by Derek Hansen
‘I’m sorry,’ mumbled Roberto. He could not believe he’d failed when he’d tried so hard.
‘Don’t be sorry,’ Annemieke said. ‘Play it again, this time with the music. You start while I get us both a cool drink.’
Annemieke realised the boy was highly strung, and saw how deeply he had felt her criticism. She needed to give him a chance to relax. He wasn’t a bad player but neither was he gifted. And he’d developed a number of bad habits. Not using the music. Dropping his wrists. Lifting his elbows. And not using the pedals. The question was, how did she bring up these inadequacies without shattering his fragile confidence? Annemieke realised she needed the drinks break as much as the boy.
‘That’s better,’ she said, and gave him a tall glass of lime juice. ‘Do you know Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata? As far as he was concerned, it was the first movement of his Sonata Quasi Una Fantasia. But when it was first performed, a critic wrote that it reminded him of moonlight on Lake Lucerne, and so it became the Moonlight Sonata. It’s actually grade seven, but I think you should be able to manage it. We’ll also do some work on your theory. When you understand harmony better, you’ll find you won’t have to read note for note. Let’s begin, shall we?’
Annemieke sat alongside Roberto on the piano stool and began to play the first two sheets of music to him. He watched transfixed. He could smell her perfume and feel her arm as it lightly brushed his. Her fingers barely touched the keys, yet the most beautiful music swirled around him. He could see the moonlight twinkling and dancing on Lake Lucerne as the critic had nearly two centuries earlier. And before she had finished the little she played, Roberto was in love with her. If there had been something lacking in his life, a reason for his existence, a sense of purpose, he found it now in Annemieke. All he wanted to do was please her. He decided he would dedicate his musical career to her. She would be his teacher and inspiration. He would practise every day, not for one hour but for two! He would do his theory, not four pages a week, but eight! He would be her star pupil. He would worship at her feet. He would worship the most perfect human being he could ever imagine.
‘You play better than the man at David Jones,’ he said.
Chapter Forty-three
Eduardo flew home for Java Man’s new showing. He shamelessly revived old contacts and renewed friendships grown cold. He was apprehensive about the showing given the recession, and Jan’s excursion into primitive art from other areas of the South Pacific. Typically, he threw himself into organising the evening with all his enthusiasm.
‘I see more of you when you’re in Jakarta,’ Annemieke complained.
‘My apologies,’ Eduardo replied in tones that were hardly apologetic. ‘But it’s your father’s neck riding on this one too. We mustn’t fail.’
‘Then let me help,’ she said. And she did.
She helped price and catalogue every new piece. Jan had been to the Solomons, Papua New Guinea and Fiji. He had discovered among his clientele a definite bent for tribal weaponry. He had spears and shields, missile clubs from Fiji, and greenstone Maori clubs from New Zealand. He brought back money rings from the Solomon Islands and tribal stools from New Guinea. Annemieke helped display them, tucking small and delicate pieces behind glass, away from the clumsy and the light-fingered.
She ordered the champagne and Canadian smoked salmon. Estelle told her where to go to get the best, and the price had shocked her. Eduardo only laughed. On the night, she worked tirelessly as both hostess and waitress, even though they’d hired waitresses. And the night had met with the success it deserved. Their takings were on par with their opening night. Annemieke was ecstatic. She turned to Eduardo.
‘C’mon,’ she said. ‘You owe us all a magnificent dinner and whatever comes after. We’ll tidy up tomorrow. Anders, you’ll come too, won’t you?’
Anders looked at Eduardo, willing him to put her off. Eduardo took a deep breath and summoned up his reserves of energy.
‘Let’s go,’ he said. ‘Estelle ring the Brasserie and warn them that we’re coming. Oh, and you’d better ring Combined Taxis.’
Eduardo turned to his delighted wife and took her in his arms.
‘I’m here until Monday,’ he said. ‘That’s five nights. I give them all to you. You decide what you want to do, where you want to go, who you want to take, and we’ll go do it. Stuff Jakarta. Stuff the Hot Ink Press. And stuff you too, Jan.’
