by Joan Kilby
Maeve rose with the dripping dishcloth in her hand. “Are you mad! You just started a new job. They won’t give you leave this soon.”
“I’ll quit if I have to,” Art replied grimly.
“No, you won’t!” Maeve tossed the cloth into the sink. “This job is way too important for you to pass up. Where are you going to get another position at your age?”
“How can I leave Will Beaumont in the lurch, when I wouldn’t have had any job at all for the past five years if not for him?”
“You don’t know that you can do any good. Why sacrifice your future for something so tenuous? Sheesh!” she added, pushing her hair back from her forehead. “I thought we already had this conversation.”
“The situation has changed. It’s no coincidence they struck the moment I was off-site. McLeod wouldn’t have had a hope of getting the others to go against Will if I’d been there.”
“Dad, you’re not Will’s guardian! Let him handle his own problems. He’s more than capable.”
Art wasn’t listening anymore. “I knew I was wrong to desert him in his time of difficulty,” he said to himself. “I’ll get over there first thing in the morning. Losing one day’s production won’t be too serious if I can stop the strike quickly.”
Maeve threw up her hands in despair. “All right. Do what you want. You’re not worried about rent or food or anything as ignoble as the mundane necessities of life. You can just stay on here forever—”
Art snapped out of his monologue and tossed a sharp glance her way. “Are you worried about my staying here forever?”
Oh, hell. Why had she blurted that out? “No, of course not,” she said, backpedaling. “This is your home for as long as you want. You know that.”
“You can set your mind at ease,” Art said, drawing himself up with dignity. “I’ll be finding my own place just as soon as the strike is settled. I’ll not be a burden on my daughter.”
“Don’t be silly, Dad.” She put her arms around his shoulders, truly sorry she’d spoken in haste. “I was just mouthing off. I’m worried about you. Your work is a big part of your identity. I don’t want you to go. Honest.” And somewhat to her surprise, she realized that what she’d said was true. “Who would cook me a decent meal, if you weren’t around?”
“We’ll talk about it when things are settled,” he replied, seemingly mollified. “But I’m going back to Aussie Electronics tomorrow, and I don’t want to hear another word against it.”
Maeve went into the back garden and got out a bag of wild-bird seed to fill the feeder. The sound of grain being poured brought a small flock of rainbow lorikeets fluttering down from the top branches of the gum trees. She pottered among her flower beds, seeking but not finding respite from her concerns over her father, and the aching emptiness in her heart whenever she thought of Will.
She was no longer angry with him. He was caught in a difficult situation and had spoken on impulse during an emotionally charged encounter. And although she would never agree to having an affair, she was beginning to think she’d overreacted. Maybe he hadn’t even meant that.
Regardless of what happened with Will, the kiss they’d exchanged had convinced her of one thing. She couldn’t go away with Graham. Better to tell him sooner than later.
She went inside to call, but his cell phone was turned off. He was sleeping or showering, probably. In which case he’d be done by the time she got there.
The setting sun spilled gold and red across the water as Maeve walked down the clanking wharf to Graham’s thirty-five-foot fiberglass ketch. The boat deck was deserted when she came alongside.
“Ahoy,” she called, and rapped on the hull. “Anybody home?”
No response. A horrible thought struck. What if his cell phone was turned off because he was entertaining some other woman?
Graham poked his head through the gangway. His face lit at the sight of her. “Maeve. Hop aboard.”
“I’m not disturbing you, am I?” she asked, taking in his wrinkled shirt, his tousled hair. “I tried to call.”
He stretched his arms over his head and yawned. “Just having a power nap. I’ve been practicing and I’m rather good at it now.”
“I’ll bet.” She grabbed onto a stanchion and swung her foot over the gunwale.
Graham took her free hand, pulled her up and captured her into a light embrace. He smiled and kissed her on the lips. “Nice to see you.”
“You, too.” Gently she extricated herself from his arms. “The boat is looking good.”
