by Margaret Way
Cal took a moment to reply. “I’m going to demand she tell me to my face why she lied.”
The words were delivered with chilling force.
CHAPTER TWO
GINA parked outside “Aunt” Rosa’s modest bungalow made beautiful by the garden Rosa lavished such love and attention on. Taking the myriad scents of the garden deep into her lungs, Gina walked slowly up the stone-paved path to the front porch decorated with flower-filled hanging baskets. When Rosa had bought the bungalow three years back, Gina had helped greatly with the clean-up operation, cajoling a few of her sturdy male friends to join in, especially when it came to hauling in the rocks Rosa had used as natural features. In those days there was no garden, a few straggly plants, but Rosa had turned the allotment into a private garden paradise. The stone paths led through a wealth of flowering shrubs, camellias, azaleas, peonies, hydrangeas, through cascading archways of roses, all strongly fragrant, the floribunda wisteria, “Alba” and groves of lush ferns. There was always something happening in Rosa’s garden, something to lift the heart.
Rosa was her godmother, her mother’s bridesmaid at her first disastrous marriage which had produced Sandro and her. The great tragedy of her life was the disappearance of Sandro, her brother. Two years her senior he had run off at the age of sixteen after a violent argument with their father, the most difficult and demanding of men. Sandro had not only run off, he had vanished from the face of the earth. How did one do that? Gina had asked herself that question countless times. How did one lose one’s identity? How did one go about obtaining a driving licence? What about credit cards, a Medicare card? Could Sandro be dead? Something inside her told her, no, though he had never contacted her or their mother to tell her he was safe, not a single phone call or a postcard. His disappearance had almost killed their mother and caused her, his loving sister, deep grief that continued right up to the present day.
Rosa knew all about her family’s deeply troubled past. Rosa had been there. “One day, cara, Sandro will return to us. You’ll see. It was just that he could no longer live with your father.” What Rosa felt Gina’s father to be was always delivered in impassioned Italian. Rosa was a woman of volatile temperament.
Yet their father had worshipped her, his daughter. She could do no wrong. She was his shining star. She might have been marked down for future canonisation. “My beautiful Gianina!” Until the night she confessed she was pregnant. Then her virgin image had been well and truly shattered.
Rosa had always kept in touch with her. Indeed, Rosa had offered to take her in, after her father had literally thrown her, the fallen idol, out. It had truly been the never-darken-my-door-again situation she had hitherto thought only existed in novels. But the last thing she had wanted was to bring down trouble on Rosa’s head even though her godmother had sworn she could handle the likes of Ugo Romano.
“He’s a great big bully, you know!”
When Primo, Rosa’s husband, died at the early age of fifty-four Rosa sold the old sugar farm and travelled to Brisbane to be near her goddaughter. Rosa, a warm, generous woman had not been blessed with children, a great sorrow to her. “Poor Primo, he couldn’t manage it.” Otherwise Primo had been a good, good man. Everyone in the community had agreed on that.
“Someone has to look after you!” Rosa announced when she arrived on Gina’s doorstep, followed by a torrent of curses aimed at Gina’s father. At least one of them must have worked because Gina’s father barely eighteen months later had bounced off a country road, the old farm utility turning over a few times before landing in a ditch killing him in the process.
“God has spoken,” Rosa, never short of an explanation, pronounced at the funeral. “Now everyone is safe. My poor Lucia, maybe, might find herself another husband. One to cherish her. I see Vince Gambaro over there.”
Gina’s mother, Lucia, was pardoned by both her daughter and Rosa. Though desperately unhappy in her arranged marriage, she had been too cowed by her husband to leave him though the friends who cared for her had begged her to do so.
“Sometimes poison isn’t all that bad!” muttered Rosa, with black humour.
Before Gina was even at the door, painted cobalt-blue and flanked by matching glazed pots bearing a wealth of pink camellias, Rosa, unconventionally, but eye-catchingly dressed in her own creations, was out on the porch, smiling a welcome.
“He just loves this cartoon,” she said. “Lots of giggles, clapping, singing, dancing, peals of laughter. Such a beautiful sound, a child’s laughter! I think the video is nearly through.”
