‘Oh?’
‘You must have noticed.’
Jackie knew she couldn’t keep avoiding Hugh’s gaze, but when she glanced up, she was confronted by a suspicious glint in his dark eyes. She flinched. ‘Those pages were damaged when they were crammed into the sideboard,’ she said quickly.
‘I’d still like to take a look at them. Where are they?’
‘I – I can’t really remember.’ Oh, good grief. Had she really said that? Had she sunk this low, just for the sake of saving a party?
But deep down, Jackie knew this was no longer just about the party. This gathering of their family and friends had become more than a birthday celebration for Hugh. It was a recognition of the life she’d forged here, a celebration of the hard work she’d put into running this homestead, the work she, Hugh and Seth had all put into the property. The property that was now at risk.
She drained her mug, getting a sweet mouthful of honey at the very bottom.
‘What’s going on, Jackie?’
‘You shouldn’t be stressing about this now,’ she said, a little desperately. ‘It’s the middle of the night, Hugh. We should both be trying to get back to sleep.’
But her usually amenable husband stubbornly shook his head.
‘Sorry,’ he said, ‘but I didn’t come down in the last shower.’
Jackie clutched her mug tightly in both hands. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘I know you didn’t want me to read this diary. That story about keeping it for my birthday was a furphy, wasn’t it?’
Jackie wished she was a quicker thinker. As she hunted madly for an answer, she probably looked as guilty as a child caught with her hand in the biscuit tin.
And Hugh, unfortunately, didn’t take his eyes from her. ‘Jackie, don’t try to pretend that you have no idea what happened to the missing pages.’
She imagined him reading those opening words. I have done a terrible thing . . . ‘I told you, Hugh. They were damaged when they were in the back of the sideboard. They’re almost impossible to read.’
‘That’s a pity, but I’d still like to take a look at them,’ he insisted quietly. ‘Where are they now? In the drawer in the office desk that just happens to be locked for the first time since we’ve been married?’
He’s noticed.
Jackie let out the breath she’d been holding. Eventually, contritely, she gave up the fight. ‘Yes.’
‘Good. Could you unlock it, please?’
‘Now, Hugh? At this time of night? If you start trying to read it now, you’ll never get to sleep.’
Her husband shrugged. ‘The alternative is to lie awake wondering what it’s all about.’
Jackie knew when she was defeated. All this time, she’d been trying to protect her husband, to make this party a joyous celebration for him, but she knew she couldn’t prolong this battle, especially at ten past three in the morning. She had no choice but to hand it all over and see what Hugh could make of the mystery his parents had left behind.
‘I wanted to save this till after the party,’ she said quietly. ‘But all right, if you insist, I’ll get it for you.’
As she slid off the kitchen stool, her sprigged cotton nightgown floated about her ankles and the timber floorboards were cool beneath her bare feet. Hugh followed her into the office, where she switched on the light and tipped the little key out of the crooked clay pot that Flora had made many years ago in preschool.
‘There’s a document here from your father, as well,’ she said as she fitted the key to the lock and slid the drawer open. ‘But it might be best to read all of Stella’s notes properly first.’
‘Something from my father?’ Hugh looked worried now. ‘Have you read it?’
‘I –’ Jackie didn’t quite answer as she handed Hugh the envelope. To her surprise, she felt strangely relieved.
As she began to back towards the door, Hugh looked inside the envelope and frowned. She wondered if he’d already seen his father’s bold handwriting and the rather startling heading – Instructions pertaining to the will of Magnus H Drummond.
‘I might go back to bed,’ she said, which was probably cowardly, but Hugh was taking out the rest of the pages and lowering himself into the chair at the desk, and she longed to escape to the sanctuary of their bedroom.
She took another step.
‘Just a minute,’ said Hugh. ‘What’s this here about my father’s will?’
Jackie swallowed. ‘I think – it seems to be instructions for his lawyer. For Brad Woods’s father. What was his name? Kenneth?’
