The Daughter's Promise (ARC)

by Sarah Clutton

  For a heart-stopping moment, it teetered on two legs before crashing, lightly, to the ground. Annabelle swore. She was bent forward, chest heaving, arms pressed against the exterior of the house. She was stuck.

  Behind her, from within the house, she heard the rustling noise of a key, then a door squeaking, then footsteps. She couldn’t turn. Couldn’t see. She was sweating; panting with the exertion of keeping herself balanced.

  ‘Annabelle?’

  Sylvia. Annabelle felt her insides plummet. She imagined her sister staring at the enormous pink floral moons of her bottom. She clenched her pelvic floor – a habit she’d gained after a Pilates instructor once told her it would make her look slimmer when naked. She felt naked.

  ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘I could ask you the same thing! I’m looking for something,’ said Annabelle tersely. ‘Help me down! I’m stuck.’

  She heard Sylvia’s hurried footsteps, then felt a hand on her thigh and another on her back.

  ‘You do seem to be quite stuck,’ said Sylvia after a moment. ‘What are you looking for out there?’

  ‘A spider!’ spluttered Annabelle. ‘I was chasing a spider and it ran out here and I tried to swat it.’ She would have congratulated herself on her own quick thinking, but the window frame was digging painfully into her sides.

  ‘Let me hold you tight around the legs and see if you can shuffle backwards,’ said Sylvia doubtfully.

  Annabelle made a huffing sound, then did as she was told, but she knew she was just getting more wedged in. ‘You’ll need to go outside and stand the ladder back up for me,’ she panted.

  ‘Why is there a ladder out there?’ asked Sylvia.

  ‘I told you!’ said Annabelle testily. ‘I was cleaning spider webs. Just hurry up and do it.’

  After a moment, Sylvia appeared on the grass in front of her and lifted the ladder, and Annabelle was able to wriggle out and clamber back down. She brushed herself off, and Sylvia stood with her arms crossed and watched her, before bending down and picking up the brass fixture that had fallen off the window when Annabelle broke in. She held it up.

  Annabelle ignored her. She hurried back around to the front and let herself into The Old Chapel. Her hips throbbed. Her whole body was taut, sweating, but she pushed on, moving from one box to the next, lifting lids, checking if they held anything that looked like diaries.

  ‘What on earth are you doing?’ asked Sylvia, appearing next to her.

  ‘Don’t be such a busybody,’ said Annabelle, brushing past her. She pulled the tape off a sealed box and was disappointed to see only files inside.

  ‘That is possibly the most ridiculous thing that has ever come out of your mouth,’ said Sylvia.’

  ‘There’s no need to be rude,’ said Annabelle. She was so hot and flustered, she felt like her feet were sweating. It was an extremely odd sensation.

  ‘You were breaking in!’ exclaimed Sylvia.

  Annabelle moved to the next box, flipped the lid. Flicked through the books.

  ‘Annabelle, these are Willa’s things. You have no right to be going through them!’ said Sylvia sternly.

  ‘She wouldn’t mind. She doesn’t mind,’ said Annabelle. ‘I need something urgently. Where did you put Lillian’s… personal papers?’

  ‘If you’re looking for the diaries,’ said Sylvia, after a moment, ‘there are a dozen of them in the box I just put by the door.’

  Annabelle looked up.

  ‘I took them home by mistake.’ Sylvia was glaring at her.

  Annabelle said, ‘What about the one from 1977? Is that one in there?’

  Sylvia regarded her for a moment. ‘Willa is your baby.’

  Annabelle felt the wind go out of her. She took a step forward and slumped onto the couch. ‘I just need the 1977 one,’ she said quietly. ‘I don’t want her to read about it.’

  ‘There’s nothing in it,’ said Sylvia. ‘Nothing interesting, anyway. I checked.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Annabelle, letting out a sigh of relief.

  ‘Why don’t you want her to read about it?’ asked Sylvia. ‘Would it be so bad if she found out you were her mother?’

  ‘No. Yes! No… it’s… oh! Just mind your own business,’ snapped Annabelle.

  Sylvia sighed. ‘Have you known for a while? About Willa?’

  ‘I only just found out,’ said Annabelle tersely. Then she sighed and looked out the window. ‘I only just found out her birth date. She doesn’t even… look like me.’

