The little white wooden building that now housed the Historical Society bore a neat little plaque which gave details of its past life as the Customs House. Diving gear, pumps from luggers and pioneer household items were scattered in the small front garden. Along the small verandah were gla.s.s-topped display cases, locked, but trustingly left to public view.

Lily went to the front door with its large sign, AIR-CONDITIONED, ENTER, then she saw a smaller handwritten note, CLOSED, RE-OPEN IN A COUPLE OF DAYS. Lily was faintly bemused, wondering how long the sign had been there and how she could get access to the museum despite the sign. She walked back to the Continental and rang the car rental place they had recommended.

In a short time a cheerful woman arrived in a small light four-wheel drive. They drove back to the tin shed that served as an office, the woman telling Lily her life story and how her marriage had improved immeasurably since moving from the east coast to Broome. Lily pondered on the possible influence of geography on marriage.

Soon after a waving of her credit card, Lily found herself driving out on a dusty road, cruising past small bungalows shrouded in tropical plants. She stopped at the Tourist Information Centre. Inside, she asked about other sources of information on the old days, pointing out that the Historical Society was closed.

'Oh yes, the woman who runs it has family problems and the other volunteer lady is away. What sort of stuff do you want to know about?' asked the helpful girl behind the desk.

Lily had her story down pat. When she threw in a reference to the intriguing history of the first traders to the coast and her fascination with the very early days, the tourism director snapped her fingers. 'Hey. If you can get up the coast, you might find this place interesting. Your team'll need a four-wheel drive, but it's dry and a quiet time of year-you shouldn't have any trouble.' She fished around for a map.

'Where's that?' asked Lily.

'Cape Leveque. The old missions might answer some of your questions. All quiet now, but if you want to go backwards that's the place you guys should start.'

Lily left with maps and a colourful collection of brochures for her 'team'. She guessed the woman was used to dealing with journalists, doc.u.mentary crews and travel writers who came with an entourage. Maybe she'd given the impression she was looking for something more than a family history. A cursory glance showed that Cape Leveque was a long drive and fairly remote.

She drove through town and parked in Napier Terrace. Again the strange sensation of deja vu deja vu swept over her as she walked past the old pearling sheds, the long jetty where the tide had exposed the mudflats, stranding mangroves in the tidal channels. swept over her as she walked past the old pearling sheds, the long jetty where the tide had exposed the mudflats, stranding mangroves in the tidal channels.

She stood at Streeter's Jetty which stretched out into the slate mud. In its heyday before the First World War, 400 luggers struggled to find s.p.a.ce to berth by the jetty, along the foresh.o.r.e and in the creeks that were flooded by the ten metre tides. Now with the disappearance of the luggers, the mangroves had spread over the mudflats, split by a narrow maze of channels. The area was deserted, the heat of the dry season morning warmed the old planks of the jetty.

Images of this jetty and the foresh.o.r.e lined with luggers afloat at full tide or lying in the mud on the ebb tide were synonymous with Broome. Lily tried to imagine it in the old days with the men working on the luggers, repairing gear, the activity in the sorting sheds, the babble of languages, the shouted orders of the pearling masters, the rattle of sh.e.l.ls being stacked in bags, the tinkle of bicycle bells.

She could almost smell the spicy Asian food, the sweetness of Indonesian tobacco, the marine tang of the pearl sh.e.l.ls, the tar on boats. But all she could really smell was the saltiness of the air and dankness of the mangroves.

Lily walked back behind an old pearling master's office which had been freshly painted and was being used once again as headquarters for a pearl export company. Looking further up the creek she saw a stretch of exposed sand bank that faced the tidal creek. A solid black lump of a figure was sitting on the sand, legs stretched out in front, hat pulled low, holding a fishing line.

Lily jumped down from the low sea wall and trudged along the sand to discover the figure was that of an elderly Aboriginal woman. She smiled and walked past her to the end of the little sand spit where a small yacht was moored in the shallow water. The channels ran between low and bushy mangroves in several directions. About two kilometres away was the open water of the bay. But in here, the narrow channels of the creeks which all looked alike, presented a maze that would be a nightmare to navigate. She turned back and stood beside the old woman as she pulled in her coa.r.s.e line and inspected the bait.

'No luck, eh?' Lily commented.

The woman adjusted the chunk of meat and swung the line in a powerful whirl above her head and watched it plop into the channel.

'Are there many fish out there?' A plastic bag floated past.

'Them're fish there. Not so good fish now, but.'

