by Margaret Way
Selma apparently found Mallory’s remark not at all to her liking. She all but leapt up from her chair, consulting her yellow-gold Bulgari watch. “Goodness, is that the time?” she cried. “I have a dinner party tonight. I just hope Blaine manages to get there. He was always the life of the party. Nowadays he works too hard. He’s been very busy on his latest project. I have to say it’s coming along splendidly and it creates so many jobs. Daddy thinks the world of him. I’d have invited you to dinner as well, Mallory, but I understand you’re in mourning and won’t be able to make it.”
Mallory rose unhurriedly to her feet. “You always know the right thing to say, Selma. It was good of you to call in. Thank you so much for the lovely flowers. Let me walk you to the door.”
At the front door Selma bypassed an air-kiss, settling for a pat on the shoulder. “Now you think about what I said. Daddy would do the right thing by you.”
“Goodbye, now, Selma.” Mallory spoke as pleasantly as she could. “If you’re going to call your father later in the day, you might tell him I’m not selling.”
Chapter Eight
Blaine had been away two long days, visiting his mother, Rowena, in Melbourne. Rowena had moved there some years after her husband’s death when the family home was sold. Her own family was in Melbourne. Her two sisters had been instrumental in the move. Rowena had greatly mourned her husband, killed so prematurely. Her sisters rightly considered that she had needed a complete change of scene. Blaine had agreed. He saw his mother frequently, with the usual phone calls and emails to keep in close touch.
He arrived, apologetic—with no need—right on dinner time, filling Mallory in on all the news from Melbourne, which was good. Mallory greeted him with a kiss and a glass of champagne. She hadn’t been perturbed by anything Selma had to say during her visit. She didn’t plan on making mention of it.
Dot slotted the news in as she set out dessert, a lime and ginger crème brûlée. She had been told to leave the dishes. She was meeting up with old friends who were in town. Mallory had booked a room for her in the same motel so Dot wouldn’t have to worry about driving home. A treasure like Dot had to be looked after.
“So the burning question of the hour. What did Selma have to say?” Blaine later asked. They were dining in the breakfast room just off the kitchen, which made things easier. French doors led out onto the spacious terrace, bathed in a golden light, awash with tropical scents from the garden, with the stands of creamy frangipani providing the top notes.
“Nothing newsworthy. Courtesy call like everybody else.” Mallory cracked the caramelized top of the brûlée with a spoon.
“Not Selma.” He gave her a quick smile. “Selma always has an agenda. I love that dress.”
She glanced down at herself. “Thank you. As you can see, handprinted with our glorious rainforest butterfly, the blue Ulysses. I bought it locally.”
“I guessed that.” The material clung lightly, fluidly to her body, but he was very aware of the contours beneath.
“Selma wanted to know if I intended selling.”
“Cheek of her!” Blaine said, wry amusement on his handsome face. “Go on. There has to be more. Her father would have sent her.”
“Of course. She did bring flowers. It was a nice thought. I don’t think she liked the house much.”
“No, she wouldn’t. I think you could call Selma a minimalist.”
“Like Uncle Robert, I’m anything but a minimalist.”
“My position as well. Knowing Selma as I do, what she really wanted to find out was just how serious we are.”
“I didn’t tell her.”
“What! You didn’t tell her I’m the most wonderful man you’ve ever known?”
She let her dark eyes rest on him. “I didn’t want to upset her.”
“When it’s all around town?”
She stretched out the eye contact. “Is it?”
“Some of the brokers are even placing bets.”
“Which wouldn’t surprise me.” She had to laugh. “What Selma really wanted to find out is, what’s going to happen next?”
“Don’t we all.”
Mallory stared across the table at the man who had become the centre point of her life. “I wish we could travel back in time,” she sighed.
“What year would you stop?” He caught her fingers across the table.
“Before we got ourselves engaged to the wrong people. What do you suppose we were doing?”
“Letting too many years go by.” Blaine increased the pressure on her slender fingers.
“My fault.”
“If you expect me to say it wasn’t, I’m not going to.”
