‘Goodness me,’ he murmured, ‘I’ll pop that under my pillow and dream sweet dreams upon it, Miss Harris.’
‘You’re impossible,’ she said. ‘Did you know that?’
‘Some women have told me I’m a few things but that hasn’t actually featured amongst them,’ he reflected gravely.
‘Because they may not have had an ounce of backbone between them!’ she retorted.
‘Perhaps,’ he agreed comfortably. ‘Just think how good you are for my inflated ego.’
This time Domenica had the sense to withdraw from the contest—in a way.
She said ingenuously, ‘Goodness me, who would have thought the weather could be so fine now? That’s Sydney for you, though, I guess.’
She had ten days’ grace until her mother’s dinner after the picnic on the beach.
They’d parted amiably enough, on the surface, after the picnic. He’d made no suggestion that they get together before the dinner and insisted she keep his jacket rather than trail inside looking completely bedraggled. In fact, she’d rather got the impression as he’d helped her out of the car and handed her her belongings that he’d been short of time and had had his mind elsewhere. Not that he hadn’t been courteous, but in a brief kind of way.
So be it, she’d thought, and been briefly courteous in return as she’d thanked him, said goodbye and walked indoors without a backward glance.
And she kept hold of that so-be-it frame of mind for the next few days. She refused to be anything other than casual and humorous when Natalie wanted to know how it had gone. Instead of being the slightest bit vague, she worked keenly and industriously and came up with a sports bodysuit design that Natalie was in transports over.
She also parcelled up Angus’s jacket and had it delivered to the Keir Conway head office the day after the picnic.
Three days after the picnic, she picked up her mail on her way home from work to find a heavy packet amongst it. There were two books but no note inside, she found, after she’d kicked off her shoes and made herself a cup of tea.
She sat down with them in her comfortable lounge with its parchment walls and cranberry linen-covered suite, wooden louvre blinds and lovely terracotta urns filled with dried leaves and flowers, and her collection of elephants, small and large although not life-size, of course, but wooden, stone and one lovely leather one.
One book was a beautiful and glossy history of fashion design that set her mouth watering as she paged through it.
The other was a novel, obviously read because the pages didn’t have that snug crispness of an unread book, although it was still in excellent condition. It was a novel she and Angus Keir had discussed over lunch on the way home from Lidcombe Peace—she to say she was looking forward to reading it but hadn’t bought a copy yet; he to say he was halfway through it and enjoying it.
So, despite the absence of any note, she didn’t really need to flip the packet over to see a Keir Conway label with a printed return address on it, although she did so anyway. And she stared into space for a good five minutes before she remembered her tea and drank it.
Three days later, a much slimmer packet arrived bearing that same Keir Conway label. A CD this time, and this time there was a note signed Angus, that simply said he thought she might enjoy it. She slipped it into her CD player and was transported straight to the continent of Africa via the most wonderful mixture of jungle and jive music, full of drums and penny whistles, rhythm and tempo. It was fair to say she not only enjoyed it, she loved it.
But what to do about these gifts? The fashion book had inspired her with some new ideas for girls’ dresses as well as some different and wonderful combinations of colours. She was finding the novel hard to put down and she was often to be heard whistling and humming the music. So he couldn’t have chosen better, she had to acknowledge, which must have involved some thought and some insight into her preferences.
And she found herself wondering what kind of insight she had into Angus Keir’s preferences and how she would go about repaying these gifts in kind, if she were prompted to do so. She even found herself staring at a small painting in an art shop near work that was a vibrant depiction of an outback scene of sage-green spinifex on red soil and a drover on horseback. But would those memories be painful? she wondered.
Then she shook herself mentally and decided the problem was not whether to shower him with gifts in return but how, and when, to thank him for his.
Three days before her mother’s dinner, an opportunity presented itself but it took her a good ten minutes of hanging on to the phone and explaining to several people who she was to even reach him. Which made her less sure that she was doing the right thing, and less able to sound relaxed.
