Heirs and Successors: Book 4 in the Belleville family series

By J Mary Masters

Heirs and Successors is book four in the Belleville family series, taking up the story eight years after Return to Prior Park left off. 

Set largely in Australia, it is now 1968 and the Belleville family - Richard, his brother William and their sister Julia - believe their lives are settled until a nea

• Language: English
• Publisher: PMA Books
• Release date: Sep 15, 2023
• ISBN: 9780645863703

J Mary Masters

J Mary Masters (Judith) was born in Rockhampton, Queensland, Australia in the 1950s, the youngest of four children and raised on a cattle property. For more than twenty years, she was involved in the magazine publishing industry as a senior executive.Having now given up full time magazine work, Judith is devoting her time to her writing career, with an emphasis on writing for women readers. Her stories feature a mix of town and country settings, drawing heavily on her early country life. To date she has published five books, Julia's Story, To Love, Honour and Betray, Return to Prior Park and more recently, Heirs and Successors (2023) and its companion title First Born Son (2023).She is a member of the Queensland Writers Centre (QWC) and the Australian Society of Authors (ASA). She has completed a Year of the Novel course with QWC and a short fiction writing course with noted literary agency Curtis Brown.Judith now lives on Queensland's Sunshine Coast with her husband Peter.

Book preview

Key characters

AUSTRALIA

BELLEVILLE FAMILY (Prior Park)

Richard Belleville    Elder son of the family

Kate Belleville (formerly Lester)    Richard’s second wife

William Belleville    Younger son of the family

Alice Belleville (formerly Fitzroy)    William’s wife

Julia Duval (formerly Belleville/Fitzroy)    Sister to Richard and William

Dr Philippe Duval    Julia’s second husband

Pippa Duval    Julia & Philippe’s daughter

Paul Belleville    Richard & Catherine’s son

Anthony Belleville    Richard & Catherine’s son

Susan Belleville    Richard & Kate’s daughter

Marianne Belleville    William & Alice’s daughter

Mrs Duffy    Housekeeper, Prior Park

Charles Brockman    Manager, Prior Park

FITZROY FAMILY  (Mayfield Downs)

Amelia Fitzroy    Mother to James & Alice

James Fitzroy    Son, Julia’s former husband

John Fitzroy    James & Julia’s son

OTHERS

John Bertram    Richard’s friend, Qantas pilot

Dr Robert Clarke    Registrar/Surgeon

Patricia Clarke    His wife

Anita Clarke    Their daughter

David Clarke  Robert Clarke’s brother

Deborah Clarke    His wife

Karen Clarke  Their daughter

Ian Dixon    Barrister

Angela Dixon    His wife

Lucy Dixon    Their daughter

Tim Lester    Kate Belleville’s son

Nancy Lester    Kate Belleville’s daughter

Howard Robinson    Owner of Glenmoral station

Amanda Robinson    Howard’s daughter

Alex Fraser    Stockman on Glenmoral station

Daniel Harrington  Architect

ENGLAND

CAVENDISH FAMILY (Haldon Hall)

Catherine Cavendish (formerly Belleville)    Richard’s first wife

Sir Edward Cavendish    Catherine’s second husband

George Cavendish    Their son

Author’s Note

Dear reader

I had intended to write only three books about the Belleville family but, to me, they became cherished friends and I could not leave them out of my writing life.

If you are coming to the Belleville family story for the first time with this fourth book, I hope you’ll find I’ve provided enough background in this book to help you fill in the gaps in your knowledge.

Briefly, the Belleville story began with two great deceptions, the consequences of which rippled down the years.

Who could foresee the actions of a weak, over-privileged man leading to the great tragedy that befalls the Belleville matriarch and her grand home at Prior Park? And Julia’s secret? Who could foresee how that would unravel so spectacularly?

Yet, despite all this, by December 1960 at the end of book three, we left the Belleville family facing the future with more certainty and apparently more settled lives.

Only the ruins of the family’s grand nineteenth century country home at Prior Park remain as a constant reminder of their earlier dark days.

Don’t worry if you haven’t read books 1-3, I’m sure you will pick up the story, and, hopefully, be encouraged to begin the Belleville story at the beginning.

