by Fiona Lowe
‘I’m tired,’ Charlotte had moaned.
‘You’ve done nothing all day!’
‘So? I still feel tired.’
Harriet had determined right there and then that come Monday, Charlotte was having a blood test to check for low haemoglobin and glandular fever. ‘You can rest all day tomorrow but tonight you don’t have a choice. You’re a Minchin and a Chirnwell. That comes with certain responsibilities in this town, especially now your father’s running for preselection. People expect to see you greeting them with a smile on your face. Daddy and I expect to see you welcoming them.’
She’d sucked in a breath and decided to try praise to lure her recalcitrant daughter out of the bathroom. ‘I know how good you are at making people feel welcome and special when you put your mind to it.’
And then the doorbell had pealed five minutes before the stated time on the printed turquoise-shot paper invitations. As she’d walked out of Charlotte’s bedroom, Georgie had been hovering on the wide landing, her expression a combination of concern and awkwardness.
‘Sorry, Harry. I couldn’t help overhearing the shouting. Can I help? I could answer the door or …?’
‘Or what? Find out what the hell is the matter with Charlotte? Good luck with that.’
She’d regretted the snark in her tone the moment she heard it but she was still slightly pissed off with Georgie about Charlotte’s visit two weeks ago. Her youngest sister liked to think that because she was closer in age to her niece, Charlotte was more likely to confide in her. Worried that this was a distinct possibility, Harriet had drilled Georgie this afternoon. Georgie hadn’t mentioned the dismal academic results, thank God, and it appeared her intel was even less than Harriet’s. As a mother, this was reassuring, because Harriet had always told Charlotte she could tell her anything.
The bell had trilled again, longer and more demanding. ‘If you can get Charlotte out of the bathroom, dressed and downstairs as soon as possible, that would be a win. Thanks.’
As she’d run down the stairs to the front door, she’d known it would be the Finlaysons. They always broke the rule of arriving a polite five minutes late to give the hosts some breathing space and they were always the last to leave. Their saving grace was they’d been close friends of her parents and Jim had been her father’s golf buddy for forty years. Since her father had died, Harriet enjoyed listening to Jim’s stories, because they kept her dad close.
The Finlaysons may have led the advance guard but not by much. Dozens of couples had now arrived and Harriet was stuck standing by the door greeting people and unable to leave. She was still waiting for her husband and daughter to join her.
‘You know we wouldn’t have missed Edwina’s party for the world,’ Primrose said, glancing at her husband. ‘Would we, David?’
‘Always good to have a night off,’ the garrulous dairy farmer said, expertly extricating a glass of beer from between the forest of champagne flutes on a passing waiter’s tray. ‘Actually, it’s good timing because I wanted to talk to James about the rural relief fund and—’
‘Plenty of time for that later,’ Primrose said, throwing Harriet an apologetic glance. ‘Is your mother here?’
‘Not yet.’ Harriet checked her watch. ‘Xara’s bringing her and you know Xara and I don’t share the same relationship with time.’
‘Hello, Auntie P.’
Charlotte appeared at Harriet’s side in an outfit she’d never seen before. Unlike the three short and tight-fitting cocktail dresses that Harriet had laid out on her bed, Charlotte was wearing a matching skirt and blouse. The blue and green top draped from the shoulder in silky folds and a section of the sleeves opened to enticingly expose her tanned and toned upper arms. The material rejoined just above mid-tricep and then covered her arm to the wrist. The blouse fell halfway down the short, fitted skirt, which hugged her behind and showed off her long legs. She looked young, fit, poised and beautiful. Harriet breathed a sigh of relief.
‘Charlie, look at you!’ Primrose exclaimed with a slightly stunned expression. ‘You’re all grown up.’
Charlotte laughed but gave Harriet a sidelong glance. ‘Please tell Mum that.’
The older woman hugged Charlotte. ‘Don’t rush it, sweetie. You’ve got years and years ahead of you to be an adult.’
Charlotte’s smile wobbled at the edges as if a weight was pulling it down. ‘Have a lovely night, Auntie P.’
As Primrose and David were absorbed into the growing crowd, Harriet leaned in and said quietly, ‘Thank you, darling.’
