The Plantation Read Free Page B

style long before my mother ever heard of Malaya,’ said Caroline. ‘Do sit down and tell me about yourself.’
    ‘I’ll get the iced tea,’ said Julie, leaving David Cooper to her mother’s gentle inquisition. When she returned the two of them were talking animatedly. Caroline smiled as Julie put down glasses and poured the iced tea over fresh mint leaves.
    ‘Did you know David’s family come from Brisbane? I believe that I could have played tennis against his mother when I was at school,’ said Caroline.
    ‘Really? Did you grow up here?’ Julie asked David.
    ‘I did. But I went to ANU to do my degree. I hated the cold in Canberra, so I’m glad to get back here to work.’ He took the glass of iced tea she handed to him. ‘I suppose the climate’s another reason I like South East Asia, too.’
    ‘Can you tell us a little more about your project and how you stumbled across my aunt?’ asked Caroline.
    ‘It was serendipity, I suppose. I knew of the existence of her book for some time through references to it in other works, but I was so pleased when I found a copy of it in Kuching and, as I told Julie, it had a dedication that led me to your family’s plantation, Utopia, and then to you. Shane and Peter, your cousins, were very hospitable,’ he added.
    ‘Oh, can I see the book?’ asked Caroline. She began to leaf through the small book, glancing at the print and examining the photos. ‘This looks really interesting.’
    ‘Your aunt seems to have had a great affinity and understanding of the Iban people in Sarawak. The stories of expatriate observers, even if they are not trained anthropologists, can tell us a lot about the living conditions and habits of indigenous people. They certainly add an extra dimension to my research. And Bette was a wonderful observer.’
    ‘Mum was born on Utopia,’ said Julie for something to say as her mother looked thoughtful.
    ‘Have you been there? asked David.
    ‘No,’ replied Julie. ‘I’ve never really thought about it. What’s Malaysia like?’
    ‘You should go and see it for yourself,’ said David quietly.
    ‘Maybe I will,’ said Julie lightly, but giving the impression she had little intention of doing so. ‘More tea?’
    ‘Thanks, but no. The cake was delicious, thank you, Mrs Reagan.’
    ‘You’re welcome, and do call me Caroline.’ Caroline took his hand as he rose. ‘But wait, I’ve been thinking. Did Julie tell you I’ve been going through a lot of my mother’s letters and photographs and there are a couple there of Bette, taken before the war. Perhaps you’d like to see them?’
    ‘I’d love to put a face to the book!’
    ‘Be a dear and clear the cake and cups would you please, Jules,’ asked Caroline, as she led David Cooper along the verandah to the French doors of her storeroom.

    Julie was kept busy for the next two weeks travelling interstate for a new client who was expanding his company from a vineyard into a hospitality venue. It had been interesting travelling through the wine country of Victoria but she was glad to be back in sunny Brisbane. As she drove home from the airport she couldn’t help comparing the openness of the Victorian countryside to the clutter of the apartment complexes now cramming the skyline around Brisbane.
    She was renting a little old-fashioned house, hidden in a lush, overgrown garden, in what had once been a modest family suburb. While her mother’s house, Bay-view, was grander and larger, there were similarities in the breezy white wooden Queenslander she rented.
    Julie pulled into her rickety carport beneath a large mango tree. She often imagined the people who had lived in this house sitting on their front steps, chatting to their neighbours in similar houses. Now her house seemed an anachronism, with a split-level modern glass and chrome house on one side, and a block of six units overshadowing her on the other. Every day the street was busy and lined with cars as parking was at a premium; the