‘To buy paint?’ he asked with an amused smile.
‘Not just to buy paint. I’d like to see the doctor.’
His smile faded. ‘Do you feel sick?’
‘A little.’ Beneath the table, her hands were so tightly clasped she could feel her nails digging into her palms.
Harry couldn’t keep the worry from his eyes. ‘Why didn’t you tell me, George? What’s the matter? What’s going on?’
‘Well, I missed my period last month and again this month, and my breasts have been very tender and I’ve lost my breakfast for the past three mornings in a row.’
Harry stared at her, his expression a complicated mix of concern, bewilderment and dawning hope.
‘You don’t think? Is – is it possible?’
‘I think it might be,’ she said. ‘I mean, it’s hard to believe after all this time, but —’ She gave him her warmest, most encouraging smile – the poor man looked so desperately worried. ‘It feels very real, Harry. I think it’s happening this time. That’s why I’d like to see a doctor.’
‘Of course.’ Harry was out of his chair. ‘I’ll get you there as soon as possible. We’ll leave first thing in the morning.’
‘Not until you’ve finished with the cattle.’
‘Bugger the cattle.’ Gently, he drew her from her chair and into his arms, holding her close against his chest.
She heard his heartbeats, as thumping and excited as her own.
‘The stockmen can look after the cattle,’ he said. ‘I plan to take care of my wife.’
It was late in the afternoon.
Warm sunlight slanted through the blinds onto the neat white bed in the small, private hospital room where Georgina, propped by pillows, held her brand new baby in her arms.
Such a miracle, this tiny, perfect little girl with dark hair and neat little ears and the sweetest knowing face.
Already, the astonishing ordeal of giving birth was beginning to fade, rendered unimportant by the triumph of her baby’s safe arrival. Georgina just wanted to stare and stare, and to cherish the warm weight of the little bundle wrapped in flannelette, now stirring in her arms.
A knock at the door and her heart leaped as Harry appeared, his damp hair neatly combed, clutching a bright bouquet.
‘Hey there,’ he said as he stepped cautiously into the room. ‘They tell me I have a daughter.’
‘Harry, come quickly. Come and look at her. She’s beautiful!’ Eagerly, Georgina patted the space beside her. Her heart stumbled when he neared the bed and she saw the silver sheen of tears in his eyes.
‘Oh, darling.’ Her voice cracked as she reached for his hand. ‘I know, I know. It’s just too good to be true, isn’t it?’
Now tears were spilling down her cheeks, too, and for a moment, they could only sit there, their foreheads pressed together, gazing at their baby as they wept.
‘What a pair we are.’ George was smiling through her tears as Harry produced a clean handkerchief and she mopped at her eyes.
‘I was so scared,’ he said.
‘Captain Harry Kemp was scared?’
‘You bet. You have no idea what it was like to watch you disappear through those blasted doors and then to be left to pace the floor.’
‘Poor darling.’ Georgina could imagine how he’d hated the waiting. Harry was a man of action, a take-charge kind of fellow. To be so very worried and yet utterly helpless would have been agony for him. ‘But look,’ she said, unwrapping a layer of blanket so he could see their baby properly. ‘Look at our little girl. Isn’t she just the sweetest thing?’
‘She’s perfect,’ he said, his face soft with awe. ‘So tiny.’
‘She’s seven pounds. It’s a good weight.’
Tentatively, he touched the baby’s tiny hand and they both gasped with amazement as the little pink fingers opened like a flower and then curled and clung to his rough brown finger.
‘Like a monkey on a tree branch,’ he said.
‘Isn’t she clever?’
‘As clever as paint.’
‘And so pretty, like a perfect little rose.’
‘Maybe we could call her Rose.’
It was one of the many names they’d talked about over the months of waiting, when they’d both declared fervently that they didn’t mind in the least whether the baby was a boy or a girl.
‘Yes, I think Rose might suit her.’