Charlotte gave an indifferent shrug. ‘Where’s Dad?’
‘I don’t know. Can you go and find him for me?’
Her daughter widened her eyes. ‘What? And abandon my post and my responsibilities?’
Harriet ground her teeth. ‘Go and find your father.’
‘I’m here,’ James said, slipping between the two of them. It was his usual practice to slide an arm around each of them but this time his hands stayed by his sides.
‘Where have you been?’ Harriet asked sotto voce. ‘You missed Phillip Ciobo.’ Phillip was a mover and shaker in the Liberal Party and someone they needed to schmooze. ‘I covered for you but you need to go and find him as soon as Edwina arrives and we’ve called out surprise.’
‘Right. Thanks.’
Instead of sounding appreciative, James’s tone was clipped as if she’d done the wrong thing. She glanced at him and then at Charlotte—the two people she loved most in the world—and she got the strangest sensation something was slipping away from her.
Hugh and Ollie choose that moment to run through the balloon archway, pushing their sister. ‘Charlie,’ they whooped when they saw their cousin. Abandoning Tasha’s chair, they enthusiastically threw themselves at her in the way only eight-year-old boys can. ‘Let’s play Twister.’
‘After we’ve given Mardi her big surprise.’ Charlotte gave them both a bear hug. ‘Hi, Tashie.’ She kissed her cousin on the forehead before automatically straightening the bandana around her neck. ‘Look at you, all gorgeous in that pink sparkly top.’
Tasha’s beam lit up her face.
‘Boys. Push your sister out of the doorway before Mardi walks in with your mother,’ Harriet instructed.
‘Oh, she’s—’
‘It looks amazing, Harry,’ Xara said, interrupting her sons. She stood arm in arm with Steve, surveying the room. Her head tipped back to spy the one hundred turquoise helium balloons hovering on the ceiling with their lightly swishing silver ribbon tails. ‘Really gorgeous.’
‘Thank you,’ Harriet said, momentarily distracted by the praise before realising that her mother hadn’t walked in with them.
‘Xara!’ Georgie suddenly appeared from the crowd to envelop her sister in a warm hug before turning her attention to Steve. She kissed him affectionately on the cheek and then loudly high-fived the twins while hooting, ‘Dudes!’ After the boys had slapped her hand, she squatted next to the wheelchair so she was at eye level with Tasha. ‘How’s my girl?’ she asked as she tied a helium balloon to the chair. ‘Now you’re ready to party.’
Harriet wished Georgie could greet everyone a little less exuberantly. ‘Where’s Edwina?’ she asked Xara, peering behind her for their mother.
Xara turned back from the waiter with two glasses of champagne. ‘She insisted on driving herself and I couldn’t talk her out of it. She should be here any minute.’
A throb started pulsing in Harriet’s left temple and she spoke slowly and quietly, working hard at not collaring her sister. ‘What do you mean she should be here any minute? The arrangements were crystal clear. You drove her so you all arrived together. I’ve got a hundred people here ready to surprise her, and she’s not here.’ The ache from her clenched teeth joined the throbbing, which had now migrated to include her other temple.
‘She will be,’ Xara said firmly. ‘When have you ever known Mum to be late to a social function? Oh, I hear a car.’ She turned. ‘Ollie, Hughie, sneak out
and see if it’s Mardi’s car but don’t let her see you.’
‘Okay.’ The boys rushed past and returned quickly. ‘It’s Mardi and she’s—’
Harriet clapped loudly and the snapping sound reverberated around the room. ‘The guest of honour is here.’
She heard her mother’s heels clicking on the veranda and she raised her arms as if she were conducting a choir.
As Edwina appeared in the balloon arch and everyone called out, ‘Surprise!’ Harriet’s jaw dropped, stalling the word in her throat. Her mother wasn’t alone. Edwina stood in the archway holding a man’s hand—a man Harriet had never seen in her life—and worse than that, she was smiling up at him in a way she’d never seen her mother look at anyone before.
Memories of her father flooded Harriet and a thick feeling of betrayal clogged her veins. How could her mother do this to her? To them? Here. Now. Tonight. She shot a glance at Georgie. Her younger sister’s mouth hung open. Obviously she was as stunned as Harriet felt. Her gaze sought Xara’s. Her middle sister’s face wasn’t blanched in shock or etched in surprise but Harriet did detect some anxiety.
