The Summer of Secrets

by Barbara Hannay

  Before she could do anything so crazy, she turned to find the handbag she’d left on a kitchen stool. She fished for her keys, slipped the bag’s strap over her shoulder.

  ‘Thank you, Rolf.’ Her voice was little more than a whisper as she stepped towards him and kissed his cheek.

  ‘My pleasure.’

  Slipping an arm around her shoulder, he gave her a brief hug, dropped a kiss on her brow. Then, shifting his hand to the small of her back, he gently steered her to the open kitchen door. The cool night air washed over them and an outside sensor light flashed on. A possum scurried away from the light and up into a safely dark tree. Rolf walked with her to her car.

  ‘Take care,’ he said as she opened the car door and got in.

  Emily was grateful to this man in so many ways, but she was sure she couldn’t tell him so without breaking down. ‘Thanks for a lovely evening, Rolf.’

  He gave a curt nod and she fired the car’s motor, switched on the headlights. Rolf held up his hand in a farewell salute before stepping out of the light and into the shadows, but he wasn’t quite quick enough to hide the shadow that crossed his face.

  The tears came as Emily drove home. She was on a winding, dark bush road, so she needed both hands on the wheel and couldn’t do much about the tears as they slipped down her cheeks and dripped from the end of her chin.

  She was crying from tension, from not wanting to hurt Rolf and knowing that she had. The poor man was being patient and a very good friend. But she knew that if she and Alex separated or divorced, Rolf would happily step into the role of her lover. And yet, he would never want to be the cause of their marriage breakdown.

  As always, her grief for Robbie was there, too. Over time she’d learned to hide the pain of his loss, to put on a public face, but an underlying sadness remained that she would never be able to shake.

  As she drew nearer to home, however, she saw the lights she’d left on in her empty house, and she knew the deepest part of her distress was caused by her husband’s desertion.

  It hurt so much to know that Alex could leave her and remain silent and distant when she so desperately needed him. Sadly, it didn’t help that she understood why Alex had left, or that the true reasons reached way back into their past.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Cairns, 1987

  Emily was pregnant again.

  Four years earlier, she’d had a miscarriage on Red Hill station while Alex and the ringers were out mustering. It had been the scariest, loneliest, most heart-rending day of her life, until her second pregnancy ended eighteen months later.

  Before that second sad occasion, Emily had been so hopeful. She had felt as fit as the proverbial mallee bull and on her visit to the antenatal clinic, she and the baby had been pronounced fine. She’d made it safely through the first scary twelve weeks and Alex had been as excited as she was.

  He had spoiled her with cups of tea in bed in the mornings and had made sure she got plenty of rest. He had also hired a pensioner couple to help with the housework and gardening.

  Together, Alex and Emily had dared to choose names. Kate for a girl and Alexander for a boy. Emily had insisted on the boy’s name. Alex’s father was also Alexander and she’d wanted to keep up the Hargreaves family tradition.

  Alex hadn’t been so sure. ‘We don’t want to end up with Alex the father, Alex the son and Alex the holy terror.’

  Emily had merely laughed. She rather loved the idea of being mother to a cute little holy terror. She could picture him with a snub nose and freckles, and twinkling eyes peeking out from beneath a longish fringe. His hair would be dark like hers and Alex’s. ‘Maybe we could call him by his full name? Alexander?’

  ‘Bit of a mouthful,’ said Alex. ‘Try yelling that from the back verandah.’

  He had a point.

  ‘What about Zander then?’

  Alex pulled a face. ‘Too hippie.’

  ‘Well, maybe we’ll just have to call him Chip – a chip off the old block.’

  Tenderly, Alex stroked her tiny baby bump. Then he bent down and kissed it. ‘And maybe we’re having a sweet little Katie girl.’

  That second time, when the cramping pains began, Alex had been home and he’d stayed by Emily’s side, a solid, comforting presence while she’d waited for the Flying Doctor, but nothing could be done to save their tiny son.

  So now, she had bravely embarked on yet another perilous journey towards motherhood, and this time she and Alex were taking no risks.

