Although, much like Kate I couldn’t imagine Faith darkening the door of a community art gallery.
‘Ah, I remember now, it was Grace Fairley, corporate banker! There is a strong family resemblance. I know it might sound corny but you don’t look old enough to be her mother.’
I’d rolled my eyes without conscious thought. His smile widened.
‘I’m right, it was corny.’
‘You have a good memory for faces,’ I said, suddenly self-conscious. He was flirting with me and I hadn’t been flirted with since … I couldn’t remember when.
‘I’m a photographer,’ he said. ‘Making memories is what I do.’
‘Oh,’ I said. ‘Nice to meet you.’
He put down the coffee and the teaspoon clattered onto the sink.
‘But you haven’t met me yet,’ he said, rounding the table and extending his hand. ‘Walt Bancroft. I bought the old Palmer place about seven years ago. I’ve lived in Miners Ridge ever since. And I’ve been on the gallery committee most of that time.’
His fingers closed around mine, his grip warm and sure.
‘I know where the Palmer place is,’ I said. He held my hand longer than necessary and heat prickled beneath my skin. There was no doubting the man was a charmer. And I recognised the name as the attribution beside several stunning photos in one of the smaller rooms off the main gallery.
‘Do you know,’ he said, his brow creasing, ‘I think I have something that belongs to you.’
I eased my hand from his. ‘I can’t for the life of me think what it could possibly be.’
‘Leave it with me, I’ll remember eventually,’ he said, as Stella, one of the other volunteers, bustled in carrying a Tupperware cake container.
‘Sarah, Walt. How are you both? Looks like a good turnout tonight.’ She put the container on the bench and scanned the cups and saucers set out at the end of the large, lino-covered table that dominated the centre of the small kitchen.
‘We don’t usually have a turnout like this unless there’s something amiss,’ she continued, her chubby face folding into a frown.
‘I would have thought a good turnout was positive,’ I said. ‘It means the community is taking an interest.’ Stella glanced at Walt and then back to me, her expression sceptical.
‘Graham, the treasurer, upped and left mighty quickly,’ she said, lips pursed. ‘That might be what it is.’
‘I thought he and his wife went caravanning.’
Stella tutted and threw me a haughty look. ‘Well, if we’re going to the meeting we’d better get out there because it’s almost half-past seven and I for one don’t want to be late home.’
She flounced out. I glanced Walt’s way at the same time he glanced mine, and we burst out laughing.
‘She means well,’ he said.
He’d know if he’d been on the gallery committee all that time. My impressions of Stella were that she wasn’t sure how to treat me.
I had lived in the district for thirty-five years, once upon a time. But I couldn’t be called local because I’d been gone for the best part of a decade. I suppose it was hard to know where exactly I fit for a lot of people who remembered me from the past. Folk liked to pigeonhole you and were flummoxed when you didn’t fit their idea of you anymore.
Walt followed me into the main gallery, carrying his coffee. I sat down near the back and to my surprise he sat down beside me. When I inched my chair away so we wouldn’t be literally rubbing shoulders, he looked my way.
‘You weren’t saving this seat for someone else?’ I shook my head. ‘Good,’ he whispered, and I could see amusement twinkling in his eyes.
It took me a minute to decide where to put my handbag or whether or not I should cross my legs. All the time I was wishing I’d taken more care with my appearance. Then the gathering quietened and the meeting was called to order.
Afterwards, we stood around balancing cups and saucers and devouring the sumptuous supper. Carol and Walt congratulated me on my new role as treasurer. All the while I was having doubts as to why I’d accepted the nomination knowing my tenure in the town was unsure.
When I’d bought it to their attention during the meeting, no one had seemed very concerned. I gathered they expected Graham home sometime early-ish in the new year and they were happy to have me filling in until then.
A young lad, who I later discovered was from the local newspaper, had drifted around taking photos of the people present. I’d seen him interviewing the newly elected committee chairman: Walter Bancroft.