'What sort of fish?'

'Catfish. Sometime mullet. Used t'be good fish. Too much rubbish now.'

'You lived here a long time?'

'All my family worked round here.'

'What work did you do?'

'Clean and wash everyt'ing.' She flashed a gap-toothed grin. 'Work for the white ladies. My greatgranny, granny and mummy all for same family. Too old t'work no more.'

Her hands were gnarled like a man's, veins and b.u.mps stood out along her thin legs, but her body was heavy and a cotton hat hid what remained of her wispy grey hair.

'My name's Lily.' She sat down on the sand beside her.

'Me is Biddy. I got me little house down back of the creek there.' She nodded over her shoulder. 'Dat's some of me mob over there.' Another tilt of the head was aimed towards half a dozen men sitting in the shade by one of the old sheds, a pile of empty beer bottles and the glint of silver bellies of wine casks testament to weeks of drinking.

'Lazy b.u.g.g.e.rs, some of 'em,' she continued, 'Men worked hard in the old days but. Plenty work round then.'

'Tell me about the old days, Biddy. What was it like?'

Biddy tested the line draped over her finger then settled back and started to reminisce-colourful stories punctuated by frequent cackles. She talked about the big bungalows, the fancy furniture. 'Some of 'em even got pearl and gold made into chairs and what not.' She described the ornate embroidered dresses, the men's uniforms, the parties.

'That washin' was somethin'. Them Masters change their whites many times a day'

'Their whites?' Lily was thinking of the photo of the smiling man in the starched white suit.

'An' their shoes. Fifteen pairs of shoes I hadta white up for the boss ... But they were good people, good people.'

Lily listened, asking a question now and then, starting to see colour flow onto her black and white image of old Broome.

Biddy told of how she'd stayed with one family most of her life till the war came. 'Everyt'ing in Broome go upside down. T'ings come good in last coupla years but. Never be same as old days for many fellas, but for Biddy, it's okay. My granddaughter doin' really good.'

Lily felt herself warming to Biddy-to her strong sense of humour and her keen observations of life.

'Did they treat you right in the old days, Biddy?'

'Yeah, all right with my one white family. We like family. All my family come t' Broome. Even bush aunties and uncles. Now only us left.'

'Were there bad times?' asked Lily.

The old woman shrugged.' Sometimes. Old Biddy now always here fishin', good times 'n' bad times. Not much else yer can do, eh?'

Lily smiled. That was one way to deal with life, go fishing. She'd always liked fishing. Quiet fishing, from a boat with a handline. It gave you an excuse just to sit and think, or to let the mind drift. You weren't doing nothing, you were fishing.

'Tide's comin' in,' remarked Biddy. 'Wash everyt'ing fresh agin.'

The tide now ran swiftly and started licking at Biddy's torn sandshoes. She started rolling in her lines. One was around a big plastic reel, another on a cork and one around a lemonade bottle.

Lily picked up the bottle. 'Can I help?'

'You feel 'im run, you jag 'im quick,' instructed Biddy.

'Don't worry, Biddy, I've fished for my supper before today.'

But it was Biddy who had the strike and landed a fat catfish which she expertly dispatched, avoiding its cruel spines.

'You holiday in Broome?' Biddy asked as they packed up.

'Sort of.'

Biddy looked at Lily with some intensity. 'Broome a good place. You look aroun'.'

'I intend to, Biddy.'

Lily walked back to where the pearl shops housed in old sh.e.l.l sheds began. She swung down an alley and found herself in the remains of Chinatown, the crooked alleyways, renovated dark and narrow shops and eateries, all hinting of a shady past. She headed back past the Roebuck Hotel. The pub was quiet, a group of Aborigines squatting in some shade by the entrance. Despite the bright touristy coat of paint on the town, the past was still visible and Lily found herself soaking up the atmosphere.

That evening she decided to walk up the road to the Mangrove Hotel which overlooked Roebuck Bay, have a drink and watch the sunset before finding a restaurant for dinner.

She walked across Bedford Park, past the rusting horse-drawn train carriage which used to run down to Streeter's Jetty, and past the replica of Dampier's sea chest. Lily paused to read the inscription to the intrepid English pirate turned explorer who landed on the northern coast of 'New Holland' in the Cygnet Cygnet in 1688. She then crossed the deserted seafront road to where a s.p.a.cious old-style bungalow crouched beneath its sloping hat roof, surrounded by heavily drooping trees. Lattice screened the wide verandah on three sides, a wind chute punctuated me roof and on the white wooden fence a painted sign said GALLERY. in 1688. She then crossed the deserted seafront road to where a s.p.a.cious old-style bungalow crouched beneath its sloping hat roof, surrounded by heavily drooping trees. Lattice screened the wide verandah on three sides, a wind chute punctuated me roof and on the white wooden fence a painted sign said GALLERY.

