by Fiona Lowe
He spun a little person’s chair around, straddled it and lowered himself down, bringing his knees up around his chin. ‘Did you drive her back?’
‘Of course I did. I thought if the two of us were trapped in a car together for seventy minutes, she’d tell me what had upset her so much.’
‘And?’
She sighed, still bugged by the entire bizarre event. In the fortnight since she’d dropped Charlotte at the regatta, she’d received a couple of chatty texts from her, including a Snapchat of her on top of the school clock tower. Neither communication had totally reassured her. ‘I tried everything to get her to talk. I tried being the cool aunt. You know, the one who accepts the situation, says nothing and waits for her to volunteer the information.’
‘Did it work?’
‘No. My next strategy was asking about school and her friends but I drew a blank there too. After that, I totally blew the cool persona and asked pointed questions. She was contrite, insisting she was sorry she’d worried me. She said she’d been upset about her shoulder and not being picked to race. That a night away from the boarding house and a good sleep was all she’d needed and that everything was now,’ she raised her fingers into quotation marks, ‘“all good, Auntie G”.’
‘I get that,’ Ben said nodding thoughtfully. ‘I couldn’t think of anything worse than being sent away to boarding school.’
She rolled her eyes at the old chestnut that was lobbed at her by people who’d gone to school where they lived. ‘Spoken by someone who’s never boarded. She wasn’t sent, Ben. It’s not a punishment. It’s an opportunity and she loves it. Most teenage girls do, because they get to spend hours on end with their friends. Charlie’s very social, just like her mother, and her worst fear is missing out. Plus, she has her own room so she can get space if she needs it.’
‘Still,’ he said sounding dubious, ‘it must be pretty full on. Perhaps she had a fight with a girl at school?’
‘Maybe. The thing is, Charlie’s been boarding for long enough to know how to deal with that sort of stuff and she’s hardly a victim. She’s got a lot of her mother in her.’
‘Fight with her boyfriend, then?’
She shook her head. ‘She doesn’t have a boyfriend at the moment and she’s far too level-headed for that sort of drama.’
Ben laughed. ‘No one is level-headed when it comes to heartbreak.’
‘I guess not,’ she said, thinking about Jason and Eliza and her seesawing emotions of the last year. ‘Anyway, whatever it was, I’m sorry it got in the way of our outing.’
He gave a whatever shrug. ‘That’s why I’m here. Dad called me last night. Turns out his car rally went through Billawarre.’
‘Seriously?’
‘I know, right? I’ve never heard of the joint and then I hear about it twice in two weeks. He’s decided to stay on for a few days so I googled it to see the attraction. Apparently, it’s got a historically significant clock tower, an avenue of trees, dry stone walls to rival Yorkshire, a milk factory, and it’s the heartbeat of sheep and dairy country.’
She pulled down the window blinds in preparation for the holidays. ‘And your father’s interested in clocks, trees, walls, cows and sheep?’
He laughed. ‘No, but he loves restoring cars. He probably got talking to an old cockie and found a wreck with potential stuck out in some far-flung paddock. He’ll be doing a deal to get it transported to the workshop.’ He gave her a sheepish look. ‘I thought I might surprise the old man and go visit him there. Thing is, I didn’t want to surprise you. I wouldn’t want you thinking I was stalking you.’
‘And are you?’
He gave her his cheeky grin; the one that reminded her of what he must have looked like as a mischievous little boy. ‘Only a little bit and not in a scary way.’
She cocked her head, studying him. ‘For all I know, using honesty might be part of your stalking persona. You know, draw me in so I never suspect.’
‘Mostly I’m saving myself a trip to Mildura in the second week of the hols,’ he said practically. ‘It means we’re both in Melbourne at the same time and we can finally do that bike ride.’
A warm and cosy feeling wound through her accompanied by a skitter of excitement. He still wanted to spend time with her. ‘That sounds great.’
