All I See Is You

by Lily Hammond

  Ruth blinked, surprised. ‘Riley – what can I do for you?’ she asked and wondered if it was selfish of her to hope that she wouldn’t have to do anything. She didn’t know what it was, but today she just didn’t feel up to it. Not after all the drama of the morning, of Eliza going missing, the silly child, and Maxine storming off to the train anyway, trailing a bemused Clemency behind her.

  Maxine still hadn’t told her why she had to go to see her family – whanau, Ruth reminded herself, deliberately using the Maori word. Maxine said she didn’t know, but Ruth thought she was lying to her, at least a little. They’d been together for eighteen years now, and she knew when Maxine wasn’t being straight with her.

  It wasn’t something that happened often, so Ruth had let it go, opting for that glue that secured every relationship – trust. Maxine would tell her when the time was right. Ruth wasn’t being naive to think so either, she knew. Something was happening with Maxine’s family that Maxine wasn’t sure about, and Ruth knew that when she had a proper grasp on the situation, Maxine would tell her. Goodness knows, Maxine was worrying enough about Ruth for Ruth not to want to add to the burden. She’d caught Maxine looking at her again and again recently, her fine broad face creased in a frown, her liquid brown eyes shadowed with worry.

  But I can’t help it, Ruth thought. And it was true. She would have given anything for this sadness, this lack, to go away. She’d tried to banish it, but it was as though a physical thing. She touched her abdomen now, with the hand that wasn’t pressing the telephone headset to her ear. Her stomach was slack under her hand, empty except for a yearning that wouldn’t go away. Is this what women mean by the maternal drive? she wondered. Is this what the textbooks from her nursing days meant by the dry words: biological imperative to reproduce?

  She bit at her lip, chewing upon it, frowning into the darkness of the hallway. Martin clattered down the stairs, calling for Patty, his mother in the kitchen, but Ruth didn’t even notice him. She stood in the dark nook where the telephone was, hand pressed to her empty womb, and wishing. But wishing didn’t make anything better. If wishes were horses, her mother had told her when she was a small girl whining for a new dolly, then beggars would ride.

  ‘Ruth? You there?’

  She shook herself. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I’m here.’ But she wished she wasn’t. She wanted to go upstairs and lie down.

  ‘It’s about Eliza,’ Riley said, and the words made Ruth sigh.

  ‘She hasn’t come back,’ Ruth said, although she supposed the girl would, maybe tonight, slinking in for dinner, or tomorrow perhaps, certain then that she’d missed the train to Greymouth. Maxine had told Ruth to put the girl on the very next train, but Ruth was tired. She didn’t want to worry about Eliza, and if the girl didn’t want to go to Greymouth, then Ruth didn’t think she would trouble with making her. If making her was even possible.

  She didn’t want to think about Eliza at all.

  ‘What about her?’ she asked, and her words were weary, disinterested.

  ‘She’s here, at the house,’ Riley said.

  Ruth stood a little straighter, surprise lifting her head. ‘At your house?’

  ‘Yes. She walked here through the pouring rain, poor thing. Just turned up on the doorstep.’ Riley’s voice lowered and Ruth tucked her head down, straining to hear it.

  ‘She was attacked too, I reckon,’ Riley said. ‘There’s a boot print on her side, in the midst of a very nasty bruise.’

  ‘Attacked?’

  ‘Someone had a good go at her. She says – or at least shakes her head when I ask her – that she’s not hurt anywhere else.’

  ‘Good,’ Ruth said, holding onto the telephone cord. ‘That’s good.’

  ‘Anyway, I thought I’d telephone and let you know that she’s here.’ Riley paused. ‘She’s come down with a bit of a fever though, probably on account of the drenching she got walking here, and the exhaustion, and fright.’ She fell silent again for a moment. ‘I don’t know if you want me to keep her here or bring her back to you? Libby Armstrong could drive her.’

  Ruth squeezed her eyes shut then opened them and frowned at her feet. ‘Libby Armstrong is there? At your house? I didn’t realise that.’

  Something came through the telephone line that sounded very much like a sigh. ‘She is. Clemency offered her a room here while the woman looked for accommodation. And the use of Clemency’s motor car while she is away with Maxine.’

  Eyebrows raised, Ruth shook her head faintly. ‘That’s generous of Clemency.’

