by Kelly Hunter
‘Son—’
‘I’m not your son. I’m no one’s son, and that’s another black mark, isn’t it? I had no notion of what father figures did at all, until you came along. But for all your encouragement when no one else was looking, I never quite won you over. You never stood up for me, not once. You let your wife spew her anger all over me, and never once raised your voice in my defence. You let me think I was too broken to fix. Best keep me away from anything of value, because I’ll destroy it, right? Poor Tilly. Doesn’t know what she’s taking on.’
‘I didn’t say that.’
‘Well, you sure as shit didn’t say congratulations!’
He didn’t know why he was so upset. He knew they thought him deficient. They always had, and he’d always taken it as his due. He’d compared their disappointment to his mother’s inconsistent love, and figured the problem must lie with him. He’d tried so hard to fix himself for them. Kept his head down and never given his grandparents a lick of trouble, unless it was for being too smart for school and therefore inattentive. He’d worked hard on the farm and been downright grateful for the roof over his head and the food on the table.
And he’d left Wirralong the minute he could, because in part they had expected it of him. Always restless, like his mother. Never satisfied, always seeking. Lacking compassion, no emotional comprehension, just like his mother. But not all of those labels could be pinned on him.
He doubted his mother deserved them all either.
‘I’m not a waste of time and space. I can love and I do love. I goddamn love you, don’t I? For all that you have done on my behalf, which is plenty. I’ve loved Tilly forever, that’s just fact, and I’ll damn well learn to love Rowan and be a good father, see if I don’t. So you need to understand where I’m coming from on this, and cut me some fucking slack.’
The shock on his grandfather’s face would be funny, if it didn’t gut Henry so much. Because Henry Church never talked back, he never made his wants and feelings known to those around him, he simply put his head down and moved on, keeping everyone at a distance. Everyone but Tilly, who’d slipped through his safety net years ago. ‘Matilda trusts me to know what I’m doing with my emotions and with hers, and that means the world to me. I’m going to honour that trust. I’m not going to cock it up. And I’d appreciate your support more than you know.’
‘Your grandmother—’
‘Her mind’s going. She gets a pass to say whatever she wants about me, and I will turn the other cheek. But you … your mind works fine.’ He was getting hoarse. ‘I’ve looked up to you from the moment I met you, old man. That hasn’t changed. But you need to stop thinking I’m an emotional wasteland and start expecting more from me. Because I’ll give it.’
Henry got in the driver’s seat and his grandfather got in the passenger side without another word. Henry closed his eyes briefly and dug deep for calm. He’d never liked conflict. Had it beaten out of him years ago during those early years when his mother’s parade of boyfriends had been less than forgiving. But this particular conversation had been a long time coming, and he felt better for saying his piece.
He started the engine.
His grandfather waited a beat or two and then cleared his throat. ‘So, you and Tilly?’
‘Yes.’
‘Congratulations. She’s a wonderful girl.’
‘Thank you. Yes, she is.’
Conversation closed.
Chapter Eleven
The presence of Rowan made engagement ring shopping a challenge, and it was after four by the time Henry finally made it inside the door of Hardy Brothers jewellers with a relatively cheerful baby in tow. He had an appointment, and an all-black credit card in his wallet. Half an hour should do it, in and out. And then they ushered him into a private viewing room and a smiling assistant immediately asked if she could take charge of the baby and show her the glittering baubles and who was he to say no?
‘Traditional,’ he said when asked what kind of engagement and wedding rings he was after. ‘Diamonds. Platinum.’
‘And your price range, sir?’ the man asked.
Henry fished out the card and set it on the counter. ‘Let’s make her feel appreciated.’
The salesman smiled. ‘Very well. I can help you there.’
He’d narrowed it down to a final three—not bad for twenty minutes, when the second sales assistant returned with Rowan. Henry took her and she smiled her relief. ‘I have another customer in the main room. She’d quite like to buy your daughter but I’m going to try and shift her attention to the pearls.’