‘I don’t expect to see you in Billawarre,’ he added tentatively. ‘I don’t want to get in the way. You’ve got your family and your mother’s party and I don’t want to complicate things for you. We haven’t even had an official date yet so meeting the parents is way ahead of the curve.’
His straightforward approach was disarming and charming and right then she knew without a doubt that she wanted to get to know him a lot better. She put her handbag on top of the archive box. ‘After the party, I’m definitely going to need a day off from my mother and sisters.’
He shot to his feet—quick and as fast as a jack-in-the-box—and again she was surprised by his height. He looked down at her from under a recalcitrant curl and with a smile tugging at his lips. ‘Is that right?’
‘Absolutely.’ Lightness wove through her in a way it hadn’t done in over a year and she grabbed onto it, harnessing the joy of flirting. ‘My family’s well known in the district for our hospitality so it would be really remiss of me not to show you the rail trail.’
Now he was standing very close to her with his head tilted down to hers. ‘The bike track with the old railway bridge?’
His breath stroked her cheek and she found it hard to concentrate. ‘Not just any old bridge. The finest example of a wooden trestle railway bridge in the state.’
‘My mistake.’ He picked up her hands, lacing his fingers through hers. ‘I’m looking forward to you showing it to me.’
She looked down at his tanned hands in hers, felt his warmth streaking through her and heating places that hadn’t thawed in a very long time. Suddenly Sunday couldn’t come quickly enough. ‘Do you need a ride to Billawarre?’
His enticing brown eyes studied her. ‘Are you offering?’
She smiled and nodded slowly. ‘I think I am.’
‘In that case …’ He released her hands and slid his arms around her waist, pulling her into him. ‘I accept.’
‘Excellent.’ It seemed the most natural thing in the world to rise up on her toes and kiss him.
He didn’t hesitate in kissing her back.
CHAPTER
5
Speeding down the road, Xara tried to make up some of the time she’d lost chasing a poddy calf. With the skill of a magician, it had somehow managed to escape from a paddock with seemingly intact fences. Harriet was going to have a pink fit if Xara didn’t collect their mother soon. The plan, which had been imposed on her by Harriet, was to bring Edwina out to the farm for the day. This was to prevent their mother from visiting Harriet at Miligili and discovering the birthday surprise.
Xara had told Harriet that the chances of Edwina dropping by unannounced were a thousand to one, because Edwina always called ahead. It was a lesson their mother had tried to instil in her daughters, explaining it was unfair to anyone to be caught unawares and not have the chance to put their house in order. Xara felt her mouth tug wryly. If having a house in order was a prerequisite for guests, then she’d never see anyone.
When Harriet had outlined the plan, Xara had said there was a higher chance of her mother springing a surprise visit on the farm than on Harriet. She’d stopped short of mentioning that her mother and elder sister didn’t have a drop-in sort of relationship. But Harriet had pointed out pithily that as Charlotte was home from school, of course there was a chance that Edwina might swing by, so the plan had stuck. Xara was to keep Edwina away from town until tonight’s party.
As if on cue, her phone rang and Harriet’s voice filled the car. ‘Xara, is Georgie with you?’
‘Hi, Harriet,’ she said, deliberately winding her sister up by reminding her that she wasn’t one of Harriet’s junior medical or nursing staff. ‘How are you?�
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Harriet sighed. ‘Good thanks. You?’ She didn’t pause for breath. ‘I’m chasing Georgie.’
‘I haven’t seen her. Did she mention at breakfast she was coming out to the farm?’ If Xara had known that was a possibility she’d have saved herself a journey. Georgie could have collected their mother and Xara’s dry-cleaned party dress from the post office.
‘She hasn’t arrived yet.’ Harriet’s exasperation rolled down the line. ‘I was expecting her last night but she sent a text saying she was baking the cakes and she’d be here early this morning. She’s not here. She’s not answering her phone and she’s not replying to texts.’
Xara slowed at the eighty kilometre sign on the edge of town. ‘Perhaps she went to see Mum first?’