“Has he been a good boy?” Gina bent to kiss her godmother’s satin-smooth cheek. Rosa was a striking-looking woman with a passionate, lived-in kind of face. She was also very queenly in a gypsy fashion. And she had admirers. Rosa had always had admirers, though she had never once succumbed to temptation in all the years of her marriage. One admirer was very much in the picture, a well-to-do widower, a retired bank manager. Gina had met him on several occasions, thinking him a nice man but lacking Rosa’s broad cultural interests.
“Always a good boy! Impossible not to love him.” Rosa was stroking Gina’s arm, showing the depth of her affection. Her goddaughter had filled a vacuum in Rosa’s life, but nothing could erase the sorrow of not having children and grandchildren of her own. Gina and Roberto came somewhere in between.
“Mummy!” Now Robbie was at the door, holding up his arms.
Gina picked him up and hugged him to her while he covered her cheeks in kisses. “Hello, my darling,” she said, her heart melting with love. “So what happened at preschool today?”
“I learnt lots of things,” he told her proudly, then frowned. “I think I’ve forgotten now.”
“No matter. It will all come back.”
“Are you coming in?” Rosa asked, standing back from the door.
“For ten minutes,” Gina smiled. “I’ve got something for you.”
“For me, too?” Robbie asked hopefully.
“Something for you both,” Gina said setting her son down. Goodness he was getting heavy and he was tall for his age.
“I hope mine comes in a bottle,” Rosa flashed another dark-eyed grin. Rosa was a wonderful cook and something of a wine expert, partial to a really good red, preferably a Shiraz.
“It got highly rated,” Gina told her
“Bellisimo!” Rosa cried, throwing up her arms and going into a spirited little dance that made the gold hoops in her ears sway and Robbie laugh. Rosa was far more of a grandmother to Robbie than ever his real grandmother was, now living far away on a New Guinea coffee plantation.
They walked through to the kitchen, Robbie running ahead. Modest from the outside, inside the bungalow was a reflection of Rosa’s exuberant, artistic nature. The walls of the house were covered in her paintings. The warmly welcoming yellow-and-white kitchen was dominated by a large painting of a wicker basket filled to overflowing with yellow lemons and their lustrous leaves, the leaves spilling on to a white tablecloth. Gina loved it. Rosa had given her several of her paintings to decorate the apartment.
They were home in less than ten minutes. She settled Robbie in front of the television in the living room so he could watch the end of the video while she went through to her bedroom to change out of her smart business clothes. Inside the walk-in wardrobe she reached for a comfortable caftan that was still rather glamorous, fuchsia silk with a gold trim. She’d been out to a business lunch, which she thought should carry her through dinnertime. Maybe a light salad? Robbie wanted his all-time favourite which she allowed him once a week—sausages and mash. She always bought the best quality pork sausages, wrapped them in bacon, which he liked and let him have tomato sauce, which surprise, surprise, had turned out to be one of the dwindling number of things good for everyone. Once a very fussy eater, Robbie now enjoyed his food, eating the healthiest food for most of the time. The great news was she now had him eating banana porridge before he went off to school. He refused point-blank to eat cereal or eggs. Yuck
!
She was passing through the hallway when a knock on the apartment door startled her. Visitors had to buzz through to her video-intercom and identify themselves before being allowed through the security door. It had to be Dee from the Body Corporate Management. If parcels arrived and couldn’t be delivered because she was at work, Dee usually took care of them. Dee was a good sort, ever helpful, kind and gentle with Robbie. And why not? Her beautiful little son was a gorgeous child with the sunniest of natures. Everyone loved him.
She didn’t open the door immediately. She checked through the peephole but could only see someone holding up a large bouquet of yellow roses. They looked like her favourite, Pal Joey. Nat Goldman, a very nice guy she worked with, had taken to sending her roses, but they were usually red. Shaking back the long tumble of her hair, she threw back the door, a smile on her face.
And there was Calvin McKendrick; the power elite!
There had been no icy tingle this time to warn her. Her powers had deserted her. Or his powers were stronger. The blood roared in her ears and she wrapped her arms tightly around herself as if the action could prevent her from falling. No trace of her smile remained.