Hugh looked incredulous. ‘And it was hidden behind the mirror in the sideboard?’
‘Yes,’ she said softly.
‘Good God.’
Hugh was opening the envelope with his father’s instructions now, and panic curdled the milk in Jackie’s stomach. She felt it rise in a hot tide, reaching all the way to her throat. Her legs were suddenly weak, and she had to lean back against the bookcase near the door for support. But she couldn’t take her eyes from the dawning horror on Hugh’s face as he read his father’s preposterous claims.
In the short time it took Hugh to read the page, he seemed to age ten years. He sat slumped in the chair, his eyes stricken, his skin pale, his mouth hanging open with shock.
Then he lifted his gaze to her, and he looked like a man who’d been given a death sentence. ‘You’ve read this?’ His voice was quiet. ‘You know what it says?’
Reluctantly, Jackie nodded. ‘But I think it must be a terrible mistake.’ The fear and worry that had been hounding her for weeks rushed back now in full force. She had to dash a hand at the sudden tears in her eyes. ‘Otherwise, why would Stella have hidden it?’
‘I don’t know. I can’t believe my mother would –’ Hugh didn’t finish the sentence. He looked up at Jackie with an expression of heartbreaking helplessness. ‘He wanted to disinherit me. What are we going to do?’
‘I – I’ll put the kettle on. You need tea. Or maybe a good stiff scotch.’
‘No, I don’t want tea. Or scotch. I need a clear head for this.’
‘Magnus must have been mistaken,’ she said again. ‘It has to be some kind of misunderstanding. This happened not long before he had that stroke.’
‘But there’s also a chance it could be true.’
‘That you’re not his son?’
‘Yes. Wait, will you, while I see what’s here. Christ almighty. There might be some kind of terrible confession.’
Leaning unsteadily against a bookcase, Jackie waited while Hugh read through the other pages his mother had written, his eyes ferociously scanning the closely written lines.
Then, with a despairing groan, he gave the pages a disgusted slap. ‘It’s more than possible.’ Hugh looked both shocked and defeated. ‘Tom Kearney came out here to Australia. He and Mum met up again after she’d married Dad. They had an affair and it’s all here in the bloody diary.’
26
My decision to marry Magnus wasn’t desperate. By the time I visited him at his beautiful property Ruthven Downs, I’d already decided to set aside my heartbreak over Tom Kearney. I had no choice, really. It was a case of getting on with my life or pining for Tom forever. I honestly never expected to see Tom again. I’d closed the book on that chapter of my life, or rather, his parents had closed it for me.
Stella enjoyed the gentle rhythm of the days at Ruthven Downs. She loved the beautiful old homestead and, within eighteen months of her marriage, she had a sweet little daughter to love and care for. She felt fulfilled and happy, managing her family, raising chickens and growing vegetables which she pickled and preserved, painting rooms inside the house and making new curtains.
Sometimes she even helped Magnus with the cattle, especially at calving time, when a cow had a difficult labour, or when a newborn calf had a health problem that needed extra attention.
She appreciated every aspect of her new life. Magnus was a generous and considerate husband, and he took great pri
de in her as his wife, and in their daughter, Deborah. He’d even chosen Deborah’s name.
‘You can’t beat a good Old Testament name,’ he’d claimed. ‘And Deborah goes well with Drummond. When we have a boy we’ll call him Adam or David.’
Stella hoped she might have a say in naming their next baby, but she kept the thought to herself. She didn’t want to upset Magnus. While he was pleasant company most of the time, he still suffered from nightmares and occasional bouts of depression. At these times, he would become brooding and uncommunicative and would sit for hours in his study drinking scotch.
She knew something unbearable had happened in New Guinea and she hoped that some day he might trust her enough to talk about it.
Most of the time he was fine, though, and on the whole, Stella’s life was smooth sailing.
Until a letter arrived from Tom Kearney.
