Silent Heart

by Claire McNab

  "Whatever for?"

  "You'll learn," said Christie, "that when Reyne Kendall does a story, she really researches it."

  I nodded, thinking irritably that Reyne was intruding far too much into my life.

  Zoe was in full hostess mode. She was an excellent cook and specialized in elaborate dishes which generally tasted as good as they looked. Tonight, however, she'd prepared a dish featuring quail, and their tiny, pathetic bodies, however artistically arranged, stirred a latent vegetarianism in me. I seemed to be the only one so affected. John was crunching fragile bones with enthusiasm and Gerald had already consumed the little corpses on his plate. Arthur, Zoe's husband, dabbed at his neat mustache with his napkin. "Excellent, darling," he said to Zoe.

  I didn't join the appreciative noises, being fully occupied arranging the contents of my plate so it would appear I'd made a decent attempt at eating the little quail remains.

  "So, Victoria," said Arthur a little too heartily, "you're getting to be quite famous."

  I opted for a modest expression as Zoe sniffed disparagingly. "Notorious, more likely," she said.

  Gerald smiled tentatively from the other side of the table. He hadn't offered to drive me here for dinner, but had turned up a little late — I, of course, had irked Zoe by being early — and had treated me with a careful camaraderie.

  Before Gerald's arrival Zoe had made an unsuccessful cross-examination about our relationship, so I wasn't surprised when she smiled winningly and said, "Gerald, we really must see more of you and Victoria. Perhaps a weekend away in the Blue Mountains would be nice? What do you think?"

  "Darling..." Arthur cleared his throat. "You know I'm in the middle of a new software project. I could have trouble taking time off at this point."

  Zoe frowned. To rescue him, I said, "I'm afraid I've got appearances in Brisbane and Melbourne, and then the tour of the States..."

  Her frown deepening, Zoe said to Gerald, "What do you think of it? This book Victoria's written?" Her tone made it obvious she didn't approve, and expected he would concur.

  "I think The Erotic Muse is great. It's well written and researched, and introduces the general public to material that might not otherwise be accessible."

  From Zoe's expression she was clearly disappointed in Gerald's answer. "That's all very well," she said, "but you have to count the cost to the family. Both John and I have been pestered by a journalist wanting information about Victoria. Kendall, her name is. Has she approached you?"

  "She left a- message. I haven't got back to her yet."

  "You didn't tell me," I said sharply.

  "I didn't have the opportunity."

  Sensing potential conflict, Arthur looked vaguely alarmed. Gerald's face was blank. Zoe smiled. She always seemed to gain energy from arguments, either as a participant or an observer. "The Kendall woman asked me a lot of personal questions," she said smugly. "Of course, I did try to protect your privacy, Victoria."

  "I can imagine..."

  Zoe leaped into one of her abrupt rages. "I protect the family, at least! I don't go round writing unsavory books..."

  I ignored the challenge, saying mildly, "What exactly did you tell Reyne Kendall?"

  She shrugged. "What was there to tell? It's not as if any of us had an interesting childhood, is it?"

  I thought, For me it was sometimes frightening, and always emotionally sterile. Aloud I said, "I suppose not."

  There was a tinge of malice in Zoe's voice. "I did give her some photographs. Thought you wouldn't mind."

  "I do mind."

  Arthur said, "Just family snaps. That's all."

  His attempt to humor me failed. "I'd have appreciated being asked permission first," I said coldly.

  "She said she'd return them," said Zoe, perfectly aware that this wasn't the point I was making. She stood up. "Clear the plates, please Arthur. I'll get dessert."

  I snatched the plates from Arthur and followed her into her gleaming, space-age kitchen. "Look, Zoe, you're always talking about family solidarity, so how about showing some over this?"

  Zoe's anger had dissipated. "Victoria," she said indulgently, "I'll do anything I can... but of course, you've only got yourself to blame, haven't you?"