“That’s a comfort!”
“I’ll comfort you later,” he said.
* * *
There was a definite pattern to her dreams. They were always about Kathy. She told herself countless millions of deeply spiritual people believed in an afterlife, believed in the spirits. Kathy wasn’t at peace. As a result, Kathy wasn’t giving her any peace. Her subconscious had been preoccupied with working through her dreams, trying to identify their significance so she could deal with whatever was required of her. She did worry Blaine might tire of the whole business. What tormented her, clearly tormented him.
“The dream again?” Blaine woke almost on cue.
“It won’t let me alone.”
He felt powerless, which didn’t suit him at all. This whole business was proving beyond his limited comprehension of the spirit world. He couldn’t seem to help Mallory. All he could do was be there. “You’ve come through some very bad experiences. You’re coping well.”
“I hope so.” She moved her body to fit his. “I hate worrying you. Just give me a little time to get my mind into gear.”
“We can deal with it, Mallory, whatever it is,” he said quietly, stroking her hair away from her face.
She knew he was trying hard to come to grips with what was happening to her. She tried to explain. “It isn’t my imagination running riot with messages from another world. It’s not like that. I can’t explain why these dreams come to me. Aren’t the living and the dead as one if the soul lives on? The major religions are based on an afterlife. The ancient Egyptians lived for the afterlife. The great pharaohs built their burial chambers stocked for the afterlife. Can we really discount the existence of ghosts, the spirits of people who suffered great violence in this life? I don’t believe the way I am is something to worry about. It’s natural to me. Whether it’s a gift or not I don’t know, but my perceptions have worked for me as a psychologist.”
“So what do you believe now?”
“I believe Kathy can’t go home, wherever home is, until her soul is freed.”
“So what is it she wants you to do?” Blaine’s eyes were drawn to the French doors. The sheer curtains were doing some kind of weird dance when there was scarcely a breeze. By now he knew better than to look for a reason.
“I don’t yet know,” Mallory sighed. “All I do know is she’s desperate to have me heed her message.”
“Then hopefully we can all move on?” He would give anything for that to happen. Kathy Cartwright, though dead, was still a dominant figure. A dead woman was begging Mallory for help. It was all too weird. Yet it made sense to Mallory. All he could do was keep the faith. It was Mallory who had divined Kathy was lying dead at the base of the cliff. How had she known? There was no easy answer.
“Will we make our home here at Moonglade?” she asked. “Or would you prefer somewhere new?”
His reply came strongly. “Mallory, we stay here. You love it. I love it. It’s a safe haven.”
“It was for Uncle Robert. He has moved on. There is no desperate ghost here. Uncle Robert is happy. It’s completely different with Kathy. She was in so much pain that she took her own life. That level of agony and hopelessness doesn’t disappear overnight. It leaves a residual.”
Blaine didn’t answer because he didn’t have an answer. “I can’t walk your path, Mallory.
I don’t have the same belief in ghosts, even an afterlife, that you have. I’m a rationalist. But if the ghost of poor little Kathy is still hanging around, I’m certain she’s not going to hurt us.”
“She only wants help.”
“So do I.” He shaped her satiny shoulder, allowing his hand to slip down to her breast.
All further discussion was put on hold.
* * *
The following afternoon, Mallory received a frantic phone call from Margery Cartwright. “It’s Ivy.” Margery sounded badly shaken. “We haven’t been able to get a word out of her since we brought her home from school. She’s mute with misery. She’s not the same little girl. She’s switched off.”
It was bound to happen. In the weeks following Kathy’s death, weeks of deceptive calm, Margery had taken Mallory’s advice, keeping Ivy at home to be schooled. Margery had collected all necessary books from the school along with a schedule of what the class would be doing in the weeks ahead. Margery Cartwright was quite capable of keeping Ivy up to date with her lessons. Now this!
Mallory knew instinctively one of the children at the school had taken it upon his- or herself to tell Ivy exactly how her mother had died. No doubt in graphic detail accompanied by actions and sound effects. Children could be very cruel.
