Jackie almost leaped to her feet. What on earth could have happened? Just in time, she remembered that Seth could deal with this, of course, and she forced herself to remain seated as Seth took Alice out onto the verandah. French doors gave Jackie a clear view, though, and she couldn’t help watching them.
Alice was explaining something to Seth, something rather dramatic, judging by the way she was flapping her hands about and shaking her head. And Seth, calm and steady like his father, slipped his arm around her shoulders. He seemed to be reassuring her.
Jackie knew she shouldn’t keep watching, but she was entranced. They made such an appealing group – the dark-haired man and the auburn-haired girl, the little blond chap between them, and dear old Ralph, the blue heeler, looking up at them so attentively. She glanced around at the others and everyone exchanged wide-eyed, questioning expressions and shrugs.
Finally Seth returned, with Charlie and Alice, who was looking rather pale, Jackie realised now. At least Seth was smiling.
‘There’s been a spot of drama at the cottage,’ he said. ‘Charlie choked on a blueberry.’
‘A blueberry?’ Jackie gasped. Who would have thought? She’d often fed Charlie blueberries.
‘He swallowed it whole while he was laughing –’ Seth gave a slight shake of his head. ‘I guess it was one of those fluke things, but it got well and truly stuck. Poor Alice got a hell of a fright.’
‘How awful,’ cried Flora, who was already on her feet, and there were cries of sympathy all round.
Soon everyone was leaping from chairs, wanting to console Alice, and to make sure that Charlie was all right.
‘Oh, Alice, you poor thing,’ Flora was saying. ‘I’m Seth’s sister, by the way. Nice to meet you. But boy, what a terrifying thing to happen. That would be my worst nightmare.’
‘What did you do?’ Xavier wanted to know. ‘How did you save him?’
Alice, blushing to find herself the centre of attention, told them about thumping Charlie over her knee.
‘But he’s okay now.’ Seth was holding Charlie, and he proved his claim by tickling the little boy’s tummy and inducing squeals of delight.
Eventually, it was Hugh who said, ‘I think this is an appropriate moment to take a break. I’d say we’ve all earned a drink.’ His suggestion was greeted with unanimous enthusiasm. ‘You’ll join us in a drink, won’t you, Alice?’
The girl looked worried again. ‘I really should be getting Charlie to bed.’
‘Oh, come on,’ said Seth. ‘Just one.’
‘But I interrupted your meeting.’
Hugh brushed this aside. ‘I’m confident we can fine-tune the details over dinner – or after dinner.’
So then it was a matter of fetching glasses, of Hugh taking orders – wine, whisky or beer?
A bowl of nuts appeared. Flora had hunted them down.
‘Don’t let Charlie near them,’ warned Deborah, lifting the bowl onto the sideboard out of reach.
Jackie, coming back from the kitchen after checking Deborah’s spiced couscous and the chicken casserole that she was reheating, stood for a moment, looking at the family scene. Deborah and Flora had their heads together, deep in conversation. Xavier was on the floor, playing Hide and Seek behind an armchair with a delighted Charlie. Hugh was perched on the arm of the sofa, talking to Alice and Seth.
Everyone looked relaxed and happy, except perhaps Alice, who still looked a little uncertain and shy. The rest of them truly seemed to be enjoying each other’s company. Not at all like a family in crisis, not even like a family on the brink of huge changes.
Jackie took a deep breath. She still didn’t like the idea of selling this place, but at least it now seemed that tomorrow’s party might not be a disaster after all.
36
Alice didn’t sleep well. She dreamed about Charlie, about his father, about the entire Drummond family. One minute they were all in a lifeboat being rescued from a wild and choppy sea, the next they were driving wildly in a car down the wrong side of the highway. Then, just as crazily, Seth and Alice were alone, and he was pulling her into his arms for a kiss that promised to be the longest and loveliest kiss in all history.
She woke early the next morning, feeling groggy, but she rose quickly and took a steaming mug of coffee downstairs. Her workshop was filled with the pearly grey light of a new day, mist lingered in the garden, all was peaceful and quiet, and Alice felt strangely different.
