by Fiona Lowe
‘It looks like she’s been very involved,’ Georgie quipped with a wink.
‘How can you make jokes about them having sex?’ Xara emptied her champagne glass. ‘Can we get a bottle in here, Harry?’
Perhaps because I’m having sex again for the first time in almost two years and I want everyone to feel this way. ‘You’re not the one I thought would be getting her undies in a twist about Mum having sex. You can’t deny those endorphins are working their magic on her better than any pills she’s ever taken. She looks different somehow. Lighter. Younger.’
‘She may as well be wearing a sign around her neck saying, I’m getting some,’ Harriet said bitterly, reappearing with a bottle of Möet & Chandon. ‘Dear God, she giggled. Our mother giggled when Elise Gregson cooed and said, “No wonder you missed bridge last week. I would have too.”’
Harriet’s talented surgical fingers trembled slightly as they ripped at the gold foil around the bottle’s neck, exposing the muselet. ‘And did you see what she’s wearing? She always wore a cocktail dress to her birthday party.’
‘She would have looked overdressed next to Doug if she had,’ Georgie commented. ‘Mind you, he rocks the R.M. Williams look.’
‘We’re not out on the farm,’ Harriet sniped. ‘Everyone’s going to be talking about this, and not in a good way. It’s hardly the impression James and I were aiming for. We’ve got some heavy hitters from the Liberal Party here tonight and my mother waltzing in with a lover of unknown origin wasn’t supposed to be part of it.’
Pop! The champagne cork flew out of the bottle with an intensity that matched Harriet’s temper. She quickly refilled all their glasses. ‘I’m so furious with her I could spit. I tell you. After everyone’s left tonight, she’s not allowed to go home until she’s faced us. I want to know who he is and how the hell he fits into her life. As soon as I know, I’ll start googling. Edwina’s a sitting duck for a con man.’
Georgie flinched at the idea of the meeting. ‘That will only put her back up, Harry. Sometimes, Mum can be really stubborn. You know, just like you.’
‘I would never have done something like this!’ A couple of specks of saliva flew out of Harriet’s mouth. ‘And what about Dad? I mean, God. Dad threw her so many birthday parties over the years and now she brings another man to this one. It’s like she’s giving the finger to his memory.’
‘Don’t make this about Dad,’ Xara said with a long, aggrieved sigh. ‘This has nothing to do with him and everything to do with Mum. But Georgie’s right. Bailing her up has disaster written all over it. Besides, she came with Doug and I’d bet the farm there’s no way he’ll leave her here. I got the impression the guy has a protective streak a mile wide.’
‘She did this to avoid us,’ Harriet’s voice rose, ‘and now you’re playing straight into her hands.’
‘No, I’m not. Out at the farm tomorrow will be a better time to talk. Mum can come at eleven and I’ll invite Doug for one.’
Georgie looked at her sisters. On the handful of occasions they chose to work together, they could be a formidable team. She’d been subjected to their razor-sharp interrogations in the past when they’d joined forces to act in loco parentis after getting a whiff of her adolescent antics and her young adult escapades. She felt a stab of pity for her mother and Doug and it helped her make a decision.
She was definitely keeping Ben secret for quite a while longer.
CHAPTER
7
Harriet turned around at the creak of the door handle and saw James walking into the l’Orangerie. Her heart rolled over. What a man. He knew how devastated she was about the way Edwina had dropped her bombshell—airing what should have been a private family announcement in a public forum—and now he’d come to check on her. To make sure she was okay and coping.
Tonight, he was immaculately dressed in a grey Italian suit with a fine thread of pink and white woven through it. He’d teamed it with a pale pink shirt and a grey, white and pink striped tie. He’d shaved, as he always did for an evening event, and his strong, smooth jaw teamed with the clothes gave him a crisp and fresh look. She frowned. Crisp and fresh except for his hair. What on earth had happened to his hair? It stood at wild and rakish angles as if he’d been electrocuted.
He came up behind her and rested his hands on her shoulders, the grip too firm. ‘Sorry to break up the party, girls, but I really need Harriet.’