Julia’s Story – Book 1

To Love, Honour and Betray – Book 2

Return to Prior Park – Book 3

About Heirs and Successors

We fast forward to 1968 as the next Belleville generation is coming to adulthood. And once more we see the apparently settled lives of the Belleville family unravel spectacularly against a backdrop of new betrayals and the revival of old loyalties. 

And for those who can’t get enough of the Belleville story, I encourage you to read the parallel book First Born Son, published alongside Heirs and Successors, exploring the story of Julia Belleville’s husband, Dr Philippe Duval, who has always been something of an outlier in the Belleville family story.  The two stories run parallel across the same time period, intersecting and diverging as Philippe’s life reaches an unexpected fork in the road.

I hope you enjoy the book. If you do, please tell your friends.

Judith (writing as J Mary Masters)

Chapter 1

February 1968

As he lost consciousness, Paul Belleville’s last thoughts were of his father. The last image in his mind, his father’s diminishing figure standing on the tarmac as his small plane headed west into the bright clear day. The last sound he thought he would ever hear, the sickening crunch as his plane hit the ground hard. Was this the last thing he would ever smell, he wondered? The stench of aviation fuel mixed with the acrid smoke of the fire he thought was about to engulf him.

In his last conscious moments, he tried and failed to unfasten his harness. He could feel blood trickling down his face. With a supreme effort, he put his hand up to his face to touch the source of the blood. Why am I so weak? I need to get out of here. But his body refused to obey. He could feel his strength ebbing away. He tried desperately to fight off the darkness but the darkness won.

***

The shrill ringing of the telephone echoed throughout the house, its insistent sound reverberating harshly for the few seconds it took Richard Belleville to reach it. He fully expected to hear his son’s voice on the other end of the line.

Only moments before he had, with no sense of alarm in his voice, looked across the table at his wife Kate and voiced his thoughts.

‘Paul should have called by now,’ he had said.

But the relief displayed clearly on his face at the sound of the telephone ringing was momentary as he listened intently to the voice on the other end of the line.

Kate could hear only Richard’s side of the conversation but it was enough to alarm her.

‘I helped him fill up with fuel. He should be there by now. Well and truly,’ he told the voice on the other end of the phone.

There was silence as he listened. Then he spoke again.

‘You’ll need to advise the local police,’ he said, only this time he spoke with the authority of the caller’s employer.

He waited briefly to hear the response. He paused. What more was there he could do from this end? Kate could almost hear his mind turning over the available options. Finally, he spoke again.

‘I’ll organise the aerial search from this end,’ he said, ‘but call me any hour if you have news.’

He began searching his wallet for a telephone number. Anxious now, Kate had come to stand alongside him.

‘Paul’s plane?’

He nodded.

‘Missing.’

He checked his watch.

‘If he’s lost, he’d be out of fuel by now.’ 

It was not a guess. He had helped Paul refuel the Cessna himself. He knew its range. He knew everything about it just as, years before, he had known everything about the Lancaster bomber he had flown in bombing raids over Germany.

All Richard could think was Paul should have already landed at the makeshift strip at Belleville Park. And he hadn’t. Where was he? Lost? Engine trouble? He could not bring himself to think the worst. Crashed? The word almost formed but he refused to let it.

‘Jock Hudson, I assume?’

Again, he nodded.

‘He sounded worried.’

The Belleville Park manager was not a man to panic. For him to sound worried was troubling, Kate thought, but she did not say it out loud.

‘What are you going to do? What can you do?’

But Richard didn’t answer her. He was already repeating a Sydney telephone number to the operator on the other end of the line.

There was a long pause.

‘John,’ he said. ‘I need you up here now. With a plane.’

By sheer luck, John Bertram had chosen that week for long overdue leave from his job as a Qantas pilot. Even as Richard told him the bare facts, he was mentally ticking off the possible aircraft he could hire to fly the seven hundred or so miles north to meet Richard and help with the search.

Richard, too, was a pilot but John was more experienced now. It had not been like that during the war when Richard had been the pilot and John the navigator. That experience had created a bond between the two men nothing could sever.

