‘Sheva,’ his fingers tightened over hers. He dropped his lips to touch her knuckles. ‘I have been so hurt by the women in my life. I lost the ability to trust. I built a wall around my emotions. I was determined to not let anyone into my heart. You found your way in, Sheva. I resisted it. I didn’t want to love, to be vulnerable — and be hurt.’ He stopped and took a deep quivering breath. ‘When Sunil called you his wife, I felt — I don’t even know what I felt. I know that it is no excuse for how I reacted.’ He paused and raised her fingers to his lips. ‘When I pulled Sunil from the car, and he showed me the picture, I was furious, Sheva. I wanted to throw him back. Watch him suffer and die, but I saved him, — and — and —’ his voice dropped to a whisper and he dropped his cheek on her clasped hands. ‘— and I took it out on you.’
She looked at his bowed head. Putting her coffee down next to his, she ran her fingers down his cheek, to his chin. She felt him flinch in pain as she tilted his face up to her.
The doctor side of her took over. ‘Roy, did you get injured in the fire?’ She moved her fingers across his cheekbone, gently probing. ‘Did something fall on you? A branch? You could have fractured your maxilla.’
He stilled her fingers on his cheek with his own. A wry smile twisted his lips. ‘No, Sheva, I wasn’t hurt in the fire. It was Dan’s way of communicating to me that he and you had a purely platonic friendship.’
‘Dan hit you?’ She pulled her hand away and drew back.
‘I don’t blame him. I would have done the same if the circumstances were reversed.’
‘But Dan only said he explained—’
‘He did explain. Once he knocked me down, he helped me up and told me about your engagement cum quasi-legal recognition of marriage, and your part in the international sting.’ He took her hands in his. ‘Can you see it in your heart to forgive me, Sheva?’
There had been so much misunderstanding and suffering. She needed to move beyond it if she was to heal. He needed it too. She leant forward to rest her cheek on his hair, breathing in the sharp lemon-scented aftershave she would always associate with Roy.
She raised her head. Their eyes met and held.
‘I love you, Sheva. And I’m so sorry for the pain I have caused you.’ His voice was rough with emotion. ‘You must know it. You haven’t answered me. Can you forgive me?’
‘Love is about forgiveness, Roy. Yes, I forgive you.’ She watched as his face relaxed and transformed in happiness, a smile beaming across his cheeks as he stood up.
‘Will you come sit here, on the couch?’ he asked, gesturing towards the wider seat, ‘I have something I need to tell you.’
She nodded and moved until they sat facing each other on the couch.
‘You said you forgive me, Sheva.’
She nodded assent.
‘You also said love is about forgiveness. Do you love me?’
‘Love? Roy, I wonder if I even know what that is. I loved Sunil, but it was friendship, maybe even sibling love. I agreed to marry Sunil because it was my father’s final wish and my grandmother’s dream. They wanted me secure and loved and my father believed Sunil would provide that for me.’ She shivered. ‘I’m glad he didn’t live to see what Sunil did and how he died.’
She placed her fingers on the back of his hand. He turned his hand over and curled his own around hers. ‘Those weeks in Sri Lanka, meeting Sunil after six years, I believed I could grow to love him. He wined and dined me. We went driving to the beach in his Chrysler convertible. I was having a good time with a friend and assumed love would follow marriage.’
‘Dan told me what he did, Sheva. He was willing to give his life to protect you.’
Her voice caught on a sob. ‘He did.’
‘Sunil loved you.’
Sheva nodded. ‘I wish I could have saved him, but life would have been horrible for him even if he survived.’ She took a deep breath and let out a sigh. ‘I need to thank you for saving Sunil’s life in the fire, Roy. It gave Sunil and me the opportunity to clear things between us, to say goodbye.’
‘You didn’t really love him, did you?’
She laughed to cover the sadness. ‘As a brother, as a friend, yes, I loved him. I thought it was enough. No, I had no idea what true love was, Roy. Until—’ she stopped and tried to pull her hand away. Roy tightened his clasp on her fingers.
‘Until when, Sheva? Until we met? Or kissed?’