Everybody laughed except Anders.
Eduardo was true to his word. The frustrations, boredom and loneliness Annemieke had experienced all evaporated in a whirlwind of socialising. It was a return to the early days of their marriage, and no honeymooners ever indulged each other more. Anders cried off and left the love birds to it, claiming prior commitment to a new business presentation.
The tonic worked for them both. When Eduardo flew back to Jakarta, he felt curiously refreshed and renewed despite the succession of late, late nights, rich foods and alcohol. Annemieke felt as if a burden had been lifted off her and a tension released. Her mind no longer wandered down forbidden pathways, and joy and vitality returned to her piano playing. She returned to her old friend and enemy, Chopin, and did credit to his mazurkas.
Roberto could not help noticing the change. She had him playing minuets and waltzes which he disliked, and loving every second of it. Whenever he mastered a difficult section, she’d jump up from her stool and hug him, or kiss his cheek. It made him try all the harder. He found himself laughing with her when he goofed and, whenever he played mistake free, he’d throw his arms in the air like a football supporter whose team had just scored a goal. He loved his half hour lessons which always stretched to an hour, but they were never long enough. Just long enough to send him home, inspired, motivated, and hopelessly devoted to his teacher.
But it could not last. Gradually everything settled back into the routine, with Eduardo spending more time in Jakarta than he did at home, and Annemieke getting progressively more lonely and dispirited. Nevertheless, she kept true to her promise, and avoided seeing Anders alone. When he rang to tell her he had four tickets to see Dire Straits, she saw no reason why she should not accept. She asked who else was coming, and he told her it was a writer from the office and his wife. She accepted with glee.
She met Anders at the Marble Bar. They had a couple of drinks while they waited for the other two to arrive.
‘They may be late,’ Anders said, ‘so I’ve given their tickets to them. One of their kids isn’t well. Nothing serious, but you know what parents are like.’
They waited half an hour, then went on ahead. The two seats alongside remained empty throughout the concert.
‘You’d think one of them would have tried to make it,’ Anders said. ‘These seats cost a fortune.’
Annemieke let him drive her home. She’d enjoyed the concert and his company, and he seemed genuinely disappointed that the other couple had failed to appear. They didn’t stop for drinks on the way. Annemieke felt obliged to invite him in for a nightcap. She knew it was wrong and that she’d left herself vulnerable. But Anders had done nothing that night to suggest his intentions were anything but honourable.
They sat on the sofa together and played music while they drank their coffee. Anders was indiscreet and told stories about his girlfriends which he probably shouldn’t have. Annemieke laughed. They played more music, drank more coffee, and gossiped shamelessly.
‘A kiss,’ Anders requested as he made to leave. ‘A proper kiss, too, to end the night, if you don’t mind.’
‘Behave yourself,’ she said in mock admonishment, but allowed him to take her hands in his, and kiss her. Again, she felt the thrill surge through her body. She knew it was wrong. She knew she should push him away, but she didn’t want the delicious feeling to end. Then his head was on her chest and he was kissing the swell of her breasts, and he was slowly pushing his tongue as far down her cleavage as the front of her dress would allow. Her brain screamed ‘No!’, but her back arched and her hands reached inside
his shirt.
‘Just this once! Just this once!’ her inner voice begged, and she shuddered as he slipped his hand gently up her thigh.
Anders took his time. He wanted her to want him, not just for one night but for as many nights as he chose, until he tired of her. He caressed her breasts and explored her body and her secrets with his tongue.
Her eyes were closed, her head bent back, her body straining towards her lover. Her breath came in short gasps. She moaned and twisted as her ecstasy grew. Then he entered her, and her orgasm was instantaneous. They made love in an orgy of pleasure that only ended, reluctantly, with the morning sun.
Anders left then, and Annemieke lay unmoving in a state of utter fulfilment. She was determined not to feel any guilt or remorse. After all, she had only taken what had been denied her as a teenager. It was purely a question of chronology, she argued to herself. Most girls do it before they marry. She was just a little late getting around to it. That’s all. That’s what she told herself. But it didn’t work.