Just then, their daughter opened her eyes, blinked twice, then squirmed and gave a small squawk as she turned to nuzzle at Georgina’s chest.
‘Looks like she’s hungry,’ Harry said.
Georgina felt a flash of panic. ‘Do you think so?’
‘Have you fed her yet?’
‘No. I was told to wait for the nurse to come back.’
Amusement shone in her husband’s grey eyes. ‘You don’t need a nurse to show you what to do.’
Georgina supposed this was true, but from the minute she’d entered the hospital, people had started telling her how to breathe and what position to lie in and she’d become strangely compliant.
‘Here,’ said Harry. ‘I’ll hold her while you get yourself organised.’
‘You think I should just go ahead and feed her?’
‘Why not? You’re her mother.’
It sounded so logical coming from Harry.
Their daughter looked tinier than ever in his arms as Georgina undid buttons on her nightgown and opened the nursing brassiere.
‘I reckon, just hold her close and see if she knows what to do,’ Harry said, when Georgina was ready.
Which was exactly what she tried and it was also how, within a matter of moments, their daughter latched onto her breast and began to suck lustily.
Georgina grinned. ‘Isn’t she clever? She knows just what to —’
‘What are you doing, Mother?’ a shocked voice demanded from the doorway.
The red-faced nursing sister was fuming as she stormed into the room. ‘You were instructed to wait, to be shown how to feed your baby properly.’
‘She seemed hungry.’
‘That’s for me to decide.’ The sister scowled at Georgina over the top of her spectacles. ‘Is Baby properly attached?’
‘I believe so.’
Peering more closely, the nurse pursed her lips. ‘You were lucky this time but, Mother, you can’t feed your baby whenever you like. You have to follow a proper feeding regime and a very strict schedule.’
Georgina was feeling braver now and she merely smiled without replying.
With a harrumph, plus a glare for Harry and a warning that she would be back in ten minutes, the nurse sailed back out of the room, her veil flying stiffly behind her.
‘I might have turned you into a rebel,’ Harry said apologetically.
‘I don’t care,’ Georgina told him. ‘I can’t wait to get home and to care for our little one without being bossed around.’
Several minutes later, she held out the blanketed bundle. ‘Here, have another cuddle of your daughter, before they come back and boot you out.’
Harry’s face was softened by instant tenderness as he gazed down at the baby. ‘Hey there, Rosie,’ he said gently. ‘Did you know that your mum is a brave and beautiful headstrong rebel?’
With a cheeky grin, he sent Georgina a wink. ‘And I won’t mind in the least if you turn out just like her.’
29
The last thing Lucy needed was a day to herself, pacing about in an empty apartment. She’d had more than twenty hours on a plane with only her misery for company and throughout the flight, her thoughts had chased each other as fruitlessly as a puppy chasing its own tail. Of course her thoughts had been all about Nick.
Losing him had been the most unbearable experience of her life. She knew this didn’t make sense given how brief their time together had been, but she was a mess. She longed to be back there in Cornwall with him, riding on horseback, or walking together and having her hair blown to bits on the windy cliffs at Kynance Cove. She wanted
to be back in The Seaspray Arms with its low-beamed ceiling and crackling fire, enjoying a meal, just the two of them in a snug alcove.
She’d spent hours torturing herself by recalling every single one of Nick’s special qualities, as well as those times when he’d looked deep into her eyes and she’d felt as if she could read his soul.
Now, just thinking about him, her heart soared and swooped like a kite in a gale.
But annoyingly, just when she really needed her mother’s company, Ro was abandoning her. She didn’t even come into the apartment, but pulled up the car outside and handed her a key, leaving Lucy on the footpath. It didn’t make sense. Just last month her mum had been so proud of her new apartment and proud of Keith.
What on earth could have gone wrong in such a short space of time? Lucy wanted to give her a shake. Shake some sense into her. How could she just walk away from everything she’d ever wanted?