Walt hadn’t seemed surprised when he was nominated, and he accepted the position with grace. Watching him, surreptitiously I hoped, I thought how attractive he was, and not just his rugged looks. I wondered what his wife was like.
Everyone gradually trickled away into the night leaving Carol, me and a couple of the other volunteers to clean up. When Walt stayed and offered to dry the dishes, Carol looked at me and raised her eyebrows. I raised mine to her before turning my back and squirting detergent into the hot water running into the sink.
I was quite contented with having Walt Bancroft’s help with the dishes.
‘Do you play tennis?’ he said, when the others were stacking the chairs away in the gallery.
‘Tennis? Not for years,’ I said. ‘I’m not sure that I’d remember how. Why, do you?’
‘Yes, it helps keep me fit. They say people who play tennis live longer.’
‘Do they indeed?’
He smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling. ‘I don’t know if you’ve ever been out to my place, maybe when the Palmers lived there, but there’s a lawn tennis court around the back. I had it restored.’
‘I went there once for a Christmas party, many moons ago,’ I said, pulling the plug and wiping down the sink. ‘Dolly Palmer was on the hospital board, and she liked to splash the family money about. Back in those days I was a nurse at the hospital.’ I paused, gripping the soggy dishcloth and remembering.
Doug hadn’t wanted to go to the party. The kids had been busting to. Grace was away at boarding school. Doug and I had argued, vehemently. He thought the Palmers were condescending. The local gentry, he called them, and I heard echoes of Joylene. I was just glad to have something different to do.
I’d taken the children and we’d played tennis, had fun. He’d stayed at home. Doug hadn’t spoken to me for the week afterwards. I should have seen the writing on the wall back then.
Walt touched my shoulder and I jumped. ‘Earth to Sarah,’ he said.
I felt momentarily light-headed, as if I’d stood up suddenly.
‘Like I said, I haven’t played tennis for years.’ With stiff fingers, I squeezed out the dishcloth and hung it over the tap.
I packed up and as we said our goodbyes, I couldn’t bring myself to meet Walt’s eyes and the questions in them.
39
In the car on the way home Carol looked my way and said, ‘Good of Walt to help with the dishes.’ I couldn’t read her tone completely, but there was definitely a question in it.
‘I didn’t know he was on the committee,’ I said, aiming for bland. ‘He wasn’t at the meeting last month.’
‘He was in Adelaide. He’s been on the committee from the beginning. He was the one who got the whole gallery thing going. He and Nadia moved here, and someone told him about the empty building, and it started from there. Of course at first everyone was suspicious of his motives, but then when he was instrumental in getting local council support, and a large grant to refurbish the place, people tripped over themselves to be friendly and helpful.’
‘I can imagine. Is Nadia his wife?’
‘Was. She died about three years ago. Motor neurone disease. Her diagnosis came not long after they moved here. She was an interesting woman. An artist. She made all this way-out stuff out of scrap metal … Not really my kind of thing.’
We’d arrived at Carol’s. I pulled into the driveway behind Louise’s car. Carol made no move to get out so I turned off the engine.
/> ‘It was quite tragic, really. When she took ill, Walt’s involvement with the gallery became almost obsessive. It was around then that I started as a volunteer.’
‘It might have been how he coped with watching his wife fade away before his very eyes. It’s a dreadful disease. Did she die at home or in the hospital?’
‘In the hospital. There’s a good chance that Faith looked after her. And I think you’re right: Walt used the gallery as an outlet. There was always plenty to do, to take his mind off what was happening at home. He’s thin now, but you should have seen him back then.’
‘Do they have children?’
‘A son, from Nadia’s first marriage. And from the few things Walt’s said, I don’t think they get along very well.’
The verandah light flicked on, throwing shadows across the front yard. The screen door opened and a head poked out. I turned on the ignition and powered down my window.
The door opened fully and a younger woman walked the length of the verandah towards where we were parked.
‘I heard a car,’ she said.
Carol leaned across the console towards my window. ‘Louise, we were just talking, love. You remember Mrs Fairley?’
