She shook her head…‘I…’
A man loomed in front of them at the open doorway and edged to the side, almost obscuring the name of the cottage, Hunter’s Glen. He was solidly built, just like the house, and when he smiled, his eyes did too, which made fine wrinkles fan out around his temples.
The men shook hands and then they moved inside.
Simon proffered a wrapped bottle of wine to their host. ‘Merry Christmas.’
‘I’m Marcus Hunter, Nan’s brother,’ he explained as he shook Jessica’s free hand. ‘Come out the back, everyone’s on the deck because it’s so hot.’
For Jessica, something in the timbre of Marcus’ voice, the warmth, broke her nervousness.
As she moved through the cottage, across the timber flooring of the living room, through the small dining room and out onto a wide deck covered by a vine-laced pergola which gave protection from the sun, she got an overall impression of homeliness. The cottage’s interior was small. Pieces of furniture crowded each other for space, as if the place had been occupied for generations by the same family and pieces added as each generation grew up and then passed through. She glimpsed a host of family photographs adorning the walls and hand-crocheted throwovers covering the lounge. A variety of potted plants, palms, vines, happy plants and devil’s ivy were positioned near the windows to catch the light and warmth. One timbered wall in the lounge was stacked with books, all neatly placed on bookshelves.
On the deck a dozen people stood about talking, drinks in hand, while a slim, grey-haired woman moved amongst them with trays of finger food.
‘Come and meet Nan,’ Marcus said proprietorially, easing Jessica away from Simon. A sidelong glance at Simon received his nod of approval and, with a guiding hand under her arm, he ushered her towards his sister.
As Simon watched Marcus introduce Jessica to several people and then to the woman with the food, obviously Nan, he admitted to a certain inner tension. Tonight was important for Jessica. He wasn’t sure that she was ready for this type of socialising, which was why he hadn’t pushed her to roam about the island or do anything other than the marketing. Frankly, he missed Nikko’s timely advice on how to counsel and handle her return to normality. Mental illness was beyond his field of expertise and, certainly, a good deal of the time she was normal, but then the moods would come and she’d sink into a pit of despondency which, and he thanked the manufacturers of Valium for this—lasted for shorter periods of time.
He wanted the old Jess back. Desperately. Apart from everything else, their love life had been reduced to nil by her collapse. She couldn’t bear to be touched, and was so afraid of falling pregnant again that she had insisted on going back on the pill. Still, she was unresponsive and disinterested. God knew he was a patient man, with normal appetites, but sometimes the waiting grew close to being unbearable.
Simon saw her smile, then laugh at something Marcus said. His spirits lifted. He sipped the beer someone had thrust into his hand and paid lip-service attention to the man who’d engaged him in conversation. Something about importing—
‘Marcus tells me you paint,’ Nan said, trying to draw the young, pale woman out of her shell.
‘I used to, but I’m very rusty. Haven’t picked up a brush for years.’
‘You should motor around the island and take in the scenery. Occasionally whole art classes come to the island to paint. It makes for a pretty sight, them set up with their easels and painting away merrily.’
‘I’ve been settling in. We’ve been here less than two weeks,’ Jessica hedged. There had been opportunities, time to explore the island, but she hadn’t wanted to. Couldn’t raise the energy to.
‘Nan, why don’t you show Jessica your studio?’ Marcus suggested. ‘I’m sure she’d be interested in what you do.’
‘You’re a potter, aren’t you?’ Jessica asked, a spark of curiosity surfacing.
‘A damned fine potter,’ Marcus affirmed, ‘though she’d be the last person to tell you so.’
‘I let my work speak for me,’ Nan punctuated her remark with a modest laugh. She looked at her brother. ‘If you’ll keep the party going, I’ll take Jessica to the studio.’
‘Of course.’ He smiled affectionately at her, and Jessica too. ‘Take your time.’
As the two women made their way to the huge tin shed that was Nan’s studio, Marcus’ gaze narrowed on them. There was something ethereal about Jessica Pearce. She wasn’t beautiful in the accepted sense of the word, but there was something appealing, yet also disturbing, in the way she was trying to appear so calm, so in control. Clearly, she was nervous about meeting people she didn’t know. Interesting. Jessica Pearce. He sensed an inner struggle. He could see that she possessed an outer sophistication, but around the edges of her personality, he sensed cracks, uncertainties, a barely hidden frailness. As if she had experienced some serious trauma. He wondered what?