Lily paused, noting the doors along the verandah stood open. She walked through the sandy leaf-Uttered garden, stepping up onto the wooden verandah. The section leading to private quarters was screened off by Indonesian carved wooden screens. She turned and wandered through the open doors she had noticed. Inside was a large, high-ceilinged room which Lily a.s.sumed must be the main gallery s.p.a.ce. Fans hung from the exposed, white-painted wooden beams. Contemporary Aboriginal acrylic canvases, watercolours of local land and seascapes along with fantasy underwater scenes hung on the walls. Freestanding panels held a display of exquisite small botanical and reptile etchings executed in fine miniature detail.

A breeze blew in from the bay and for a moment Lily thought she was alone, but a short slim woman with a flurry of auburn curls and pale skin came in carrying lengths of hand-painted silk. She wore a sarong topped with a cotton camisole and leather sandals. 'Hi,' she said brightly. 'You left your browsing late in the day, I was about to close.'

'I'm sorry,' apologised Lily. 'I was just pa.s.sing when I saw the sign and the door open ... if it's inconvenient ... '

'Good Lord, no,' the woman interrupted, throwing silks over a display stand. 'Take your time. This is all the work of local artists by the way.'

Lily looked around. 'You have some wonderful work here. This is a great s.p.a.ce for it. The house is obviously old-was it a home originally?'

'Yes, and a place called Imata's Store. These old houses are wonderful to live in. The new places don't suit the climate. Too many people come up here and box themselves in with air-conditioners. They aren't really part of the place. You don't need AC's if you build properly.'

Lily looked through the open double French doors to the bay where the sun was beginning to sink. 'How peaceful it is.'

The woman stood beside Lily and gazed at the vista. 'Yes. I never regret moving up here.' She gave Lily a shrewd look. 'A lot of divorced women like me come here. Very healing.'

Lily studied the gallery owner who looked to be in her mid- to late thirties and who exuded a calm confidence. 'You don't get lonely?'

The woman gave a soft laugh. 'Not at all. Like my friends, I remarried. To a younger man. You on your own?'

'Yes.'

'Where are you staying?'

'Across the road at the Conti. I was heading up to the Mangrove to watch the sunset.'

'Would you like to join me for a gla.s.s of wine on the verandah? We have a splendid sunset viewing spot. My man and my daughter are out at a music lesson. I was looking for an excuse. I'm Deidre, by the way'

They pulled up Moses chairs made of polished twisted branches bound with vine and seats of braided leather. Deidre poured wine into two heavy gla.s.s goblets and stood the bottle on the railing. Leaning back in her chair she put her feet up beside the bottle. 'So why are you here? You don't look like a tourist. In fact, you almost look like a local.' She was referring to the frangipani blooms Lily had tucked in her long hair and the loose white Hawaiian-style dress she was wearing.

Lily sipped her wine. 'I've started asking a few questions about myself and some of the answers are probably here in Broome, not that I've got very far yet.' Lily paused briefly. 'I'm sorry if that sounds a little enigmatic.'

'It sounds like a divorce.'

'Not really. But my mother died a little while ago. That started me searching. For myself, for her, for my family, where I'm going in my own life ... all that kind of thing.'

'Most of us get to that point in life at some stage. Some ignore it and go on as before, some of us make a wild and dramatic move, or do what you've done and start looking.'

'I've done all three,' Lily admitted.

'But that's good. It's a process that can be painful, but you come out of it feeling renewed and more focused. It gives you a stronger sense of yourself and then good things happen.' Deidre topped up their gla.s.ses. 'Let it unfold, don't go chasing b.u.t.terflies in circles. Up here, in this kind of crazy place, things have a strange way of falling into place.'

The sun had now slipped into the wine bottle, its fat gold shape glowing through the green gla.s.s. The two women were comfortable and at ease together in the way that women often make instant contact. Men find the immediate self-revelation of women unfathomable, but women understand its natural and intrinsic value.

Lily finished her wine and rose from her seat. 'Thanks for the sundowner. It was really very kind of you. I think I'll head into town and treat myself to a seafood meal. Where's a good place to eat?'