A distraught Margery greeted her in the driveway. “I feel so guilty!” She took Mallory’s arm, compelling her up the short flight of front steps to the house. “Ivy could have stayed home for the rest of the year. It was too soon to go back.”
“Someone was bound to tell her, Margery.”
“I ought to have told her, instead I only told her Mummy has gone to heaven. The same old thing. I didn’t think Ivy could possibly handle what had really happened.”
Well, she knows now.
“Where is Ivy?” Mallory asked.
“She’s in her bedroom. I can’t get her to come out. I can’t possibly drag her out. She isn’t eating either. The girl who told her, Emma Munroe, must be a very mean child.” Margery’s voice hardened. “I’d like to give her mother a piece of my mind.”
“Where’s Harry?” Mallory asked. She supposed Emma’s mother would be appalled.
“He has appointments he can’t change. He’s as distressed as I am. Brian Munroe is a nice young man. I always thought his wife was too.”
“I’m sure they are, Margery. Children constantly surprise us. I’ll go up, shall I?”
“Oh, please,” Margery exhorted. “I’m just so grateful you’re here.”
Mallory made her way up the stairs. The layout of the house was well known to her. She stopped outside Ivy’s door, tapped gently on it. No little voice answered her. She called the child’s name again and then slowly opened the door to a spacious room decorated with pretty chintzes and a lovely wallpaper featuring flowers and birds. Mercifully, the door hadn’t been locked. Margery had shown presence of mind and extracted the key in case Ivy took it into her head to lock everyone out.
Ivy was lying rigid on the full-sized bed, face to the wall, her knees drawn up against her stomach, arms folded tight around her like she was holding herself together. Somehow it was reminiscent of her mother.
“Ivy?” Mallory spoke very gently. “It’s only me, Mally. I didn’t want you to be alone. May I come and sit on your bed?”
Ivy’s voice was little more than a whisper. “Yes, Mally.”
Mallory’s heart melted. She skirted the end of the bed, sitting down by Ivy’s side. She waited a moment before gathering the child into her arms.
“Where’s Mummy?” Ivy asked, tears starting to pour down her face. “Where is she?”
Mallory gently lowered her head over the child’s, rubbing her back. “I know this is a very sad time for you, Ivy. My mother died when I was about your age, so I know. Your mummy died too, Ivy. You know that. She had become very sad. A great many people have these sad feelings, and though they try very hard, those feelings won’t go away. It’s important you remember Mummy loved you with all her heart. You were the most important person in the world to her. Only she wasn’t strong enough to live with her pain. That means she was finding it harder and harder to feel happy.”
“I know why!” Ivy drew back in a sudden fit of anger. “Daddy didn’t love her. He doesn’t love me. Aunt Jessy hated Mummy. She hates me.” The child spat like a cat. “Mummy said life wasn’t worth living with Aunty Jessy around.”
The truth and nothing but the truth.
Mallory looked around for a box of tissues. She saw one and handed it to Ivy. “Here you are, love. Wipe your face now. That’s a good girl. No matter how much Mummy tried, she needed help. We all need help at different times. Never be afraid to ask for help. You must learn early to talk about the things that are troubling you. Your grandparents love you.”
“I know, but they’re not Mummy,” Ivy said mournfully, making full use of the pink tissues. “I don’t really know them yet. Emma, one of the kids in my class, said Mummy gave me poison to drink. That’s why I was sick all the time.”
Mallory looked at the child with grave, steady eyes. “Children make things up, Ivy. Things they might remember ever after with shame. Emma could have got herself into a lot of trouble with her parents. I’m sure they were shocked and mortified. But tell me, what did you usually drink?”
“Mummy gave me milk with Milo. It always tastes nice. Aunt Jessy was the one who gave me nasty drinks, especially the purple one, the blackcurrant juice. She used to stand and watch me drink it so I wouldn’t spit it out. Some days Mummy put lemonade with it to make it taste better. Mummy loved me.”