Her voice dropped to a whisper. ‘I felt that I could love you when I found out that you were caring for your father. You sacrificed your lifestyle and stayed when even your mother had left. That is something to love.’
He dropped her hand and held his arms open. After a moment’s hesitation she went to him. He held her against his chest and she rested against his heart.
‘I’ve made a decision, Sheva.’
She felt the rumble of his words in his chest. ‘What is it?’
‘The pre-symptomatic diagnostic genetic test for Huntington’s disease. I’ve decided to get it done.’
Sheva pulled away from his arms. ‘I’m glad, Roy, but why now? You were so determined not to do it just a few days ago. What made you change your mind?’
He ran a finger down her cheek. ‘It’s for us, Sheva.’
‘For us?’ Sheva frowned.
‘Sheva, I want to ask you to marry me, but I can’t. Not as I am now, knowing that I may, in all probability, be a disabled, gibbering vegetable in fifteen or, at best, twenty-five years. So, I’ll get the test done. If I am completely clear, I will be free to ask you to be my wife. The report takes a month or so after the testing. Sheva, will you wait for me—with me?’
Sheva sat frozen, her emotions swinging between delight and anger. She collected her thoughts. What she said now would affect her future and his.
‘Sheva, what’s the matter?’
‘Roy—’ she slid back from him and clasped her hands together; she couldn’t say this if she was touching him— ‘let me get this straight. What you are offering me is a fifty percent chance of a marriage proposal. If I say yes, and you test positive for HD, what would happen to us?’
‘I—I would never expect you to marry me, knowing that I would develop the disease.’
‘What would it mean for us as a couple?’ she pushed on.
He looked down. ‘I hope we could stay friends.’
‘Or maybe lovers?’
He looked back at her and she could see the look of hope flit through his eyes. She pushed on. ‘Is that what you would like, Roy?’
‘Sheva,’ he stammered, ‘I—I couldn’t ask it of you. Not permanently. You are young. You should have a good marriage, a healthy husband and children. If I am positive for HD, I can’t give you any of this.’
She clenched her hands. Her nails cut into her palm. She had to do it, to stop her urge to slap him.
‘So, if you’re negative for the HD gene, you propose and we get married. If you are positive, you would like me to be your lover, but only for a while. Until the symptoms show.’
Roy rested his elbows on his knees and bowed his head. He ran his fingers through his hair. ‘That is so clinical.’
‘I’m a clinician.’
He didn’t raise his head. ‘Sheva, I love you. You are in my heart. No, you are my heart. I want you in my life. But, I can’t take the chance—’
‘You can’t take the chance? You think that if we marry and you get sick, I’d leave you, like your mother did to your father, or like your first fiancée. It’s about you, Roy, not me.’
He nodded without raising his head. ‘Yes, I can’t take the chance. It terrifies me to think about it.’
Sheva reached over and took his hands. Drawing them towards her she forced him to meet her eyes.
‘Roy, you were there for me at my lowest moment on the summit. You helped me without asking questions. I know you
lost it when you pulled Sunil from the car, you were angry at him and later, at me. I am willing to forgive. I have already forgiven you for it.’ She paused. ‘Roy, I want you in my life. I want you. Passion, desire, I feel these. But love? I am not sure – not yet. But, marriage is different, Roy. It’s a demonstration of love at both glorious highs and at sacrificial depths. It is total and unquestioning faith. Roy, you can’t offer me the commitment that marriage requires, because, after everything we’ve been through, you still don’t trust me completely.’
She held his eyes. Roy sat immobile, his fingers still and cold in hers.
‘Even if you are negative for HD,’ she continued, ‘we know nothing of the future. What if after we marry, I have an accident and am disabled? Or get a stroke? Would you leave me?’
‘You know I would never do that.’
‘Well, if you had come in today and asked me to marry you with no conditions, knowing there is a chance of your developing Huntington’s, I may have said yes.’ The tears she had held back slid down her cheek. ‘But, you want to wait, and it tells me that you don’t think I will be there for you if you do get sick. I cannot accept that. So, under the conditions you have stated, I cannot accept your marriage proposal, Roy. Not now, and not if you are diagnosed negative for HD.’
