was,” Gilly said, sitting so upright her back was straight as a crowbar. “Routine pressure check for glaucoma. No sign of it. Glaucoma is hereditary anyway and there’s no family history as far as I know. I get a few flashing lights in my right eye, but nothing to worry about. Like I told you it’s manageable. I’ll see him every six months. All in all I’m a fit old girl with a strong constitution. The sort of person who lives to be one hundred, not that I want to last that long, the only way to go is down. Why don’t we take a stroll before sunset. Steven has worked wonders. I’m darn happy with that young man.”
“So I see!” Bronte despised herself for feeling jealous. “Surely he couldn’t have done it all for nothing? It would have been a very big job. He told me he had workers?”
“They’re from the croc farm,” Gilly announced casually over her shoulder, leading the way out onto the verandah.
“Croc farm? Croc farm!” Bronte shuddered. “What are you saying, Gilly? He doesn’t have a croc farm, does he?”
“It was a real smart business move if you ask me,” Gilly said, stomping down the short flight of steps. “The tourists love the crocs and the reptiles, especially the Japanese. Our world famous crocodile man is moving his whole operation closer to Brisbane. Chika Moran has been doing very nicely for years with Wildwood but he lost a partner as you know.”
“To a crocodile, I believe.”
“I guess he prodded that old croc one time too many,” Gilly said. “Anyway Steven’s not in on that side of it.”
“Thank goodness!” Bronte put a hand over her breast. Used to the sight of crocodiles for years of her life they still frightened the living daylights out of her.
“Steven will handle the business side,” Gilly said, waving a scented gardenia beneath her nose. “He knows all about environmental issues, and he’s good with people.”
“What is he, insane?” Bronte asked sarcastically.
“What do you mean, love?” Gilly halted so abruptly, Bronte all but slammed into her. “Steven isn’t about to arm wrestle the crocs, if that’s what you’re worried about. I told you he won’t be involved with that side of the business at all. He and Chika are considering expanding into a kind of zoo. There’s big money in it.”
“Like a few lions and tigers, a giraffe or two?” Bronte suggested in the same sarcastic vein. “Elephants are obligatory. Everyone loves elephants. A rhino would be nice. I believe in Africa rhinos happily consort with crocodiles. There’s a thought! Did you know white rhino is a misnomer. It was originally wide referring to the size of their mouths which are bigger than the black rhino, though who got to measure their lips I can’t imagine. A bit of trivia for you.”
“That’s interesting.” Gilly smiled on her much as she had when Bronte, the great reader, had come up with a piece of unusual information as a child. “Anyway Chika has the land to make the idea of a zoo feasible. His family pioneered the district.”
Bronte slapped a palm to her forehead. “He’s a fast mover, all right!”
Gilly demurred. “Well, he’s a nice bloke, but I always thought Chika was a bit slow.”
“I’m talking about Steven Randolph. Anyone who lost most of their fingers would be a bit slow.”
“Chika admitted what he did was very very stupid,” Gilly pointed out. “It was years ago anyway. Chika has his boys now, big, strapping fellows.”
“Sure. Neither of them over-bright, either. Who’d want to handle man-eating crocodiles for a living?”
“There’s an art in it, love,” Gilly told her cheerfully. “Anyway Wildwood is only one of Steven’s ventures. He and a partner put up a very nice motel with a good restaurant. They use the walls for exhibitions of young artists. A lot of them have migrated here. The North is a glorious place to paint. The motel-restaurant has been a big success. Steven put in a manager as he likes to move on to new projects.”
“I expect he thinks Oriole is lovely?”
“Yes, he does.”
Bronte smarted. She turned to look back at the emerald blanketed Rex, imagining it as a real dinosaur that had once roamed this land. No wonder Steven loved Oriole. It was a dreamscape! The wonderful fragrances of the fruits and flowers, the exotic character of the place. The North was unique for the luxuriance and diversity of the plant life. She was looking forward to the sunsets. Tropical sunsets were extravagantly beautiful, the sun going down in a great ball of fire, the brief lilac dusk, then star spangled nights with a low hanging copper moon. She turned back to Gilly. “So what’s he up to now?” she asked.
“Well I’ve been dying to tell you all about it,” Gilly said, in a deep confidential tone.
Oh, no! Bronte thought. Here it comes! “Does it have anything to do with Oriole?” She crouched down to get a close-up of a beautiful orchid that had taken root in a dead branch.
Gilly prickled slightly at Bronte’s tone. “Now, now, lovie. It was my idea.”
“What was?” Bronte stood up.
“It’s just that Oriole is so big, love. And my money is running out. I’d love this old place to come back to life. Steven thinks we can make it happen.”
“I bet!” Bronte answered darkly, twisting her head to catch a flight of parrots.
“It will always be yours, love. Or my share of it.”
“Share?” Bronte thrust her hair over her shoulder in sudden agitation. “You own Oriole outright, don’t you?”
“Of course I do. I’m talking about if Steven and I went into partnership?”
“You’re going to farm crocs in the lily pond?”
“This is worth listening to, Bronte.” Gilly’s black eyes glinted with seriousness. “I’m no fool.”
“Of course not, I never meant to imply that,” Bronte apologised. Gilly could do what she liked with her own property.
“And Steven is no con man.”
“How could either of us rely on that?” Bronte challenged. “Looks and charisma go hand in hand with chicanery.” Bronte’s concern was written clearly on her face. “Have you checked him out? There’s a big backlog in the courts prosecuting charming con men.”
“Bronte, dear, I’ve been fending off con men for years,” Gilly scoffed. “Real estate up here is getting hot! I haven’t been interested before, but mostly for your sake I think it’s time to cash in on what we’ve got.”
Bronte groaned, terrified Gilly could get herself into financial trouble. And over her! “Please don’t worry about me, Gilly,” she implored.
“Don’t be ridiculous! I’ve been worrying about you for years and years. I can’t stop now. Your mother may have married a rich man but I don’t think there’ll be any mention of you in his will. I’m sure Miranda had to sign a pre-nuptial agreement.”
Bronte nodded. “She did. Not that she ever told me just what it was.”