‘No worries, James,’ Xara said, standing. ‘We’re finished here anyway. Come on, Georgie, we better go and rescue Charlie from the kids.’
As her sisters walked away, Harriet put her hand over James’s and eased the pressure of his fingers off her clavicle. It wasn’t just his hair that looked frazzled; he sounded stressed. ‘Everything okay?’
‘No.’ He clawed his hand through his hair. ‘Christ, I’ve had bloody David McGowan banging on at me about the rural relief fund and Vikram Singh can’t take a hint that tonight is not the night to discuss the permit for his proposed new medical centre. Sometimes being mayor is …’ He threw her an accusatory look. ‘You need to get out there and have my back.’
A burr of hurt prickled through her. She’d taken half an hour at most to have a vital conversation with her sisters about their mother. He was behaving as if it was his world that had been rocked and she’d abandoned him.
She stood up, smoothing the pleats of her dress. ‘I’m sorry my family crisis has got in the way of your enjoyment of the evening.’
‘It’s hardly a crisis, Harriet,’ he said dryly. ‘Edwina brought a bloke to her birthday party. Big whoop.’
She stared at him, hardly recognising him. ‘James, everyone at this party is connected in some way and my mother walked in and lobbed a grenade. You heard the silence when she arrived and the twitters that followed. Oh, God.’ The word twitters sparked a horrifying thought. In this day and age of smartphones, what if someone had already tweeted it? ‘This is gossip in its purest form and the town will have a field day with it. All it takes is something with a whiff of scandal attached and they circle like vultures. You saw this man, Doug. His accent is so broad it could strip paint and no matter what Georgie says, the fact David McGowan knows him is hardly reassuring or an endorsement.’
‘Yeah, he’s a pain in the arse all right.’ James lifted her champagne glass out of her hand and drained the contents in two big gulps.
‘Exactly, so you see my point.’ Relief slid in to soothe her; finally they were on the same page. ‘We only tolerate David because of Primrose, Jenny, Kate and Sarah. For an intelligent woman like Primrose, he was an interesting choice for a husband. I know he drove Dad to distraction.’
She took back her glass and refilled it for herself. ‘Did you know that when I was a kid, David would bring odd bods home from the RSL? Men he hardly knew but who’d served in Vietnam. Sometimes they’d stay for weeks on the farm and poor Primrose had to feed and house them. Once, Jenny moved in with us for most of the summer because she said the farm was like a halfway house for broken vets.’
‘Yeah, well he’s moved on from vets and his current pet project is the rural relief fund. I’ve fobbed him off, but I need you to keep him away from Phillip Ciobo. We didn’t invite Phillip to our home to get sprayed by a radical leftie.’
She’d never seen James quite so rattled. ‘Darling, you’re the favourite for preselection. Everyone knows what an amazing job you’re doing as mayor.’
He stared out the window as if he was fascinated by dusk’s shadows on the emerald sweep of lawn. ‘You can’t make an omelette without breaking some eggs.’
‘Meaning?’
He pulled a napkin out of his pocket and thrust it into her hand. Half-a-dozen names were scrawled on it but unlike his usual clear and precise handwriting, it was barely legible.
‘What’s this?’
‘A list of boring people I really can’t cope with tonight.’
She recognised all of the names. They included a farmer, a widower and one of her colleagues fr
om the hospital. James was right, most of them were boring but boring people didn’t usually bother him. Always a charming host, he was expert at moving through a crowd and disengaging himself from dull people. But right now he looked wrung out and the sharp light in his eyes worried her. Her protective instincts kicked in.
‘How’s this for a plan?’ she said, thinking on her feet. ‘People don’t tend to interrupt family so go and find Charlotte and dance with her. Hell, talk to Edwina and see if you can find out what on earth she’s playing at. Leave the rest to me.’
‘Debbie, I’m looking for James Minchin.’ The authoritative voice of Lewis Rhayne, a cardiologist with a very successful multipractice spread across four towns in the Western District, drifted into the l’Orangerie from the hall. ‘Have you seen him?’
‘Quick,’ Harriet said, pushing James toward a door that led to the pantry’s two-way fridges; they backed onto the garage for the easy unloading of food and now they offered an exit. ‘I’ll chat with him and then walk him back out to the party. You re-enter the house through the service area.’