Are you crazy? he cautioned himself. You gave up psychology years ago, so stop analysing every interesting person you meet. Especially those you’re not likely to come into much contact with. His brown eyes raked over Jessica’s departing figure. Something stirred within him, a familiar tightening, a wave of need. She’s off limits, old man. Definitely. He turned towards their guests and put his party smile into place.
It was hot in the shed. Contractions from the tin roof made pinging sounds in the barn-like area.
Nan gave Jessica the grand tour, telling her about the different clays and what type of pottery they were used for. She explained how the kiln worked and about the glazing. ‘It’s a messy job,’ she conceded. ‘I never quite get all the clay out from under my fingernails, no matter how long I soak them.’
Jessica picked up a glazed bowl with a swirling darker pattern baked into it. ‘A small price to pay for such artistry, I would imagine.’ She noticed some hand-painted mugs. ‘You paint, too?’
‘Oh, no, they’re done with stencils. If I hand-painted them, it would cost the purchaser a small fortune. Few would be willing to pay the real cost.’
‘Do you export?’
‘Occasionally, to Auckland and Brisbane. On demand, of course. Some outlets like to keep samples of my work on show.’
Though Jessica’s sigh was barely audible, Nan heard it. A born listener, she waited.
‘You’re lucky,’ Jessica said after a moment’s hesitation, ‘to have a skill to concentrate on and see clear results for what you do.’ She qualified that by saying, ‘It must be very satisfying.’
‘That it is,’ Nan agreed. ‘If you’re interested in seeing the process, come down. Any day.’ She grinned at her, ‘But don’t wear your best clobber, I’ll most likely get you mixing and doing other stuff and you’ll end up as grubby as I get.’
Jessica smiled, instantly liking the woman and appreciating her friendliness. If all Norfolkers were like Nan Duncan, then perhaps she should get out and meet them, instead of moping around the cottage. ‘I don’t mind getting dirty. Where we’re living I’m trying to resurrect the house’s garden. Simon’s not the gardening type. He can’t tell a plant from a weed, even though he’s a country boy. I enjoy grubbing around so long as it makes the place look better.’
‘Good.’ Nan stared at a shelf of unglazed coffee mugs. ‘This, my pottery, has given me financial independence, too,’ she confided. ‘Money was tight after Phil’s death. My children—I’ve four, you know—each wanted me to live with them, but I wanted to stay here,’ her gaze roamed about the studio, ‘close to things that were familiar, and my memories.’
‘Phil was your husband?’ Jessica asked, then realised the question was superfluous.
Nan nodded. ‘He’s been gone close to five years now.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Jessica said awkwardly, not knowing what else to say.
‘It’s all right.’ Nan shrugged her narrow shoulders. ‘Time’s the great healer, you know. Time makes what seems unbearable, bearable. My brood’ll all be here for Christmas, with their own kids.’ She smiled
. ‘It’s the only time I see the grandchildren ’cause Lissy and Amy live in Wellington. Margot’s in Brisbane and Liam, who’s not married yet, works in Cairns.’
Jessica thought of the small house and wondered where they would all fit, with husbands and children too.
As if tuning into her thoughts, Nan explained. ‘It’s a crush, suddenly having nearly fifteen people around the place. We’ve an old pop-up caravan behind the studio, which we dust off. We put up a big tent, too, with camp stretchers, and manage somehow, though the strain on the bathroom and the kitchen is immense. They stay for about five days, then go home. It takes me a week to get over it all,’ she added with a wry smile. ‘Marcus is a great help. He keeps the kids amused, even though his own two won’t be coming over this Christmas. He’s recently separated from his wife, you know,’ she offered an explanation as to why Marcus’ children would be absent.
Jessica got a mental picture of how Nan’s noisy household would be on Christmas Day and then thought of the difference between her day and Nan’s. Just her and Simon. Suddenly, she couldn’t hold back the thought any longer. No Damian. Our first Christmas without him. What was it Nan had said? That the unbearable does become bearable. Tears glistened in her eyes and she turned away, trying to hide her distress.
Nan, observant as ever, saw the look, and the pain. ‘My dear, are you all right?’ She frowned, trying to remember what she’d said. ‘Did I say something to upset you?’
