The Bay by Di Morrissey Page B

her.’ Holly was recalling how the designer had ruled the social pages in Sydney in the sixties.
    â€˜Forget inviting her to tea,’ said Mac. ‘Make sure you have chilled champagne on hand. Nice of them to ask her to be the representative woman. She’s a bit isolated here, hasn’t mixed with the locals. They think she’s, well, a bit off the planet a lot of the time. You should see her place.’
    â€˜I’d love to,’ said Holly.
    Nola Florens drew a small card from the folds of her gown and stood in front of the microphone and in a strong, clear voice began to read. ‘On this night we affirm our womanhood, our femaleness, our being as one. To nurture, to heal, to cherish and to love all those we know, those who are strangers, those who come into our community. We pledge to care for our world, the land, the water, the air. To support one another in all we do, to share the joy and share the tears. We promise to show our children that in women there is softness, there is strength, that we are thinkers, leaders, teachers. We promise to remind each other that we are here for each one of us. That united we are the power. The power of women!’
    She finished on a firm rising note and the women who had been holding hands, clapped, cheered, raised their arms, stamped their feet.
    As Nola Florens swept off the stage, from the corners of the room the warrior princesses moved quickly to the carpet, sat cross-legged and began to drum. The background music faded and the heady, heavy, throbbing took over.
    Holly had never heard such drumming. Marcus, their son, had flirted briefly with a drum set, but the tinny percussion that had ricocheted around his bedroom was nothing like this. The raw energy of the women, their focus, their concentration ranging from elation to a fierceness made Holly wonder what was going through their minds. They chanted as they beat the drums.
    It was fascinating to see the spell it cast over the women and girls in the room. Some threw back their heads, moved, clapped to the beat or joined the throaty chant. It reminded Holly of scenes of Native American dances. But then the beat and sound changed as four more women walked in and sat along the carpet and began playing didgeridoos. The drummers now picked up clap sticks and the song changed again. The haunting thrumming transported them to the red earth of the Australian outback. Holly was swept up in the atmosphere, the sounds, the emotion of the women. She’d never felt anything like it and she too joined in the clapping and swaying.
    The song ended on a crescendo and all the women in the room leapt to their feet, joined hands and raised their arms. To the renewed beat of the drums they began stamping, swaying, moving together, forwards and back, to one side and the other. It was a total release of energy, a nurturing of joy and love.
    Suddenly it was all over – the hypnotic sounds, the compulsive dancing – and in a surge of emotional relaxation there was much hugging and kissing and laughter. Everyone was sweating from their exertions and the temperature in the crowded hall. But they happily settled back on the floor as the cherubs led in a column of sarong-clad women with jugs of cool juices and great platters of food, mainly vegetarian.
    â€˜This is divine.’ Holly hadn’t tasted such a delicious combination of vegetables. They were crunchy fresh and delicately flavoured with wasabi and an unusual honey on a bed of fregolane.
    Laura leaned over to help herself to chunky grain bread and olive tapenade. ‘I had a farm here. I wanted to get into Aussie bush cuisine, lemon myrtle, finger limes, rose apples – not just the avocado and macadamias everyone else here grows.’
    â€˜Why didn’t you?’ asked Mac.
    â€˜Too long a story. All got too hard. No water. Too far away for Alice to get to school. My ex is living there but he’ll never do anything with it. I wanted to