  ‘Are you kidding?’ asked Sylvia. ‘There’s a definite resemblance in the eyes. And the way she laughs.’

  ‘Is there?’ said Annabelle. She felt a flutter of something in her chest.

  Sylvia said, ‘I’m sorry I left you, Anna. To have her on your own. But that night, when I saw you with Dan, I thought – later… when I found out you were pregnant – well, I thought the baby was Dan’s. He says it wasn’t, but—’

  ‘She’s not,’ said Annabelle. ‘Of course she’s not.’ The way Sylvia was looking at her, the doubt in her eyes, it was monstrous.

  ‘Did you have a boyfriend?’ asked Sylvia gently.

  Annabelle ignored her. How dare Sylvia think she had any right to be having this conversation, the way she’d been gallivanting with Dan.

  ‘Anna? Who was the boy?’

  ‘It’s none of your business!’ said Annabelle.

  Sylvia sighed again. ‘Why on earth would Lillian leave the house to your daughter? It makes no sense.’

  ‘Go away,’ snapped Annabelle. ‘Just leave.’ She looked down to avoid Sylvia’s glare.

  ‘No, thank you very much,’ said Sylvia. ‘I’m the one with the key.’

  ‘Oh, don’t be so immature!’ said Annabelle.

  ‘Well, that’s the pot calling the kettle black. You’re the one who got your bum stuck in the window in the middle of a robbery.’

  ‘Oh, pooey poo poo!’ shouted Annabelle. Where on earth had those words come from? They sounded so childish! She felt herself welling up with laughter.

  ‘Hello?’ A voice at the door made them both jump. Mira was peering nervously into The Old Chapel. No doubt she’d heard the angry voices.

  Annabelle caught Sylvia’s eye and saw the glint of shared mirth, waiting to burst out.

  ‘I just thought I’d pop in to say I’ve finished repotting the rosemary,’ said Mira. ‘I, umm… Annabelle,’ she glared at Sylvia, ‘did you want me to stay and keep you company?’

  ‘No,’ said Annabelle. A gushing, snorting noise escaped from the back of her throat. Her hand flew to her mouth to stop the laughter coming out.

  ‘Really?’ asked Mira, peering at her worriedly.

  ‘Absolutely not,’ said Sylvia.

  Mira ignored Sylvia. ‘I know you’re probably feeling a bit hurt right now, Annabelle, but if you want any support, I’ll be just over at your house.’ Mira hesitated, looking between them. Then she turned reluctantly and left.

  Annabelle looked down at her feet, trying to regain her composure.

  Sylvia said, ‘Sorry. It’s none of my business who Willa’s father is. And I’m sorry, too, about Dan. That’s what Mira would have been meaning, with that comment. I guess you’ve heard about me being on the street yelling at Dan in my undies this morning. It wasn’t what it looked like, by the way. I mean, I had been seeing him previously – you knew that, the night you had the panic attack – but not since. And I’m sorry. Can we talk about it?’

  ‘You were wearing your underpants on the street?’ said Annabelle, confused.

  ‘I disgust myself.’

  ‘Yes. Well, I’m not surprised,’ said Annabelle.

  Sylvia let out a little cough of a laugh. ‘Anyway, I’m sorry that I’ve embarrassed you. There’ll be gossip.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Annabelle. ‘Dan will be cross.’

  ‘Screw Dan! He’s not worth the mat you wipe your feet on,’ said Sylvia angrily.

  Annabelle bristled with indignation. That was so unfair! Just b
ecause Sylvia had managed to lure him back into her bed after all these years. There weren’t many men who’d be able to withstand Sylvia’s confidence and her beauty, if she set her hat to them.

  ‘I don’t need your opinion on my husband, thank you very much!’

  Sylvia’s shoulders slumped a little. There was a long silence before she said, ‘Anna, in the diaries, there’s… I don’t want to break your heart, but Dan hasn’t ever been a faithful husband. Apparently Lillian called him out on it a few times. Each time he promised he’d stop, but he didn’t. I’m just the latest idiot to fall into bed with him.’

  No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no. Annabelle’s head dropped and she felt the energy leaking out of her. She didn’t want to know this. Didn’t want her whole life to be a lie.

  Sylvia said, ‘It’s not your fault. He’s always been a narcissistic bastard. It’s easy to get swept up by his charm when he turns it on.’