“Have a seat,” he said, indicating the cushions lining the cockpit. “Like a glass of chardonnay?” Pausing in the gangway leading down to the galley, he added hopefully, “Or is this an occasion for champers?”
“I’ve had enough champagne this week to last me a good while, thanks. Chardonnay will do nicely.”
He disappeared below, and a few minutes later returned with a slender green bottle in an ice bucket and crystal glasses between his fingers. “So where have you been supping bubbly lately?”
Maeve took the glasses from him and held them out to be filled. “Just an engagement party for one of my clients.”
“I didn’t think you usually attended your clients’ social functions. Not wise to mix business with pleasure, or so you used to say.”
“This was different.” Maeve sipped her wine and watched the setting sun. “I suppose it’s too late to go for a sail?”
“Yes, although I’m glad you’re interested.” Graham settled onto the cushion next to Maeve.
He’d changed his shirt and combed his hair. The faint whiff of toothpaste when he leaned toward her brought back memories of mornings sharing a bathroom and evenings when the laughs outnumbered the fights. The days before tragedy had torn their marriage apart.
“I went to see Kristy this afternoon,” Graham said.
Maeve toyed with the halyard dangling from the mast. He meant he’d gone to the Frankston Memorial Park, where their daughter was buried. Years ago, Maeve had visited Kristy’s grave on what would have been her first birthday and had spent the rest of the week crying. She’d never gone back.
“I took her some flowers,” he went on. “Pink carnations.”
Still Maeve couldn’t speak. Part of her wished she could act as casual as Graham sounded. Part of her thought him unfeeling.
“Maeve, it’s time to let her go,” Graham added softly.
“Yellow pansies were her favorite,” she whispered. Blinking, she raised her untasted wine to her lips. “Tell me about your last trip,” she said. “Where did you go?”
Graham regaled her with stories of the Marquesas Islands. They talked and joked and finished the rest of the bottle, then drank coffee until Maeve was fit to drive home.
“Thanks, Graham,” she said, when at last she rose and stretched. “I’d better leave.”
“The moon’s almost full,” he pointed out as he walked her up the wharf to her ute. Casually he slid an arm around her waist. “If you stayed overnight, we could go sailing first thing in the morning.”
“Or perhaps we could sail some Sunday afternoon.”
Graham cupped his hands around her cheeks and gave her a searching gaze. “Have you thought about coming with me?”
“You mean to Fiji?”
“Fiji and beyond.” When she didn’t answer, he added, “You don’t have to make up your mind about ‘beyond’ right away. I meant what I said about not wanting kids, Maeve. I’m nearly forty. I’m over the urge to change nappies in the middle of the night. We’ll do it your way. No kids.”
Before she could answer, he lowered his mouth to kiss her. She turned her face away so his lips met her cheek. “I’m sorry, Graham,” she said. “I can’t. I…I’m in love with someone else.”
He was silent a moment. “Will you be marrying him, then?”
“No. The situation’s…complicated.”
“Well, if you change your mind, you know where to find me.”
“For a week or two,” sh
e said.
“Uh-uh-uh.” Graham wagged his finger. “I’ve enjoyed the break from your sarcasm tonight. But actually, you’re right. Once my locum’s up next week, I might as well take off.” He smiled wistfully at her. “Got no reason to stay, do I.”
“It was good to see you again, Graham. I’m sorry things didn’t work out.”
“That’s life, as they say.” He turned serious. “Take care of yourself, Maeve. You seem… fragile.”
“I’ll be all right.” She hoped. If nothing else, she finally felt a sense of closure on her relationship with Graham.
That night, the moonlight shone through the lace curtains as she sat cross-legged amid the pillows on her high brass bed and brushed out her hair, dark against the voluminous white cotton. She thought of Graham’s attempted kiss, and realized that as well as not wanting to encourage him, she hadn’t wanted to erase the memory of Will’s kiss. If she closed her eyes, she could still feel with extraordinarily accurate recall the smooth warm imprint of his lips on hers. With a sigh, she turned out the light, and in the solitude of her bedroom, in her fantasies, she carried their sensual brush with desire to its logical conclusion.