Emotionally drained after the previous night’s scare, she also felt calmer, certainly calmer than she would have expected.
Perhaps the calmness was part of the ‘Seth effect’. He’d been so incredibly sympathetic last night.
She’d felt compelled to take Charlie over to the homestead to confess what had happened and to ask if he should see a doctor, but to her surprise, Seth had been more concerned about her ordeal than his son’s. With his entire family watching, Seth had put his arm around her shoulders and hugged her close, and he’d been wonderfully understanding, his eyes filled with genuine concern.
For her.
Of course, by then Charlie had completely recovered, but Seth’s reaction was still unexpected. Alice was touched, probably more deeply moved than was wise. After all, they were supposed to have broken up.
It was all rather confusing and she had no idea what to expect from Seth at his father’s party tonight.
Now, though, sipping coffee, she deliberately shoved her concerns about her relationship and the Drummond family aside, and turned her thoughts to planning her day. She enjoyed using the hours before the shop opened to work on restoring bits and pieces of furniture. Her current project was an old desk she’d found at a garage sale in Herberton.
Scratched and covered in an ancient coat of the most dreadful liver-coloured paint, the desk had been stuck in a dusty back corner. For Alice, it had been love at first sight. She’d admired its lines and had been gripped by an urge to restore it to beauty.
Over the past week, she’d completely removed the ugly paint, using scrapers and a long-bladed knife rather than a chemical stripper that could damage the timber’s fibres. Beneath the ugly layers, she’d struck gold. The desk was made from flame oak, a truly beautiful timber, native to the far north, that she’d only learned about recently.
This morning, she was ready for the second-best part of this task – sanding the desk’s surface. Her aim was to make the mahogany-toned timber as smooth as glass before she applied the varnish.
A happy tingle of anticipation zinged through her as she finished her coffee and selected a fine-grade wet and dry sandpaper. Using soapy water as a lubricant, she folded the dampened paper over a wood block and began to sand, rubbing lightly to avoid making fresh scratches or clogging the sandpaper with wood dust.
After her years of experience, the movements felt familiar and instinctive and, almost immediately, the beautiful flame oak rewarded her. Flecks shaped like candle flames appeared, dark red and chocolatey brown, as attractive and exotic as leopard skin.
She would have loved her grandfather to have seen this timber. He would have been so excited.
As she worked, her thoughts drifted back. She remembered him working in his shed in the backyard in Ashgrove, remembered the smell of wood and turpentine, the tendrils of a passionfruit vine creeping over the window sill, the curling wood shavings on the concrete floor. She remembered her grandfather’s age-spotted hands lovingly sanding a turned oak table leg.
One of the most satisfying things about her job was knowing that she continued the work he’d begun. Now, she tilted the desktop into the light, till she found the angle that would show up any irregularities on the surface. She was aiming for a mirror finish and the desk would be beautiful. With a new lease of life, it could last for another hundred years.
Alice wondered who would be around to see it.
Charlie?
And just like that, pictures of the previous night slammed back. She was in Seth’s cottage, reliving the horror, t
he heart-blistering terror of Charlie’s choking, and her stunned relief when she realised he was okay and looking quite pink and normal again.
The relief had overwhelmed her. She wasn’t sure how long she’d wept. Poor little Charlie must have been quite bewildered, but he’d simply sat silently in her lap, watching her with his big blue eyes. When she’d stopped at last, she’d wiped her eyes on her shirt sleeve, and then she’d hitched him onto her hip and carried him to the sink where she’d left his cup of apple juice.
‘Ta, Alee,’ he’d said as she handed him the cup and his voice hadn’t been the slightest bit husky.
She’d never in her life felt so incredibly grateful.
Thank you, thank you, thank you.
It was almost dark by then. In tune with the deepening light, an unexpected sense of peace had settled inside her.
She’d done it. She’d faced her very worst fear and Charlie had survived.
Her legs had been shaky, though, as she’d carried him back to the lounge room and sunk gratefully into a chair. Charlie had still been a little subdued and he’d seemed happy to stay in her lap. She’d explored the pile of toys in the basket beside her and found his rabbit, which he cuddled against his chest as he nestled close, his head on her breast.