  ‘But… he was my only boyfriend. The only man I ever…’ Annabelle looked down again and noticed tears falling onto the floorboards.

  ‘What about Willa’s father?’ asked Sylvia, uncertainly. ‘When… Who was he?’

  Annabelle turned her head towards the wall, wishing it would somehow swallow her up. Why couldn’t Sylvia just leave this alone? She wanted to crumble and cry out for her mother.

  Sylvia sighed. ‘When I got the letter saying you were pregnant, Lillian said she’d already arranged for you to go to Launceston to wait it out, so no one would know. I felt terrible leaving you on your own, but I knew Lillian would look after you. And she said the couple who were adopting the baby were lovely.’

  Annabelle felt all the decades of sadness dragging through her.

  ‘I know I should have come back,’ said Sylvia. ‘But I was sick. Depressed. I couldn’t face seeing him.’ When she got no answer again, she said, ‘I was so ashamed of what I did that night. Of the real reason I left.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ asked Annabelle, wiping at her eyes. ‘Because you yelled at me like an evil banshee when you thought I’d been with Dan?’

  Sylvia’s hand shook as she pressed it hard against her mouth. Then she brought her other hand up so that both were covering her whole face. After a moment, she slid them down, so that now they were only covering her mouth. She gave a small shake of her head.

  ‘No. Well, yes, of course. But there was something else. After that.’

  Annabelle could feel her despair. She was inexplicably terrified by it. ‘Syl, what did you do?’ She got up from the couch, trembling.

  ‘I can’t…’ sobbed Sylvia. She turned and walked to the open door, pulling the key out of the keyhole. ‘I can’t tell you, but I’m sorry, Anna.’ She looked at the key, then dropped it onto the tiny round table in the vestibule. ‘And I’m sorry about Dan, too. I can’t tell you how sorry I am.’

  Annabelle nodded. And as Sylvia walked away, the strangest thought popped into her head. Maybe I knew that Dan wasn’t faithful. Maybe I always knew.

  Twenty-One

  Willa

  As she folded the last of her clothes into the suitcase, Willa pondered the phone call. Annabelle had sounded serious. Not at all like her usual self. Willa was suddenly nervous. Had she upset her in some way with the garden fete? Had she removed some important heritage plant from The Old Chapel garden? Leandra had been prattling on and on in the last weeks about the rarity of some of the specimens.

  She wished Hugo and Hamish hadn’t gone back to Oxford. She missed their company, but Hugo had lectures to deliver and Hamish had already missed a week of school. Willa had decided to stay on for a few days alone, as there were still loose ends she needed to tie up in terms of managing The Old Chapel after she went home. And she had friends to visit in Sydney, too. It might be a while before she made it back to Australia again, so she couldn’t give up the opportunity to see them. She would miss being here in her homeland. The lifestyle was so casual and easy.

  It had been nearly a week since the anniversary of Esme’s death, and in those few days, Willa had felt a growing urge to know her birth heritage. To find something here that tied her to this soil. She had planted the Esme rose in The Old Chapel garden. She wasn’t selling the place. Not yet. Maybe not ever. Esme would grow at Sisters Cove. She could be wild and free like the winds that buffeted the cliffs.

  Willa had read some of Lillian’s diaries over the course of the week, but they didn’t seem to give her any clues to her parentage. Disturbingly, she’d read one entry about an affair Dan had been having with a young lawyer at his office in 1989. Lillian had been furious with him when she’d discovered an erotic love note on the woman’s desk, among some files. Poor Annabelle. Willa wondered if she knew that Sylvia wasn’t his first transgression.

  She sat down heavily on the bed, thinking again about Annabelle’s call. ‘I have something to talk to you about,’ she’d said. ‘Can you come for a drink?’ The request sounded odd, and Willa felt uneasy as she picked up her car keys and headed outside.

  She parked the hire car at The Old Chapel and walked across the lane. Merrivale’s garden was picture perfect. Most days Willa had been coming up to help Leandra in The Old Chapel garden, and each day she would see Annabelle and her helper, Pete, and sometimes women from the garden club; a busy bustle of helpers planting, preening, cutting and weeding; erecting garden arches and fixing dry-stone walls. As the fete drew nearer, Annabelle’s stress levels were rising to fever pitch. Willa could see it in the way she walked and talked. It couldn’t be good for her health.