She closed the door behind him and turned to see Lewis striding across the white marble floor. ‘Hello, Lewis. No drink?’ She approached him and slid her arm through his. ‘We can’t have that. Come, let’s go and get you one.’
Lewis’s feet stilled. ‘Actually, I was looking for your husband.’
‘Oh, he’s around somewhere,’ she said airily. ‘You know what it’s like when you’re hosting a party. If we head back to the main area we’re more likely to find him.’
Lewis gave her a shrewd look as if he were calculating the pros and cons of staying or going. He started walking.
As they left the l’Orangerie she asked, ‘Is it anything I can help you with?’
He made a grunting sound. ‘Not unless you know what’s going on with the McCluskey development.’
‘I know that the take-up of lots has exceeded expectations.’ She gave Lewis what she hoped was a soothing smile; soothing not being her strong point. She was very much a surgeon in all things, including emotions—cut it out, stitch it up and don’t look back. ‘If you took James’s advice and invested then you’re going to get a good return.’
‘Exactly.’ His craggy face was as stony as the volcanic rises behind Miligili. ‘So why has the dividend date passed and no monies been paid?’
Harriet’s spine stiffened at his tone and she slipped her arm out of his. ‘I don’t know, Lewis, but I’m sure there’s a perfectly reasonable explanation.’ Her voice took on a frosty edge. ‘What I do know is that my mother’s birthday party is not the time or place to discuss it.’
They’d reached the bar and David McGowan was talking with one of the young bartenders while waiting for a drink. ‘David, have you met Lewis Rhayne?’ Harriet said with practised social ease. ‘He runs a few Angus cattle on his hobby farm over near Bostock’s Creek. I’m sure he’d value your insight and knowledge.’
David’s eyes lit up at the chance to talk cattle and before Lewis could open his mouth to object, the farmer was in full oratory flight. The cardiologist threw a narrow-eyed look in Harriet’s direction. She didn’t care; it served Lewis right to be stuck in an excruciatingly dull conversation.
She flitted around the room in hostess mode, chatting briefly with many and avoiding all possibilities of being drawn into an indepth conversation with anyone. She refused to discuss her mother outside of the family tonight; she wasn’t giving anyone any fuel to add to the bonfire she knew they were building. She desperately wanted to talk to Primrose and gauge what she knew about this Doug person, but she couldn’t think of a way to do it without exposing her total ignorance of the situation. As for talking to her mother alone, that seemed impossible: Doug hadn’t left her side all evening. It was as if the two of them were in cahoots, a unified front with no break in the lines. Harriet wasn’t sure she could forgive her mother for this passive-aggressive attack.
In honour of Edwina, the three-piece band played a popular sixties set and the tiny dance floor was full. Harriet was relieved to see James in the centre of the crowd doing the Twist with Charlotte. The tension headache that had been part of her since Edwina had almost skipped through the balloon archway with Doug now jabbed Harriet behind the eyes like a scalpel blade. Ignoring the fact that her medical advice to someone with a headache would be to drink more water, she grabbed another glass of French champagne and headed into the kitchen for a breather from the guests.
The catering staff bustled around her and she ate a tiny caramelised beetroot and goat’s cheese tart and then she tipped a Chinese spoon of smoked salmon in dill vinaigrette into her mouth. Savoury flavours had always been her preference but she suddenly had an overwhelming craving for rich, dark chocolate—lots and lots of it. Was it too early for the cake-cutting ceremony and dessert?
Steve walked into the kitchen holding Tasha’s special water bottle and his face registered surprise. ‘Harry? You okay?’
‘Fine,’ she said quickly, not wanting to give into the tempting lure of saying, No, I’m bloody well not. My husband’s having some sort of a meltdown, my mother’s brought her unknown lover to the party and exposed us all to ridicule, and on top of everything, my daughter’s chosen to start being difficult. ‘Just checking in with the caterers.’
‘All going smoothly this end,’ Lucinda said with a cat-that-atethe-cream smile as she handed another tray of delicious apple rings topped with walnut and gorgonzola to a waiting server.