'Noshi's. Next to the Pearl Palace,' Deidre suggested. 'By the way I'm arranging an art exhibition at the Cable Beach Club on Thursday night. Would you like to come?'

'I'd love to. Whose work is it?'

'Rosie Wallangou. I'll drop an invitation to you at the Conti. What's your last name?'

'Barton. Lily Barton.' She slipped into her sandals and went down the steps.

Deidre called after her, 'Take the dirt road around the back of town, it's quicker. You'll see the track past Captain Tyndall's house.'

Lily turned around. 'Where's that?' she asked.

'Just up the road there on the bluff. Great old house. Enjoy your dinner.'

Lily stood in the twilight staring at the beautiful old bungalow that faced across the bay. It was surrounded by s.p.a.cious verandahs, and embraced by huge frangipani and rioting bougainvillea. 'Well, Captain Tyndall,' she thought, 'you certainly knew how to pick a place and make a great house.' She was entranced by the romance of the setting. The view was breathtaking and she wondered if Captain Tyndall, whoever he was, had sat on the verandah enjoying the tranquil panorama of the mangroves, creeks and brilliant waters of Roebuck Bay.

In the distance, she watched a lone sail boat inch its way across the water.

Lily continued her walk into town and found a trattoria-style restaurant and ate in the open air garden by flickering flame torches. Lily had long adjusted to being a woman alone in a restaurant and treated herself to a three course meal, chatting with the young waitress who was over from Denmark on a working holiday. Then, feeling pleasantly satisfied, she strolled back to the hotel in the cool evening air.

There was a message from Tony waiting for her-he was off to New York and would call when he could and sent his love. Lily felt the flush of love she always did when she thought of him, and tucked the message away ...

In the bright morning, she pushed her breakfast tray to one side-still no croissants or newspaper-and studied the basic map of the country north of Broome. She packed a bag of mandarins and two litres of bottled water in a holdall and set off in the four-wheel drive. In a few minutes she had reached open road and within half an hour the bitumen had given way to a long stretch of orange dirt road. The lightweight four-wheel drive was difficult to control in the loose dust and she forced herself to slow down.

Lily drove in silence as there was no radio reception and no tape deck. Through her sungla.s.ses the road looked deep sienna and it was obvious that no vehicle had pa.s.sed this way for some time. She was glad she'd taken the precaution of telling the girl at the reception desk she was making this trip and if she wasn't back by 8.00 p.m., to let the police know.

The driving now required intense concentration as the wheels were wandering in deep powdery red dust. She tried to drive in the centre of the road, hopeful of finding a firmer surface. But in a moment, before she was aware of what happened, the little vehicle slewed and spun across the road towards a great red bank. Lily struggled with the car, praying it wouldn't tip over, but instead it turned around and came to a stop against the crumbling bank.

Shaking, she stepped out and sank into talc.u.m powder dust that reached halfway up her calves. The car was in well over its axles. She looked around in the glare hoping to find a paperbark tree or branches that could be put under the wheels for traction. All around her there was nothing but open desert country and one tall spindly tree by the road which barely offered any shade from its frail sprays of leaves.

She searched the immaculate new car. There was nothing in the way of tools other than a shiny jack. She tried scooping away the dirt from the wheels, but when she attempted to move the car, it just settled deeper into the drift as the tyres spun uselessly. Cursing, she sat by the car and ate a mandarin.

The sun inched higher into the sky and with it the temperature. It was well over thirty degrees and Lily could feel heat radiating off the metal. She knew to stay by the vehicle-where would she go out here anyway?

By late afternoon she had eaten all the fruit and drunk one of the bottles of water. She was now resigned to the probability that no one would be travelling this road so late in the day, if at all, and she'd have to spend the night in the car. By the time the girl at the desk raised the alarm it would be late and she doubted anyone would come looking till daylight. She wasn't frightened, just irritated at getting herself into this predicament. They'd told her it was an adequate road so long as you had a four-wheel drive. But she could see she needed a solid, hefty vehicle, not the zippy little number from the rental company which was best suited to beach roads.

Lily dozed and stirred at sunset when she thought she heard something-a strange animal sound. She stood in the middle of the road gazing in both directions at the endless strip of bronze ribbon.

'COOEE!' she sang out to the emptiness.

Two Aboriginal men appeared behind her out of the scrubby desert causing her to jump. On their horses they loomed large and for a moment she felt threatened and helpless. But then she noticed they seemed as surprised as she was.

'You broke down, lady?'