‘With mini chocolate cakes in the car and icing that could melt? Not to mention that Edwina doesn’t know she’s coming.’
I will get through today. I will get through today. Xara swallowed a sigh. ‘I’m sure she’ll arrive soon. If I see her in town I’ll send her straight over.’
‘In town?’ Harriet’s voice was instantly suspicious. ‘Don’t tell me you haven’t collected Edwina yet?’
‘Sorry, you’re breaking up. See you tonight.’ Xara cut the call as she turned down her mother’s long, tree-lined driveway, enjoying the dappled shade cast by the ancient oaks, elms and the heritage-listed Bhutan pine. Photos in the Billawarre historical society showed early-nineteenth-century tennis parties and picnics on Glenora’s lawn with women dressed in white lace dresses and men in their shirtsleeves and waistcoats. There was one picture of a team of suspender-clad gardeners flanking their mistress in all of her Victorian splendour. In contrast, her mother had a team of two: herself and young Adrian. He’d been helping in the garden for twenty-five years, having started working for his father at sixteen and then taking over the landscaping business ten years later when Adrian senior retired. In all that time he’d never been able to shed the ‘young’ moniker and everyone in town still called him young Adrian, even people half his age.
A peacock strutted across the driveway and she braked quickly so as not to hit it. Tasha squealed in delight from the back seat. She loved the peacocks and visiting her grandmother’s garden. After the peacock had flashed its impressive tail and vanished behind the trees, Xara drove the remaining distance to the house and pulled the car to a stop on the circular drive. She turned to smile at her daughter. ‘Let’s go and surprise Mardi.’
It took her a few minutes to unload Tasha from her new car seat and get her settled into her wheelchair. As much as Tasha loved visiting Mardi, she was less fond of being moved into or out of the car seat. It was supposed to be a state-of-the art piece of equipment but the first time they’d used it, Xara hadn’t noticed a bolt protruding from underneath. It had broken the skin on Tasha’s leg and as a result she tended to arch her back whenever she entered or exited it.
Avoiding the steep stone steps that rose majestically to the tessellated-tile veranda and the heavy oak front door, Xara pushed the wheelchair down the path that ran along the side of the house. As they passed the laundry door her mother’s Russian Blue cat, Tsar, shot out of the cat door and jumped up onto Tasha’s lap, purring loudly.
‘Hello to you too, Tsar,’ Xara said. She leaned over to rub the cat behind the ears before lifting Tasha’s hand so it rested on the cat’s thick and luxurious fur. Tsar wasn’t the only animal that responded to Tasha with affection and it both fascinated and delighted Xara.
As they rounded the corner of the house, she glanced into the kitchen window, anticipating seeing her mother through the glass, but the room was empty. Opening the French doors, she negotiated the wheelchair into the large sunroom, which was also empty. ‘I wonder where Mardi is?’
Xara didn’t know exactly how much Tasha understood, but from the very start she’d explained all situations. The fact that it was always a one-sided conversation had ceased to bother her. As she parked Tasha near the window, she heard the soft rumble of voices drifting from the front of the house.
‘Sounds like Mardi’s got a visitor. I’ll go and tell her we’re here so she can come and say hello.’
As Xara walked down the hall, the thick carpet runner that had replaced the old worn one of her childhood absorbed the sound of her footsteps. The lack of noise was in stark contrast to the loud and echoing sounds she and her sisters’ feet had made pummelling the kauri-pine floorboards. A happy peal of laughter floated down the long corridor and she stopped abruptly, struck by the sound. How long had it been since she’d heard her mother laugh like that? Not since Dad died?
It was before that.
Like most kids growing up, Xara had never given a great deal of thought to her parents’ relationship. Mum kept the home fires burning and Dad was a country doctor who appeared late most evenings and did his best to make it to sports carnivals, concerts, plays and award ceremonies. She didn’t have strong memories of her parents arguing but then again, she didn’t have strong memories of them laughing together either. Her father’s presence had always been strong in the house; his opinions louder than her mother’s, and she recalled few instances when her mother had aired her views and stood her ground.
