Jacaranda Vines

by Tamara McKinley

  ‘What’s so unusual about that? Mum used to make lots of trips.’ Kate prodded the pasta with her fork before adding a healthy spoonful of Parmesan cheese. She was one of those infuriating women who can eat what they like and never gain a pound.

  ‘Used to, Kate. She hasn’t really left the penthouse since Daddy died.’ Daisy unfolded her napkin and proceeded to screw it up into a ball. ‘I expect she’s going down to the beach house at Lakes Entrance. It’ll be cooler there than in the city.’

  ‘Not Lakes Entrance, Daisy,’ said Mary ominously. ‘She’s planning something far more adventurous.’

  ‘For heaven’s sake!’ Kate put down her fork. ‘Either tell us your gossip or shut up. You’re spoiling a delicious Marinara with your amateur dramatics.’

  Mary shook her head. ‘This isn’t gossip. In fact you could say it’s from the horse’s mouth.’ She paused just long enough to earn a glare from both sisters. ‘Mother is taking Sophie on a trip to the Hunter Valley.’

  ‘What?’ Daisy and Kate dropped their cutlery and stared at their elder sister.

  ‘Thought that would surprise you,’ she said smugly.

  ‘Why?’ demanded Kate.

  ‘Mother evidently wants to return to her roots before she dies. Though why she wants Sophie along, I can’t imagine.’

  ‘Probably because she’s more of a daughter than you ever were,’ Kate said drily. ‘But why now? There’s only a month before the second vote and …’ Her expression cleared and she grinned. ‘The old so-and-so! She’s using this trip to turn Sophie to her way of thinking over the French offer.’ She resumed her attack on the pasta. ‘You’ve got to give the old girl credit, she’s got balls.’

  Mary shivered at her sister’s crudeness but decided to let it pass for once. ‘Mum hasn’t a cat in hell’s chance of changing Sophie’s mind. She knows what’s best for the company even if you don’t.’ She paused for a moment. ‘Why did you vote against the offer, by the way?’

  ‘None of your bloody business,’ retorted Kate.

  Mary sniffed and picked up the thread of what she’d been saying. ‘I don’t care if Mother wants to visit the Hunter. She can go anywhere she likes if it keeps her out of my hair, but I do think it’s a bit odd she’s decided to travel in a camper van.’

  Kate’s bark of laughter caused the other diners to turn and stare. She ignored them. ‘You’ve got to be kidding. Mum in a camper van? Why isn’t she using the company plane?’

  ‘How the hell should I know?’ snapped Mary. ‘Nothing Mother does these days makes sense. That’s why I’m worried about her.’ She leaned across the table to emphasise the solemnity of her words. ‘I don’t think she’s at all well, Kate. In fact,’ she confided, ‘I have a suspicion she’s going senile.’

  Daisy balled the napkin in her lap and proceeded to shred it into a soggy paper mess.

  ‘I can see where this is leading, Mary, and I’ll have no part in it,’ Kate warned.

  Mary swallowed her disappointment. She should have known Kate was too smart to see through her plan. It was time to go for broke. ‘I’m only concerned about Mother’s welfare,’ she lied. ‘And the welfare of the company,’ she added hastily. ‘If this is the onset of senile dementia, then we should seriously consider Mother’s place on the board, and what we should do with her shares if she’s classified incompetent.’

  Daisy threw the remains of her napkin on the table. ‘I won’t have you talking about her like this. You always were greedy, Mary. What does it matter about the shares? We’re wealthy enough however the vote goes next month, and Mum’s health is more important than anything else.’

  ‘It matters a great deal,’ murmured Kate. The pasta had been pushed aside and she’d lit another cigarette. ‘Mum and Uncle Edward have the major shareholdings, and it matters who she means to leave them to, or who will have power of attorney if she does become incapable of running her own affairs. Have you any ideas, Mary? You seem to think you know more than anyone else.’

  ‘Mother doesn’t take me into her confidence,’ she said huffily. ‘But I suspect she’ll leave them to Sophie. She always was her favourite,’ she added bitterly.

  ‘Sophie’s a capable girl. The company won’t suffer if she becomes one of the major shareholders.’ Kate stabbed out her barely smoked cigarette and stood up. ‘But I disagree that Mother’s gone soft in the head. She’s just outspoken when it comes to things that matter to her and I won’t have you casting doubt on her sanity.’ She took a deep breath. ‘When’s Mum due to take this damn’ trip? I think I’ll pop in and see her first.’

  ‘Uncle Edward clammed up the minute he realised he’d said too much. But it must be soon because they have to be back here in twenty-eight days’ time for the second vote, and the journey there and back by road will take a good chunk of that.’

  Kate leaned towards her youngest sister. ‘Keep your suspicions to yourself until I’ve found out a bit more,’ she warned. ‘I don’t want you causing trouble until I know all the facts. This could just be an old lady’s whim to return to the past before she dies, and God knows that could be any minute. Don’t spoil it for her, Mary, or you’ll have me to deal with.’

  With her salad barely touched, Mary leaned back in the chair and sipped her mineral water. If Sophie did inherit Mother’s share of the business, then she would become a very wealthy, powerful young woman. And if the company were sold, or went public, that wealth could be tripled. Another stab of jealousy gave her heartburn. It wasn’t fair.

  She looked at her watch. Time to go. She had an appointment to arrange this afternoon. An important appointment which just might turn things her way for a change – or at least give her the satisfaction of exacting revenge for all the past hurts she’d suffered.

  *

  Morning had dawned with a sky the colour of bleached denim, promising another day of blinding sun. Sophie had made their breakfast of fruit and toast, now they were sitting at the camp table under the awning drinking strong black coffee.