Now, when Richard needed him, he did not hesitate. Within half an hour, he had banged the door shut on his Sydney flat and headed to the airport. A couple of calls had secured the aircraft he needed and it was ready and waiting for him. Within an hour, he was in the air headed northwards. He prayed Paul had simply put down because of engine trouble and was waiting somewhere by his plane to be rescued. For John Bertram, every other scenario was too awful to contemplate.

‘You will have to call Catherine,’ Kate said, as she returned to the living room after putting seven-year-old Susan to bed. 

Richard grimaced. It was not a call he was rushing to make even though duty demanded it.

‘You didn’t tell Susan, did you?’ he asked anxiously.

Kate shook her head.

‘No, of course not, although she knows something is up.’

He smiled for the first time in hours. Susan was his unexpected daughter and she delighted him. She was a lively, inquisitive child, always sensitive to everything going on around her.

Once again, he walked towards the telephone. He checked his watch. It was long past sundown but it would be hours before John Bertram would touch down in Springfield. And even then, they could only begin the aerial search at first light.

He made a mental calculation. Mid-morning in England. No reason not to call. His marriage to Catherine had ended more than eight years earlier but their two children, Paul, now twenty-two, and fifteen-year-old Anthony were a link with his first wife that could never be broken.

He had waited to call as long as he could in the vain hope of good news. Too long, perhaps. She would reproach him for it. He had already called his brother William at Prior Park where, just days before, they had celebrated Paul’s birthday with a family lunch.

For a brief moment Richard’s hand hovered over the receiver, his mind conjuring up an image of his sophisticated first wife whom he had married at the end of the war, she already pregnant with Paul. With the distance of years, he could see clearly how their two worlds, colliding briefly, could never reconcile. And so it proved. She had returned to England on the death of her father, never to return. But his two sons were her two sons. He could never forget that. And he could never forget how much he had loved her.

‘Operator, I want to place a call to England,’ he said, repeating the number more times than he thought should have been necessary.

He waited, listening to the operators and the crackling interference that would make a difficult conversation almost impossible.

‘Haldon Hall, may I help you.’ A faint voice finally echoed down the line.

Richard waited a few seconds before answering.

‘May I speak with Lady Cavendish, please. It’s Richard Belleville calling.’

He had no need to tell the staff at Haldon Hall who he was. He guessed his marriage to Catherine had been a rich source of gossip in the house. At least now that Paul and Anthony were older he had no need to accompany them on their visits. It had been a relief not to be reminded of how much the failure of his first marriage had hurt him. She had quickly married the heir to her father’s baronetcy, her distant cousin Edward Cavendish, and produced the next heir, George. Her life, he imagined, revolved around a social season to which her aristocratic lineage gave her unfettered access.

He heard the sound of the telephone receiver being picked up and heard Catherine’s voice for the first time in years.

‘Richard, how are you?’ she asked politely. ‘This is a surprise.’

But already he could hear the concern creeping into her voice.

‘Something’s wrong, isn’t it? Is it Anthony? Or Paul?’

He could almost hear her mind rewinding to the memory of a similar phone call years before to tell her Paul was having emergency surgery after falling out of a tree. Now it was news about Paul again. He breathed deeply and then spoke quickly.

‘Paul was flying from Springfield to visit Belleville Park out near St George,’ he said. ‘He should have touched down about five o’clock but he didn’t.’

He heard the quick intake of breath.

‘What time is it there now?’

‘Just gone eight in the evening,’ Richard replied evenly, not wanting the alarm in his voice to match hers.

‘Was he alone?’

For one awful moment, she thought Anthony might be with him.

‘Yes. He was alone.

‘In the Cessna,’ he added.

He assumed she would know they had acquired a Cessna for the purpose of getting between the properties. It was the best way to cover the hundreds of miles in a short time. How could she not know, he thought? Paul talked of little else. He’d had his picture taken with it. He was sure he would have sent one to his mother.

‘Do you think he’s ...’

Her words trailed off. She could not give voice to her worst fears, just as he could not. He tried to sound calm.