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Gerald insisted on driving me to the airport for the early morning flight to Brisbane. I was wary of encouraging him, although he hadn't taken the dinner at Zoe and Arthur's to mean that we were to resume our previous level of intimacy. He was now treating me as a dear friend, rather than a lover. I valued his comradeship and hoped, without much conviction, that he would abandon any idea of pursuing a deeper relationship.

  After I'd checked my luggage, and we dawdled over cups of coffee and awkward conversation, Gerald embraced me briefly, said, "Have a good time," and left me at the entry gate.

  I hadn't seen or heard from Reyne for several days, although I was aware that she'd contacted different colleagues and acquaintances because she'd sent me a fax at the university listing the names. There'd been a sarcastic little scrawl at the bottom: For your information only. At the time I'd been only mildly annoyed, so when I saw Reyne waiting to board the plane, I was surprised by the intensity of my anger. "Considerate of you to send me that fax, but surely you must have wondered if I'd get to them first."

  Reyne grinned at me. "Did you?"

  "Of course. I coached each and every one of them with laudatory things to say about me. Surely you noticed?"

  She seemed amused at my sarcastic tone, but before she could reply we were interrupted by a breathless, "Thank God I've made it!" Hugh Oliver wasn't squiring me to Brisbane, but was sending Leila Haven from Rampion's publicity department to stand in for him. "Almost missed the plane," Leila added unnecessarily. She smiled at me as if sure I'd approve of her tardiness, then said to Reyne, "Hi! You coming with us too?"

  "Yes, but not just for Rampion and Victoria — I'll be doing some work on a police corruption story as well."

  Leila nodded wisely. "Yeah, good thing you've got something else, because there's not much in this for you... I mean, Brisbane's pretty much a hick town, so it doesn't really matter what Victoria does."

  Reyne gave me a small smile. "I don't know. She might do something outrageous."

  "I wouldn't hold my breath," I advised.

  On the plane, Leila, who was always eager to talk, had the seat beside mine. Contemplating an hour of chatter put me in defense mode. "I have a great deal of marking to do," I said firmly, as I opened my briefcase and took out a bundle of students' papers. Soon I was concentrating deeply, only sighing now and then at the original spelling and grammar that some young people used.

  I looked up with a prickle of irritation when Reyne leaned over to ask Leila to change seats with her, then went resolutely back to my marking. Reyne didn't speak, · but I was conscious that she was watching me. I put down my pen. "Yes?"

  "I don't mean to interrupt you..."

  Refusing to make a polite rejoinder, I looked directly at her. "Is there something you want?"

  Reyne looked solemn. "I think you might have taken that list of contact names I faxed to you as a sort of sarcastic comment."

  "Wasn't that exactly what it was?"

  A winning smile accompanied her reply. "I suppose you could read it that way... or you could accept that I was keeping you informed because you'd complained earlier I hadn't told you I was approaching your cousins."

  Reyne brought out in me an unsuspected talent for confrontation. "Enlighten me," I said coldly. "Which particular motive was it?"

  "To be truthful, both." She looked away from me, a flush under her fair skin. "It was unprofessional, but you got to me — I don't know why. What I'd like to do is apologize, and hope you'll forget it."

  Her obvious sincerity surprised me. I recalled Christie's comments about Reyne being thrown by my being a professor, and was disarmed. My voice several degrees warmer, I said, "Anyone on the list come up with something absolutely scandalous about me?"


  She correctly read this as a peace offering. "Not a thing," she said. "You've obviously led a blameless life."

  Several times after I'd gone back to my marking, I glanced at her profile as she sat beside me. My initial dislike was now diluted with curiosity and a grudging respect. Reyne was obviously much more than the stereotypical journalist I had conceived her to be. The depth and feeling in her article on street children had told me that much. I recognized that at least some of the antipathy I felt was due to resentment that she had a free hand to delve into my life as though I were nothing more than one of her investigative projects.

  My Brisbane schedule began with a lunchtime appearance and signing at a large city bookstore, a few press interviews during the afternoon, and then a dinner arranged by the State branch of Rampion Press to which a selection of local VIPs had been invited. The next day was to be devoted to covering morning radio programs, together with taping a segment for television.