“Of course she did, Ivy.” Mallory hugged the child. “You were her sun, moon, and stars . She’s not here now, but she would want you to have a good life, wouldn’t she? She wouldn’t want you to be unhappy. She wanted you to grow up with good feelings. She knew your grandparents would look after you. They love you.”
“So where’s Daddy?” Ivy’s blue eyes were blazing. “Why doesn’t he come to see me? I don’t want to see Aunt Jessy. I’d scream the place down. You have to promise me Aunt Jessy won’t come here, Mally.”
“Aunt Jessy won’t be coming, Ivy. I won’t allow it. Your grandparents won’t allow it. Above all they want you to feel loved and settled. As for your father, you have to remember he is very sad too.”
Ivy’s expression said plainly she didn’t believe it. “He never took much notice of me, until he got mad. The only one he took any notice of was Aunt Jessy. He loves her all right.”
“She is his sister, Ivy.” Mallory felt she had to point that out. “His twin.”
“I’m glad I’m not a twin,” Ivy said in a disgusted voice. “It’s scary. Daddy and Aunt Jessy won’t miss Mummy. I bet they don’t even care she died.” This time there was outrage on Ivy’s small face.
“They do care, Ivy, in their own way,” Mallory said. “Not your way. Not my way. Not your grandparents’ way, but they have their own feelings and their own problems.”
“I hope they die too,” Ivy said, the picture of wrath. “I don’t want to go back to school. Not ever. Emma was telling lies just like you said. Mummy would never hurt me.”
“Of course not. She loved you. I don’t think there’ll be a problem with your staying home for a while longer, but you have to keep up with your lessons.”
“I hate lessons,” Ivy said mulishly.
“You’re smart. Put your mind to it. Keep saying, ‘I’m going to do this for Mummy.’ She believed in you. I do too, Ivy. So do your grandparents. When your father is feeling better he will want to see you.”
“Do I have to go home with him and look after him?” Tears of anguish spurted.
“No, Ivy. It’s his job to look after you,” Mallory said gently. “We just have to wait until the time is right.”
Ivy blew her nose loudly. “Mummy said Daddy’s not normal. What does that mean?”
“Normal means behaving well with the people around us, Ivy. Take school. Children are expected to do what
you’re told by your teachers. You’re expected to pay attention in class. You don’t call out to one another. Ignore the teacher. Jump up and walk around the classroom.”
“That’s not normal, right? Daddy wasn’t kind to Mummy. Aunt Jessy used to snarl at her like Mrs. Finlay’s pit bull terrier. Mrs. Finlay isn’t supposed to have it, you know. A couple of times it got out and bit a chunk out of Mr. Finlay when he tried to get it back. Some of the kids are nasty to my friend, Wally, and make fun of him, but I like him.”
“Bullying is bad, Ivy. It’s something to be ashamed of. Bullying is cowardly. Wally might be a little slow with his lessons, but he’s probably very good at something else.”
“Yes, he is,” said Ivy, wisely nodding her head. “Wally can draw. He draws the most beautiful frogs. His baby frogs are adorable.”
* * *
Her presence had definitely calmed Ivy. Mallory stayed for an hour, encouraging Ivy to confide in her, drawing out all her worrying thoughts. What was saving Ivy, very mature for her age, was the fact she had already developed a thick skin. At the tender age of six, Ivy was far less fragile than her mother had been.
Having an aunt like Jessica Cartwright would toughen any kid up.
“We must go downstairs now to see Nanna,” Mallory said eventually, holding out a hand. “Don’t worry about going back to school for the moment, Ivy. If you work hard, you won’t fall behind. I’m counting on you to do that.”
“I’ll try real hard for you and Mummy.” Ivy made a solemn promise. “Can I come over to Moonglade to see you?”
“Of course you can. Nanna will arrange it.”
“Nanna can’t cook fairy cakes like Mrs. R.,” Ivy said regretfully, then brightened. “But she’s pretty good with sausages and rissoles. Nanna always smells lovely. I smell lovely too. And I have lovely clothes. Nanna and Poppa love me, don’t they?” Ivy raised her bright blue eyes.