  ‘Least she could do, I expect Clemency thought,’ Riley said. ‘But the matter at hand is that Miss Armstrong can bring Eliza back, if you think that would be a good idea.’

  Ruth pressed her cold fingers to her forehead. ‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘She’s sick, did you say?’

  ‘Nothing that some rest and chicken broth won’t fix, I’m sure.’

  ‘Perhaps she should stay where she is, then, Riley,’ Ruth said. ‘I’m very tired, and the house is full as it is. I don’t think I have the energy to play nursemaid right at the moment.’ She bit at her lip again. ‘What with Maxine away. Would it be a terrible bother if Eliza were to stay with you?’

  She knew it quite likely wasn’t a good idea to have both Eliza and Libby Armstrong in the same house at the same time – but let Clemency deal with that. It was her mess in the first place, let her clean it up. Ruth wasn’t up for the job, and right now, at this very moment, with a headache pressing behind her eyes, she didn’t care to play matchmaker, or otherwise.

  Riley answered straight away. ‘It would be no bother at all. I’ll make up a fresh bed for her, and I’ve already got the broth on simmering. I just thought I’d let you know the state of things.’

  Ruth thought that she didn’t really care about the state of things right now. She missed Maxine suddenly with a pain that made her want to lean over and gasp.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said anyway. ‘I’m sure Clemency will be pleased you’re looking after her so well. I’m sorry, Riley, but I have a headache. I was on my way upstairs to lie down for a while.’

  Instantly, Riley’s voice was concerned. ‘Are you all right, Ruth? Is there anything I can do for you?’

  Can you grow babies in your garden? Ruth thought, and fought the urge to laugh out loud. She thought if she did, Riley might hear a sound that was almost hysterical.

  ‘No,’ she said instead. ‘It’s nothing a bit of a nap won’t cure.’ Then, very carefully, she hung up the telephone and went upstairs to her room.

  Riley looked around and saw Dot lurking there. She shook her head.

  ‘She doesn’t want us to take her home?’ Dot asked.

  ‘She has a headache, isn’t feeling well herself,’ Riley answered, frowning, because Ruth had always been the poster girl for rude good health.

  But Dot, who had spent six weeks in Ruth and Maxine’s house, had a better idea of things. ‘She’s fretting, is Ruth,’ she said, and stepped closer to Riley, glancing around to make sure that the Libby Armstrong woman wasn’t anywhere near. This wasn’t any of her business.

  ‘Fretting?’ Riley asked.

  Dot nodded. ‘She wants a babe,’ she said confidentially.

  ‘A babe?’

  Dot held her arms in a cradling motion. ‘A wee one.’ She blinked. ‘I guess, being of the persuasion she is doesn’t change some things, eh?’ She folded her arms under her breasts and shrugged. ‘I would have said it does, but Ruth wants a baby, all right. It’s on her face as plain as day, every time she looks at the kiddies staying there with them.’

  ‘A baby,’ Riley repeated.

  ‘Yep. And I don’t know much about a whole number of things,’ Dot said. ‘But I know that’s the one thing Maxine can’t give her.’

  Riley swung her head slowly from side to side. ‘No,’ she said. ‘Not at all.’

  Dot nodded, pleased she’d gotten to tell that little titbit. She unfolded her arms and rubbed her hands together. ‘Rig
ht then,’ she said. ‘I’ll make up a bed for our Eliza, shall I?’

  Riley widened her eyes. ‘Our Eliza?’

  Dot had the grace to shrug. ‘Seems to me,’ she said, ‘it’s either going to be our Eliza, or our Libby – and which would you rather?’ She looked sideways at Riley. ‘You can’t tell me the same thought hasn’t occurred to yourself?’

  Riley kept her lips pressed together, because the same thought had come to her, although she’d not quite put it into words. Now, however, thanks to Dot, it was wide out in the open.

  ‘You think it has to be one or the other?’

  Dot blinked at her. ‘I think, if it weren’t for Eliza, that Libby woman would have her claws into Clemency already.’

  ‘They have a lot in common,’ Riley said. ‘They’d make a fine couple.’

  Dot looked at her, face sceptical. ‘Then you didn’t see Libby Armstrong sitting in front of that fire, flipping through a magazine and looking around the room like she’d landed better than she’d ever expected. Like she couldn’t believe her luck.’

