‘Forbid it, Lord, that I should boast,
Save in the death of Christ my God.’
The Adam’s apple shuddered in the wasted neck. She looked into his eyes. In the grey depth she saw a shadow of the brilliant intelligence now dimmed.
‘All the vain things that charm me most,
I sacrifice them to His blood.’
There were no more tears, just a twisted smile of sorrow and acceptance. Edward’s eyes drooped shut. Sheva imagined him back in the choir stalls of the Lavender Bay Church. His friends around him. A man of substance.
The sounds grew softer. The pounding of the foot on the footrest ceased. Sheva relaxed the hold on his hands. She continued singing. Her voice now soft and muted. A soothing lilt of a lullaby.
‘Were the whole realm of nature mine,
That were a present far too small;’
Edward’s mouth relaxed. A dribble of spit escaped from the corner of the lax lips. The thrashing arms quietened. A soft snore escaped from his chest. Sheva continued singing. Her voice now a whisper. Tears she had held back streaked her face.
‘Love so amazing, so divine,
Demands my soul, my life, my all.’
She placed Edward’s hands on his lap. Nodding to Samson, she got to her feet. ‘Where’s Roy?’ she mouthed.
Samson gestured to the door. ‘He’s outside.’
Chapter 31
Roy listened to the last two lines of the hymn. Sung in her pure soprano: ‘Love so amazing, so divine, demands my soul, my life, my all’.
He had confronted her with his father. He had expected shock, anger, anxiety, disgust; but, Sheva had been both professional and caring. His shoulders shook. A sob wrenched out of him.
It would stay burned in his memory forever. The image of her sitting at his father’s feet, singing; her eyes glazed with tears she refused to let fall. Her voice: soft, melodious, cajoling, coaxing his father to join her. Holding the melody while his father joined in with a semblance of a bass. The hymn. One of those his father loved. One that Roy had sung with his father as a boy.
Lightning flashed cross the paddocks. The wind picked up, swirling leaves and dust in spinning tops across the garden and lawns. Distant eucalypts swayed and bowed to the power of the elements. Thunder growled the warning of an electric storm. The alpaca would be spooked. He should check with Rodrigo. But he had neither the heart nor the inclination to care about the animals right now. It mattered nothing. His success at work, the farm.
Meaningless. Totally meaningless.
He sensed her beside him. Her hand rested on the wooden rail next to his, barely touching his. Her voice was crisp and professional. ‘How long has it been since first diagnosis of HD, Roy?’
He looked down at her. She was looking across the garden, not at him. Her hair blew around her face. She was calm, collected and in control. This was the professional, not the sensual woman he had held in his arms a short time ago.
‘About six years ago. He was having some minor problems with concentration at company meetings. He developed what we thought was a nervous tick, but he wouldn’t see a doctor. Professor Pennington is a close family friend. He picked up the early symptoms when Father had a couple of falls at work. But didn’t make a definitive diagnosis. Father started making notes to himself. He would get really furious with himself for forgetting things, misplacing stuff. Mum continued to attend the parties and events without him, making excuses for his absence.’
Bitterness laced his voice. He took a deep shuddering breath. ‘I didn’t notice. Can you believe it? His only son and I was working all day and playing all night and weekends. Rugby, skiing, partying—apparently too busy to notice the changes in my father.’
She moved her hand to cover his. ‘Roy, it happens. Those closest often miss the early symptoms.’
‘Well, I didn’t want to see. None of us did.’ He shook his head. ‘He was the all-powerful Edward Broughton-Knight. He established the firm fifteen years ago. Made it into the corporate giant it is today. This farm—’ He waved his hand to encompass the trees and paddocks— ‘was his idea. For relaxation, he said. He made it happen. It was his dream. And this—’ he gestured back at the house— ‘is how it all ends.’
How could he make her understand the desolation in his soul? The heartbreak. The futility of the future.
‘So how did he—you find out?’