Thinking about all of this now, Alice stood in the middle of her workshop, where the morning light was growing brighter every minute. She thought about the other incident, so many years ago.
She waited for the pain that always accompanied her memories of the accident that had taken her family. The horrible, sickening slug of guilt.
Outside in the garden, the sky was warming to a soft, fresh blue. The neighbours’ rusty brown hens came through the hedge and pecked at insects on her lawn. Rainbow lorikeets fed noisily in the bottlebrush.
Alice waited a little longer for the tightening of her stomach muscles, the queasy weight in her chest, but the expected guilt didn’t arrive. Instead of the usual anguish, she felt unexpected peace, the same sense of peace she’d felt last night when she’d sat in the twilight with warm, solid little Charlie in her lap. Alive and safe.
Rescued.
Wow.
She wondered if her healing had finally begun.
37
By six-thirty, Ruthven Downs was ready. From every window of the homestead, lights glowed softly in the purple twilight. Trestle tables loaded with shining glasses stood waiting on the verandah and out on the lawn. Within the house, tall vases filled with ginger and hippeastrums were set in strategic spots, and groups of candles twinkled in pretty holders.
The furniture in the dining and lounge rooms had been rearranged to host long tables covered with white cloths and loaded with plates and silverware. A crystal bowl filled with Hugh’s favourite yellow roses from Burralea had pride of place on the sideboard.
Out on the lawn, tubs filled with ice held drinks that Flora and Xavier would serve, but guests would also be encouraged to help themselves. Inside the kitchen, a bank of slow cookers, casserole dishes, saucepans and ovens was keeping meals at the required temperatures, and the room was filled with mouth-watering aromas.
In her bedroom, Jackie stood before the mirror, making one last inspection. Her long, sleeveless dress in aqua and deep blue silk was cool and comfortable. Dangling earrings in a matching shade and silver sandals completed her attire. She’d taken extra care with her make-up, giving her lashes a final flick of mascara, and choosing a coral pink lipstick that lit up her blue eyes and fair hair. As tonight’s hostess, she’d wanted to look casually elegant, and she was happy with the result.
Heading down the hallway, she passed Flora’s room. Her daughter was leaning in, close to the mirror, blotting an eyelash with a tissue. She was wearing a dress in a pretty rose pink, a shade that had always suited her dark hair and dark eyes. But it was a warm night, so Jackie couldn’t think why Flora had added a crocheted jacket, a black one at that, with long sleeves.
Pausing in the doorway, Jackie wondered if this was a new trend among the young people in Melbourne. Flora had been wearing long sleeves ever since she’d arrived home, but it didn’t really make sense. This was October in the tropics, after all. Everyone in the north was shedding layers, not adding them.
It wasn’t as if Flora had overly plump arms or body image issues, so why would she cover herself up?
Jackie was still pondering this when Flora turned from the mirror.
‘Hi, Mum.’ She smiled, then pursed her lips into a low wolf whistle. ‘Wow, you look fabulous.’
‘Thanks, darling.’ Jackie hesitated in the doorway. There was a host of last-minute things that she should be attending to, but she was suddenly concerned for her daughter. The thought that something was wrong still nagged at her, and they’d never really had a chance to finish the chat she’d planned. ‘I like your dress,’ she said. ‘That colour has always looked good on you.’
‘Thanks.’
‘But do you really need the jacket, darling?’ Jackie was watching closely as she asked this and she saw the flash of alarm in Flora’s eyes. It was gone in a split second, but a responding spark of fear shot through Jackie.
‘It’s become a habit, I guess.’ Flora shrugged. ‘The weather in Melbourne’s so changeable, I always take a jacket with me, or a cardi, or some kind of sweater.’
Jackie wasn’t inclined to accept this reasoning, but she nodded. Right now, with Hugh’s party about to begin, it was the very worst possible moment to upset the girl.
‘Well, it’s not likely to cool down tonight,’ she suggested. ‘The forecast says it will stay quite warm. Wouldn’t you be more comfortable without the top?’