It took an enormous effort, but Jessica succeeded in pushing the sadness down to where she could handle it. She sensed the older woman’s sympathetic soul and, squaring her shoulders, she turned back to Nan. ‘I lost my little boy a few months ago. He was only fourteen months old. I’m sorry, but sometimes the memories get…the better of me.’ She breathed in and then out again. ‘I…I…was envying you your family Christmas. Simon and I don’t have a big family; there’s just my sister and her family, and they live in Perth.’
‘Oh, my dear, I am sorry.’ The warmth of Nan’s tone betrayed her sincerity and then she clicked her tongue in self-disgust. ‘Sorry. That’s such a pathetic word. I can’t imagine, no one can, what you’ve been going through over such a loss.’
‘I have been ill, that’s why Simon brought me here,’ Jessica admitted. Nikko had said that talking about what had happened to her, admitting her loss, could be therapeutic. He just hadn’t said when vocalising her loss to strangers would make her feel better. She hoped it would happen in her lifetime!
‘You and Simon must come and share Christmas Day with us. My family would love to meet you both,’ Nan said authoritatively, as she steered Jessica out of the studio and back to her guests.
‘I, we couldn’t,’ Jessica protested.
‘I insist,’ Nan decreed. ‘I’ll talk to Marcus and Simon. Being with people will be much better than being on your own.’
And, despite Jessica and Simon’s protestations of not wanting to impose on the Duncans’ hospitality, Marcus and Nan finally talked them around.
Surprisingly, for the rest of the evening, Jessica enjoyed herself. Everyone was friendly and interested, mostly in Simon being the head of the hospital, and she knew he liked being centre stage. Funny, up until the last year or so, she hadn’t noticed his need to be in the spotlight. Not that she minded, really, but she felt as if she had run an emotional gauntlet, meeting strangers, making small talk, interacting, and surviving what she had expected to be an ordeal. She knew her self-confidence was low and had, at first, thought that everyone was staring at her, dissecting her as if she were some kind of strange, moderately interesting sub-species. Paranoia, a complaint she had never suffered from, appeared to be trying to take control. Where, she wondered, as she often did these days, had the old Jessica gone? Once she would have shrugged such thoughts off as unworthy. That Jessica, the barrister, the successful litigator, seemed to have existed another lifetime ago. Maybe—she didn’t want to think about it but she forced herself to—that Jessica was gone forever.
‘You okay?’ Simon asked, as they leant against the deck railing, eating supper together.
‘Yes. Only one lapse,’ Jessica admitted with a tight smile as she forked coleslaw into her mouth. She saw Simon’s gaze move to the back door of the Duncan house, and her own gaze followed his.
A petite, dark-haired woman stood silhouetted in the doorway. With a confident swagger, she approached the small throng of people, calling welcomes as she moved. Dressed in a lilac slacksuit and teetering slightly in her ten-centimetre heels, she was immaculately groomed and made up. Jewellery sparkled on her hands and fingers and around her neck, like a gipsy wearing all her gold for the world to admire and envy.
‘Sue,’ Simon informed Jessica in a quiet tone.
Jessica took a second, more assessing look, noting that Sue’s arms were draped around Marcus’ neck and she was planting a kiss on his cheek.
‘Marcus, my man,’ Sue Levinski’s speech was husky and to the definitive listener, slurred. ‘I hear that you’re back on the market. You remember where I live, don’t you?’ she flirted with him momentarily before moving on to someone else.
Jessica’s mouth twitched, but not with amusement. The things Simon had said about the hospital’s matron had allowed her to form a specific picture in her head, that of a rather beefy, middle-aged, militant matron. The picture had no resemblance to the reality. Sue Levinski out of uniform was a damned attractive woman, who knew it and flaunted it, together with an over-abundance of some very memorable perfume. It hung in the air all around her.
‘Sorry I’m late,’ Sue apologised to Nan as she waved her arms about. ‘Been to two other parties first…’
‘God, I hope you didn’t drive here,’ a middle-aged, portly woman said archly, implying that Sue Levinski may have imbibed too much at her previous stop-offs.
‘Course not. Got dropped off,’ Sue admitted blithely as she sipped the glass of champagne Marcus gave her. A questioning eyebrow was raised at the woman, ‘You’ll drop me home, darling, won’t you?’