But he himself was slightly clipped when she finally got him.
‘Domenica?’
‘Yes, Angus. I’m sorry to bother you but—’
‘Don’t be,’ he interrupted. ‘I should have thought to give you a direct number but I am slightly tied up at the moment.’
‘Oh. Well…’ she could hear how cool she sounded but was unable to do a thing to rectify it ‘…I’ll be brief. Thank you very much for the books and CD. I…I loved them. But the other reason I’m ringing is because I’ve had an offer for the Blacktown site. It’s a bit less than you suggested but—’
‘Then don’t take it.’ He was absolutely decisive.
Domenica drew a breath and said politely, ‘If you’d let me finish, yes, it is lower…’ she told him how much ‘…but they’re offering a significant deposit, a thirty-day settlement and no subject-to-finance clause, so…’ She paused.
‘Which they’re hoping will seduce you into accepting less than what it’s worth, Domenica. Go back to them with my figure and not a penny less.’
‘I…I don’t know if I have the nerve,’ she said, sounding absolutely genuine for the first time in their conversation. ‘It’s like throwing away a bird in the hand for two in the bush!’
‘Why don’t you think of how many new dresses and how much French champagne the difference could buy your mother?’ he recommended, sounding amused.
‘Angus,’ she said a little desperately, ‘are you sure they’ll…?’ She broke off helplessly.
‘If they don’t, someone else will. Now’s the time to exercise your backbone, Domenica, although, of course, it’s entirely up to you. Look, I am sorry, I have to go but I’ll see you on Friday night.’
The phone went dead and Domenica took it from her ear to stare at it furiously. And not only on account of being hung up on but the way he’d turned her own words against her, words like backbone and seduce.
Then Friday was upon her, her nerves were in tatters and she arrived at Rose Bay to discover that her mother had prepared a minor banquet. There was to be a pork crackling and potato salad on a bed of frisée lettuce to start, a rack of lamb with a mustard and herb stuffing accompanied by honeyed carrots and hot, fresh asparagus, and a berry jelly—a symphony of strawberries, raspberries and blueberries in a clear jelly mould garnished with cream—for dessert.
The Sèvres dinner service was on display on an exquisite heavy lace tablecloth and the Stuart crystal was out. Candles stood ready in the Georgian silver candlesticks and some perfect camellia blooms floated in a bowl between them.
Her first reaction was sheer exasperation. Her mother was in fact an excellent cook and had passed it on to her, although Christy had missed out on the cooking gene altogether. Which meant she wouldn’t have been of much help. Nor, since the decline of the family fortunes, did Barbara have the kind of domestic help she was used to and had been used to all her life. So, while preparing delectable dishes might come naturally to her, clearing up, polishing the silver and crystal and all the rest did not. And it was plain to see that she looked tired and overwrought.
Then guilt superseded Domenica’s exasperation and she thanked heaven that she’d come early.
‘Looks lovely and smells delicious!’ she said as she kissed her mother and hugged her. ‘Why d
on’t you go and have a nice soak in the bath? I’ll do the rest. You’ve got plenty of time—I’ll bring you a glass of champagne while you’re dressing!’ It had been a custom of her father’s, and for an instant she saw a sparkle of tears in her mother’s eyes. So she hugged her again and held her until the threat of tears had subsided. ‘Off you go,’ she said softly. ‘I’m sure you’re going to look a million dollars tonight!’
The candles had burnt halfway down, liqueurs and coffee were on the table before any mention of business was made. And then it was Barbara who brought it up, perhaps emboldened by a successful dinner party.
It had been successful although there were only the four of them, Angus Keir reflected. The food had been delicious with the serving of most of it discreetly managed by Domenica, wearing a silky wheat-coloured, cowl-neck camisole and slim black trousers. Her dark hair was up tonight in a smooth pleat and several gold chains circled the fine smooth skin of her neck. He’d noticed immediately that she was wearing black sandals with slim, high heels.