  The pace of life in Brisbane was noticeably slower than in Sydney and my book signing was correspondingly casual and low key. I almost looked for controversial questions, but along with the familiar, How long did it take to write the book? were innocuous queries about what time of day I wrote, whether I used a computer, and how I'd researched the material. It was as though everyone there was too well bred to mention sex, although I was astonished when the group applauded politely after I'd read an example of eroticism from the mid-Victorian era.

  Leila, obviously delighted with the responsibility, spent the whole day rushing around, talking incessantly and mentioning at regular intervals that she was from Rampion's publicity department, as she pressed her business card into reluctant hands. She seemed to have taken a vow never to let me out of her sight, but when checking that everything was running smoothly for the evening function threw her into a frenzy of activity, my patience finally wore thin. I announced, to Leila's deep concern, an entirely fictitious headache and the need for a couple of quiet hours before the official dinner.

  Alone in my suite — Rampion Press was sparing no expense — I kicked off my shoes and sank into the accommodating softness of a plump sofa. I wanted to regain the feeling that I was in control, that mine was the quiet center about which chaos and confusion might revolve, but never touch. Familiarity soothed me, and I longed for my own little house, or my spartan office at the university. Looking around the anonymous luxury of the suite, I tried to attain the inner stillness that I'd developed as a defense in childhood and which had helped me throughout my adult life. It included the ability to stand back, to be uninvolved, to feel apart and protected by that isolation.

  I shut my eyes — and saw Reyne Kendall's face. She was an irritant that I couldn't dismiss from my mind. I'd no idea why she should have this disquieting effect, and was becoming increasingly impatient with my inability to banish her to where she belonged — a temporary factor on the periphery of my life.

  Reyne had attended my lunchtime appearance, and had then disappeared. I didn't see her again until late that night after my VIP dinner, which had turned out to be much more enjoyable than I'd expected. I'd worn a new black dress and had my hair up in a fashion that, for me, was positively frivolous. Leila and I climbed out of our limousine at the hotel entrance just as Reyne was paying off a taxi. Leila hurried off — "Want to ring my boyfriend before he goes to sleep" — leaving me with Reyne, who immediately suggested a nightcap.

  When I demurred, she said, "Join me. You look like you've had a good time, so why not finish it off with champagne?"

  I didn't often drink champagne, but enjoyed the irresponsible sizzle of its bubbles. Besides, I'd had enough alcohol with dinner to make me feel pleasantly relaxed, so I found myself agreeing to Reyne's suggestion. She took my arm. "Let's miss the bar and call room service."

  "All right. Your room or mine?"

  "Has Rampion splurged and put you in a suite?"

  "Yes."

  Reyne's dimple appeared. "Then there isn't any choice."

  We talked companionably on the way up to my suite. Wondering where she'd been — she was wearing a sophisticated outfit of black satin pants and top, and, for the first time since we'd met, noticeable makeup — I said, "You've been out on the town?"

  "You might say that. Illegal casino, actually, but very up-market."

  I was intrigued, having never knowingly done anything illegal in my life. "What if the casino had been raided, and you'd been arrested?"

  "Unlikely," said Reyne with a grin. "I was gambling with some of the top cops in the state."

  I was abruptly aware of how different her experience of life was from mine, and I felt a growing interest in what had made her the tough, uncompromising person she was.

  When we reached my suite, I ordered champagne from room service, feeling vaguely wicked. While Reyne was prowling around like a cat checking out a new domain, there was a knock at the door. The waiter, who hardly looked old enough to be handling alcohol, looked disappointed when Reyne said she'd open the bottle. "You sure?" he said doubtfully as he put the tray on the table. "Champagne corks can be really tight."

  "I'm sure, but I'll call you if I have any trouble."

  She charged the order to her room — "It was my idea, Victoria" — swept the waiter out the door, and smiled at me. Like Zoe's smile, Reyne's was a potent weapon. But whereas Zoe's made me wary, Reyne's, in spite of my best efforts, charmed me.