Four years were as nothing. His presence was as vividly familiar to her as if their separation had only been fleeting moments. Yet she stood rooted to the spot, unable to move, unable to speak, struck dumb with wonderment. Then very gradually her entire body began to react. She felt an unbearable urge to throw herself into his arms, feel them close powerfully around her. She wanted to inhale his marvellous male scent. She wanted to kiss his beautiful mouth. She wanted to taste him. Hadn’t she suffered grievously these past years? Instead she took a long, deep breath, widening her eyes in surprise.
“Cal!”
“Ah, you’ve remembered!” he said suavely. “Do please go on.” There was a dangerous edge to the civility of his tone. It matched the glitter in his remarkable eyes, as green as emeralds, and as cold.
“Go on?” She groped for the door behind her so she could close it. He couldn’t be allowed to see Robbie. She had to keep him from it. She was too frighteningly vulnerable, now as then. He could take her beloved son off her, or curtail her time with him. That prospect she couldn’t bear. The McKendricks were powerful people with an army of lawyers at their disposal and limitless funds. That alone inspired fear.
“Well, surely you’re going to add you’re surprised to see me?” The voice she had so loved, was filled with mockery.
“I am, very!” Even to her own ears her voice sounded strangled. She was trembling all over, her heart kicking against her ribs. “How did you find me?”
He tut-tutted. “And you, the heroine?”
Of course. The newspaper story that had even made it onto the television. People still pointed at her in the street. Some even came up to her, congratulating her on her bravery.
What can I do? She couldn’t get her head around the dilemma that now faced her. It was imperative she pull herself together.
“Have you someone with you?” he asked, seeing the agitation that was written all over her. His eyes went beyond her to the entrance hall; a small console, a striking oil painting above it, two Victorian lustres, emerald-green glass, decorated with tiny white flowers and gold leaves; all very pretty.
Gina scrambled to nod her head, though she felt dazzled and dazed.
“Are you asking me to come back another time?” Perversely he found his eyes consuming her. She was a wonderful-looking woman; more beautiful than ever, if that were possible. Her classical features were more clearly defined, her eyes, deep, dark bottomless pools. Her masses of hair, neither straight nor curly, fell in thick sinuous coils halfway down her back. Desire over which he had no control streamed through his blood, like a river in full spate. He was a greater fool than even he had thought.
“Please don’t come back, Cal,” Gina begged, spinning very quickly as she heard Robbie, his programme over, moving to join her. “There’s absolutely nothing we could have to say to one another after all this time.” Galvanised, she tried to shut the door but Cal deliberately blocked her efforts with one foot against it.
No, Robbie! The voice inside her shrieked.
But Robbie came on, dead-set on finding out who his mother was talking to. Robbie had great social skills. He loved visitors. Just as she feared, he rounded the partition that divided the entrance hall from the living area, running to Gina and grasping her around the hips. “Hello!” he said brightly, addressing Cal. “Are you a friend of Mummy’s?” He gave an engaging little chuckle, looking at Cal with the greatest interest.
But Cal for once in his life was literally struck dumb. He stood pulverized by shock. Whatever scenarios he had considered on his long trip here, it was never this! He found himself rocking back on his heels as the truth came roaring for him like an express train.
God! There was nothing irreverent about his silent oath. Recognition shot simultaneously to his heart and his brain. This was his child. This was his son! There could be no mistake. The child resembled him too closely.
He dragged his eyes away from the beautiful little boy, to pin Gina’s treacherous, dark gaze. She looked frightened, utterly wretched, as well she might! “I’d like to come in, if I may.” He fought to keep the tight rein on his voice, for the child’s sake. “It seems, Gina, we have things to discuss.” He put out his hand to his son: dark copper curls like petals, framing an angelic little face. In adolescence those dark copper curls would turn a rich mahogany like his. He had the McKendrick features, but even more tellingly the black-lashed eyes so brilliant a green, they were often described as emerald. There was the McKendrick cleft in his chin, not deep like his father’s, more shallow like his. Uncle Ed had a cleft chin. Meredith had a distinctive dimple.
“Hello there, Robbie.” Cal showed the child all the gentleness and warmth he denied the mother. “I’m Cal. Calvin McKendrick. I am an old friend of your mother’s. I’m so very pleased to meet you at long last, though I think I would have known you anywhere.” Anywhere on this earth, he thought, trying to come to grips with Gina’s treachery.