The phone rang. It was Eduardo. His voice brought home her betrayal.
‘I love you and I miss you,’ he said. ‘I’m coming home tomorrow, no matter what. Love me?’
She assured him she did. But it was all she could do not to break down and confess over the phone. She hung up and cried. She vowed she would never betray Eduardo again. She would never so much as look at another man. She would love Eduardo, Eduardo only. But the taste of Anders’ kisses lingered on her lips, and she still felt light-headed from their love-making. When she showered, she only had to touch herself to be reminded.
She heaped promise of fidelity upon promise. But promises made under the duress of regret are often all too fragile and easily swept away in the floodtide of temptation.
Anders had done his job well.
Chapter Forty-four
Annemieke sought a diversion while Eduardo shuttled back and forth to Indonesia. Roberto was almost ready to sit the grade six practical and theory exams, and she was determined that he would pass with flying colours. She began to give him extra tuition without charging him, and was relentless in strengthening his weaknesses.
Roberto responded with redoubled effort. He lapped up the extra attention and his playing improved appreciably with each passing week. He appreciated the effort Annemieke was putting in on his behalf, without ever suspecting her true motive. He romanced about what appeared to him as their special relationship. She was his goddess, a paragon of virtue, above all the dross of the world.
When her husband was away and he was there, Annemieke was safe. Safe from the man who phoned and stole the sunlight from her face. Safe from the man who turned her sad, desperate ‘no’ into a reluctant ‘yes’. Safe from the man who cast a cloud over his lessons, and caused Annemieke to lose patience with him. She would apologise, throw her arm around him so that her breast pushed against his shoulder, and hold him tightly until he forgave her. Then she’d laugh, and Roberto’s heart would melt, and he’d wonder what sort of a person would deliberately upset her.
As he rode his bike home to Dover Heights, he’d think of the poems he would write that night, alone in his room with his fantasies, as over and over he pledged his undying love. He made up his mind. After his grade six exam was over, he would be her protector. He would protect her whenever her husband was away. He would follow her and make sure she came to no harm.
On the Sunday before his exam, Annemieke arranged a final two-hour session, as much to instil confidence in her star pupil as polish the edges of his playing. Eduardo was home, and Lita and Jan had come over for dinner. Annemieke asked Roberto to stay and promptly made him play for his supper.
‘It will help you overcome your nervousness in playing to strangers,’ she said.
Roberto played, hesitantly at first, but Annemieke’s smiles gave him confidence. He launched into his pieces with such elan that the audience had no choice but to sit up and take notice. Roberto glowed with the applause.
It was a mild spring evening so they sat outside for dinner.
‘What brought your family to Australia?’ Jan asked Roberto, trying to involve the boy in their conversation. He shrugged and was going to deflect the question with a trite answer, when he noticed that Annemieke was also interested in his response.
‘Were you chased out like Eduardo?’ Annemieke asked. ‘Penniless and homeless? Tell your story, Eduardo.’
‘I was never penniless,’ Eduardo began, and told the story he had invented to quell the curious, some ten years earlier. He had expanded and developed it, so that it had a more convincing ring, and it was now his official history. He’d prepared his story well. But nothing had prepared him for Roberto’s.
‘My story is not pleasant,’ Roberto began matter of factly. ‘To begin with, my real name is not Gimenes. I was born Roberto Sanguineti.’
In the gathering gloom, nobody noticed Eduardo start, and the blood drain from his face. He looked at the thin, sensitive boy, stared at the eyes which had locked onto his from beneath the stairs. As Roberto continued to speak, all doubt vanished.
‘My father was a brave man. He was a hero to all Argentina. They called him La Voz del Pueblo, the voice of the people, because he had the courage to speak out against the Generals. He was betrayed by a friend who wanted to steal my mother away.’
‘Eduardo!’ Annemieke called. ‘Are you all right?’
Eduardo had slumped in his chair, his head in his hands. Annemieke rushed to his side as Jan turned on the lights. Eduardo was sweating, his face screwed up in a painful grimace, his eyes squeezed shut.