Christy had opted for a chalk-blue straight sleeveless linen dress with tiny metallic motifs embroidered over it and Barbara was elegant in a slim wattle-yellow suit. Not only good-looking and elegant were the Harris women, he mused as he toyed with his coffee spoon, but good company, skilled at drawing people out, and their inter-family repartee had been natural and funny.
But he couldn’t help wondering if it was his imagination or whether Domenica had a look of strain in her beautiful blue eyes from time to time, and faint shadows beneath them. And whether the lovely lines and curves of her body beneath the silky top and slim trousers were a little taut. Nor could he dispel the impression that without her managerial skills this dinner party might have been a disaster. And it was already obvious, he reminded himself, that she bore the real burden of Barbara’s problems.
So when Barbara said, ‘Angus, we normally retire to the lounge for coffee but would you mind if we sat here to discuss—things?’ he said that, smiling warmly at her, no, he wouldn’t mind at all, and drew some sheets of paper from the pocket of his navy-blue suit.
‘I made a few notes,’ he went on. ‘Some suggestions that might help—they mostly hinge on the sale of Blacktown, but perhaps not the most significant one.’ He glanced at Domenica.
She cleared her throat. ‘I did as you suggested with the Blacktown offer, although I also consulted Mum and Christy. I haven’t heard back yet. May I see your suggestions?’
He passed the papers across the table. She studied it intently but looked up only moments later. ‘No. Uh—sorry, I forgot to tell you but…’ She paused and glanced at her mother, and seemed lost for words.
‘What is it?’ Barbara enquired.
‘Well, we were hoping to keep this house for you—’
‘It’s entirely impractical,’ Angus said.
They all stared at him wordlessly. In his navy suit, pale blue shirt and diagonally striped blue and grey tie, he looked not only impeccably tailored and groomed but there was an aura of quiet authority about him.
‘The rates alone are prohibitive,’ he went on. ‘Maintenance on a house of this age and size is another drain and just the normal upkeep of it domestically and garden-wise is terribly expensive.’ He stopped at a slight sound from Barbara.
Then he continued with the same unemphatic but steady assurance, ‘Whereas, Barbara, if you disposed of this house as well as Blacktown, that would not only completely clear the backlog of debt, but, if you invested wisely, you could afford something smaller although still pleasant and with harbour views, you could have a decent income to rely on for the rest of your life, you would not be left alone in a huge house should Christy get married, for example, and you could afford to indulge yourself now and then.’
The stricken expression on Barbara Harris’s face, which had made Domenica curve her hands into fists beneath the table and send Angus a killing little look, changed slowly. ‘How?’ she asked.
‘You might like to take a cruise once in a while, you might like to spend a spring in Paris or a summer in Tuscany. Perhaps there are some music festivals around the world you’d like to attend, or wouldn’t it be nice to be able to hold your own musical soirées without wondering if you’re going to break the bank?’
He paused and looked around. ‘You have such exquisite taste you might even like to start dealing in antiques or paintings.’ His gaze came to rest on her face again. ‘I know you’ve been a widow for eighteen months now, Barbara,’ he added gently, ‘but I’m sure your husband would rest happier to know you can go on and live comfortably, doing the things you love.’
Barbara Harris took a deep breath and looked around. ‘You’re right,’ she said tremulously. ‘He isn’t here in these bricks and mortar although that’s why I didn’t want to sell. He’s in my heart and he always will be. I’ll do it.’
‘I don’t believe it,’ Domenica said as she and Angus stood at the gate not much later. She rubbed her face wearily. ‘I always knew it was what she should do but every time I brought the subject up she got so distressed! And I thought you believed you’d be able to save this place for her?’
‘That was before I met her and had a chance to think about what the real reason she might be clinging onto it was,’ he replied. ‘Also, sometimes there’s a time and place for things. I just happened to get lucky and pick the right time tonight. Something else is worrying you, though?’