A dog barked in the wee hours, waking her. She pulled back the curtains to find the moon had set, leaving the sky inky black. She lay awake for hours, her mind churning with memories of Kristy and worry over Art. This time she wouldn’t let herself even think about Will. Problems always looked darker in the night, and already her thoughts regarding him were as black as pitch.
At last she got back to sleep, only to be awakened, seemingly minutes later, by the clock radio. She dragged herself out of bed, slowly ate, then dressed. Art had already left, presumably for the factory. She hoped his sacrifice would avert further strike action, but she wasn’t going to hold her breath.
She went out to the garage to pack her gear into the ute, and blinked sleepily at finding her solar panel and thermoregulator lying on her workbench. Will must have come by early, while Art was still here to open the garage door for him. Maeve searched for a note. Sure enough, a smaller scrap of paper fell out of the folded sheet of typewritten instructions.
With trembling fingers, she smoothed out the handwritten message. It contained only two words: Forgive me.
A tear rolled off her cheek and onto the paper. Yes, Will.
She spent the morning at a house in Rosebud, working with Tony to install a watering system and put in a herb garden. Creating the herb garden was pure fun. Tony turned the soil, while she laid paving blocks in the pattern of a star within a circle. In the center, Maeve planted a mix of lavender and valerium. Then she arranged the perennials—sage, thyme, rosemary, marjoram and oregano—in the arms of the star, and filled in the segments of the circle with annuals such as parsley, basil and coriander. Under the warm sun, the herbs gave off their pungent aromas as she placed them in the ground.
“Thanks, Tony,” she said, when they were done and the worksite was cleaned up. “I’m going to the Beaumont place now. Are you okay to finish installing the watering system on your own?”
Tony waved a hand. “Piece of cake.”
Maeve loaded the leftover herb plants into the back of her ute. She’d overbought, as usual, on the basis that it was better to have too many plants than too few. These she could repot, or, better yet, she could plant them in Will’s terrace rockery. Neither he nor Ida was into cooking, but herbs were decorative as well as useful. Ida might feel more domestic once she had the baby. Although, the thought of Ida sprinkling Maeve’s herbs in Will’s dinner made Maeve’s chest hurt.
Tonight was Ida’s birthday, she realized an hour later as she tucked perennial herb seedlings into pockets of soil between the stones of Will’s rockery. The annuals she arranged in a terra-cotta pot on the patio by the sliding doors into the kitchen.
Then she strolled down to the pool to check on the Selenicereus. The buds were full and ripe. The Queen of the Night was not going to wait for the wedding; she was going to bloom tonight. Maeve thought back to the calendar. Of course. Tonight was the full moon.
Flowers that bloomed only once a year sounded to her like a darn good excuse to miss the footy game. She glanced at her watch. Will should be home soon; she could tell him about the Selenicereus, plus thank him in person for the solar panel. And just maybe they could reestablish some sort of friendly relationship. If he didn’t show up, she would stay and watch the Selenicereus bloom—an event so rare it ought to be witnessed.
She stowed her gardening tools in the ute, moved the sun-baked vehicle farther into the concealing shade of a camellia, and went back to sit on the edge of the rockery. But the stones hurt her bottom and the late-afternoon sun had lost none of its heat.
The lounge chair in the dappled shade by the pool looked too inviting to pass up. She hesitated only a moment before she removed her boots and socks. Sitting on the lounge, she dipped her feet in the pool. Air-cooled water circulated between her toes. Slowly she stretched out full length, feeling her weary muscles relax. She was so tired. The moment she heard Will’s car pull up the driveway, she would be on her feet. Surely shutting her eyes for just one minute couldn’t hurt….