‘He may have had engine trouble and put down somewhere,’ he offered.

It was a little white lie he told convincingly. He privately thought engine trouble was unlikely given the fact the plane was almost brand new. Better to offer Catherine some plausible explanation, he decided, than none at all.

‘What are you going to do?’ she demanded.

It was as if she was almost accusing him of doing nothing to find their son.

‘There’ll be an aerial search tomorrow,’ he said, trying to make it all sound coherent and organised. ‘John Bertram is on his way with a twin engine plane. He’s flying it up from Sydney tonight. We’ll join the aerial search from this end at first light.’

‘Thank God for good old John,’ she said. ‘When does he arrive?’

‘It will be a couple of hours yet.’

He waited for her to say something. He was desperate to keep the conversation short.

‘I feel so helpless so far away,’ she said finally. ‘Is Anthony with you?’

‘No, he’s not here right now,’ he replied. ‘He’s staying out with William and Alice for a few days.’

He answered her next question before she could ask it.

‘We celebrated Paul’s birthday out at Prior Park on Sunday. Anthony was due to come back tomorrow with William. School is just starting up again for the year.’

There was silence for a few moments as she digested this information.

‘You’ll let me know as soon as you have any news?’

‘Of course I will, Catherine,’ he said. ‘Of course I will.

He was doing his best to reassure her, but he did not want to give her false hope. He knew the odds were stacked against Paul. Yet he could not bring himself to dash her hopes entirely.

‘Don’t worry, he’ll be fine,’ he said, with a confidence he did not feel.

He pictured it all now in his mind. Out beyond the horizon lay miles and miles of sparsely populated country, heavily timbered ridges, rocky outcrops, few landmarks, what chance did they have of spotting him? A Cessna was, after all, a small fragile speck in the sky. It could so easily become a small fragile wreck impossible to see from the air.

He shook his head and made a silent vow. Only when we’ve searched for days without luck will I start to think about that.

‘As soon as we have any news, I’ll let you know immediately.’

It was all he could say. He replaced the receiver and turned towards Kate who was close beside him. It was her turn to pick up the telephone.

‘I must let Tim and Nancy know,’ she said.

He nodded. Tim and Paul were as close as brothers. It had been through Paul’s schoolboy friendship with Tim that Richard had met Tim’s mother, Kate. But it had been the unexpected death of Tim’s father Gerald that had allowed them to marry. And allowed Richard to claim Susan as his child. Now at twenty-two, Tim was the master of Berrima Park, a short drive from Sydney. His sister Nancy, older by two years, lived with him.

‘They’re both very worried,’ Kate said, as she hung up the telephone.

She couldn’t help but voice her thoughts.

‘Do you think he got lost?’

He shrugged.

‘It’s all speculation at this stage,’ he said quietly. ‘I know his flight plan. That will be a starting point.’

He walked to the sideboard and refilled his glass with whisky.

‘What time do you think John will arrive?’

‘At a guess, eleven, maybe later. But I’ll need to make sure the runway lights are on. I’ll head out there shortly.’

She walked across to him and put her arms around him.

‘I’m sure it will all end well,’ she said. ‘Paul’s a very clever boy. And resilient. He won’t have panicked.’

He embraced her then, grateful for the circumstances that had brought them together after his divorce.

‘I hope you’re right. I couldn’t stand to lose him. Not this way. Not at twenty-two.’

He held her for some time. Then he turned towards the door and headed down the front steps to his car. He knew he might face hours at the airport waiting for John. He didn’t mind that. It was the thought of Paul lying injured, waiting for rescue, his life ebbing away, that haunted him.

Hours later, as a faint light was just beginning to show on the eastern horizon, Richard sipped the hot cup of tea Kate had placed in his hands.

‘Have you woken John?’ he asked.

His own sleep had been restless and troubled. He hoped John had been able to get a few good hours.

‘He’s up already,’ Kate replied. ‘I’ve just taken him a cup of tea.’

They both turned at the sound of his footsteps on the timber floor.

‘Morning all.’

John’s greeting was cheery despite the circumstances. His presence and good sense reassured Richard.

