Page 8 of Outback Secrets

Chapter Three

As Henri stepped away from the bar and headed into the dining room, she took a moment to properly take in her surroundings. When she was a kid, sometimes her family had come here for dinner if her mum couldn’t be bothered cooking. It had been the only place in town that served a sit-down dinner, yet it had been anything but flash. She remembered she hated the smell of greasy food, beer-soaked carpets and smoke that seemed to permeate the building even though smokers had been relegated to the front verandah by then. Most often those evenings had ended with her mum complaining all the way back to the farm about the dirty plates or the weird smell in the restrooms and her dad saying that you couldn’t afford to be fussy in the country.

‘Arthur McArthur’s a good bloke. He does his best,’ he’d always say, ‘and at least we don’t have to do the washing up tonight!’

The pub she was standing in now did not look anything like the pub she remembered. Although she’d been in for the occasional drink on her trips home, whenever she stepped inside The Palace she was always a bit shocked by its transformation. While the layout was still the same, the walls once stained with offensive brown patches were now a soft buttery colour, and instead of the dented old beer signs that used to hang on them, there were classy black and white prints of other country pubs from all around Australia. The floorboards were so shiny they could be dangerous and the old 1960s furniture had been replaced with beautifully designed and handcrafted tables and chairs. There were also cosy nooks with leather armchairs and sofas, and the light fittings that cast a perfect glow over everything looked sophisticated and rather expensive.

It wasn’t your average outback pub—Henri could easily have just stepped off a street in Perth, Sydney or Melbourne into a funky bar—yet it had the warm, familiar vibe of a good country local, and apparently this was all down to the new publican, Liam Castle. Well, not exactly new, but in a town like Bunyip Bay you were new until you’d lived here at least three or four decades and if her maths was right, he must have only been here about one.

She glanced back to see him pouring more pints, chatting away with his customers. Henri didn’t know much about him, but everyone said he was a good bloke. He had to be a patient man to put up with some of the people in this place.

‘Henri, what’s the hold-up?’ called Tilley, from a large table in the middle of the dining room.

‘Coming,’ she hissed.

Everyone stood as she arrived, and she went around the table greeting them all. She’d been hoping for a night out to catch up with Frankie alone; aside from a couple of brief phone calls, her best friend had been unable to make the time for her yet. Henri understood she was busy, but she’d also really love a chance to talk to her without her fiancé or anyone else around. The only introduction needed was to Ryan’s handsome husband Grant, a drama teacher who commuted from Bunyip Bay to Geraldton for work. It was good to finally meet him after hearing so much about him. Until the two of them walked in here one night holding hands, no one had had any idea that Ryan was gay and, according to Henri’s mother, there’d been much mourning and gnashing of teeth among the single ladies in town. It had been the same when Adam had married single mum Stella.

Finally sinking into a chair, she was suddenly very aware that she was the only single person at the table. There had to be something in the water in Bunyip Bay. The last couple of years everyone Henri knew was pairing off at a rate of knots. Whenever she called home, it felt like Fiona told her about yet another person she’d grown up with either getting engaged or getting pregnant, neither of which appealed to her in the slightest.

A waitress Henri didn’t know came to take their orders and then conversation returned to the current hot topics in the Bay—the recent harvest, what everyone was doing for Christmas, and also the identity of the town’s mysterious benefactor. Although Henri had grown up with most of these people, she couldn’t help feeling a bit of an outsider as they talked. So much happened while she was away and, sometimes, she felt a little lost.

Over the years, her mum had kept her informed about Bunyip Bay’s philanthropist—debts had been paid, romantic getaways gifted to couples doing it tough; there’d been an anonymous donation for a brand-new nature playground at the primary school, and the last couple of years, a generous donation towards the town Christmas tree. The latest in this long list was a contribution to the Big Bunyip Fund, which Stella, Frankie and Ruby had been discussing last week.

‘So, does anyone have any idea who it is yet?’ Henri asked, more to feel part of the conversation than because she had any real curiosity.

Logan shook his head. ‘Nope, but my boss heard about it, and he reckons I should investigate. He thinks it’d make a good segment for our new podcast about feel-good stories from country towns.’

‘I listen to that podcast when I’m on the road,’ Henri said. ‘I really loved the one about the drag queens saving the bowling club.’

Logan smiled. ‘That was one of my favourites too. Those girls were a hoot.’

Drew picked up his beer. ‘But they also seemed happy to talk, whereas our bloke here clearly wants to remain anonymous. Maybe your boss should respect that.’

‘Who should respect what?’

Henri swivelled her head at the sound of a deep voice behind her to see Liam Castle standing there with a tray. As he leaned over and picked up her empty glass, she caught a whiff of some kind of woody cologne and inhaled deeply before she realised what she was doing. But he smelled good—much better than anyone surrounded by beer and pub grub should.

‘The mysterious benefactor,’ Tilley informed him. ‘We were just discussing his latest gift for the Big Bunyip. Logan’s boss wants him to try and get to the bottom of it.’

‘How do you know this so-called benefactor is a man?’ Liam asked as he collected the rest of the empty glasses.

All eyes around the table blinked, then Frankie exclaimed, ‘Oh my God, you’re right. How terribly sexist of us. Women can be rich too.’

‘Do you have any idea who it could be, Liam?’ asked Stella.

‘Nope.’ He jerked his head towards the bar. ‘My clientele is more the good hardworking variety, rather than millionaires.’

Everyone laughed.

‘Well, if you do hear anything,’ Logan said, ‘let me know.’

‘Will do.’

‘You really gunna pursue this?’ asked Stella.

Logan shrugged. ‘Look, if I don’t, Garry will put someone else on the job and they might not care about the town or the people the way I do; all they’ll want is to get a good story. If I do it, at least we can control the narrative.’

‘You sure you’re not just missing the excitement of your old job?’ James said with a smirk. Until hooking up with Frankie, Logan had worked for a newspaper in Perth. ‘I imagine drivetime radio and fiddling with the Bunyip News gets a little boring.’

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