Matilda's Last Waltz by Tamara McKinley Page B

about sheep and even less about running a station.’
    Diane sat forward eagerly. Perhaps Churinga was just the thing to take Jenny out of her misery and give her something else to focus on. ‘But we were fostered out at Waluna, and you took to it like a dingo to a chook. You could keep the manager on and live like lady of the manor.’
    Jenny shrugged. ‘I don’t know, Diane. I’m tempted to go and have a look at the place, but…’
    â€˜But nothing.’ Diane’s patience snapped. She didn’t know this dour, helpless Jenny who dithered and prevaricated. ‘Aren’t you the least bit curious? Don’t you want to see the surprise Pete bought you?’
    She made an effort to remain calm. ‘I know it won’t be the same now he and Ben are gone, but this could be the chance to make the break for a while. To get away from the house at Palm Beach and all the memories there. Treat it as an adventure, a holiday with a difference.’
    â€˜What about the exhibition, and the Parramatta commission I haven’t finished?’
    Diane drew deeply on the cigarette. ‘The exhibition will have to go ahead because of the work we’ve already put into it. Andy and I can cope. Your landscape’s almost finished.’ She eyed Jenny solemnly. ‘So, you see, there’s no excuse really. You have to go. Pete would have wanted it.’
    *   *   *
    Jenny let Diane persuade her to eat a late supper in Kings Cross. It was a short walk from the gallery, in the heart of the bohemian sector of Sydney, and a favourite place for both of them. The neon lights blinked and flashed, music poured out of the bars and strip clubs, and the pavement traffic was as bizarre and flamboyant as ever, but Jenny was just not in the mood to sit back and take it all in as she usually did. The lights were too bright, the music too jarring, the street walkers and strutting exhibitionists seemed tawdry. Deciding not to go back with Diane, she made the hour-long drive to her own house.
    It was a wonderful house, three storeys high, perched on the side of a hill overlooking the bay. They’d been lucky to find it so cheaply. In the first few years, before Ben came along, they’d sunk all their money into refurbishing. Now, with a new roof, air-conditioning, panoramic windows and fresh paint, it was worth much more than they’d spent. Palm Beach was suddenly fashionable, and although that meant an endless procession of weekend surfers and sun worshippers, neither of them had wanted to move. Ben had loved the beach, was just beginning to learn to swim and had thrown tantrums when it was time to wander back up the hill and home.
    â€˜I’d give anything for him to throw a tantrum now,’ whispered Jenny as she put the key in the door to her attic studio. ‘I wish. I wish.’
    She unlocked the door and slammed it firmly behind her. All the wishing in the world wouldn’t bring them back, but being here in the house only made the memories sharper, more painful. Perhaps Diane was right about leaving for a while.
    The studio lights were necessarily harsh, for she often painted at night when the sun no longer shone through the cupola. Yet now she felt the need for softness and switched them off. After lighting candles and a stick of incense, she kicked off her shoes and wriggled her feet. The extra stub that grew over her little toe was red and sore, but it was her own fault. She’d refused to let this sixth toe make any difference to her life, and as the doctors had refused to do anything about it, she’d decided to ignore it as much as possible. But now and again it was rubbed raw by the fashionable shoes she was determined to wear.
    She stripped to her underwear, took off all her jewellery but for the locket and curled up on the chaise-longue. It was very old, and the stuffing was peeking through the worn velvet, but it was comfortable, and she