‘I hope you managed to get some sleep, John,’ Richard said, turning to greet his old friend.

‘Out like a light as soon as my head hit the pillow.’

It was a little white lie meant to reassure those who heard it.

‘We should be getting out to the aerodrome now,’ Richard said, discarding the remainder of his tea over the verandah rail.

‘Looks clear, anyway. A good day for flying.’

John handed his cup to Kate and took the pack of food she offered him.

‘You could be up there for hours.’

He smiled his thanks.

‘You’ll find him,’ Kate said. ‘I know you will.’

She hugged both men and waved from the verandah as they headed to the aerodrome on the western edge of the city. To the east, the sun was just about visible above the horizon. It was dawning a hot, clear day. At least that was something. If they were going to find Paul, good visibility was essential.

At Prior Park, the family’s flagship cattle property, Paul’s disappearance on his flight to Belleville Park had dominated the anxious conversation around the breakfast table, with William doing his best to sound optimistic. He looked up from his plate as his nephew Anthony sat down at the table.

‘You’re to stay with us for a few more days, Anthony,’ he said. ‘Your father thought it best. He was leaving with John Bertram at first light to begin the search for your brother. He’ll phone as soon as he has news.’

Anthony nodded, trying desperately to hide his anxiety. At fifteen, he was too young to have the freedoms his older brother enjoyed. Yet, despite the years that separated them, they had grown close just as their father had hoped when he had insisted Anthony grow up in Australia.

‘I’m due back at school, Uncle William,’ he volunteered reluctantly.

Unlike his older brother, he was a reluctant student. He was teased relentlessly for his English accent which never quite gave way to a broader Australian voice.

‘I’ll contact the school. They’ll understand,’ his uncle replied.

William looked around the table. It was a sad end to what had been a marvellous family reunion. He looked down the table where his sister Julia sat with her daughter Pippa. They were due to fly back to Sydney the next day. Her son John had joined the birthday party too. William had been pleased at that. At least it proved the bitter rift caused by his sister’s divorce from her first husband James Fitzroy, their neighbour at Prior Park and his wife’s brother, did not extend to their son.

He let out a long sigh. There was absolutely nothing he could do to help find his nephew. All he could do, all any of them could do, was hope. And pray.

Chapter 2

For well over an hour, the two men hardly spoke; John Bertram because he was concentrating on piloting the unfamiliar plane and flying at a steady speed; Richard because it required all his concentration to scan the ground far below for the telltale signs of wreckage or any signs of disturbance.

Several times he asked his friend to circle lower around a burnt patch of trees only to be disappointed. He knew it was going to be a long day.

He listened intently as John reported their position to the Springfield airport, which would soon be out of range. He could tell there was no news, good or otherwise, from the other search planes.

‘Nothing, I’m afraid,’ John said, shaking his head slightly as if to emphasise the point. ‘No reports of accidents. Nothing. It’s as if he’s just bloody vanished.’

For both men looking beyond the aircraft to the wide horizon, it was a daunting prospect searching for a small speck of an aircraft in a vast brown land reluctant to give up its secrets.

‘I’ve arranged to put down at Taroom,’ he said. ‘We can take a short break there.’

Richard nodded reluctantly. He didn’t want to waste valuable time that could have been spent searching but neither did he want to risk them both by pushing back against John’s advice. He knew there could be days of searching. He wanted to continue until he could no longer focus on the search but his good sense told him his friend was right. The search must be managed in a sensible way even if an inner voice was constantly reminding him his son might be lying below in the wreckage of the Cessna, his chances of survival ebbing with each passing hour.

Being methodical, sensible and rational is the only way to find Paul, he reminded himself.

Hours later, after more fruitless searching and with the sun dipping towards the western horizon, a sad silence descended on the cockpit. In other circumstances, Richard would have wanted to know everything about the Piper twin-engined Comanche his friend had chosen for their search mission. Instead, it was John Bertram who finally broke the silence.

‘I think we should head home,’ he said, as he checked his fuel gauge.

He had done a quick calculation. Enough fuel to get them back to Springfield unless they ran into trouble. Or to put down in St George. It would be Richard’s choice. He knew there were other aircraft out there searching too but none had reported anything hopeful.

