by Anna Jacobs
The conversation with her younger daughter relieved some of Rosalind’s worries, but it wasn’t the same as being there and seeing everyone. She rang Liz afterwards, but there no answer. She tried several times over the next day or two, but to no avail. And the answering machine wasn’t on, either. She hoped everything was all right. Liz had been in a very brittle mood when she left.
The next time Rosalind rang Perth, she caught her mother in, which was what she really wanted, and they had a nice long chat, though the question of how Louise was doing brought a stiff tone to her mother’s voice. Rosalind debated pushing for more information, then decided against it. She had enough problems managing on her own, was hating the loneliness.
At one point she asked if Audrey had seen Liz.
‘I met a cousin of hers, who said she’d gone away on holiday.’
‘Oh? Where?’ Liz had said nothing to her about holidays and they shared their plans with other.
‘Singapore or Hong Kong, I think. Or was it both? I can’t remember.’
‘But the university term has started. How has Bill managed to get away?’
‘Liz went on her own, apparently. Her mother said she’d been feeling depressed and needed something to cheer her up.’
‘I see.’ That sounded ominous to Rosalind. Surely Liz wouldn’t be putting her threat into operation? It was bad enough Bill being unfaithful, but two wrongs didn’t make a right. ‘Strangely enough, Paul’s in Hong Kong, too, Mum.’ She then had to explain about Pearson dying and it being an emergency, and her mother said all the things she’d been thinking, but of course she couldn’t agree with them too strongly because that would be disloyal.
‘Wouldn’t it be funny if Paul and Liz bumped into one another?’ she said, to divert her mother’s attention.
‘It’d be a miracle if they did. That place is so crowded you can hardly move around at more than a shuffle, and you can’t even see the people across the street clearly for heads bobbing in front of you.’
Rosalind smiled. Her mother had hated her one visit to Hong Kong. Well, she hadn’t liked it much herself, either. The people were pleasant, the hotels good and the tour guide had been charming, but Rosalind had found the masses of people everywhere claustrophobic after the wide open spaces of Western Australia.
Liz wasn’t enjoying being on holiday alone. The hotel in Hong Kong was big and luxurious, but most of the guests seemed to be passing through as part of tours. She’d tried sitting in the foyer, hoping to strike up a conversation with someone, anyone, but people just walked past her to join their tour groups.
And as for finding a man, forget it, baby! Most of the guests at the hotel were quite elderly. If she was going to the trouble of having an affair, it had to be with someone decent. At this rate it’d probably be no one, but she needn’t tell Bill that. She’d invent some gorgeous hunk and describe the encounters in intimate detail. An American tourist, she’d say. Perhaps she should buy a couple of romance novels, see if they gave her any ideas.
But that evening, a miracle occurred. Someone came up to her table in the restaurant and said, ‘What the hell are you doing here in Honkers, Liz Foxen?’
She gaped up at him. ‘Paul! But you’re in England!’
‘I was yesterday.’ He glanced down. There was only one table setting. Curiouser and curiouser. ‘Isn’t Bill with you?’
‘No, I’m on my own.’
‘Want some company?’
‘I’d love some.’ It was one thing to swan off and leave your erring husband wondering what you were getting up to, but another entirely for a woman to amuse herself on her own at night in a foreign city.
He sat down and beckoned to a waiter.
She watched the man fuss over him. Paul certainly knew how to get good service. Bill always got fobbed off with tables in corners and slow service.
Paul looked up and winked at her as the waiter continued to fuss. ‘Want me to order for you?’
‘Yes. I don’t know what half the things are. I was going to have the bouillabaisse.’
‘Wouldn’t advise it. Not here. The seafood can be very dodgy because the harbour is so polluted.’
‘Whoops! I had prawns last night. Do you think I’ll live?’
‘Oh, yes.’
His smile was warm and his eyes said he found her attractive. Well, it made a change for someone to feel that way. In fact, it felt wonderful.