‘The CEO of the company came to me three years ago. He suggested Father needed a break. So, I talked to Father. The man who had never willingly taken more than a week’s leave agreed to four months in England, visiting his mother and checking out a small hobby farm he purchased in Bakewell. I had a crash course on running the company and then I was on my own. He called me four weeks after he got there.’ Roy stopped. The memory of the day still made him shudder.
Sheva moved close to him. She slipped her arm around his waist and rested her head against his chest. His hands remained clasped on the rails.
Roy spoke in a whisper. ‘He told me his mother had come clean on what killed my grandfather and great-grandfather.’
‘They died of early onset Huntington’s Disease. He realised he was a carrier of the gene. He also knew he had a fifty percent chance of passing it on to his children.’
She looked up into his eyes, understanding. ‘You.’
Roy nodded. ‘He wanted me to take over the company. He made me promise, Sheva. He made me swear no-one in his professional and social circles would see him deteriorate. He didn’t want pity. He wanted to be remembered for the business genius—the giant he had been.’
‘You have kept your promise, Roy. Is it only Samson and Andrew Pennington who know the truth?’
‘My farm manager Rodrigo and his wife Maria know father is ill. They don’t know the details but are totally loyal to him. They won’t talk to anyone.’
‘What do your business colleagues and his friends know, or think they know?’
‘Father planned it all out. He let it slip to friends, colleagues and even the media he was handing the company to me. He hinted it was to make me grow up and take responsibility. Said he was near burnout, and he and mother were taking a few years away in their farm in Bakewell.’
‘People believed that?’
‘Not completely. They think he still runs the business from England. The gossip mongers say I moved here as a protest. To get away from responsibility. The rumour mill has me flying to Sydney on weekends. Probably inviting friends for parties here on the farm.’
‘What about your mother, why isn’t she here with you?’
The bitterness in his heart leached into his voice. ‘My mother accepted a generous payment from Father and decided she would rather live in London in our Knightsbridge flat than return to Australia to live with and care for a disabled man. She avoided having to deal with the inevitable decline of Father’s health.’
Sheva shrank back and stared at Roy. ‘She left him, and you.’
He nodded, and moved his hands to her shoulders. ‘That wasn’t all she did. I had a fiancée, Charlene. Mum told her that I could be a carrier of the gene.’
‘So, this Charlene knows about your father?’
‘She called off our engagement immediately, told me she couldn’t be the wife of a disabled man.’ Sheva’s shoulders tensed under his hands.
‘She swore to silence and, in return, I let her keep the ring, the car and all the gifts I’d given her. Anyway, she believes the story that he’s in a nursing home in England.’
She stepped closer to him. The touch on his cheek was feather light. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘Don’t be—it wouldn’t have worked anyway. Mother did me a favour in speeding up the inevitable.’
‘Roy, have you been genetically tested for Huntington’s disease?’
Mozart’s Horn Concerto began to blast from her hip. ‘Oh, n
ot now.’ Sheva stepped back and pulled her mobile phone from the pocket of her skirt. She tapped the screen. ‘Dan?’
‘Where are you?’ There was anger, irritation and an unusual touch of harried anxiety in Dan’s voice. ‘I came by your place. Your car is parked in the garage and the house lights are off. Are you in bed? Why aren’t you answering the doorbell? Peter says he saw your farmer boyfriend’s car leave a little over an hour ago. He thought you were in the car.’
‘Dan, I called you at six thirty.’
‘Where are you?’
‘I’m with Roy. I’ll put you on speaker.’ She tapped the screen again and Roy could hear the crackle of background noise from Sheva’s phone.
‘She’s with me at the farm, Dan,’ Roy said. ‘She’s safe.’
‘Roy, you have no right to take her to your godforsaken farmhouse. You have no idea what is happening.’
Sheva frowned. ‘What’s so urgent?’
‘Things are moving faster than we anticipated Sheva. We need you here in Jindabyne. I’m coming to get you.’
‘Dan, listen to me—’ Roy bent close to the phone— ‘you cannot drive out here tonight. There’s a thunderstorm brewing. I can drive Sheva back early tomorrow.’