‘Thank you for minding her.’ Did he need a female opinion? ‘Okay, Rowan. There’s three to choose from. Which one?’
The saleswoman smirked at her colleague on the way out the door.
‘If I may, sir,’ said the beleaguered man, and seriously, if Henry had to do that much fawning over a client he’d have no clients left. ‘If you want the best diamond of the three, it’s the one on your left. The middle one, you’re paying more for the reputation of the designer. To the right, you’re paying for size. In my experience, while size definitely matters, there is such a thing as an engagement ring that’s too large. It catches on fabrics, it can be heavy to wear. Beyond that first moment of wow, it can become a liability. Similarly, a ring setting can go out of style. What’s on trend now, won’t be in thirty years’ time.’
‘You’re plugging for the one on the left.’
‘That I am, sir. It’s a flawless, colourless, radiant-cut stone of significant size in a truly classic setting. Never too much, never gets old.’
‘Wrap it up.’
‘My pleasure, sir.’
Henry’s phone rang shortly after the other man left the room, and he glanced at it with no intention of answering, until he saw the name of Amanda’s solicitors on the screen. Rowan in one arm, he took the call. ‘Church here.’
‘Please hold for Mr Bruce.’ Moments later Raymond Bruce came on the line.
‘Mr Church. Glad I caught you. It’s never easy dealing with clients halfway round the world.’
‘I’m sure you’ll charge accordingly.’
‘That’s true.’ The other man sounded smugly matter of fact, or maybe not smug at all and Henry was projecting his dislike of the circumstances surrounding Amanda’s death and the discovery that he had a daughter onto the man. ‘Mr Church, I had a drop-in yesterday. A male friend of Amanda’s, who’d only just heard of her passing. He left me his details and would very much like to speak with you.’
‘What about?’
‘The reason he gave was that he’d left some of his possessions in Ms Murphy’s apartment and would like to collect them. May I have my assistant send you Mr Bello’s contact details?’
‘Yes.’
‘Good man.’
Henry the good man hung up on him. Moments later the contact details of a stranger came through. Rupert Bello. No time like now.
Henry pressed dial and hoped the salesman wrapping that engagement ring took his time.
‘Hello?’ The accent was not wholly English. Henry had been in London long enough to recognise another place in the mix, even if he couldn’t tell where. The voice sounded young though, very young. Amanda’s solicitor hadn’t mentioned that.
‘My name’s Henry Church. Amanda’s solicitor said you wanted to speak with me about collecting your belongings from her apartment.’
‘Yeah, man. Thanks for getting in touch. I left some stuff at her place back in May. It’s not much, and I don’t want to intrude on your grief or anything, but if I could get it back, I could use it. Her neighbour Suzannah gave me the solicitor’s name and they said to talk to you.’
‘How did you know Amanda?’
‘She taught me advanced maths, in my final year of school. I mean, I killed it, man. Got a scholarship to Oxford and everything, theoretical physics, dedicated mentor, the lot. But ‘Manda helped.’
A kid. He was speaking with a kid barely out of school. ‘Wh
at did you leave at her house?’
‘Books. Clothes. Bed stuff. Towels and shampoo. Had to get out of my crib when I went home to Kenya to visit my family. I didn’t know when I was going to be back, so she said to leave it with her. It’s nothing much, but it is mine, I swear.’
‘I’ll get someone to let you into the apartment and you can get it.’
‘Appreciate it, man. Hey, you the big bald guy she used to hang around with?’
No, he was not.
‘Cause I’m real sorry for your loss, man. Amanda was good people. Suzannah said she had a little girl. Bet she was thrilled.’
What did a man in his position even say to that? ‘Yeah.’
Henry finished the call with his emotions in ribbons. Yesterday, he’d told himself he didn’t care if Rowan was his biological daughter or not, and had no desire to find out. It had taken two phone calls and the mention of another man in Amanda’s life to reverse that position completely.