  As soon as her pregnancy was confirmed, Emily left Red Hill, where she had made a little memorial garden with a cairn of river stones for the baby she would always call Alexander, and she had moved to her mother’s house by the lake near Burralea.

  Her husband was in total agreement, of course. Alex wanted only the best for his wife and his unborn child. He and Emily tried to be stoic about the separation, but almost nine months of being apart took their toll. Even during phone conversations, a palpable tension hung over them.

  They didn’t talk about names for this baby and they made no special preparations, even though the pregnancy progressed happily and problem-free into the final trimester. Emily would have loved to take a trip to a big department store in Cairns to buy a bassinet and a cot and a pram. And she entertained a wistful fantasy in which Alex pasted a decorative frieze around the nursery at Red Hill – sky blue with white fluffy clouds, a backdrop for floating multicoloured balloons and birds.

  She was scared, though. She feared that to act on these fantasies would be tempting fate.

  Matters weren’t helped by the fact that whenever Alex came to the Lake House to visit Emily, Izzie was always there too. Very much in control.

  Emily hated the tension of these visits. No outright arguments took place between her husband and her mother, but Izzie seemed to rub Alex up the wrong way.

  Izzie Galbraith was the only woman in Emily’s experience who remained immune to the impact of Alex’s good looks. And she didn’t like the way he fussed over Emily, taking her cups of tea in the mornings and making sure she had her feet up for a rest after lunch each day.

  Izzie sniffed at such cosseting. She’d always taken pride in being a strong, independent woman. Not only had she ferried fighter planes in England during World War II, but she had married an Australian Bomber Command pilot and settled in North Queensland with him, only to be widowed less than ten years later, when he rejoined the RAAF and was killed in the Korean War.

  ‘I have enormous respect for your mother,’ Alex confided to Emily. ‘Heaven knows she’s heroic in every sense of the word, but we’re a different generation and we’re not at war now. I think she should ease off. She’s too hard on you.’

  Naturally, Izzie had tried to raise her only daughter to be like herself, with a British stiff upper lip, but although Emily also admired her mother’s strength, she actually adored the way Alex worried and fussed over her. Sometimes she felt as if he was making up for the loss of her father, who had died before she was born.

  Of course, Emily also felt defensive about Alex. Consequently, she was super-conscious of her mother’s critical eye-rolls and sniffs. She was also aware of her husband’s answering tension in the clenching of his hands beneath the dining table, or in the subtle roll of his shoulders. She had seen that shoulder roll and neck stretch in the past – especially on one memorable occasion, soon after she’d arrived at Red Hill, when Alex had come within inches of punching a ringer who’d tried to give her cheek.

  At least, despite the tensions at the Lake House, Alex remained a perfect gentleman. He didn’t snap at his mother-in-law when she chided him and, throughout his regular visits, they grudgingly tolerated each other. The months rolled on, and when Emily was six weeks away from the due date, she moved down to Cairns to a hostel right near the Base Hospital.

  She phoned Alex. ‘I’m here safe and sound. No sign of early contractions and the baby’s kicking like mad.’

  ‘That’s wonderful, Em, darling. I w
ish I could see you.’

  ‘Me, too. I miss you so much.’ She longed to see Alex’s smile, to bury her face in his chest and breathe in the scent of his skin, and she yearned to have him beside her through the long, lonely nights.

  ‘I’m planning to be there with you at least two weeks before D-day,’ he told her.

  ‘That would be great.’ Emily had been to another set of antenatal classes and all the women in her group had husbands who planned to be with them for their babies’ births.

  She wanted to be just like them, with her baby’s father at her side, calming her fears. They both so desperately needed this baby to be pink and healthy, lusty and yelling.

  Two days before Alex was due to arrive from Red Hill, Emily’s labour started. The contractions were mild and twenty minutes apart, but she went straight to the hospital and instructed her mother to telephone Alex. He needed to leave Red Hill immediately. It would be best if he could catch a ride on a private plane. They knew several graziers who had their pilots’ licences.

  But when Izzie found Emily in the labour ward, she had bad news. ‘I couldn’t speak to Alex, I’m afraid. I could only leave a message with the housekeeper.’