  Through the screen door of Merrivale’s kitchen, Willa noticed that the table was set beautifully for two, with deep-blue linen place mats, white linen napkins and crystal wine glasses and water tumblers. It must be the way Annabelle always set the table, because she’d seen it like this the last time she was here around dinner time.

  Annabelle stood at the stove, sweating, but otherwise smartly dressed in a top patterned with daffodils, tailored trousers and a pair of bright-yellow leather loafers.

  ‘Oh, come in! Come in, Willa,’ she said. ‘What a pretty name it is, really – Wilhelmena,’ she added, then appeared to mull over that thought. ‘Would you like a glass of wine?’

  ‘Yes please. White if you have it,’ said Willa, after they’d hugged briefly.

  ‘Right. Well you stir this, and I’ll go and get a bottle from the cellar.’

  Annabelle bustled off to the back area leaving Willa to stir a casserole pot that held some kind of beef dish. It smelled delicious.

  She returned with two glasses of wine. ‘I hope you like this one. It’s a Chenin Blanc from New Zealand. I bought a couple of cases from a vineyard owned by the parents of a girl getting married here. I just had to order some when they told me. A bit of mutual business support!’

  They both took a sip, and Annabelle closed her eyes as she swallowed. ‘It was nearly fifty dollars a bottle, but don’t tell Dan. He’d get cross,’ she said with a laugh.

  ‘It’s really delicious,’ said Willa.

  ‘You’re probably wondering what I wanted to talk to you about,’ said Annabelle, after a moment.

  ‘I’m intrigued,’ said Willa. ‘What is it?’

  Annabelle sighed heavily. ‘I wanted to know if you might consider staying on. Until after the fete. I… I need help, you see. Everything is getting out of hand, and I know how good at organising things you are. Just this week, I’ve heard you sort out so many problems whenever you popped over. The garden ladies think you’re wonderful.’ She picked up the wooden spoon and resumed stirring the pot. ‘And I’d be so happy if you could be here to show The Old Chapel garden yourself, now that Lillian has gone.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Willa. ‘Really? But I’m booked to go tomorrow to Sydney.’

  ‘Could you possibly delay it? It would mean so much to me. To have a deputy. In the fete-organising department, I mean.’

  Willa knew immediately that she would say yes. She’d been having the strangest sensation that her busine
ss here wasn’t finished. But it was hard to know what she was waiting for.

  ‘Of course I can stay,’ she said. ‘I’ll ring the airline. Change my flight.’

  ‘Oh goody!’ Annabelle clapped her hands then looked up as Dan’s Range Rover appeared in the driveway. Her hand fluttered at her neck. ‘Ah, here’s Dan.’

  She’s nervous, Willa thought.

  ‘I’ll just pop to the bathroom,’ said Annabelle, as his car door slammed.

  She left Willa in the kitchen, and after a moment, Dan appeared at the doorway, carrying a heavy-looking cardboard carton. He put it down outside the screen door and returned to the car to get another. When he had stacked four identical boxes near the doorway, he came inside, just as Annabelle returned.

  ‘Perfect timing,’ she said, handing him a bottle of red wine from the sideboard. ‘Dinner’s nearly ready.’

  He took the bottle without speaking to her.

  ‘Hello, Dan,’ said Willa.

  ‘Oh, hi,’ he said, clearly surprised. He obviously hadn’t noticed her in the corner. ‘Aha, now let me see. You’re here because you’ve changed your mind and decided to sell me The Old Chapel?’

  ‘Dan! Willa’s just here for a quick drink, not to be hassled.’

  ‘Calm down. I was just kidding,’ said Dan.

  Willa looked at his furrowed brow and knew that he wasn’t. ‘Um, I might head off then, Annabelle,’ she said.

  Dan was now sitting at the table pouring himself a large glass of wine and scrolling on his phone. Willa found her dislike of him hard to disguise.

  ‘You could join us if you like, for dinner,’ said Annabelle. But Willa noticed the lack of enthusiasm in her voice. She clearly didn’t want a dinner guest, and Willa didn’t want to stay.

  ‘Thanks, but I’ll just see you tomorrow. We can make a plan of attack,’ she said, and Annabelle looked unnerved.