What if he wasn’t the father and Rowan’s big bald biological father turned up one day, years into the future, and claimed Rowan as his own?
How could Henry possibly encourage Tilly to love him and Rowan and create a family, and maybe even have more kids, and then have to square up to them some day and say he’d wondered whether Rowan was biologically his, but he hadn’t followed through? Hadn’t even run down all the fixed variables, and him a master of probability calculations.
He had to tell his future wife what he knew and didn’t know.
But first he needed to know more.
The first call he made once he had Rowan safely in her playpen back at the apartment, and the ring box tucked deep in the bowels of his suitcase, was to Tilly. His first words should have been him coming clean about his suspicion that he wasn’t Rowan’s father.
He couldn’t do it.
He wanted to be face-to-face so he could gauge her reaction.
Wanted to not burden her with his suspicions until he knew.
‘I got your ring. I think you’ll like it,’ he said instead, and damned himself to perdition. His next were, ‘Do you trust me with your happiness?’
‘Yes,’ she said, laughing. ‘I do. I’m practising my ‘I dos,’ by the way. You should practise too.’
‘I have to go to London and I’m taking Rowan with me.’
‘When?’
‘We fly tonight.’
‘So soon?’
‘I’ll be back as soon as I can.’
‘But … do you have a time frame?’
How long did it take to track down a big bald guy friend of Amanda’s? ‘A week?’ How long did it take to get a paternity test done? ‘Maybe more.’
‘Can I help? How can I help? I can keep Rowan here with me, leave you free to—’
‘No.’
‘But who’s going to—’
‘I’ll sort it. I’ll call again as soon as I can. I just wanted you to know.’
‘I’m not going to wake up tomorrow and it’s the end of the world or something, am I? I know your job’s important and you help predict the future and whatnot, but what’s so important that you have to leave now? Super-secret mission style now? Is this a thing I need to get used to? Henry Church, global troubleshooter?’
He couldn’t stand to mislead her. ‘Personal business. To do with Amanda.’
‘Oh.’ He could hear the doubt in her voice. Her need for more information. But she didn’t ask for it and for that he was grateful.
‘It shouldn’t take long. Fact checking, but it’s best done in person. I need to be there.’
‘No—I—of course. I understand. Needs must. But you’d tell me if there was a problem, right? So I could do my bit. And if you need to call me, I’m here any time.’
‘I’ll call just to hear your voice,’ he said, and meant it.
‘Will you be staying at your apartment?’
‘Yes.’
‘Say hi to Len and the Clarks for me.’
Trust Matilda to know his doorman and neighbours better than he did.
‘Your grandparents are okay? You’re okay to leave them?’
‘Yes.’
‘And you’re sure I can’t help?’
‘Matilda, I love you for all that you offer.’ It was getting easier to say. Becoming easier to accept her generosity of spirit. ‘And we’ll talk properly soon. Face-to-face. Have I mentioned how much I miss waking up beside you?’
‘I could stand to hear it a little more. Consider me a sponge when it comes to those kind of compliments. Okay, any compliments. I’m not fussy, I’ll take them.’
‘I’ll see you soon.’
‘Let me know what date you’re flying back in. I’ll meet you at the airport.’
To give and to get. It was time he got used to it. ‘Thank you. I’d like that.’
Chapter Twelve
‘I got engaged to Henry the other night. Before he left for Melbourne.’ Tilly had been meaning to keep this to herself until Henry returned, so they could tell her parents the good news together. But her mother had not long walked into the kitchen where Tilly stood baking, and the scent of the English roses in her mother’s arms, and the cheerful music on the radio made Tilly think of wedding flowers and weddings themselves and the timing of such events, and maybe she could start that ball rolling. Not that she was eager. Okay, yes, very eager to share that particular bit of news with the world. An announcement in the local paper. Discussions with the minister about the use of Wirralong’s little bluestone church.