Richard shrugged.

‘Nothing to be gained by staying airborne in the dark,’ he sighed. ‘Let’s head to St George.’

John sensed the defeat in his voice. He had anticipated Richard’s preferred destination. He had earlier in the day plotted his flightpath to the small regional airport.

‘Righto,’ he said as he began to turn to the south-west, leaving behind the rugged sandstone cliffs they had been circling for the best part of half an hour.

‘I’ll get Jock Hudson to come and collect us,’ Richard said. ‘We can stay at the Belleville Park homestead overnight. Be back in the air at first light.’

John nodded. He was pleased Richard had opted for the main airport, small as it was, rather than the makeshift runway at the property. Less risk of a problem landing. Or take off. And they would need fuel. He wasn’t sure how well Belleville Park had been provisioned for aircraft.

‘Sounds like a plan,’ he said, trying to lighten the mood with his usual cheery tone.

John’s mind drifted to the many aircraft that disappeared and were never seen again. He did not want that terrible fate for Richard’s son, who had been named for the wartime pilot who had provided the lead to help Richard nurse his crippled Lancaster back to the airfield in England.

John turned all his attention to the job at hand, beginning the descent to the unfamiliar airstrip with practised ease. He guessed the biggest obstacle wouldn’t be air traffic, it would be kangaroos nibbling at the grass on the side of the tarmac. The animals could choose exactly the wrong moment to hop across the runway, with the inevitable result. One dead kangaroo and one severely damaged aircraft. So he was on full alert as the wheels touched down and the plane began to slow. No sign of wildlife. He breathed a sigh of relief as he guided the plane safely to a stop.

***

Jimmy Picket claimed he could skin a kangaroo faster than any man alive. And he didn’t need a rifle to bring it down. He preferred the traditional tools of his people. And he understood the country better than anyone.

White men. What did they know, he often scoffed? They’d brought in cattle and put up fences and cut down trees but they knew nothing. Nothing of his country. They could not read the land. They could not read the signs. But there were some things he didn’t know. He couldn’t read the funny marks they made on paper. But he could read his own country’s marks. On the walls of caves and in sacred places. He knew the stories. He knew what belonged and what did not. He knew when something was out of place. And his sharp eyes had seen something very out of place just beyond the boundary. Tomorrow, he would investigate.

But he told no one as he sat on the back stoop of the stockmen’s quarters at Glenmoral Station and emptied the last of his tobacco into a fragile piece of paper, before rolling it expertly and running his tongue along the edge to moisten it, as he had done many times before. Tobacco. Beer. Horses. Good things from the white man. Not much else though, he thought, as he sucked hard at the flimsy cigarette and listened to the reassuring sounds of the night.

***

‘Nothing,’ William said, shaking his head sadly as he hung up the phone.

‘Nothing?’ asked Anthony. ‘They didn’t find anything?’

He was struggling to understand how his brother could just vanish without a trace. He looked to his uncle for reassurance but saw instead the unmistakable signs his uncle believed all hope was lost.

‘Your father and John Bertram searched all day, as did other aircraft,’ William said, realising the boy needed more information, however little it was. ‘No one saw anything that suggested plane wreckage. No crumpled trees or burnt grass. Nothing.’

Nothing. It was such a hopeless word. He sighed heavily. This was a tragedy no one saw coming, he thought. He shook his head disbelievingly and headed slowly back to the verandah where the others had gathered. It was Alice who spoke first. She could tell immediately there had been no good news in the telephone call.

‘That was Richard, I assume,’ she said, hardly expecting a reply.

He nodded.

‘They’ve searched all day and haven’t found any trace of Paul,’ he replied quietly. ‘They put down in St George and will stay at Belleville Park before resuming the search at first light.’

There was nothing more he could say. It was Alice who tried to offer some reassurance.

‘It’s just the first day,’ she said, trying to buoy the mood. ‘I’m sure something will turn up tomorrow.’

William smiled weakly, ever grateful for his wife’s good sense.

‘I hope you’re right, my dear,’ he said. ‘I really hope you’re right.’