‘Cool!’ Charlotte said in a loud whisper. ‘Mardi’s got a boyfriend.’
No. A hot sensation burned under Harriet’s ribs and she grabbed Xara’s arm so hard that champagne sloshed onto her fingers. ‘Who’s that man?’
‘Doug? You old bastard,’ David McGowan called out in delighted surprise, his booming voice breaking the crowd’s surprised silence. ‘God, it’s been forty-odd years. How the hell are you?’
* * *
Soon after her mother’s surprise entrance, Georgie carried three glasses of champagne into the l’Orangerie and sat down in one of the white cane chairs that Xara had pulled into a circle. Gathering together like this wasn’t something the sisters did very often but Harriet had insisted they talk. Her mother’s wily manoeuvre of arriving at the party with an unknown man hadn’t gone down well with Harriet.
Georgie handed a flute to each of her sisters. ‘So … wow. Mum’s got a boyfriend? Who knew?’
‘Xara, apparently,’ Harriet said tartly, closing the double doors against any guest who might be tempted to wander away from party central.
‘Hey. In my defence, I only found out at ten-thirty this morning and believe me, I’d have preferred not to.’ Xara gulped champagne. ‘I’ve wanted to bleach my eyeballs all day.’
‘Oh, I don’t know,’ Georgie said, thinking Xara was being a bit unfair to the guy. ‘Doug’s pretty well preserved for a bloke his age and he’s not hard to look at. In fact, don’t you think he’s kind of familiar?’
‘He’s not familiar at all,’ Harriet said in her best condescending-big-sister tone. ‘And Xara wasn’t talking about the man’s looks, Georgie.’
She decided to ignore Harriet. ‘What do you mean then, Xar?’
Xara’s fingers tightened on her glass. ‘I found them having breakfast together in bed.’
‘Oh, is that all.’ Georgie laughed and champagne bubbles fizzed up her nose. ‘It could have been worse. Did I ever tell you about the time I walked in on Mum and Dad doing it once and—’
‘Shut up, Georgie,’ Xara and Harriet said in unison.
Georgie swallowed an infuriated sigh. She was back home in the heart of her family—yet again she was being firmly placed in her position of youngest and therefore was not allowed an opinion.
‘Who is he?’ Harriet asked again. ‘I want to ask David McGowan about him but that means admitting we don’t know who he is and Jesus … how would that look?’ She rose and started pacing. ‘I’m furious with Edwina. How could she spring him on us like this?’
‘To give Doug his due,’ Xara said, ‘he suggested meeting us at a family lunch tomorrow. It was Mum who insisted he come tonight.’
‘Hiding him in a crowd,’ Harriet muttered, her brows pulling down into a sharp V. ‘She knew we couldn’t give either of them the third degree tonight but tomorrow’s another story.’
‘I think it’s great she’s got a friend,’ Georgie said, deliberately baiting Harriet. ‘She actually looks happy. Isn’t that what counts?’
Harriet gave her a death stare. ‘Not when we don’t have any idea who he is. We know nothing about him. God, he could be anyone. What if he’s after her money?’
‘Ohh, the family inheritance under threat.’ Georgie rolled her eyes. ‘Of course that was your first thought, Harry. Sometimes I think you were born in the wrong era.’ She tried for logic. ‘Look, David knows him so he’s obviously not a total stranger. I bet that’s why he seems familiar. He’s probably someone’s cousin. You know how they all intermarried back in the day to keep the land inside the six founding families.’ A thought struck her. ‘It would be a bit ick though if he was somehow related to us, wouldn’t it?’
‘With dusky skin, Georgie?’ Harriet snapped. ‘Highly unlikely. If he was a distant cousin twice removed, I’d feel a lot happier. At least that way we’d know who he was.’
‘Mum told me they were friends a long time ago,’ Xara said, staring at the fine bead that continuously rode up through the centre of the mead-coloured liquid in her glass. ‘Before she met Dad. I wondered if they’d met during her grand tour of Europe but if David knows him then perhaps they met here.’