She half smiled. They were standing beneath a street light and for the first time she noticed a couple of silver strands in his hair. ‘No, not really, well…’ She trailed off. Then she straightened her shoulders. ‘Could I make you dinner tomorrow night, Angus? Or—’
He looked down at her in the unsmiling way she now knew. And responded formally, ‘Thank you very much, that’s very kind of you. But I’m moving into Lidcombe Peace tomorrow.’
‘Of course—I’d forgotten.’
‘You could come down for a day, though,’ he said. ‘I’ll be there all weekend—all week, come to that—and there are a few things I’d like to show you.’ He shrugged. ‘No need to call, just turn up. If you’re so minded, Domenica,’ he added.
‘I…’
‘I’d also recommend that you get a good night’s sleep.’ He pulled a hand from his trouser pocket and touched her chin lightly with his knuckles. ‘You look as if you could do with it, mate,’ he added quizzically.
A couple of moments later, she watched the Range Rover drive away. But it was a few minutes more before she returned to her mother’s house, where she was going to spend the night.
All through the next morning, Saturday, Domenica was amazed by the difference in her mother. It was almost as if she’d been reborn a calmer and more mature person. It was obvious that not only had she come to grips with life without Walter Harris, but she had a purpose now. She even compiled a list of what she would take with her from Rose Bay and what she would sell—with a surprisingly realistic grasp of values. And the three of them discussed where she’d like to move to.
Then, around lunch-time, Domenica got a call on her mobile phone from the real estate agent she was dealing with, saying that he had a signed offer in his hand for the Blacktown property at Angus’s valuation and still the same conditions: a thirty-day settlement, a significant deposit and no subject-to-finance clause.
‘So he was right,’ Christy said, a little awestruck.
The relief Domenica felt was tremendous. Until, that was, she got home to her apartment later in the day. To find that one burden had been replaced by another. She was deeply in Angus Keir’s debt. But not only for his financial advice, for something else. For taking the time to understand her mother and exercise an invaluable influence over her.
The only problem was, if she wished to repay him in any way it was to be on his terms or nothing, she had the distinct feeling. Go down to Lidcombe Peace this weekend, for example. What would be the consequence of not going down to Lidcombe Peace? she wondered. To be thought of as still see
ing herself too good for him?
And she was the one who had flung down the gauntlet, another one, she thought dismally, of not being willing to go down any road with him until her mother’s life was sorted out. Well, it was now, but she still had that residue of wariness towards Angus Keir, that something that was holding her back from what she knew would be the inevitable outcome of getting to know him better.
Still, she thought, it would be churlish not to make some attempt to thank him and what harm could spending a few hours down at Lidcombe tomorrow do? No, it was more than that, she realized. It was a matter of pride. She couldn’t in all conscience ignore him or wait for him to make the next move.
There was another car on the gravel roundabout in front of Lidcombe Peace when she arrived at about eleven the next morning, not Angus’s. And as she drew up a party of people came round the corner of the house. Angus, a man and a woman of about the same age, and three children. It was a clear, sparkling day and you could see Sydney in the blue distance.
But she hesitated briefly before opening her door with something of a dilemma on her mind. Strangers, or other people, might help—or they might not. If they knew him well, it might be the cause of some speculation amongst his circle of friends. Then it struck her that she’d somehow assumed he was a solitary man without thinking much about it at all.
But the one thing she knew, there was no turning back. So she got out of the car in her long beige linen overall dress, worn over a white T-shirt and with black mules, and one of the children, the only girl of about ten years old, rushed up to her and said, ‘Wow! You look wonderful. Mum—’ she looked over her shoulder ‘—why can’t I have a dress like this?’
It made everyone laugh and Angus came forward to make the introductions. But it turned out that his friends, Peter and Lorraine Bailey, having spent the morning at Lidcombe Peace, were on the point of leaving.
‘We were dying to see it!’ Lorraine Bailey confided to Domenica. ‘And we’ve made Angus promise to have a housewarming party! But we’ve got a school fête on today so we ought to get going.’
By Marriage Divided Page 6