Harriet tensed. The insinuation in the woman’s voice was clear: Lucinda, who catered all the A-list parties in the region, knew that all was not going smoothly on the other side of the kitchen door. That meant Edwina’s escapade would be a discussion point in households far beyond Billawarre by breakfast tomorrow.
‘Food’s fabulous as always, Luce,’ Steve said, filling the drink bottle at the sink. ‘I can’t wait for dessert.’ He snapped the lid on the bottle and tilted his head toward the door. ‘Harry, come and dance.’
‘Lovely.’ She pushed off the kitchen bench, suddenly grateful for her brother-in-law’s perspicacity. Steve rarely danced, he was just creating an opportunity for her to exit the kitchen gracefully without having to respond to Lucinda.
As soon as they got through the doorway she said, ‘Thanks, Steve. I appreciate it.’
‘No worries. That’s what family’s for.’ He shot her a slightly agonised look. ‘I can dance if you want.’
She laughed. ‘You’re off the hook.’
He gave a mock swipe of his brow and glanced at the dance floor. ‘Looks like Charlie’s giving James a workout.’
‘Father and daughter time,’ she said lightly as the weight of the true reason behind James’s dancing pressed down on her.
‘He looks like he needs rescuing from his very fit daughter.’ Steve held out the water bottle. ‘If you give this to Xar for me, I’ll get James a beer and give him a breather.’
The suggestion was perfect. Steve was family and by talking to him, James would still be protected from the bores. ‘Thanks, Steve. You really are remarkably thoughtful.’
His field-green gaze slid away from her face and she realised she’d embarrassed him. She added a teasing dig: ‘For a man.’
His laugh was tight. ‘That’s me. I’ll do anything for a free beer.’
Leaving Steve to take care of James, she skirted the dance floor and took another hallway. At the end was the large room they still referred to as the playroom, despite the fact that Charlotte hadn’t played in it for a long time. It was the repository of the toys, books, games and dress-ups she swore she could never part with and now it also contained a computer, a games console and a large flat-screen television. Tasha and the twins loved spending time here.
Harriet heard the twins before she saw them jumping up and down and swinging their arms about as they moved the game controllers. Virtual racing cars whizzed across the screen to the tune of tinny and annoying music. This was punctuated by loud cra
shing sounds and the moans and cheers of the boys. Tasha was propped in a beanbag and draped in a shimmering silvery blue material that Charlotte had always called her fairy cloak. Xara was reading her The Princess Knight and going on the expression on her niece’s face, Tasha was entranced by the idea of being Violetta. Or perhaps just by the fact that she had someone’s undivided attention. None of them knew how much Tasha really understood but they did know she loved being the centre of someone’s attention. Disability or not, who didn’t enjoy that?
As Xara’s voice gave life to the words on the page, Harriet smiled, remembering how many times she’d read that book to Charlotte. Remembering with a silent sigh how easy and uncomplicated her daughter had been to mother at seven.
‘Here’s Tasha’s water.’
‘Thanks.’ Xara finished the last page of the book before setting it down. She picked up the bottle and held it up to Tasha’s lips. Most of the water dribbled out onto the bandana.
Harriet frowned. ‘Is her swallowing worse?’
Xara mopped at the water. ‘She’s choking on soft food now so after Easter we’re going to Geelong.’
‘For a PEG feeding tube?’ Harriet knew about the arrangement Barwon Health had with the Royal Children’s Hospital. She wondered which paediatric surgeon would be inserting the tube into Tasha’s stomach.
‘We’ll feed her via the tube overnight.’ Xara sighed. ‘In some ways it will be easier but what if tasting food is something she loves? It’s another loss for her.’
Harriet didn’t know what to say. She never knew what to say when it came to the ongoing grief that was Tasha. She did what she always did: fell back on what she’d say to a patient. ‘At least with the feeding tube she’ll be getting all the nutrients she needs. Unlike now.’
Xara’s mouth tightened around the edges and her lips pursed but she didn’t say anything until she’d lifted Tasha out of the beanbag and settled her back into her wheelchair. ‘Surely it’s time for cake?’