2

D RIVING SOUTH, AGAINST the escalating peak-hour traffic, Laura doesn’t speak, staring out of her window, lost in her thoughts. Frank is busy with his driving and seems happy to wait and leave it to her to initiate conversation. The traffic does little to soothe her jangled nerves, and her irritation returns with the inanity of the morning radio presenter’s banter. A news item on the Native Title Act and Premier Richard Court’s opposition to it catches her attention briefly, as she notes to herself to follow this issue up with Nigel, her boss, then she is lost again in moodiness. She forces herself to relax, to tune out the distractions and think of how she would describe the morning to her daughter. That brings an inward smile as she remembers her objections.

Emma, her youngest, had been particularly strong in voicing her opinions. ‘If it was me, Mum, going off on my own with a man I don’t know to a place I don’t know, you wouldn’t let me. It’s against all the rules.’

‘Well, I’m not you, and this is a professionally run business. People take tours every day and—’

‘And tourists disappear too, remember those backpackers? I’m not making it up!’

Laura sighs. Her oldest son had been no better. ‘You’re crazy, Mum. This isn’t like you.’ She’d snapped back at Ashley before realising, how could he know what she is like? She hadn’t seen him since he had left Melbourne to go overseas, and he can’t have any real idea how she is living and working in Perth now.

‘Don’t worry,’ she had soothed. ‘I think it’s a great way for me to see a bit of the south-west in the spring and learn some practical photography. He’s very experienced, and besides, there’ll be others around—it’s not as though I’ll be on my own.’

Laura smiles again at this thought, wondering how they would react now that she was contemplating being the only one on the tour. She sneaks a sideways glance at Frank, trying once more to assess him, to look for validation of her actions in getting in the car with him, to satisfy the niggling criticism in her brain that this might not be a good idea. Frank is concentrating on his driving, his face relaxed, giving nothing away.

Colin had not been concerned in the same way as his brother or sister, but he did point out her poor track record of camping. ‘You’re not a bush-person, are you?’ he’d laughed. ‘Bet you haven’t even got a pair of walking boots?’ Laura had to agree with him on that one. She looks down at her sandals, made for style, not functionality, and wonders if her new Mountain Designs boots will give her blisters.

‘Anyway,’ she’d added, ‘it’ll be different because they provide all the gear and do all the work. I didn’t like camping when I had to do all the work!’

Her boss, the managing director, Nigel Carruthers, had reluctantly agreed to let her go for the week. It is her first break since she’d started, so he could hardly argue. Her team in the Human Resources Department were supportive. She had coached Katy Tang, her personnel officer, in the key issues needing to be covered while she was away and had felt confident they would manage without her. She hadn’t told them much, just that she was going on a field trip as part of her TAFE night-school course. She didn’t fancy trying to justify or explain her actions, although she knew they would be curious.

Laura is barely aware of the river as they crawl over the jammed Causeway Bridge, then the suburbs and shopping centres slip by.

She realises Frank has been looking at her. ‘Would you prefer the radio off—or maybe some music?’

‘Umm, OK, yes, some music maybe.’

Laura looks away again, unsure of him, trying to make sense of the contradictions she has noticed; his concern and interest mixed with the arrogance that had blocked her way. He had been able to turn her anger around then with humour and charm, but she isn’t sure to what extent he was humouring her. It reminds her somehow of Nigel, when he had done something similar to her.

Nigel is an unusual boss. He seems about her age, but still, fairly young to be a managing director, although it is his family company. Laura had learnt that he inherited the company with his mother, when his father, the founder, had