The food was excellent. A series of small dishes, each perfectly presented, accompanied by superb wines. Too much wine, perhaps. When the meal was over and Paul suggested a cocktail, she found her head spinning as she tried to follow him to the bar.
‘I think you’ve had enough to drink,’ he said with a chuckle, steadying her.
She clung to his arm. Lean and muscular. Bill had let himself go a bit lately, was getting a distinct paunch. ‘I never could hold my wine.’
‘Come on, then, milady, let Sir Galahad escort you up to your chamber.’
At her door he hesitated, then asked, ‘Want to meet for a meal tomorrow evening? I’ll be working during the day or I’d offer to show you round.’
‘I’ve booked a coach tour. Going out to see a big Buddhist temple. But I’m free in the evening.’
‘Shall we say about eight, then? I’ll pick you up here.’ He glanced up at her room number.
This was more like it, she thought as she closed the door. Paul Stevenson was a charming bastard when he wanted to be.
It was only then that Liz realised – they hadn’t mentioned Rosalind at all, not after the first round of greetings. Not once. How strange! But then, they hadn’t mentioned Bill, either. And of course she wouldn’t tell Paul what she had threatened to do. That was between her and her husband.
But it’d been great to have someone to talk to! She was really looking forward to the next evening.
WHAT IS RAISED EMBROIDERY?
Although domestic stumpwork/raised embroidery embraces flatwork and a large variety of stitches, the definitive features of this style might be summed up as follows:
• The use of ‘needlemade fabrics’ in the form of needlelace …
• The use of wires and vellum, bound with silk and other threads, to provide texture and decorative relief features.
• The application of a wealth of supplementary ornamentation in a variety of available materials, including embroidered silk fabrics, pearls, beads, semi-precious stones, real hair, feathers, mica, metal threads/strips, braids …
• The strong use of figurative subjects within an otherwise natural design.
(Hirst, p.8)
Chapter Five
When Aunt Sophie rang a few days later with an invitation to go to Southport again, Rosalind accepted at once. ‘As long as you’re not too tired for visitors, Soph.’
‘I really enjoyed your last visit, dear.’
This time Southport looked grey and unwelcoming. People were hurrying along the pavements, umbrellas much in evidence, headscarves shrouding women’s faces into anonymity. She shivered as she parked outside her aunt’s and ran through the pouring rain to knock on the door.
When Prue opened it, her face crumpled and tears filled her eyes. ‘I tried to catch you before you left this morning. You’re’ – she hesitated, then finished – ‘too late, I’m afraid.’
‘What do you mean?’ But she knew, really.
‘Your aunt died in her sleep.’
As Prue held the door open, Rosalind walked into the hall and stood there. It was a moment before she could speak. ‘I can’t believe she’s gone. Soph was always so alive. And I spoke to her on the phone only last night.’
‘I’d grown very fond of her, too. More than I usually do with patients.’ Prue wiped her eyes. ‘Do you want to see her? The undertakers have attended to things – she wanted to lie in her own home, not in a funeral parlour, and I said I’d stay with her. She looks very peaceful.’
‘Oh.’ Rosalind swallowed. ‘Um, Prue – to be honest I’ve never seen a dead person
before.’ Not even her own father. ‘Maybe I should just – you know, remember her alive.’
Prue put her arm round Rosalind’s shoulders. ‘If you want my professional opinion, I think it’s better to say goodbye properly. There’s nothing to be afraid of, you know.’
‘Oh. Well, all right.’ Feeling shaky inside and wondering why she wasn’t weeping, she who even wept at sad items about complete strangers on the television news, Rosalind followed Prue into her aunt’s bedroom, hesitated just inside the door, then walked over to stand by the bed.
To her surprise Sophie dead was still someone she loved. ‘She does look peaceful,’ she whispered, not knowing why she was speaking in hushed tones.
‘Yes. And if it’s any comfort to you, I think she was more than ready to go. Though she’d have been sorry not to see you again. Isn’t it wonderful that you came to England when you did? That you were able to say goodbye to her properly?’