‘Oh, hi Mrs Fairley,’ she said, unenthusiastically I thought.
Carol grimaced and reached for her handbag on the floor. ‘Do you want to come in for a coffee, Sarah?’
‘No, but thanks anyway. It’s getting late,’ I said, sounding jolly. There was tension here and I wasn’t convinced that I wasn’t the cause. I had no idea why.
Carol opened the door and the interior light came on.
‘Thanks for the lift. Are you up for coffee on Friday?’
‘I’ll be there,’ I said.
When we were both free, we met for coffee and cake on Friday mornings, after Carol had finished cleaning the hotel. I looked forward to those mornings, and I think she did too. She was proving to be a fount of local information, and I enjoyed her cynical take on a lot of it.
Louise was scowling at us from the corner of the verandah, arms tightly folded. Then the screen door squealed opened again and Emma emerged, and was immediately and briskly shooed inside by her mother.
How curious. From what Carol had told me about her granddaughter, she sounded like a sweet kid and I’d been looking forward to meeting her properly. Would she remember me from that day at the bakery? Tonight wasn’t the night I’d find out.
I reversed out of the driveway and lifted my arm to wave goodbye, but Carol and Louise appeared to be having an argument, and paid no attention to me.
With a mental shrug, I drove home. I went to bed and dreamed of playing tennis in a blindingly white skirt on a lush green court with a tall and handsome man.
When Carol didn’t show for coffee the following Friday morning the situation became ever more curious. There was no phone call, no text message and no Carol. I waited almost an hour, drinking coffee and scoffing my usual piece of pecan pie. Just because she didn’t come didn’t mean I was missing out.
I worried whether I should worry or not. I had few friends in Miners Ridge and counted Carol as one of them. Perhaps she’d just forgotten. But I couldn’t stop myself thinking back to Wednesday night when I’d dropped her off, and the odd reception from Louise.
The only likely conclusion I’d come to was that it had something to do with me being a Fairley. Carol made no secret of her feelings towards Doug and his mother. I couldn’t think what else it might be.
Not feeling like lunch after the slab of pecan pie, I drove around to Aaron’s to check his business emails and water the indoor plants. He’d asked me to top up the dry food and water bowls of the stray cat that’d made his place its home, too.
I’d been filling the bowls for a week and was yet to clap eyes on the tabby cat he’d described. Something was eating the food though.
Aaron’s house was lovely, inside and out. Not the style I’d choose, however, he’d renovated the Art Deco house lovingly and painstakingly and I could only admire what he’d done. The interior had been modernised, with polished wood floors and simple tiles in the kitchen and bathroom. The fixtures and fittings were unpretentious but solid, a lot like the man himself.
If Aaron had decorated himself, I had to hand it to him. He had an eye for colour and for what went with what.
On an impulse, I drove by Carol’s place on my way home. If her car was there and Louise’s wasn’t, I’d knock on the door and see if she was all right. Whatever Louise’s beef was with me, I didn’t want to force the issue, and Emma would be at school for another hour and a half at least.
I was in luck. Carol’s elderly Magna sedan was parked in her driveway and there was no sign of Louise’s station wagon.
The front door opened before I’d lifted my hand to knock.
‘Sarah, I am so sorry about this morning. Come on in and I’ll explain,’ Carol said, holding the screen door wide for me.
She was wearing her hotel uniform, navy culottes and a polo, with fluffy slippers on her feet. The remnants of the coral lipstick she favoured had bled into the corners of her mouth. She looked tired.
‘I’ll put the billy on,’ she said, going through to the kitchen. ‘Tea or coffee? Or would you rather a glass of wine?’ Her expression begged me to say yes.
‘What the hell, let’s have wine,’ I said. ‘The sun’s well and truly over the yardarm.’
Minutes later we were perched at the kitchen table each nursing a generous glass of white wine. Because neither of us had eaten lunch, Carol had put out a wedge of cheese, crackers and a bowl of Kalamata olives.