But his shoulders slumped, knowing with each passing day the chances of finding Paul alive diminished significantly. He turned towards his sister.

‘Are you going to stay on, Julia, or head back to Sydney?’

It was Pippa who spoke for both of them.

‘We’ll stay a few extra days,’ she said. ‘We can’t leave not knowing what has happened.’

Her mother nodded but said nothing. Like her brother, she could not yet comprehend the enormity of the new tragedy that hung over her family.

‘Does Richard have any thoughts on what might have gone wrong?’ she asked.

William shook his head.

‘He rattled off any number of possibilities,’ he replied. ‘Engine trouble is top of the list. Running out of fuel. Who knows unless they find the plane?’

He shrugged. Such speculation was pointless but somehow it helped to talk about it.

On any other morning, Richard might have taken the time to admire the sunrise as light broke through the cloud to reveal the vast stretch of grazing country that had attracted William to recommend the purchase of Belleville Park. He could just make out a nearby stand of sturdy yellow box gums as the sky lightened. He could hear the mob of white-faced Herefords beginning to stir with the daybreak.

‘I think Jock Hudson’s ready for us,’ John Bertram said quietly as he came up behind Richard.

Together they walked the short distance to the station truck and got in.

‘I hope you have better luck today,’ Jock said briefly.

He was a man of few words. What else was there to say? What realistic chance was there of finding the young man alive? But he couldn’t say that.

‘I hope so too, Jock,’ Richard replied.

He was equally unwilling to talk about what faced them with a second day of searching. Why would we find today what we couldn’t find yesterday? It was a thought that wouldn’t leave him. There was nothing to give him any cause for hope. He had listened patiently to the tears and recriminations from his first wife when he had tried to reassure her in the inevitable phone call the previous evening.

Why had he let Paul fly by himself? He was too young, too inexperienced. He had accepted her bitter censure because part of him knew she was right. He would shoulder the blame. It was his fault and he would have to live with it.

Nothing John Bertram could say would dissuade him. It didn’t help to remind him that together they had been flying bombing raids over Germany at much the same age.

‘That was bloody different,’ he had snapped at his friend.

***

At the very same time the three men were travelling the twenty miles from Belleville Park to the airport, Jimmy Picket was swigging the last dregs of black tea from his heavily stained enamel mug. He looked up just as the station manager strode into the meal room.

‘What you up to, Jimmy?’

Good fortune had smiled on Tony Bland even as it had not smiled on the previous manager of Glenmoral. He had been in the right place at the right time when his hard-drinking predecessor had rolled his car on the way back to the station. Died instantly, the doctor had said. You’d better take over, Tony had been all that had ever been said to him. He was not one to waste an opportunity. Safely ensconced as manager, he set his ambitions higher. On Amanda Robinson, Howard Robinson’s only child and the heiress to his cattle empire.

‘Nuthin’ boss,’ Jimmy mumbled in reply.

‘That sounds about right,’ Bland retorted. ‘Looks like you’re about to head out on one of your walkabouts.’

Bland waited for a response. Given half a chance, he would get rid of Jimmy Picket. Lazy, unreliable, good-for-nothing was what he thought of Jimmy. But Jimmy was well liked and respected by the other stockmen. An elder of his people. The keeper of secrets. He had hesitated. Sacking him might have consequences he couldn’t foresee. But Bland did nothing to try to hide his contempt for the old man. He never guessed the contempt was mutual.

‘Maybe, boss,’ Picket said quietly.

Bland shrugged. They could manage without one old man for a few days. Why make a fuss?

‘Make sure you’re back for the big muster.’

Jimmy nodded. Or at least Tony Bland took it for a nod. With that, he turned on his heels and was gone. Jimmy breathed a small sigh of relief. He’d been saved the necessity of explanations he didn’t want to make. Easier to let them believe he was off on secret men’s business. That suited him. With that, he got up and headed for the stables.

After an hour in the saddle, Jimmy dismounted. He had crossed the southern boundary of Glenmoral and headed up the side of the gorge into the national park. White fella national park, he thought. To him, it was Wulli Wulli country, the place of his ancestors. The place he knew well. He looked up briefly to the sky. A lone eagle circled. But the sky could tell him nothing.