  ‘But you told Sandy to send Jim straight out to find Alex, didn’t you?’

  Izzie shrugged. ‘I assumed the woman would have enough common sense to think of that for herself.’

  ‘Oh, Mum!’ Emily slammed clenched fists into the mattress.

  ‘Don’t upset yourself, Emily. Women have been having babies for centuries without their husbands hanging about and getting in the way.’

  ‘But I want Alex. I need him.’ Her husband had been with her for tiny Alexander’s miscarriage and, despite the sadness, Emily knew that their bond had deepened more than she’d ever thought possible. In the three years since, she and Alex had supported and buoyed each other. They’d become partners in every sense. A team. And now it was vitally important to share the triumph of this baby’s safe arrival. Together.

  It felt wrong to go ahead and have their baby without Alex. Emily didn’t try to stem her tears.

  ‘Don’t make such a fuss.’ Izzie was firm in her disapproval. ‘You’re more than capable of delivering a baby without your husband holding your hand.’

  Emily pleaded with the midwife. ‘Can we slow things down?’

  ‘Now why would you want to do that?’ the midwife retorted with a bemused smile.

  Alex was still hours away and the contractions were getting stronger and closer. ‘I want to hold on,’ Emily said. ‘To give my husband time to get here.’

  ‘Don’t start stressing about timetables, m’dear.’ The midwife gave Emily’s hand a reassuring pat. ‘I’m sure your husband will forgive you if he finds you already sitting up in bed with a bonny baby in your arms.’

  It was dark when Emily woke.

  Alex was sitting beside her bed. ‘Hello, my darling girl.’

  She was no longer in the labour ward, but in a private room. A night light allowed her to see him. Around her wrist was a plastic bracelet with her name and on a cabinet beside her stood a vase of pink roses with a card attached. Love, Mum xx

  She remembered everything that had happened. The birth had seemed pretty torrid to her, but the midwife had declared that it was quite, quite normal.

  ‘It’s a boy,’ she told Alex. ‘A healthy baby boy.’

  ‘I know,’ he said. ‘I’m so proud.’

  But it was Izzie, not Alex, who had witnessed the precious birth. Apparently, the midwife had found Emily’s mother hanging about outside the delivery room and had assumed her presence was pre-arranged. So she’d invited her in.

  ‘I’m sorry I couldn’t hold on a bit longer,’ Emily said now as Alex kissed her. ‘But he’s beautiful, Alex. Have you seen him?’ She looked around the room. Where was the little cot on wheels? ‘I thought they were going to leave him here with me.’

  ‘Your mother suggested you needed to sleep,’ Alex said in a quiet, hard-to-read voice.

  ‘Really? But have you seen the baby? He’s still okay, isn’t he?’

  ‘He’s fine, sweetheart. Izzie took me to the nursery and I saw him through a window.’

  ‘He’s so beautiful,’ Emily said again.

  ‘From what I could see, he looks strong. A real bruiser.’ But there was something missing in Alex’s smile, in his voice.

  ‘Where’s Mum now?’ Emily asked.

  ‘I believe she’s gone back to her hotel, somewhere nearby.’ Emily nodded and released a small sigh.

  ‘And you want to call the baby Robert?’ Alex added.

  This was a shock. Her mother must have told him. ‘What do you think?’

  Alex shrugged. ‘It’s as good a name as any, I guess.’

  ‘It was my father’s second name,’ Emily explained. ‘But Mum shouldn’t have told you, Alex. She knew I wanted to discuss the names with you first.’

  ‘You must have confided in her.’ His voice held a gentle reproach.

  ‘She caught me at a weak moment. You know what she can be like.’ Emily felt terrible. She had wanted everything about this birth to be perfect. For her and for Alex. ‘I’m sorry, darling.’ She would never tell Alex that Izzie had suggested they call the baby Jeremy – Jem for short – after the big brother she’d adored. ‘And, honestly, I had no idea they were going to bring Mum into the delivery room for the birth.’