Lucy vowed she would get to the bottom of this. Later. When the jetlag fog had lifted.
‘I’ll give you a call late this afternoon,’ Ro said. ‘But I’d better get back to your grandfather now to fix his lunch.’
‘Give him my love.’
‘Yes, of course.’
‘Perhaps I’ll come round later to see him.’
‘All right. But give me a ring first.’
‘Oh, before you go, here are those letters that Primrose wanted you to have.’ Lucy extracted the precious envelopes carefully from her bag. ‘There’s one written by Georgina and another from Harry, so perhaps you should wait to read them when you have a little time on your own.’
‘Okay. Thanks, love.’ Her mum looked a little flushed as she set them on the seat beside her. Then, with a wave of silver bangles, she took off. Her purple Hyundai disappeared around a corner, and Lucy wheeled her suitcase to the huge glass doors that fronted the apartment block’s foyer, found a swipe tag attached to the keys and used it, and the doors slid open. She rode the lift to the eighth floor and let herself in.
The apartment was as spotless as ever. Keith was clearly very neat and tidy, and the only thing out of place was a piece of paper left on the kitchen counter. When she looked at it more closely, Lucy realised it was a note that Keith had left for her.
Dear Lucy,
Welcome back and please make yourself at home. Sleep, watch TV, or use the pool on the roof. I’ll be home about six and I’ll bring something for dinner.
Till then, all the best,
Keith
Lucy read the note twice and frowned. It sounded so nice and normal, as if nothing was wrong. And on the surface, her mother’s moving out might not be a problem. It wasn’t entirely unbelievable that her mum might move into Harry’s place, because his health was failing, especially as the sad reality was that her help might only be needed for a few months.
And yet, something about this still didn’t gel. Lucy knew her mum. All her life she’d been aware of the tension that had plagued Ro’s relationship with Harry, never boiling into outright warfare, but never allowing them the closeness that you might expect between a father and his only child.
But it was even more surprising that Ro had so willingly left her brand new apartment and her brand new man.
Every aspect of this new scenario was puzzling.
__________
Kalkadoon Station
via Cloncurry
10 September 1966
Dear Primrose,
I am writing to you with an important request, but first I need to explain my situation. I have finally decided that I must send my darling little Rosie away from us here at Kalkadoon to live in England with Georgina’s family.
I’ve had to make tough decisions in the past, especially during the war when men’s lives were in my hands, but this decision has been the hardest. It breaks my heart to give her up, Primrose. Having lost my dearest George, I can’t bear the thought of losing Rosie as well, but after five years of raising her on my own, I feel the time has come to put my own needs aside and to think of my daughter’s future.
Rosie is ten now and growing fast. She is happy and healthy and loves the life here in the bush, but I know she’s quite a tomboy, with few refined manners, and I’m sure she needs more guidance than I can offer as a single father in the outback. Within the next year or so, she will need a woman’s wisdom and understanding.
I would like her to attend a good school, too. She’s a bright little spark, but I have found it hard to keep governesses at Kalkadoon for long. These women are invariably very young and they find the life out here lonely. They usually leave after six months or so, and I’m sure there are glaring gaps in Rosie’s education.
Of course, I could send her to boarding school in Australia. I attended quite a good school in Brisbane, but I can’t overlook all the other opportunities that life at Penwall Hall can offer her.
I suffer from enough guilt already, knowing that I dragged Rosie’s mother away from her family and from a life of comfort and privilege. Mind you, George always assured me that she was very happy here and, in my heart, I know that she was, which is some comfort. But my wife made the decision to come here as a fully informed adult. Little Rosie has had no choice but to live here, and she has no idea what the rest of the world has to offer or what might be best for her.