  ‘I’m sure she could have very strong feelings towards Clemency, or develop them, at least.’

  Dot all but snorted. ‘And at the same time as she had those very strong feelings for Clemency, she’d be having at least as strong feelings about the house and the car and the bank account and the fancy clothes.’ She snapped her jaw shut and looked pointedly at Riley, who ought to have Clemency’s best interests at heart, of anyone.

  ‘But what of Eliza?’ Riley asked. She didn’t try to refute Dot’s assessment of Libby Armstrong. ‘She’s so young, and she can’t speak.’

  Dot lifted her eyes to the ceiling and shrugged. ‘Don’t think you need to speak to do what those two got up to the other afternoon.’

  ‘There’s more to a relationship than that,’ Riley said sharply.

  ‘Maybe so, but here’s what else I know,’ Dot said, rather enjoying herself. ‘You saw the way Clemency looked at Eliza. And there must be more to it than just the purely physical, if you know what I mean, for Clemency to take her out more than once – to bring her here.’ She paused, thinking. ‘I know Libby Armstrong being here doesn’t immediately back me up here, but I think the fact that Clemency brought Eliza here – to her home – the very first time they went out together, I think that says something.’

  Riley shook her head, but it wasn’t in disagreement. ‘She invited Miss Armstrong here because it was only the decent thing to do. She said so that that was all there was to it.’ She paused and winced a little. ‘I asked her, you see.’

  Dot all but crowed. ‘There you go, then.’

  Riley wasn’t quite convinced, but she thought, surprising herself, that Dot actually made some good points. And she’d seen for herself how Clemency had looked at Eliza. Not at all the same way she looked at Libby.

  ‘But what chance does it have?’ she asked, almost to herself. ‘What chance of lasting?’ She shook her head. ‘I don’t want to see either of them hurt.’

  ‘Eliza wouldn’t hurt a flea,’ Dot said. ‘If there’s anyone that can be said of that they had a genuine heart of gold, it’s that kid.’

  ‘And Clemency is sensitive, in her own way.’ Riley sighed. ‘Far more so that anyone ever credits, for that matter.’ She could barely believe she was having this conversation.

  ‘Our Clemency obviously sees something special in our Eliza,’ Dot said, staunchly showing whose side she was on. ‘And I reckon it’s more than just the appreciation for a pretty face.’ She shifted on her feet, determined to push her point home. ‘Clemency and Libby might be the more acceptable couple, if anything can be said to be acceptable for those like themselves, but I reckon as a couple they’d be as dry as dust.’ She sniffed for good measure, but she did at least believe wholeheartedly that what she said was true. ‘Whereas with Eliza, I reckon there’s real passion there.’

  Riley closed her eyes. ‘What’s it to do with us, anyway?’ she said.

  There was real urgency in her voice when Dot answered. ‘Because we get to choose – or if not choose, then influence.’ She grabbed Riley’s arm. ‘It’s as simple as this – you tell me to make up a room on the second floor, next to my own, and you’re choosing Libby. You put Eliza down there in the proper guest rooms, and you’re choosing her.’ She dropped her hand and nodded. ‘That’s what Libby will think, anyway.’

  ‘What a mess.’ Riley sighed, wishing Ruth had told her to bring the girl back – although, wouldn’t that be giving Libby Armstrong the go-ahead to enact her designs on Clemency? She put her hands on her hips and dragged in a deep breath, making up her mind.

  It was a shame Clemency wasn’t here to sort it all out herself.

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Libby cocked her ear towards her bedroom door and listened. Voices, the two women who worked downstairs. Libby pursed her lips then hugged herself, leaning her elbows on the little desk she sat at. In front of her was a piece of notepaper, and lying on that, her pen. So far, the only word she’d written was Clemency’s name.

  She didn’t know how to say what she felt she needed to. On a sigh, she got up and paced over to the door, leaning her head against the wood, listening. Perhaps she was being precipitous in writing to Clemency right now. After all, Libby thought, she wasn’t even sure what she wanted to say.

  Or could say, more like it. In these circumstances.

  There was the problem – what were these circumstances?