‘Eduardo! What is it? What’s the matter?’
‘It’s nothing. Nothing. Just something I picked up in Indonesia. I’ve had it before. Help me to the bedroom.’
But it was Jan who virtually carried him up the stairs and gently helped him to lie down. Annemieke fussed around him as Jan left the room.
‘I’m all right,’ Eduardo pleaded. ‘Just a little headache and fever. It’s nothing really.’ He begged Annemieke to leave him to sleep, and go back to her guests.
She did as he bid, but Eduardo knew he would not sleep. His past had stalked him over ten thousand kilometres and caught up with him. The knife blade of his guilt twisted and turned mercilessly in his stomach, opening old wounds. He dared not sleep. He knew Rosa would be there, waiting, to condemn him to the death he deserved.
‘I’m sorry, Annemieke,’ Roberto said, standing as if to leave, ‘Maybe my story has revived unpleasant memories.’
‘Nothing of the kind. Please sit down, Roberto. Eduardo is very adventurous with his food, and sometimes he has to pay the price. Unfortunately, tonight is one of those times.’
‘It is we who should be sorry,’ said Lita, ‘for intruding so rudely into your past. I’m sure you don’t enjoy being reminded of it.’
‘I was six years old,’ Roberto said. ‘I have grown up with the knowledge of what happened. To be honest with you, I remember little. The detail I gave you is the detail others gave to me. They said I should be proud of my real parents and didn’t hide them from me. That is what happened. That is how I came to be adopted. That is how I came to live in Australia.’
Conversation flickered and faltered. They were all moved by the sad-faced boy. As soon as dinner was over, they wished him luck with his exams, and Jan and Lita dropped him home on their way back to Mosman.
The next morning, Eduardo was no better. Despite his protestations, Annemieke drove him to their doctor.
Chapter Forty-five
Eduardo was furious with himself. The first time he had neglected to check whether his flight was departing as scheduled was the day he arrived at the airport to find the plane delayed for twenty-four hours because of an electrical fault. Naturally, any spare seats on the Qantas flight had already been filled by those who had taken the trouble to ring first.
He cursed his stupidity and returned straight home. Annemieke was out, probably shopping. He decided to spend the day with t
he editorial staff of his magazines. He was on his way out again when the phone rang. He tossed up whether to leave it or pick it up. Obviously, the call wasn’t for him. But Eduardo wasn’t the sort of man who could just let a phone ring. He picked it up.
‘Annemieke …’ sang a man’s voice.
Eduardo was confused.
‘Anders?’
The phone slammed down in his ear. Eduardo was stunned. At first, his mind refused to accept the implications. It had sounded like Anders’ voice. But why would he hang up like that? Eduardo closed his eyes and desperately tried to think of an innocent reason for the call and its rude termination. His heart sank and his stomach churned. Suspicions nagged and taunted. He found it almost impossible to believe that his wife was seeing another man. But what other explanation could there be? There must be one, he thought, and once he heard it, it would be blindingly obvious to all but a suspicious mind.
He clung to this silly foolish hope. But the seeds of doubt were sown, and seemingly, on soil as fertile as Java’s. Doubt, the great destroyer, blossomed in his mind.
He reached for the Yellow Pages and dialled a private investigation agency. He left a note for Annemieke explaining the circumstances of his aborted flight, and left to keep his appointment. He took with him as many recent photographs of his wife as he could find, and a videotape of her which they’d forgotten to send to Dr Tannen.
‘It is better to know the truth,’ he told himself, ‘than to live with suspicions. I will not condemn her unjustly.’
When he arrived home that evening, Annemieke had cooked him a special meal.
‘Why now?’ he thought. ‘What is she trying to make amends for?’
Then he dismissed his suspicions and cursed his impatience. He would know soon enough. In his heart, he still clung to the belief that there was an innocent explanation. In the meantime, she deserved his trust. Trust and love.
‘It’s a celebration,’ she said happily. ‘I’ve got you for an extra day.’