This time, Flora couldn’t hide her distress, or perhaps she didn’t try to. Her eyes glistened and her mouth trembled.
In a heartbeat, Jackie was beside her. ‘Darling, what is it?’ But even as she asked the question, she guessed.
She swallowed, gently touched her daughter’s elbow. ‘There’s something more to this, isn’t there?’
Lips tightly compressed, as if she was struggling to hold back tears, Flora nodded.
Jackie’s heart trembled. ‘Tell me the truth, sweetheart. Do you have bruises?’
More than anything she wanted Flora to rear back in shock, to tell her she was crazy for suggesting such a thing.
To her dismay, Flora’s face crumpled, and she sank onto her bed and burst into tears.
Alarmed, and close to tears herself, Jackie quickly closed the bedroom door and hurried to sit on the bed beside her daughter.
‘Oh, Flora,’ she whispered, slipping her arm around the girl’s shaking shoulders. ‘Sweetheart, what happened? Is this Oliver’s doing?’
‘Yes!’ Flora wailed and she sank into her mother’s arms, sobbing.
Eventually, Flora managed to stem the flow of her tears, and Jackie handed her the box of tissues from the dressing table. They sat in silence for a bit while Flora mopped at the mascara tracks running down her cheeks, and Jackie dabbed at her own eyes.
‘I’m so sorry, Mum.’
‘You don’t have to apologise. If anyone should, it’s me,’ Jackie told her. ‘I should have spoken up earlier. I sensed something was wrong and I’ve been worried about you.’
‘You’ve been so busy.’
‘That’s no excuse. I should never be too busy for my family.’ Jackie gave her another hug. ‘Do you want to talk about it?’
‘I guess.’ Flora’s dark eyes, with their smudged rings of make-up, looked huge in her pale face, giving her a childlike pathos that gripped her mother’s heart. ‘Actually, no, Mum. We don’t have time.’
‘I can make time.’
‘Not now. God, the party’s due to start any minute. Anyway, there’s not a lot to tell, really.’
‘But Oliver has hurt you? Physically?’
‘Not too badly. Not enough to go to a doctor or anything. But – yes.’ Flora peeled back the jacket to reveal a nasty purple bruise on her upper arm and several smaller ones, possibly fin
germarks, on her forearm.
Jackie pressed a hand to her lips. This was so hard to believe. She knew, of course, that domestic violence could come from anyone, not just those you might suspect. But the man was an opera singer, for heaven’s sake. He was supposed to be refined and cultured.
After all the hard work Flora had put into her music, the years of practice, of giving up other things she loved, this ghastly situation was so unfair. Flora had done so well, as an unknown girl from the far north, to have landed such an amazing, highly competitive position with Orchestra Victoria. The whole district had been proud of her. There’d been front-page stories and photos in the local newspaper.
It was appalling to think that the career satisfaction Flora had strived and sacrificed for might be spoiled by a self-centred, egotistical prick.
‘He texts you all the time, doesn’t he?’ Jackie asked. ‘He wants to keep track of you?’
‘How did you know?’
‘I heard a talk-back show on the radio about men like that. And I’ve noticed that you always seem so worried when you’re checking your phone.’
Flora nodded, gave a sigh. ‘It’s a control thing. Oliver – has issues. He’s ambitious and he’s an artist, so he’s also very emotional. He puts too much pressure on himself.’
‘That’s no excuse, especially not if he takes it out on you.’
‘I know,’ Flora said sadly.
‘So, was it your decision that he shouldn’t come home with you?’ Jackie suggested.
‘Yes. I was scared he’d get bossy or even angry with me and I didn’t want you guys to see him like that.’
‘But Oliver didn’t take it well?’
‘He was so angry. Like you wouldn’t believe.’
Jackie couldn’t bear this. Her poor baby. She took her daughter’s hand. ‘Darling, you can’t stay in a relationship like that.’
‘I – I know.’
It was relief to hear Flora admit this, but Jackie wondered how hard it would be in practice for the girl to distance herself from Oliver. Even in a major city like Melbourne, musicians moved in small circles.
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