  Picking up the bottle, she said, "Now it's a matter of pride. I'll have to get this open, even if I'm forced to knock the top off in the bathroom." I noticed she was left-handed as she removed the wire cage, and with an expert twist, eased out the cork with a satisfying pop.

  We sat opposite each other in comfortable lounge chairs separated by a low marble table. She raised her glass to me. "You look great."

  I was pleased and embarrassed at the same time, so I covered up with a reciprocal compliment about her appearance.

  Reyne chuckled. "Now that we've established we're both terrific, how about we get down to something important?"

  "All right," I said. "What made you decide to be a journalist?"

  "Decide? Perhaps I just fell into it."

  I sipped my champagne, enjoying its clean astringency. "I don't believe you would just fall into anything."

  She looked gratified, as though I'd given her a special commendation. Wanting, unaccountably, to know much more about her, I said, "Was anyone else in your family involved in journalism?"

  "Hardly. I'm the success story, the one who made good." The lightness of her tone couldn't disguise a trace of bitterness. My interrogative expression made her smile wryly. "I come," she said, "from a family of what might politely be called underachievers. I don't think my Dad has held a job for more than a few months. He suffers, he always says, from my bloody bad back, but it's never stopped him from drinking, gambling... you name it. It's only work of any description that seems to cause the problem."

  "You have brothers, sisters?"

  She paused long enough for me to decide that she regretted giving me any personal information, but then she said freely, "Two brothers, one sister. Each of my brothers has done his best to emulate my father's lifestyle. They're on welfare most of the time, milk the system for what they can get..." She shook her head. "It's not that they're stupid, or even unpleasant — it's that my father's taught them well. He believes the world owes you a living, and you'd be a fool to bust your guts working."

  I was surprised at her honesty and curious enough to want her to continue. "Your sister?"

  Reyne stared at the bubbles in her glass. "She takes after my mother. Married a man just like Dad — a no-hoper. Mum has her church, her martyrdom, her beaten-down-isn't-life-cruel conversation." She glanced at me. "Sorry. I'm complaining just like Mum does."

  Feeling an unexpected kinship with her, I said, "Your family's proud of you." I made it a statement, not a question, as if that way I could make it true.

  "Proud isn't quite the word I'd use... puzzled, perhap
s." She smiled without humor. "But they're all pleased I have a good income. I give cash for presents — birthdays, Christmas — and it's always appreciated."

  There was a silence between us. Reyne looked down at her clenched right hand, I sought vainly for a response that wasn't just a platitude.

  Abruptly, she said, "You haven't married."

  Totally disconcerted, I snapped back, "Neither have you."

  Reyne looked surprised. "Of course I haven't. I can't believe Hugh hasn't fallen over himself in his rush to tell you that I'm a lesbian."

  "I'm sorry. I forgot."

  "You forgot?”

  I felt nettled by her tone. "Hugh did mention it at Chantrey's Bookstore... I suppose I didn't find it important." As I spoke, I realized I wasn't telling the truth. From the time Hugh had told me, the fact that Reyne was a lesbian had given a disturbing, almost exciting, edge to my thoughts about her.

  Leaning over to refill my glass, Reyne smiled at me. "Forgive me. I'm very self-centered tonight. It's my birthday."

  "Happy birthday," I said automatically, raising my champagne in a salute. The phrase had a sharp emotional charge for me. Aunt Felice and Uncle David had not believed in the celebration of birthdays, other than an acknowledgment that the day was an anniversary of one's birth. Presents, a party — these were unacceptable indulgences. The one concession I remembered was that on my birthday I was permitted to choose a favorite dinner, as long as it was good, plain food.

  "At least," said Reyne, "my family does love an excuse for a party. Mum was very upset I'd be away today, even though with my job I'm often out of Sydney. She loves to get everyone celebrating someone's birthday, or Christmas, as though it will make us stay together as a family the rest of the time." She frowned reflectively. "But for as long as I can remember, I've felt in some way an outsider."

  I felt a sudden rush of affinity for her. "When you were a child, did you always know there must be something better out there? That all you had to do was grow up and you'd be able to go out and find it?"

  She nodded slowly. "But it wasn't what I expected."