Roy’s voice was a rumble deep in his chest. ‘How can you say that you would accept a man knowing he may have such a horrible disease? You’re young. What about children?’
‘If we married and you were positive to HD, we could have gone to Sri Lanka and adopted one or two, whatever.’
‘Sheva, please.’
She let go of his hands and stood up. Weariness seeped through to her marrow. ‘Go, Roy, and get tested. Whatever the result is, I will be there for you. I promised you and I will do it. If you test positive, I will be your friend, counsellor, and doctor. If you are negative for Huntington’s, I will continue to be a friend, but I will never be your lover or wife. I will hope and pray you will one day meet a woman whom you can love and marry.’
‘Please, Sheva, don’t do this to me—to us.’ He reached for her.
Sheva stepped back. ‘There is no us without absolute trust, Roy. Please go now. Let me know what the result is when you get it. In fact, I will be back in Queen Elizabeth in a couple of weeks and can arrange for you to take it there.’
She walked to the door and held it open for Roy as he lingered. ‘Sheva,’ he said, ‘this is not the end for us.’
‘No, Roy, I accept that. There will be no end for us.’ She smiled. ‘Goodbye, Roy.’
Shutting the door, she collapsed on the couch. There were tears for Roy, for Sunil, and for herself. For her dreams and Roy’s, and a future that might have been.
Chapter 41
‘You—you asked—asked—her—marry. The words were wrenched from the tortured larynx.
Roy sat across from his father. Samson stood, silent, behind the wheelchair.
‘Yes, I told her I would have the pre-symptomatic genetic testing done. I asked her to marry me if I was negative.’
‘Sh—sh—sh—no.’
‘Yes, Father. Sheva said no. She said if I had asked her to marry me last night she may have accepted. She would have been willing to take the chance. Marriage, she said, is love at its glorious highs and sacrificial depths.’
Edward let out a moan. His words were broken and tormented. ‘You—y—you—never—saw—saw tha—tha ki—of love.’
Their eyes locked. Roy’s were a cavern of grey pain; his father’s were tired and misted with memories. ‘No, Mother couldn’t deal with the diagnosis, could she? She didn’t love you enough.’
‘No—no—bef—ore. No love—differ—rent—roo—ms—and sep—separa lives. Lo—long—time.’ He paused and dragged in a breath. He stared at Roy. ‘You—you—’
Roy nodded. ‘Father, I knew exactly what was happening.’ He shrugged, ‘I chose to ignore it, probably because I was living my own self-centred life.’
His father’s face was twisted in a grimace. The sounds were wrung from him, the words hardly comprehensible, but the meaning clear. ‘Roy—Royston—you—you—never saw—faith—no tru—trust’ He stopped and drew a shuddering breath. ‘Only—only bet—betrayal—sad—sadness.’
‘That is not true, Father. I do have memories from when I was young. But later, when you made money, it was all about being the perfect socialites wasn’t it? You were the leaders of Sydney society. Admired, photographed—the perfect couple to the world.’ He studied his father: the sad shadow of the strong dynamic businessman. ‘I’m sorry, Father, I wish I didn’t have to say this, but I don’t want any secrets, not anymore.’
His father’s body twisted and arms thrashed. Samson’s hands held down Edward’s shoulders. ‘Roy, don’t do it mate. He’s really distressed.’
‘No.’ Roy looked into his father’s eyes. ‘You see father, I knew about it all along. When I was a teenager, I learned about your affairs. You tried to keep it from me, but I heard you argue. You kept it out of the media. I presume you paid someone.’
A guttural moan ripped from his father. Tears creased his cheeks. ‘I—I—al—always—lo —lov—loved—your mo—mother.’
‘The trip you did to Europe when I was sixteen,’ Roy continued, ‘I knew you were trying to patch up your marriage. You may have kept it out of the media, but the boys at Newington knew all about the scandal. I was teased, even bullied about it. When you came back, I was old enough to know the meaning of separate bedrooms.’