‘The hospital rang Louise at some ungodly hour this morning asking if she’d work a day shift. She needs all the shifts she can get so of course she said yes. Then Emma woke with a sore throat and a temperature.’
Carol took a large swig of wine before continuing. ‘She’s miserable. She gets a lot of tonsillitis so I bundled her up in the car and she slept while I cleaned the pub, then I took her to the doctor. Sure enough, her tonsils are a mess and she’s on antibiotics. She’s in bed asleep, poor love.’
‘Has she ever been to an ENT specialist? Maybe she needs to have her tonsils out.’
‘That’s what I think, but Louise, well, let’s just say we don’t see eye to eye on some of these things. And her being a bloody nurse and all … She thinks she knows everything.’
‘Faith had tonsillitis on and off until she had them out when she was about Emma’s age,’ I said. ‘Back in those days you could have a tonsillectomy locally. Not anymore.’
Carol crunched on a cracker and a piece of cheese. I noticed her glass had only a mouthful left in it. I took another sip from my glass. The wine was crisp and dry, and made my taste buds tingle.
‘All those antibiotics can’t be doing the kid any good,’ Carol said.
She drained her glass and then, without standing up from the table, smoothly reached into the fridge for the open bottle. I let her top up my glass knowing that’d be my limit.
We chattered on about the gallery and the recent AGM. Carol made me tea when I declined more wine. I was just deciding that I needed to go because Louise would be home from her dayshift any time when there was a loud knock on the front door.
Carol stood up. She spotted something on the kitchen bench and her mouth flattened.
‘Won’t be a sec,’ she said, and moments later I heard voices.
‘That’s her car on the street, isn’t it? What’s she doing here?’ I heard Louise hiss, her voice getting louder as they both came into the sitting room. I winced, and gulped down the last mouthfuls of tea. Up until then I’d felt welcome and comfortable in Carol’s home.
‘Will you keep your voice down, Lou.’
‘Why is she here, Mum? And where’s Emma?’
‘I invited her. She is my friend and after all, it is my house, and I get to invite here whoever I want. Emma’s in bed. She was sound asleep last time I looked.’
Louise’s posture was rigid. At th
at precise moment Carol looked over her daughter’s shoulder and saw me standing in the kitchen doorway. Embarrassment flashed across her face.
‘Look, why don’t I just go,’ I said. At the sound of my voice Louise spun around, mouth gaping. Comical really, only I didn’t feel much like laughing. ‘Thanks for the chat, Carol, and the refreshments. Hello, Louise.’
Carol’s face was filled with apology and regret.
‘Hello, Mrs Fairley,’ Louise said, politeness winning but her expression hard.
‘I’ll see you later, Carol, and I hope Emma gets better soon.’
I moved past Louise towards the front door. Carol looked upset. We hugged, which surprised us both.
On the drive home I ruminated on why Louise might feel so hostile towards me. Was it all the Fairleys, or only me? If I’d been on speaking terms with Doug I might have asked him. But since Tim’s defection and subsequent departure overseas, I was the last person Douglas Fairley would want to have a conversation with.
It annoyed me that that bothered me. After all, I was in the process of divorcing the man. All it had taken to get the ball rolling was the filling in of an online form—and paying a substantial chunk of money, which I’d justified as an investment in my future. A future that, up until a few months ago, I hadn’t known I’d had.
40
Grace
With a little bit of wangling and a few favours owed, Grace managed to confirm four days off from work over Aaron’s final weekend for their trip to Paris. She was excited. Paris in the autumn: perfect, even if you didn’t consider yourself a true romantic.
They’d booked into a small hotel on Rue Tronchet, walking distance to the Concorde and the Champs Élysées, and were taking the Eurostar from St Pancras station. To make the most of the four days they were leaving early Friday morning and coming back on the last train on Monday night.
While Grace had worked, Aaron had been a half-hearted tourist. When they were at home together, he’d been everything she’d ever dreamed of. In between his wandering about London and surrounds, he’d surfed the internet and done their Paris bookings.
When Grace Went Away Page 25