  Alex made no comment, but his throat rippled as he swallowed and Emily knew then that he was hurting. Her mother, no doubt with the best of intentions, had bulldozed in where he belonged.

  She reached for the buzzer beside her.

  Alex stiffened. ‘What are you doing?’

  Fortunately, Emily didn’t have to answer. Almost immediately, a nurse appeared in the doorway.

  ‘How can I help you?’ the nurse asked.

  ‘Could you please bring my baby back to this room?’

  ‘But it’s past midnight and you need to rest.’

  Emily, however, was adamant. She needed to share this night with Alex, to celebrate the wondrous miracle. To let the truth sink in that this baby, their son, was here to stay. Like every other healthy baby, he would learn to crawl, to toddle and eventually to run. In turn, he would be a schoolboy, a teenager, a man.

  ‘I want him here.’ Emily spoke so firmly she surprised herself. ‘My husband has only just arrived from a cattle property out west. He hasn’t seen his son yet.’

  ‘Well …’ The nurse’s gaze switched to Alex and lingered. Even in the soft glow of the night light he was looking his tanned-and-handsome best, dressed in moleskins and a pale-blue shirt with button-down pockets, his thick, dark, fashionably long hair curling at the collar. The nurse offered him a dimpling smile. ‘I’ll see what I can manage.’

  Showered and changed into a fresh nightgown, Izzie eyed her reflection in the hotel’s bathroom mirror. Her dark curls were heavily streaked with grey, and deep wrinkles fanned out from the corners of her eyes. The lines seemed fitting for her newly acquired status as grandmother. Her throat was wrinkled, too, as were her hands, the finger joints swelling with the beginnings of arthritis.

  So different from her grandson’s smooth little fingers.

  In the delivery room, she had offered the baby her finger and he’d clasped her with such a firm little grip. In fact, his hand had closed around her finger so tightly she’d been quite overcome. She had found it necessary to leave the room before anyone noticed her tears.

  Outside, on the hospital verandah, she had stared at the moon, at the waving palm trees and the dark, silent tropical sea and had blinked hard till her emotions were under control. She had forgotten the heart-tugging perfection of a newborn babe.

  Becoming a grandparent was a privilege, of course, a gift denied her own mother, who’d died far too young, while her poor husband hadn’t even survived long enough to know he was a father.

  Izzie had been tempted to remind Emily of this when she was making such a fuss about Alex missing the
baby’s birth. Really, the younger generation had no idea.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  England, 1945

  Izzie had assumed she understood about happiness. Before the war happiness had meant having family and friends around you, and life had been pretty much carefree. Since the war’s outbreak, happiness had become a matter of practicality, a roof over your head, enough food to eat and a job that kept you busy and stopped you from thinking too hard about the crazy world beyond your little sphere of responsibility.

  When suddenly, in the murky depths of the war, she had met Geoff Galbraith, the Australian pilot, she had rocketed, in a blink, to an entirely new and unimagined level of happiness.

  It was completely unwise and against all of her self-imposed rules, but Izzie was helpless. To see Geoff’s smile was like drinking stars. To see the heat in his eyes when he caught sight of her, across a tarmac or a crowded pub, made her feel she was flying too close to the sun. At his touch, she was soaring. Flaming. Giddy and boneless with longing.

  They married quickly. There was no point in dallying. Izzie didn’t need her father’s permission and she didn’t want to hold things up by travelling home to ask him. Besides, she wasn’t sure her father would be thrilled with the idea of her marrying an Australian, and she couldn’t bear to have an argument over Geoff.

  They fitted the registry office ceremony in between her taxi flights and Geoff’s Bomber Command duties. Izzie’s friend Olive Wise and Geoff’s wing commander, Ian Forsythe, were their witnesses. Izzie didn’t have a wedding dress, but she had a nice ‘sort of’ bouquet of white roses and they had a little party for just the four of them, with champagne, supplied by Ian, and ham salad and tinned fruit bought with food coupons.

  Their honeymoon was an exciting and magical three days in the Cotswolds, but in the weeks that followed, they saw each other rarely. By this point in the war, Geoff was flying in bombing raids over Düsseldorf.