Rosalind felt a surge of guilt at how reluctant she’d been to leave Australia. Her aunt had been asking her to come and visit for years. ‘I’d like to sit with her for a while. On my own, if you don’t mind.’
Prue gave her a quick hug. ‘Sure. I’ve put you in the same bedroom as before.’
Rosalind pulled a chair up to the bed and found herself talking to her aunt. ‘I’m going to miss you very much, Soph. In fact, I don’t know what I’ll do without you for the next few weeks.’ She blinked her eyes, but no tears came. Why wasn’t she weeping?
She sat on for a while, feeling a sense of peace in the quiet, elegant room. Prue was right. It was good to say goodbye properly and knowing how much her aunt had hated her increasing incapacity, she couldn’t be sorry that Soph’s suffering had ended.
Soon she found herself talking again. ‘I’m still annoyed with Paul, you know. He’s gone off to Hong Kong. For a whole month. That’s why I was counting on coming to see you and—’ She broke off. She could hear her aunt’s answer to that echoing in her head.
Count on yourself, girl. You’re the only person in the whole world you can really rely on. Soph had said that to her so many times before, but it had never meant as much as it did now, when it was merely an unspoken echo.
She sighed and stood up. ‘I’ll try, Soph.’ Then she went off to ring her mother and tell her the sad news.
Her mother seemed a bit uptight, but Rosalind didn’t ask if anything was wrong. She had enough on her plate at present coping here. More than enough. If her daughter was misbehaving, she didn’t want to know yet.
The funeral was held two days later. Only three neighbours and the solicitor attended, apart from Rosalind and Prue. When the neighbours had left the cemetery, Mr Dennison came up to Rosalind, leaning heavily on his stick. He looked top-heavy with age, like a tree ready to be blown down by the next gale.
‘Could you possibly come and see me in my office this afternoon, Mrs Stevenson, about your aunt’s will? I only work two days a week now, so if you don’t come today, it’ll have to be next week, I’m afraid.’ He patted his chest. ‘Ticker’s not doing too well. Got to take things easy.’
‘All right. I’ll come today.’
He presented her with a business card, then walked slowly away.
The two women strolled back to the car park in a companionable silence.
‘Have you made any plans yet?’ Rosalind asked as they got into her car.
‘No. But if you like – well, your aunt suggested after your last visit that I stay on for a few days to help you go through the house and see what you want to keep. I know where everything is, you see. I’ve helped her sort out all her things over the past few months. She was very anxious to leave everything in good order.’ Prue paused and sighed. ‘I shall miss living there. It’s a lovely house, a real home. I suppose you’ll be selling it?’
‘I suppose so, eventually. I’d like you to stay on for a while. I hadn’t really thought about dealing with Soph’s things.’
As they went inside, Rosalind stared round. She couldn’t believe that this gracious old house belonged to her now and still felt more like a visitor than an owner.
At the solicitor’s that afternoon, Mr Dennison summarised the arrangements Sophie had made.
Rosalind nodded. ‘Yes, she told me all that.’
He looked at her sideways, as if assessing her, then added, ‘She was a bit worried about your husband, even so, worried he’d try to take the money off you, or that you’d just give it to him.’
Rosalind flushed. ‘She made her wishes quite clear and you can rely on me to respect them. I’ll open a separate bank account for the money.’ It upset her that Soph had considered her so much under Paul’s thumb. It upset her even more that there had been good reason for that belief.
Mr Dennison nodded. ‘Right, then. Do we have your address in England? No? Well, could you just jot it down, then? And your phone number? Good. Now – anything else you want to ask me?’
‘Um – about Prue’s wages? My aunt wanted her to stay on for a few days, to help me clear things out. She knows where everything is, you see.’
‘Your aunt provided for that. Just send us a written note when she stops work. Until then, the estate will continue to pay her weekly at the reduced rate agreed upon.’