Here, the only adults to advise her are my housekeeper, Shirleen, and I – and I’m often away working on the extreme boundaries of the property. Rosie’s best friend is Shirleen’s son, Dougie, a young boy, and while he’s a fine little kid, she needs girlfriends, too. In England she will have a grandmother and an aunt, an uncle and cousins, who are all, I have been told repeatedly, quite anxious to embrace her as their own. They will also send her to a good girls’ school where she’ll be able to make a host of girlfriends.
I love Rosie too much to deprive her of this chance to be educated in England and to live with her mother’s family, and now that she’s old enough to understand my motives, I can no longer deny her this wonderful opportunity.
But Primrose, this decision breaks my heart. My little girl means everything to me. She has such a sparkling, joyous spirit. My life will be so dull without her – but at least my conscience will be clear.
Which brings me to my request. I know our acquaintance has been limited to those few memorable afternoons that George and I spent with you in Cornwall, but I’ve never forgotten your warmth and friendliness and I would really appreciate it if you could manage to see my little girl from time to time.
I know you are busy with your own farm, and I understand that you can’t intervene in the Myatt family’s handling of Rosie, but I also know from firsthand experience that they can be rather stuffy. Rosie may find them oppressive at first, and I think she might need a bolthole to escape to every now and again. I hope you don’t mind my asking this and I look forward to hearing your thoughts.
In the meantime, I send my very warmest regards,
Harry Kemp
Afternoon sunlight filtered through the kitchen windows, giving Ro just enough light to read by as she sat at Harry’s ancient scrubbed pine table. From down the hallway she could hear his gentle snores. He was taking his afternoon nap, and the purring sound provided a surprisingly soothing background as she read the letters from her parents that Lucy had brought home.
Read them. And read them again, with tears streaming down her face.
Now there was a pile of damp tissues beside the letters on the table and Ro’s emotions were overflowing, her eyes damp and blurry, her throat tight and raw.
She’d wept buckets while reading these letters, both beautiful outpourings of love from each of them.
She’d lingered over every word from her mother.
When I’d just about given up all hope of ever becoming a mother, I have this sweet, loving, little daughter.
And then, the heart-rending message from her father.
My darling little Rosie . . . It breaks my heart to give her up.
I suffer from enough guil
t already, knowing that I dragged Rosie’s mother away from her family.
Today it was Ro who felt guilty. During the many years since her father had written this letter, she’d brought him a truckload of worry and pain. And now, looking back, she knew very well that this wasn’t the first time she’d encountered Harry’s explanation for sending her to England.
He’d tried to talk to her about it on many occasions after she’d been sent home in disgrace at the age of seventeen, but she’d been so caught up in despair and her burning awareness that he’d broken his word to her by sending her away. She’d never really listened to Harry, had certainly never believed him, and now, too late, she could see the inescapable evidence – the love of both her parents here on the pages in front of her. In black and white. In their own precious handwriting.
My darling little Rosie.
This decision breaks my heart.
Ro’s lips trembled again, her eyes welled with tears and she reached for yet another tissue.
‘Ro, what’s the matter?’
She hadn’t heard her father’s shambling footsteps coming down the hall and she was startled when he suddenly appeared at the kitchen doorway. Stoop-backed, he shuffled into the room, saw the letters and the old photograph on the table, saw the pile of sodden tissues and his daughter’s face which was, no doubt, red and blotchy.
‘What is that? Have you had bad news?’
‘No, Dad, no.’
‘What have you got there?’ He pulled out a chair and sat down stiffly.
‘Letters,’ Ro said. ‘Letters from you and from Mum. Lucy brought them back.’
‘From Penwall Hall?’
‘No, from Primrose Cavendish.’
‘Really? Fancy Primrose keeping them all this time.’
Ro nodded. ‘I’m so glad she did.’
He held out a brown, knobbly hand. ‘Can I see them?’
‘Yes, of course.’ Ro pushed the thin pages across the table to him, then scooped up the tissues and took them to the rubbish bin. She felt emotionally exhausted and yet strangely cleansed, as if she could now see her life more clearly.
The Secret Years Page 30