Stella was sitting at a table on the homestead verandah. A willy-wagtail was singing prettily in a wattle tree nearby and little Deb, as Stella liked to call her, was within reach, in the playpen. At nine months, Deb was a chubby little thing with a mop of dark curls. She was good at entertaining herself, and on this morning, she was solemnly taking wooden pegs out of a bucket and then putting them back again, over and over, while Stella went through the mail, separating out the bills.
By now Stella was familiar with the handwriting of most people who wrote to her and Magnus, but today there was a script she didn’t recognise. And the envelope was addressed only to Stella.
She sent a fond smile and a wave to Deb before she casually turned the envelope over. And saw Tom Kearney’s name.
Shock ripped through her like a bullet, making her cry out so loudly that Deb looked up and frowned at her.
How could he write now?
After all this time?
Stella felt as if she’d fallen from a great height. At first she was too stupefied to think. She sat with her eyes tightly shut as memories and longing and a thousand regrets crashed over her like an ocean pounding at a sea cliff.
It was some time before she felt strong enough to read Tom’s letter. She knew that Magnus was miles away, working with stockmen on the far extremities of the property, but she still looked around and back over her shoulder, as if she needed to be sure that no one was watching while she read what Tom had to say.
It was a very brief note.
Exchange Hotel
Cairns
13 April 1949
Dearest Stella,
I hope this letter finds you in good health. I know it will come as a shock, and I apologise, but I did promise that I would find you. It’s taken me a long time, but here I am at last in Cairns.
Is there any chance that we could possibly meet? I believe Mareeba is the nearest town to you. If you’d like to name a suitable time and a place, I could meet you there.
Stella, I know that you are married and this will be difficult for you, but my search has brought me such a very long way, and I can’t go back to England again without at least seeing you one more time.
I will remain in Cairns for one month, hoping to hear from you.
With my sincerest good wishes,
Tom
Stella read the letter over and over. She read it with tears, with smiles, with terrified alarm and with joy, and finally she read it in utter desolation. She didn’t think it was possible to feel so broken, so completely cut in two. One moment she was thrilled at the thought of seeing Tom again, the next she was in total despair that this good news had come too late.
One thing was certain, however.
She had to see him.
Over the next few days, she plotted and planned and schemed.
Magnus was to begin mustering soon and he and his stockmen would be away, camping out in the bush for several days. Stella knew from previous musters that her role was to send the men off with supplies – home-baked bread and fruit cakes and a hefty mountain of corned beef. Once they were gone, she would normally sit at home alone for the rest of the week.
She knew how to drive Magnus’s truck, and she wrote to Tom telling him that she would meet him in Cairns. Then she lived on pure adrenaline in the week leading up to the muster, almost bursting with excitement as she went about her everyday chores.
On the night before Magnus left, he made love to her and, for the first time ever, Stella pretended he was Tom. She couldn’t help herself. Her head was completely filled with thoughts of Tom.
Lying together afterwards, Magnus seemed a little surprised. ‘You were very passionate tonight, my dear.’
‘It must be because you’re going away,’ she said.
‘Will you miss me?’
‘Of course I will.’
But the small untruth lay heavily on her heart, and she took ages to get to sleep.
Two days later, dressed in high heels and her best summer linen, Stella walked up to the reception desk at the Exchange Hotel in Cairns, carrying Deborah and a small suitcase.
‘Mr Tom Kearney is expecting me,’ she said, holding her chin high as she addressed the young man behind the desk.
But before the fellow could respond, a deep voice spoke her name.
‘Stella.’
Her heart thudded. She turned and there he was.
‘Tom.’
‘Hello, Stella.’
She stood, trembling, drinking in the sight of him. It really was Tom. Her Tom. After all this time, when she’d given up all hope, here he was. The same dearly remembered face. The same tanned skin and longish jaw, the same adorable smile creases at the corners of his friendly grey eyes.