‘Perhaps,’ the woman replied with a mock grimace.
‘Oh, Simon!’ Sue squealed and raced towards him and Jessica. ‘Best doctor in the world is our Simon Pearce,’ she enthused as she patted his arm. ‘Wunnerful surgeon skills, wunnerful hands. Great administrator, too. The hospital’s so lucky to have him,’ she told everyone within earshot. ‘He’s an absolutely fabulous doctor.’
Talk about overdoing the hero-worship thing! Jessica straightened to her full height and, as she did, she looked at Simon. His cheeks were flushing with embarrassment. He didn’t mind compliments, in fact he was partial to them, but there was such a thing as going overboard. Didn’t the silly woman know that? Too tanked up to notice, she supposed.
‘I’m Jessica Pearce,’ Jessica held out her hand to Sue.
‘Ahhh, Simon’s little wife.’
Something in the woman’s eyes alerted Jessica to the fact that Sue wasn’t as tipsy as she pretended to be. The act was convincing, she thought, though the reason for it eluded her. Black eyes, piercing, and bright with intelligence, stared up at her so intently she began to feel uncomfortable.
Sue held on to Jessica’s hand. ‘S’good to finally meet you, Jessica Pearce. Simon’s told me so much about you.’
‘Has he?’ Jessica’s eyebrow arched upwards. The words sounded innocuous enough, but, by the way Sue’s gaze had fixed on her, she sensed something strangely disquieting in those dark depths. Was it hostility, was she probing for some reaction? She had no idea…Jessica scoffed at her line of thought. Her imagination was working overtime, allowing the matron’s piercing gaze to rattle her. Besides, why would Sue want to unnerve her? None of her pondering made any sense, and especially her reaction to the woman. She had gone all bristly and defensive, for no good reason that she could come up with.
‘Yes, Jessica, I know about you and your problems.’ Sue said the words too softly for others to hear, as her dark-eyed gaze ran over Jessica’s figure. ‘All thi
ngs considered, dear, you look okay for a nutcase.’
CHAPTER FIVE
Jessica choked on a piece of bread. Eyes watering, she gasped for breath as shock at the woman’s lack of sensitivity swamped her like a king tide. The colour drained from her face and she began to tremble. What kind of woman was Matron Levinski to say such a thing to her in public?
‘Sue!’ Simon’s tone was sharp, and an immediate tightness around his mouth gave warning to the level of his anger. His arm stole around Jessica protectively, pulling her close to him.
‘What?’ Dark eyes glazed with feigned surprise. Sue glanced from Simon to Jessica and asked, ‘You were crazy for a while, weren’t you?’
‘Shut up!’ Simon hissed.
‘Is that what Simon said?’ Jessica wanted to know. Her lips clamped together to stop the urge to tell the woman where to go, as she watched Sue shrug eloquently. Was she deliberately trying to goad her into some kind of scene? To bring undone the good that had come from this evening? And, more importantly, as she threw a sidelong glance at Simon, she wondered exactly what and how much he had told the hospital matron. She fought to quell a mistiness in her eyes as she agonised over whether her husband had betrayed her trust with this intrusive, inquisitive woman.
‘Sue, I told you about Jessica in strict confidence. You’ll not upset her now, reminding her of the past. Do I make myself clear?’ Simon’s voice was taut with displeasure. What was wrong with the woman? He’d worked with her for just over a week but he’d have sworn she wouldn’t speak so injudiciously. He smelt alcohol on her breath and came to the obvious conclusion that she couldn’t handle her liquor. He glanced at Jessica, saw the hurt in her eyes, and something else which made his anger towards Sue Levinski grow. ‘I’m sorry, Jess, I had no idea she would…’ He stopped, aware of how inadequate the words were, and worse, the suspicion he saw lurking in his wife’s eyes.
He groaned to himself as he recapped the night. It had gone so well…up to now. He’d seen Jess come out of her shell, begin to take an interest in things other than her own misery. She’d bonded instantly with Nan Duncan and Marcus. His jaw muscle spasmed again as he stared at Sue. He could cheerfully wring Levinski’s neck, though as a medico he knew there was little point in berating her when she was three sheets to the wind. But tomorrow, she’d get a fine dressing-down. Sue Levinski could count on it.
Whispers Through the Pines Page 6