Roy sat on the stool in front of his father and clasped his father’s hands in his. ‘And Charlene. For me, trusting her meant a heart torn up and trampled in the dust.’
‘The—doc—doctor—diff—different.’
Roy leant forward and dropped his head on their clasped hands. ‘I know father. I know.’
They sat in silence.
‘What an idiot I’ve been. I have been so deluded. I told myself I wanted to protect her. Save her the agony of watching me die—’
Edward’s flaying hand crashed on the armrest of the wheelchair. ‘Bull—. Prot—protecting—your—self.’ He let out a mix of a wail and a scream. ‘Id—Idiot.’
Roy raised his head and laughed, a dry humourless sound. ‘Sheva said that too.’
A wry smile contorted Edward’s features. ‘Nev—never—thought—you—you—a co—coward.’ He smashed his hand down again. ‘Wuss.’
‘What should I do?’
Edward raised a quivering finger towards the door. ‘Go—o—now—as—k her—marry—now—ag—again.’
Yes, he would do it. He had nothing more to lose. He had lost it all anyway with his stupid conditional marriage proposal.
***
‘It’s two o’clock in the afternoon. Who’s running the clinic?’
Rosie pointed to a sign hanging on the front door. ‘We’re closed this afternoon. Sheva’s taken a couple of days leave.’
Roy glanced across the road at Sheva’s cottage. ‘She’s not at home, and not answering her phone, where is she?’
Peter and Rosie exchanged glances before Rosie sighed and replied, ‘She’s gone with Dan to his parents’ place in the Barossa.’
A chill band of dread encircled his heart. Dan had taken her to his parents’ vineyards. It could mean only one thing. He looked from one to the other. Rosie and Peter returned his gaze. They were unsmiling, aloof, and indifferent to his distress.
‘Dan has taken her to meet his parents, hasn’t he?’
Rosie took a step closer to him. Her eyes narrowed. ‘You’ve hurt her enough, Mr Broughton-Knight. Let her find happiness where she wants.’
Roy met her eyes. No, he would not be intimidated. He would find Sheva. ‘You think she will be happy with Dan?’
‘Sheva will do what is right for her. And since you ask, I think Dan will make her happy.’
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‘No.’ He stared at Rosie and then Peter. ‘I must find her. What is the name of the winery?’
‘Leave her alone.’ Stepping back, Rosie swung the medical centre door shut in his face.
***
He sat in his office, computer screen open.
“Serendipity is the art of finding amazing treasures where least expected, and that is exactly what you will discover in this delightful winery, at the gateway to the Barossa Valley.”
Roy scrolled down the page.
“The vigneron, Anthony Ashley Cooper grew up in the Peak District of England and worked in the tea plantations of Sri Lanka. His wife and partner Shiromi, now a consultant physician, grew up in the tea plantations. Together, they have brought their considerable experience in manufacture of outstanding silver tip tea, to equally delightful Shiraz, Riesling and recently, an award-winning new Chardonnay, with subtle flavours of cinnamon, traces of Camellia sinensis and an intriguing label: ‘Watakälé’.”
And further down:
“Anthony and Shiromi have been viticulturists and vignerons in the vineyards of Serendipity since 1970.”
He picked up the phone. Mike was a late night owl, so he let it ring. ‘Evening, Boss. Got a problem? Not like you to call at—’ Mike paused— ‘three minutes past midnight.’
‘Mike, sorry to wake you—’
Mike guffawed. ‘No, no, whoever sleeps before dawn in Jindabyne? I was having a beer and a game of darts with the boys. What’s up, Boss?’
‘Sorry for the short notice, Mike. I need to visit the Barossa Valley tomorrow. How early can we leave?’
‘We can leave at four a.m. if it’s a rush job, Boss. I’ll grab a little shut-eye and be ready. There’s a little strip at Gawler, but I’d rather go into Parafield Airport. On a full tank and a blue day, it’s about three and half hours flying time from Jindabyne.’
‘Thank you, Mike. I’ll message you details of the place I need to visit in the Barossa.’
Snowy Summer Page 24