Tom, no longer in uniform, was dressed like any other holiday-maker in an open-necked white shirt and trousers, without a coat or tie.
Stella wasn’t sure how long they just stood there looking at each other and smiling with tears in their eyes.
Then Tom held out his hand for her suitcase. ‘Let me take that.’
‘Thank you.’
As he stepped closer to relieve her of the suitcase, he leaned in to kiss her cheek and she couldn’t resist turning her head so that their lips met. It was the merest fleeting brush of their mouths. His skin against hers.
For Stella, it was as devastating as a fireball.
Tom seemed to have the same reaction. They stood stock-still, staring at each other, stunned. And in that moment they knew. Nothing had changed.
‘I hope it wasn’t too difficult for you to get away?’ Tom said.
She told him about the muster.
‘How long can you stay in Cairns?’
‘A day or two. Three at the most.’
Tom gave a slow, thoughtful nod as he digested this news. ‘I was thinking that perhaps we could go to another hotel.’
Stella guessed the direction of his thoughts. They could book in at another hotel as husband and wife. Her heart leaped at the chance and she didn’t hesitate.
‘Yes.’ She spoke a little breathlessly. ‘Let’s do that.’ She nodded towards the sun-bright tropical street outside. ‘I have a vehicle.’
Tom searched her face. ‘You’re sure?’
He was asking her to commit adultery, but he was also giving her the chance to back away.
As she tried to think calmly, she remembered the day in Singapore, when they’d been on the brink of making love, and devastation had erupted all around them.
Surely now, they were owed this second chance? If this wasn’t meant to happen, she reasoned, Fate wouldn’t have allowed Tom to find her. This might not be the right time, but Fate couldn’t always get the timing right.
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I’m sure.’ She looked down at Deborah in her arms, placidly sucking her thumb. ‘As long as you don’t mind an extra companion.’
‘Of course I don’t mind,’ Tom said politely.
Under the circumstances, she knew politeness towards her offspring was probably as much as she could expect from him.
But to her surprise, he asked, ‘Are you going to introduce us?’
>
‘This is Deb,’ she said. ‘Deborah.’
‘Hello, Deborah Drummond.’ Tom held out a finger and Deb’s plump little hand closed around it. Of course, she then tried to get his finger into her mouth.
Tom laughed. ‘She’s strong and she has teeth.’
‘Yes, three.’ Stella was grinning as he delicately extracted his finger, and before the awkwardness of the situation could spoil the moment, she said quickly, ‘Right, let’s go then.’
Tom’s face was alight with unmistakable happiness as he took her hand firmly in his.
Their room was simple but clean, with a double bed covered by a white chenille spread and a wooden cot set in the corner for Deb.
They didn’t speak about Singapore, about Changi or its aftermath, or whether Tom’s mother had ever told him about Stella’s letters.
And he didn’t ask her about Magnus.
Stella had weaned Deb a month earlier and getting her to sleep wasn’t as easy as it used to be. Stella gave her a bottle and tried to pat her to sleep, but Deb must have sensed her mother’s impatience and kept wriggling and squirming.
‘I think I’m upsetting her. I’m too tense,’ she said.
In the end, Tom offered to carry Deb for a bit. He settled her over his shoulder like a pro, then he patiently paced back and forth, and began to sing ‘Danny Boy’ very softly and slightly off-key. Deb immediately stopped squirming and whimpering. After another soft, crooning verse, the baby’s eyes were closed.
‘You have the knack,’ Stella told him in awe. She couldn’t have imagined Magnus doing anything like that.
She settled the baby in the cot and went to join Tom, who was standing in the doorway, one shoulder propped against it as he looked out at the limited view.
‘Here, hold out your hand,’ he said as he extracted a small but very glamorous bottle from his trouser pocket. ‘I promised I’d bring you perfume.’
He placed the bottle in the palm of her hand.
‘Oh.’ Stella stared at its fluted sides and gold lid. ‘Fancy remembering that.’
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