During her childhood, there’d been occasions when she’d been aware that her mother wasn’t as happy as she might be, but the most significant period was straight after Georgie’s birth. She remembered her father telling her that Mummy loved her but she was going to need some peace and quiet. Soon after that announcement, Mrs Abercrombie, their housekeeper, had moved in for eight long months.
During that time there’d been nights when Xara had woken to hear the indistinct rumble of her father’s baritone voice rising and falling. At first the tone would be one of supplication before firming to terse demands and then fading in resignation. He’d leave for work early and come home late but he always read her a bedtime story, even if she had to wake up to hear it. He’d lie beside her on her bed with a glass of whiskey in one hand and a copy of The Magic Faraway Tree in the other, and he’d send her to off to sleep hopeful that when she woke the next morning she’d find everything was back to normal.
Each afternoon after school, she’d sneak into her mother’s room, wishing and praying to see Edwina up, dressed, makeup and pearls in place, eyes twinkling and looking like the mother she’d known for five years. She’d almost lost faith that it was ever going to happen and then one day, she ran inside and Edwina was in the kitchen cooking drop scones and asking her about her day. Life returned then to what Xara had considered normal.
Ironically, when her mother got better, her father’s presence in her everyday life took a step back. Her fondest memories of him were his visits to see her at boarding school on his way home from his regular week spent lecturing in Melbourne. He always seemed different on those occasions, more relaxed somehow compared with the official visiting days when he came with her mother. He’d arrive at school unannounced, overrule her housemistress and whisk Xara into Geelong for dinner. Sometimes, she’d manage to convince him not to take her to the stuffy Geelong Club but to let his hair down and buy shawarmas. They’d eat the spiced lamb on its nest of tabouleh and tahini down at Eastern Beach. Her father would shuck his jacket and tie and they’d watch local families picnicking and racing each other down the steep emerald slopes on huge sheets of cardboard. Xara had wanted to try speeding down the thick grass with the salty air whipping her cheeks, but her father—ever the doctor—had always said, ‘It’s a one-way ticket to brain damage.’ So she’d watched in quiet envy, not wanting to mar the treasured and infrequent companionship of her father. Wisely, she’d never told him how many risks she took urging her horse over the jumps she’d built in the far paddock at school, well out of the sight of everyone.
She’d learned her father had very definite views and that it was best to dole out information on a need-to-know basis. At seventeen, she’d held off for as long as possible before telling him she was dropping all her science subjects and
choosing to focus on French and the humanities. He’d yelled, ranted and sulked and when that hadn’t moved her, he’d blustered and threatened that if she was going to waste her talents he wasn’t going to pay for her to attend Ormond College. She’d told him he already had Harriet following in his footsteps and she was treading her own path. Her mother had been oddly silent on this issue, which Xara had put down to the fact that her mother had never gone to university. Ironically, Xara had inadvertently appeased him when she’d accepted the offer of arts/law at Melbourne University but then she’d upset him again when she’d refused to go to college, preferring instead to live in a share house in Carlton.
She’d loved her father but there was something about him that made her want to do the exact opposite of anything he suggested. It wasn’t until years later when she’d met and married Steve that she’d wondered if her father’s dominant personality may have contributed to her mother’s periods of disconnection. It was soon after that epiphany that she’d started her ‘checking in’ phone calls to her mother. She’d never broached the subject of Richard’s personality with Edwina. She and her mother didn’t talk about things like that but mostly Xara had never asked because part of her hadn’t wanted to know. Unlike Harriet, she didn’t consider her father perfect but now that he was dead, it seemed disrespectful to even enquire.
She heard her mother laugh again and this time it was followed by a definite chuckle; a deep and sonorous sound. Xara realised the noise wasn’t coming from the front room after all but wafting through her mother’s open bedroom door. She recalled that Edwina had mentioned she was waiting on a plumber to quote on installing a new toilet in the ensuite bathroom. It sounded like he’d finally turned up.