“And I’m pleased to meet you,” Robbie responded, sweetly, unlocking his grasp on his mother and extended his hand as he’d been taught.
Cal thrust the beautiful yellow roses into Gina’s rigid arms before taking the child’s hand. “So, Robert?”
“Robbie. I’ve been watching my favourite cartoon.”
“Really?” Cal spoke normally, though naked shock was showing in his eyes.
“You can see my video if you like,” Robbie offered graciously.
“That’s very nice of you, Robbie,” Cal said.
“Have you got time now?” the little boy asked hopefully, obviously having taken an immediate liking to Cal.
“Darling,” Gina interrupted, “Cal only called in for a minute.” She drew Robbie back against her, giving Cal a pleading look.
It had no effect on Cal whatsoever. “No, that’s okay!” He shrugged a rangy shoulder. “I wasn’t going anywhere special. Do you mind, Robbie, if I come in?” Cal gave his son an utterly winning smile.
“Oh, please, Mummy, can he?” Robbie stared up into his mother’s face, a highly intelligent child, trying to puzzle out the atmosphere. “I haven’t had my tea yet,” he told Cal. “It’s bangers and mash. Would you like some?”
“If there’s any to spare.” Cal twisted Gina a hard, challenging smile. He was absolutely certain he wouldn’t be able to eat anything, but he definitely wasn’t going away.
“Oh, goody!” Robbie put out his hand to take Cal’s. “Oh, your hands are rough inside!” he burst out in surprise, as baby soft three-year-old fingers met up with hard calluses.
“That’s because I’m a cattleman,” Cal explained.
“What’s that, a cattleman?” Robbie asked with great interest, beginning to pull Cal through the door. “Do you own cattle, cows and things?”
Cal nodded. “One day I’ll show you.”
“Prom
ise?” Robbie’s big beautiful eyes lit up.
“Let’s shake on it.”
“You’re a very nice man,” Robbie pronounced, taking the handshake as a promise.
“Thank you,” Cal replied. “It must be getting along to your bedtime soon?” he asked, desperate to have it out with this woman who had so betrayed him.
“Seven o’clock.” Robbie lifted his head to scan the face of this tall man he seemed to know somehow, but couldn’t understand why. “That’s when I go to preschool. I can stay up a little later at the week-end. Will you be here when I go to sleep?”
“Bound to be,” Cal said.
Somehow they kept up a reasonable pretence until Robbie went to bed. His mother kissed him as she always did when she tucked him in. “Good night, my darling.”
“’Night, Mummy.”
“Sleep tight.”
“Don’t let the bed bugs bite.” Robbie giggled as he finished off the nightly ritual, then he put out a hand to Cal.
“You’re going to come back and see us, aren’t you, Cal?” he asked hopefully.
“Count on it.”
Gina watched Cal lean down and touch her little boy’s cheek with the most exquisite tenderness.
“That’s good. I really like you,” Robbie said, the glow from the bedside lamp turning his eyes to jewels.
“As it happens I really like you.” Cal smiled, watching his son sigh contentedly, then close his eyes, dark lashes heavy on apricot cheeks.
They returned in a fraught silence to the living room. Gina was amazed tears weren’t streaming down her cheeks. She had never seen Robbie respond to anyone like he had to Cal.
Blood will out!
Carefully, she shut the door that led down the corridor to the bedrooms, grateful Robbie slept very soundly, especially when he was overexcited as he was tonight.
“You hate me,” Gina said. His face was a taut mask.
“Who in hell would blame me?” Cal replied in a tone so contemptuous it cut deep. “Why did you do it?” He went to her and seized her arms with controlled fury. “So you ran back to your boyfriend! Why didn’t you make a fool of him like you made a fool of me? When you realised it was my child you were carrying, why didn’t you try to pass it off as his? Didn’t think you’d be able to pull if off, eh? Worried he might kill you when he eventually found out? Where did the green eyes come from, the copper curls? Robert is the image of me when I was his age. I have stacks of photographs to prove it, as though we need proof.” He released her so abruptly, Gina stumbled and had to clutch at the back of an armchair to stay upright.