‘Sheva, are you planning to spend the night there with him?’
‘If it’s safer, if I want to, then of course I will stay here.’
‘I don’t like any of this.’
‘I didn’t arrange for the thunderstorm, Dan,’ Roy cut in.
Sheva threw Roy a look for being difficult. ‘Dan, I’ll keep the phone switched on. There’s too much of static now. You’re breaking up. I’ll call at six tomorrow morning.’ She switched the phone off.
Roy stared at her. ‘There isn’t much static, and he wasn’t breaking up.’
She shrugged. ‘Hard to shut him up when he’s in a mood. Anyway, am I spending the night here?’
‘Sorry, Sheva, it looks like you’re stuck in this “godforsaken farmhouse”—as Dan called it—’ he put a hand on the small of her back as they walked back to the house— ‘but there are rooms aplenty. I know which one would be perfect for you. My father furnished it for Mother with clothes and everything.’ He glanced at Sheva. ‘You’ll find something you can wear. She’s a little bigger than you.’
Samson stood just inside the front door, waiting for Sheva. ‘He’s asleep. You’re a real miracle worker, ma’am.’
Sheva smiled back. ‘I’m a doctor, Samson. I did what I had to do.’
Chapter 32
The queen size bed was covered with a blue and white handcrafted quilt. The walls were covered in pale blue paper with white roses, and the high ceiling and decorative cornices were the cerulean of a summer sky. An armoire with a mirrored door, a matching cabinet of drawers, and bedside table with a blue shaded lamp completed the room.
The room whispered of love, hope and a sense of anticipatory waiting.
‘You’re imagining things, woman,’ Sheva mumbled to herself. She kicked off her shoes and let her bare feet sink into the thick oriental pattern rug in blue and grey.
She dropped onto the quilt and ran her fingers over the soft silk. Her mind flashed back to Roy’s words. Edward had decorated the room in the hope his wife would come back from England and live on the farm with him.
Now, Roy kept it clean and pristine. Did he hope his mother would come and stay on the farm, or did some other girls visit? Were the parties on the farm just a joke, or did he entertain women here? Sheva stifled the shaft of jealousy that stabbed through her. She had no claims on him. What he did here on the farm, or anywhere else, was not her concern.
Sheva fought the physical and emotional exhaustion that threatened to overwhelm her. She slid off the bed and opened the armoire— she might as well take up Roy’s invitation to make herself comfortable.
There were dresses, skirts, blouses, and a row of shoes, all designer and new or nearly so. She moved to the cabinet and opened the top drawer—night clothes, most still in the original wrapping. Edward had kept his wife’s clothes, even bought new sets, hoping—always hoping.
Sheva pulled out the top one and slipped it out of the plastic cover. A filmy blue negligee and a matching white lace dressing gown. She picked them up and headed to the ensuite.
The bathroom was tiled in blue and white with a lavish touch of silver fittings. She undressed and hung up her clothes on a hanger, then turned on the shower and stepped under it. The spray of hot water washed away the dust and sweat, leaving her feeling a little more relaxed. Drying herself on the thirsty blue towel, she slipped into the negligee. Throwing the dressing gown over it, she padded barefooted into the bedroom.
She glanced at her image in the full length mirror, and paused to laugh out loud at the reflection. A twenty-eight year old, dark-skinned Sri Lankan in the expensive lingerie of an upper-class doyen of society. Still smiling she headed for the bed. She pulled back the quilt to reveal blue sheets, pillows and blankets. Shedding the dressing gown, she slipped under the blanket and let the soft sheets cocoon her. The weariness she had pushed to the back of her mind overcame her and her eyes drooped.
The knock on the door was soft. Slipping out of bed, she grabbed the dressing gown. She padded over and opened the door a crack.
Roy stood with his hand on the handle. He too had showered and his hair was damp and curling. He was dressed in a faded blue cotton t-shirt and a pair of black woollen track pants.
‘Sheva, are you okay?’
‘I’m fine.’ She glanced back at the bed, ‘just making myself comfortable.’