‘Mum introduced him as “my friend Doug”.’ Harriet stopped pacing. ‘Don’t you think it’s odd we’ve never heard about him? And that she didn’t mention his surname?’
‘No,’ Georgie said, wishing she’d brought Ben to the party. He’d have been the perfect excuse for her not to be stuck here listening to Harriet’s conspiracy theories.
Thinking of Ben made her grin like she’d won Tattslotto. She’d been floating two inches above the ground for the last thirty hours, ever since he’d kissed her in the middle of 2C’s classroom. After that bone-melting kiss, he’d come back to her house and somehow, despite the magnetic pull that ran between them, they’d managed to keep their hands off each other long enough to bake one hundred mini chocolate cakes. During the glorious ninety minutes they’d had to fill while the cakes cooled enough to be iced, there’d also been a lot of licking and tasting, and not just restricted to the chocolate icing.
An anticipatory quiver shimmied and buzzed deep down inside her, making her cheeks heat and her thighs tighten. She squirmed in the chair. Part of her wanted to jump up and tell her sisters she’d spent last night and this morning naked and having the best sex of her life. The rest of her wanted to hold the memories close and keep what she and Ben had shared locked tightly inside a private bubble.
And if her mother was flying as high as she was, then who was Georgie to get upset about this Doug bloke? Granted, she’d only met him briefly to shake his hand but he had a vibe about him that was reassuring. The thing that had really struck her about Doug was how very different he was both in looks and style from her father. It stood to reason he’d probably be different in personality as well, although that could be a leap. Pop psychology was always spouting that people tended to be attracted to people with similar traits.
But she looks happy. The thought dried her mouth, leaving a traitorous residue. Georgie had loved her father, although once she’d hit her late twenties, she’d starting seeing him through adult eyes. It had made her wonder if she’d really known him at all. For someone who’d been raised by parents with an intact marriage, she really didn’t feel particularly close to either of them. She’d grown up listening to her father cross swords with Xara many times, especially when she’d told him she wasn’t going to be a doctor. Five years later, it was Georgie’s turn to tell him that she planned on the less prestigious career of primary teaching. She’d had her arguments prepared and was ready to weather his disappointment, which would fall on her like a guillotine. Part of her had craved the argument and the lecture that she was wasting her talents but all he’d said was, ‘Well, at least I won’t have to pay Ormond College fees.’
And that pretty much summed up her childhood. It wasn’t that
her parents didn’t notice her, it was just they didn’t get as involved in her life as they had with Harriet and Xara. Mostly, it had been a good thing but sometimes Georgie would have liked to ruffle her father’s sanguine demeanour. Of course, she could have tested it by taking drugs, getting expelled or getting pregnant, but she hadn’t wanted to do anything that drastic. Instead, she’d changed her mind about where she was going to study, applied to Trinity College and hit her father for the expensive fees. She’d got her double degree at Melbourne University, majoring in creative arts and education.
Looking back, she was never sure if her father had tried reverse psychology on her but she didn’t think so. Certainly her attending Melbourne University had appeased his pretensions but her course had not. Growing up, she’d learned from him that the words ‘arts degree’ were always accompanied with an eye roll and always followed by the statement, ‘and that will make her so very employable’.
What was it Ben had said the first time she’d met him? Something about parents running out of energy? The more she thought about it, the more she was convinced that was exactly what had happened to her parents. She was the accident, the unexpected third daughter, but if they’d tired of parenting by the time she hit her teens, where had their energy been redirected? Looking at her mother’s incandescent glow today, she knew in her heart that it hadn’t been toward each other.
‘His surname tells us who he is and who he’s related to,’ Harriet said in a tone that implied Xara was simple. ‘Xara, surely he told you his name when you met him this morning?’
‘He probably did but I was still reeling from finding them in bed together. I can’t remember.’
‘Well, you’re not much use.’
‘So sue me,’ Xara bristled, rising from her chair. ‘I’ll go and get Auntie Primrose, shall I? Or better yet, I’ll get Doug so he can tell you.’
‘Don’t,’ Harriet snapped and then sucked in a deep breath. ‘Sorry, Xara. It’s just this has thrown me for a loop. The party was to help Edwina get back to being involved in things.’