Instead he looked for the signs he had seen from a distance the day before.

His eyes scanned the bush slowly, carefully. Then he saw them. He had not been mistaken. The broken tree branches. Why were they broken? That was the question he posed silently to himself. Not right. No reason for newly broken tree branches. No wind, no storm, no lightning. Nothing to cause big branches to fall down.

He looped the bridle over his arm and began to follow the direction of the fallen branches on foot, his horse trailing behind. He was almost at the top of the stony plateau where the trees thinned out. But he knew, before he even saw it, what he would find. He had seen it all before. A heap of twisted metal. Debris scattered across a wide area. Small spot fires that had burnt themselves out. And broken bodies. Bloodied. Crushed. Unable to survive the impact.

He moved forward slowly. He did not relish the prospect of what he would see. His eyes moved over the wreckage. Eagle feathers on the propeller. Blood too. He shook his head. Easy to see what happened.

Then he shifted his gaze slightly. Was that a sound from the cockpit? He stood still. Almost frightened. He listened for more sounds but all he heard were the sounds of the bush. Familiar. Reassuring. He moved closer to the wreckage. No one could survive this, he told himself. He was hearing things.

But he had to find out. He tethered his horse to the nearest tree and walked slowly towards the wreck of the small plane. Coming alongside he looked in through the broken window. He saw a young man, his head thrown back, blood congealed on his face, his body at an unnatural angle. Was he still alive?

Jimmy tugged at the door of the crumpled aeroplane. It was jammed. It needed all his strength to force it open. Finally, he leaned in and spoke in an urgent whisper to the crumpled figure.

‘Hey, mister, can you hear me?’

He didn’t know what else to say. He repeated the words and waited, anxiously scanning the injured man for signs of life. And then he heard the faint murmured reply and saw a limp hand pointing towards the harness. Jimmy nodded his understanding. With deft fingers, he unbuckled the straps quickly and then took the full weight of Paul Belleville’s almost lifeless body in his arms, dragging him free of the wreckage.

‘Hang on there, mister,’ he said in a voice just above a whisper. ‘Hang on. I’ll get you to the homestead. You’ll be fine then.’

He didn’t believe the reassurances he gave but it was all he could do. He must hope. Without hope, he knew the young man would not survive.

Chapter 3

‘What’s that bloody commotion? Jimmy Picket gone mad or something?’

Tony Bland yelled from the verandah of the homestead at everybody and nobody because no one was paying him any attention. Instead, all attention was focused on the limping figure of Jimmy Picket leading his horse with one hand and trying desperately to hold the body of a man swaying precariously across the saddle.

He watched but did not join the station hands who had run out to help Jimmy gently ease the slumped bloodied figure off the horse. He then motioned to them to bring the injured man into the homestead as he yelled back into the house for the long-suffering housekeeper.

Very little flustered Ada Williams, not even the unusual scene unfolding before her.

‘Jimmy Picket’s rescued a young man who looks as though he’s going to be dead very soon,’ Bland explained, nodding in the direction of the men carrying what looked to be a lifeless body.

‘Well, we must do what we can,’ she said firmly, motioning the men to follow her to one of the guest bedrooms along the verandah.

‘You must call for the doctor to come out,’ she called back over her shoulder.

Bland hesitated. Was it worth the doctor driving an hour over a corrugated road only to attend a corpse?

‘Call the doctor,’ she repeated, this time with greater authority in her voice.

Bland did not argue. He turned and walked back into the living room where the telephone had been installed only a year earlier. After a brief conversation, he walked back onto the verandah, waylaying Jimmy Picket who was about to lead his horse back to the stables. He had done what he could. It was up to other people now.

‘Where’d you find him, Jimmy?’

‘Up on the plateau, boss,’ he said quickly. ‘In the hard country. Plane came down. Probably eagle. Feathers everywhere.’

‘No one else there?’

‘No, boss,’ he replied. ‘Young fella all by himself.’

‘What made you go up there?’

Bland was curious. It was outside the