  Libby turned and leaned against the door, the wood cool against her blouse. It was chilly in the bedroom, and she made herself stand up, go over to the chest of drawers into which she’d carefully placed her folded clothes, and take out a woollen cardigan. She shrugged it on and returned to pondering her predicament.

  She made herself think of the kiss she and Clemency had shared. It had been daring – right out in the open, standing before the door to her hotel room – the key had been right in her hand. She’d turned to ask Clemency in, thinking Clemency must be sure to say yes, since she’d insisted upon walking Libby right to her room.

  The kiss had been impulsive. Libby had simply seen Clemency there, her fine, lovely face with that flattering and stylish haircut, and she’d leaned in, pressing her lips to Clemency’s. It had taken Clemency by surprise, Libby knew – despite the fact of where they stood, outside her hotel room, but after a moment, not even a very long pause, really, Clemency had returned the kiss, her mouth relaxing under Libby’s, her lips softening, and Libby had deepened it at once, moving her mouth against Clemency’s parting her lips and running the tip of her tongue along Clemency’s soft inner lip.

  Clemency’s hands had lifted to grip her by the shoulders, then, and Libby had been sure she was going to pull her closer, but Clemency had pushed her back, her green eyes glittering.

  Then Libby had been sure Clemency would say not there, not in the corridor where anyone could walk past and see them, and that she would take the key out of Libby’s hand and unlock the door, pushing it so that it swung open and she would smile at Libby – a seductive smile – and she would say after you.

  But Clemency had taken her by surprise and that hadn’t been what she’d said at all. In the bedroom, Libby pressed her lips together in a bitter disappointment.

  I’m sorry, Clemency had said to her, still holding her shoulders – holding her back, Libby thought. I’ve given you the wrong idea, Clemency had said. I can’t do it. It’s too soon.

  And then she’d said goodbye and walked away, leaving Libby there standing in front of her hotel room in disbelief.

  Libby’s hands clenched at the memory, and she returned to sit down at the desk where she stared at the piece of pink paper and Clemency’s name written on it.

  It’s too soon, Clemency had said, and it was those words that had let Libby get any sleep that night. And then, in the morning, like a miracle, Clemency’s low, beautiful voice had spoken to her on the telephone, turning Libby’s legs to water when she invited Libby to come stay
at her house while looking for her own place. It had taken all Libby’s willpower not to answer too quickly. But she’d leapt at the offer – of course, and why not? She’d have been a fool not to, and Libby’s mother hadn’t raised a fool, despite all but disowning her daughter when she’d learnt Libby’s inclinations weren’t a passing schoolgirl phase.

  She’d come straight over that morning. Yesterday, Libby thought to herself, sitting at the little desk and staring out the window where the weather was murky and did nothing to lift the spirits. Only yesterday. Today, Clemency had gone off on some mysterious mission with Maxine, after an even more mysterious conversation on the telephone with her – one on which Libby had shamelessly eavesdropped. She wasn’t sorry she’d done so. She was at a disadvantage, being the new woman coming into a tight group.

  Except, of course, she’d counted on that being a benefit, not a drawback. She was the new, interesting, intriguing woman in town. She was a breath of fresh air. She was the perfect match for Clemency Westerly, who, everyone knew, was looking to settle down at last. And had run out of lovers in Dunedin.

  Libby was supposed to be the right person at the right time. A godsend.

  It was annoying her greatly that she appeared to have arrived on the scene only a matter of weeks too late. If what she’d managed to glean was true.

  She’d made a pot of tea, when the housekeeper had so rudely shooed her from the sitting room like she was…Libby couldn’t think what it was like. A child, perhaps. A servant, maybe. Certainly not like Clemency’s guest and new business partner, and potential life-partner.

  But she’d gone along to the kitchens, which were surprisingly well-equipped and nice and warm. She’d taken the opportunity to have a bit of a nosy around, still interested in everything about Clemency’s house, still determined that there was the chance that one day it would be her house too.

  The kitchen was well-appointed and up to date. She filled the kettle and put it on the stove, lighting the gas under the element. Her heart was beginning to settle back down behind her ribs, and she told herself that the fuss those two were making over the bedraggled girl was no real indication of Clemency’s feelings towards her. What had that Dot said her name was? Eliza, Libby remembered, not having actually forgotten it for a moment. Eliza.