‘Sorry to disturb you. Would you let me in, please? I need to talk with you.’
Sheva stepped back and pulled the dressing gown tight around her.
Roy stepped in and clicked the door shut. His eyes flicked over her. ‘You look good enough to eat.’
‘Well, I hope you didn’t come here for supper—’ she stopped and stammered— ‘I don’t mean—you know—I don’t think—’
Roy placed a finger on her lips. ‘Let it go,’ he murmured, his lips tilted in a smile. He took her hand and led her to the bed. Sitting on the edge, he pulled her down beside him. ‘Don’t look so anxious. I promise, I’m not planning to seduce you.’
Sheva sat down on the bed. She slid away to keep a distance between them.
‘Dan called me again,’ Roy continued. ‘He said it is critical I watch over you—his words, not mine—until I can get you back to Jindabyne tomorrow morning. In Dan’s words, “until you are back in his jurisdiction.” He was emphatic about it. He sounded really worried.’
‘I’m in a house with locked doors and safety locked windows.’ She glanced at the single window covered with thick blue linen curtains.
‘Not enough—I mean to watch over you.’
‘How?’
‘Sheva, I’m staying in this room with you.’
Sheva glanced at the bed. ‘In case you haven’t noticed, there’s only one bed.’
‘Hmmm,’ He looked around. ‘Father wanted a wingback armchair reupholstered in mother’s colours. You’ve probably figured out what those are. I never got around to fixing the chair. It’s still in the dining room. I’ll drag it in. It’ll do for me to sleep in.’
‘Roy, you are overreacting. I’m okay here. I’ll lock the bedroom door.’
‘No, I gave Dan my word. I mean to keep it.’ He cupped Sheva’s face in his hand. ‘Thank you for today. You said you were just being a doctor—’ he stared into her eyes— ‘but no. Today, to my father, you were an angel.’ He looked at the bed with the quilt turned back. ‘You were ready for bed, Sheva, sorry. I’ll go now and bring the chair from the dining room.’
She watched as Roy carried in a chair and positioned it by the window. ‘Good night, Sheva. Go to sleep. I’ll be right here.’
Sheva didn’t think she would go bac
k to sleep. However, in the dark of the moonless night, mindful of the man seated a few feet from her, she drifted off.
She woke to a rumble of thunder. Samson must have switched a veranda light on after she went to sleep. In the light filtering through the curtains, she could see Roy crouched in the chair. His legs were stretched out and his head slumped forward. His long arms were hanging over the armsrests of the chair.
She sat up and glanced at her phone. It was almost midnight. Her movement must have woken Roy, who shot upright in the chair. ‘What is it?’ He glanced at the window. ‘Did something wake you?’
Sheva slid out of bed and walked over to him. She took his hand in hers. ‘I’m fine. It’s you who looks terrible.’ She tugged his hand. ‘Come on. Get in the bed with me. It’s not like we haven’t even had a cuddle.’ She looked back at the bed. ‘It’s a King size. Plenty of room for two–with room between us.’
Roy sat up in the chair. A frown creased his forehead. ‘Are you sure?’
‘I am sure we both need sleep, Roy. Tomorrow’s probably going to be a busy day.’
Roy got into bed and held his hand out to her. She slipped in and scooted to the edge of the bed. She drifted off to sleep, content in the knowledge that he was close.
***
She woke to the chatter of birds and a cicada chorus. Sometime in the night, she had slid close to him and they lay side by side on a single pillow. Roy leant over to touch her lips with his. It was a kiss that hinted of passion, but gave, rather than demanded a response.
Sheva rested her cheek on his chest and breathed him in, allowing herself to relax with him for a minute before sliding off the bed. ‘I need to dress. We have to leave soon.’
‘Yes, as soon as Samson rustles us up some breakfast.’
Chapter 33
Her perfume clung to the pillow. The essence of Sheva. She had rolled across the bed and turned toward him in the night. She had cuddled into him and rested her head on his chest, her body warm against his. Roy had cradled her in his arms, fighting the urge to wake her with his lips.
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