When Rosalind left the lawyer’s office, she decided to go for a walk along the seafront. She needed some fresh air – and some quiet thinking time, too.
She found a series of neat, if uninspired, gardens surrounding artificial sea lakes – well, she presumed they were artificial. They were too regular to be natural, surely? It was a cold day, but sunny, and there were few holidaymakers so early in the season.
At one stage she sat on a bench and held her face up to the sun. More changes, she told it.
It continued to smile down at her. What had she expected? it seemed to be asking. Life was full of change. As if to emphasise that, some clouds passed across it and everything went dull until the clouds moved on and the world brightened up again.
Rosalind sucked in a deep breath, which was shaky with grief not only for Sophie but for herself, for her loneliness and uncertainty, her desperate need to sort her own life out.
What did she really want? To become a company wife and follow Paul around the world – or to put down roots somewhere on her own? She knew what the first choice would entail and as for the second, well, she’d been doing that for years. It was the one thing she’d stood up to Paul about. And it wasn’t truly satisfactory being on your own, either.
Sighing, she stood up and began to walk back to the town centre. Since Paul wouldn’t be back for a while, she’d make going through Sophie’s possessions her first priority.
I’ll try to be stronger next time I see him, she vowed as she walked up the garden path. Even if I do decide to become a company wife, I’ll make sure I have my own life too. Things like my embroidery. I must. I can’t go on like this, letting him use me as ‘a wife’.
Tim Stevenson edged forward, his eyes darting from side to side. If the cops caught him – if they put him in prison – but the buyer muttered what he wanted, handed over the money and hurried off as soon as he had the small packet. The next sale was just as easy.
When Tim had sold all his packages, he shuddered with relief and walked back to the bar. Handing over the money, he accepting the percentage agreed on – which was quite good pay for an hour’s work.
‘See,’ said Wayne afterwards. ‘It was easy. We’ll work for a while here, then move on. How about buying me a drink with your profits? And I bought some stuff for tonight. We can share it, if you like.’
‘No, thanks. I’ve got a thumping head. I’m not—’ Tim paused for a moment as he realised what his decision meant. But he couldn’t be any more unhappy than he had been lately, and it was the only real alternative. He stared at Wayne. ‘I’m giving the hard stuff up. It doesn’t agree with me.’
Wayne laughed, a sneering sound. ‘It’s a bit late to stop, isn’t it? I mean, you’d need medical help to kic
k the habit.’
‘I’ve only been using when I could afford it, not every day.’
‘You can afford it easily now. Pusher’s discount is quite helpful. Quit later, if you must “see the light”.’ He tittered as if he had made a joke.
‘I want to quit now,’ Tim insisted. The haggard, sometimes desperate faces of the people who had bought from him underlined what the stuff did to you sooner or later, demonstrating it better than any films and lectures ever could. ‘Look, I’m going back to our room now. Don’t bring any chicks home tonight, right? I need some sleep.’ He didn’t even wait for an answer, just turned and walked away.
Over the next week or two, he pushed drugs only to survive and did try to give the stuff up, to Wayne’s great amusement. He slipped up a couple of times, but he did cut it down, way down, and that was a start.
His friend, on the other hand, was indulging himself in every new treat that came along and wasn’t eating well. Wayne looked thin and feverish, full of energy one minute, sagging around their sleazy little room the next.
Which also kept reinforcing how stupid they were to have got themselves into this mess.
Tim bought a money belt and it never left his body, because with his clearer head he’d realised Wayne had been going through his things when he was out and helping himself. As his belt grew heavier, he found another hiding place for his passport and part of his savings, away from their motel. Risky, but who’d look in a neglected cemetery urn?
When he’d saved enough for the fare, he was going back to Australia and he was never, ever going to leave it again. He didn’t tell Wayne or anyone else about his plans. He was just going to take off one day. He’d already sussed out the quickest way to get to the nearest airport. He’d be gone before anyone realised it, flying to another city before booking his flight home. Oh, yes, he had it all figured out.