IN THE LOBBY of Aussie Electronics, Will peered through the vertical blinds. One by one the picketers drifted away, leaving McLeod and Kitrick behind in their portable trailer to keep watch overnight and make sure no new supplies entered the building. Will pressed his fingertips against his temples in an effort to relieve the shafts of pain piercing his brain.
“How long can they keep this up?” Art asked, coming up behind him, his workbag in hand.
“Longer than we can,” Will replied. “McLeod still refuses to negotiate. He’s cutting his own throat, but if neither you nor I can make him see that his strategy is getting them nowhere, I don’t know where we go from here.”
A handful of supporters had crossed the picket lines to keep the assembly line running, although at a fraction of full capacity. Even Renée had donned a white coverall to wheel the delivery trolley around the factory floor. But the supply of components would run out within days if the stalemate wasn’t breached.
“I’ve been thinking,” Art said. “I’ve got an idea.”
“Go on.” Will found that if he took shallow breaths the pain was marginally less intense.
“Well, you’ve got the shareholders demanding a bigger profit and that’s why you have to move overseas, is that right?”
“More or less.” The pain spread from his forehead around to the back of his neck. “What’s your idea?”
“Why not buy the shares back? I mean, those shareholders are strangers. They don’t care about us as long as they make money off the company.”
“I can’t afford to buy the shares back. I don’t have the cash, and the bank refused a loan.” He gripped Art’s shoulder. “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate your coming back to help out, Art. I’ve been trying all day to get hold of Ron at A. B. Electronics to buy you some more time.” He felt sure that if he explained the situation, Ron would see that the loyalty Art displayed to Will would one day be Ron’s, if only he could be patient.
“Never mind that right now,” Art said. “I meant, the employees could buy back the shares. I read about a factory in America where the workers bought out the company. For a while they struggled on low wages, but the factory stayed open and in the end became even more productive. If there was even half a chance of their keeping their jobs, I reckon the blokes on strike would come back to work and ride out the rough times with you.”
“The thought had occurred to me.” But a glance at the arithmetic had made him dismiss the possibility. He owned fifty-five percent of the company. Even if his employees owned the other forty-five percent, Aussie Electronics wouldn’t have enough capital to stay afloat. Will would have to sell some of his shares, and in doing so he would lose control of his company. He hadn’t striven all these years to become an employee in his own factory. “I’m not prepared to accept the consequences of that
course of action.”
Disillusionment that was painful for Will to witness crept into the older man’s gaze. “I’ll be on my way, then.”
Will eased the Merc out by the rear entrance to avoid another confrontation with McLeod and his henchmen. All he wanted to do was go home and put an icepack on his head, but he had a date with Ida. At last he would find out why she’d changed her mind again about a nonexclusive relationship. There’d been no opportunity to get her alone at the party, or even afterward, with their families around helping to clean up. And she’d been unavailable every time he’d called in the days since. If he didn’t know better, he’d think she was avoiding him. Her birthday, however, was noted in his pocket organizer, and he presumed he was still penciled in on her calendar, too.
But when he got to her office to pick her up as arranged, he found a note pinned to her door. She wasn’t able to see him tonight, after all. No explanation, no elaboration other than that she would call him tomorrow. A new locus of pain began to throb in his temple.
She’d stood him up. And he’d gone to so much trouble, taking Maeve’s comments to heart and organizing a special dinner instead of the footy game. He couldn’t say he’d planned a romantic evening, because that wasn’t what he and Ida were about—but he’d bought seafood for the barbecue, a really good wine and a selection of the finest chocolates available in Melbourne. What more could a friend ask for?
The bouquet of flowers in his hand sagged at his side. A noise behind him made him turn to see Ida’s secretary, Sally, carrying a stack of file folders. “What happened to Ida?” he demanded. “Is she sick? Did she go home?”
Sally hugged the folders to her chest. “I don’t know.”
An appalling thought struck him. “Nothing’s wrong with the baby, is there?”
“No,” Sally quickly reassured him. “As far as I know, the baby’s fine.”
Will moved the bouquet to his other hand. “So, what happened?”