Besides, Tilly had never been good at keeping secrets from her mother.
Her mother had never been good at masking her reactions. And that reaction right there—as she watched her mother’s hands go still and her face become carefully placid—was dismay. No delighted smile for her daughter’s good news, thought Tilly with a sinking heart.
She’d hoped for a little more enthusiasm.
‘What happened to taking it slow?’ her mother asked, with what she probably thought was admirable restraint.
‘It didn’t seem necessary. He was very convincing.’
The look on her mother’s face. Sheer dismay coupled with utter disbelief.
‘Be happy for me, please,’ she begged. ‘I know it’s fast. I know you’re not completely convinced that Henry’s the right man for me, but I am. I’d choose him over any other. Again and again and again.’
Her mother began placing roses into a vase one at a time. Such pretty, sweet smelling roses. ‘I wish I knew what you saw in him.’
That sinking feeling in Tilly’s heart hadn’t hit bottom yet. ‘I wish you did too.’
‘Is there an engagement ring?’ her mother wanted to know, and no, no there wasn’t, although Henry had mentioned one on the phone.
‘He got one in Melbourne, but I don’t have it yet.’
‘So it was a spur of the moment proposal on his part. Unplanned. Otherwise he would have had it with him when he proposed.’
‘He still meant it the next morning, if that’s any consolation.’
Clearly it wasn’t. ‘You think I’m making a mistake.’ May as well be blunt about it.
‘I didn’t say that.’
‘I get my bluntness from you, you know,’ Tilly reminded her. ‘You were worried about us entering a marriage of convenience, so as to serve everyone around us. You and Dad would benefit if somehow down the track we merged Moore Creek and Red Hill. Henry’s grandparents would benefit too. A motherless baby would benefit. But this isn’t a marriage of convenience, although it is convenient. Henry loves me.’
‘If you’re certain.’ Her mother finally met her gaze.
‘I am. Please be happy for me.’
‘I am happy for you.’
‘You’re not.’ She wanted to weep.
‘Hear me out,’ her mother pleaded. ‘Because, for all my familiarity with Henry Church, he’s not an easy man to know. He was a quiet boy who kept his own counsel. He never really bought in to a country way of life, no matter how mu
ch Joe tried to guide him. He had his sights set on different horizons and those career choices work for him and there’s merit in that. Since then I’ve defined him largely by his absence.’
Tilly had no comeback, no argument against her mother’s words.
There was no more room in the vase for more flowers, although the bench still lay scattered with them. ‘You need another vase.’
Wordlessly, her mother fetched one from the cupboard. ‘On the rare occasions Henry has graced us with his presence,’ she started in again, ‘I’ve seen a reserved, buttoned-up man come and go with barely a ripple and no concern at all for the plight of the grandparents who took him in.’
‘They’re proud people. They never asked him for help. It’s only lately that they’ve needed so much help. And he’s giving it unstintingly now. He set Joe up in a furnished apartment near the hospital. He came back here to see to the farm. He’s got Joe talking about putting on a farm manager as a way of doing what needs to be done. Henry will cover the cost initially. He’s planning to base his work here. How is that not helping them?’
Her mother acknowledged Tilly’s arguments with a nod and allowed them to stand.
‘And he’s not that buttoned up. He was here the other night, totally frazzled and begging for assistance. You made fun of him, remember? And did he react like a man too caught up in his aloofness to roll with it? No, he did not.’
‘I’ll admit, he’s much better with the baby than I thought he’d be.’ Thank heaven for her mother’s inherent fairness. ‘Has Henry ever mentioned his childhood to you? Before he arrived here?’
‘Does it matter?’ Because the answer was no.
‘I know from Beth that he had an early childhood I wouldn’t wish on the devil himself. And then he came to Red Hill, and Beth couldn’t seem to see past the ghost of her daughter.’
‘All the more reason to be proud of the man he’s become.’
‘He kept his distance from them.’