  ‘Everything tastes so much better in the open air,’ said Cordelia with relish as she speared another slice of melon and popped it into her mouth.

  ‘I love the sound of the birds,’ murmured Sophie. ‘Listen to those kookaburras, and the wonderful warble of the magpies. Combined with the heavenly smell of those wattle trees, and the colours of the rosellas, it’s all too perfect. London could be a million miles away.’

  ‘It would be shame to move on then,’ said her grandmother. ‘Perhaps another day here wouldn’t hurt. We’ve made good time so far.’

  ‘Are you sure, Gran? Sophie looked back at her across the table and smiled. Cordelia noticed how her face glowed with fresh air and happiness. She nodded, then drained the coffee cup and settled it into its saucer. ‘I think we could both do with a bit of a rest, and it will be a chance to tell you about the people behind Jacaranda Vines.’

  ‘But it was so long ago, Gran. How can you be sure what really happened?’

  Cordelia smiled as she remembered asking the same question all those years ago. ‘My great-grandmother Rose began to tell me about her life when I was twelve years old. It was a story that bound me to her in heart and mind, and one I’ll never forget. In fact, it’s so real I can picture the characters and the parts they played as if they are on a stage.’

  Sophie put down her coffee cup and tucked her long hair behind her ears, her eyes wide with anticipation. Cordelia thought she looked very beautiful without a scrap of makeup to mar her complexion or the clarity of her eyes, and her bright red T-shirt and crisp white shorts were a refreshing change from the sombre black she usually favoured.

  Cordelia smiled. ‘Great-grandmother Rose must have looked a great deal like you when she was young,’ she declared. ‘You share the same dark hair and eyes. The same heart-shaped face and high cheekbones. But there the resemblance ends for she was a tiny little woman with a fragility about her that belied her tremendous strength and courage.’

  ‘Thanks,’ said So
phie tartly. ‘I’ve had enough of Mum telling me what a hulking great thing I am without you starting.’

  Cordelia reached out and laid her hand on Sophie’s warm arm. ‘I didn’t mean it like that and you know it,’ she said firmly. ‘You’re tall and graceful, with an elegance your mother could never hope to achieve. Her nastiness is all about jealousy, and you should learn to ignore it.’

  Sophie stared out at the surrounding bush. ‘I know, but old habits die hard and when you’re told something often enough, you learn to believe it.’

  Cordelia kept her thoughts to herself. There was no profit in raking over cold ashes and she didn’t want to spoil the mood. ‘So, do you want me to tell you about Rose?’

  ‘If it won’t tire you too much, Gran.’ Sophie leaned towards her, elbows on the table, hands cupping her chin. She was like a child waiting for a story, and Cordelia felt the same ache of love for her she’d first experienced the day she’d been brought home from the hospital.

  ‘Then I want you to imagine an English village nestled beneath the range of chalk hills called the South Downs. It is very green, for they have lots of rain, and the sun is rarely hot enough to leach the colour from the landscape. Dark, rich soil is ploughed by blood-red oxen in the fields below the Downs, and sheep roam the higher land where the wind comes straight up from the sea. There are cottages in the hamlet with roses around the door and weeping willows shading the village pond, but although it’s a cosy scene there is terrible poverty beneath those thatched roofs. Medical care was crude back in the eighteen-thirties. The farm labourers’ diets consisted of bread and ale, and cheese if they were lucky. Children died young, women died in childbirth, and dirt and ignorance were rife. At the end of the village is a Norman church with crooked headstones peeking out of the long grass and wild flowers. The spread of an ancient yew shades the rough stone paths. The hills dominate the church and the village and the figure of a chalk giant is spread-eagled on one side of that hill, left there by the ancient Britons as a symbol of fertility. It is called the Long Man of Wilmington.’

  Sophie nodded. She could picture it so clearly after her time in England.

  ‘Down the hill from the church is the Manor house. It is owned by Squire Ade, and it is where the thirteen-year-old Rose Fuller works as an apprentice lady’s maid to his eldest daughter Isobel. There are guests staying at the Manor who, unknown to Rose, are about to change the lives of both young women. We meet her and the people who coloured her life in the early spring of 1838. It’s a sad time for Rose. Her father has been gored by the Squire’s bull, and this is the day of his funeral.’

  *

  Rose and her mother moved silently around one another as they prepared breakfast that morning. The range was smoking as usual, and here had been a heavy fall of debris from the thatching. Rose was almost relieved to have something to do as she scrubbed down the table and benches and swept the floor for her mother. Kathleen had barely acknowledged her presence, moving like a wraith around the cottage, seeing to the baby and the daily chores with her mind elsewhere.

  At first, Rose had tried to lift her from her gloom by chattering of inconsequential things, but this had merely elicited a frown and a tightening of her mother’s lips. So, with a heavy heart, the girl decided to stay silent rather than risk another rebuff.

  The sun rose, melting the frost, and to ease the fug of the smoking range and the smell of death, Rose opened the window and set the door ajar. She stood on the step for a moment to breathe in the clean, fresh air, and looking up at the folds of the South Downs, she thought of John Tanner. The Romanies had been moved on by Squire Ade and she wondered when she would see him again for she needed to feel his arms around her. Needed to hear his words of love. Yet she understood that at seventeen John had to make his way in the world until she was old enough for marriage – but that didn’t quell her impatience.

  ‘Stop your dreamin’, girl. There are things to do.’

  Kathleen’s voice startled her, and Rose turned back into the cottage. She looked up at her mother, almost afraid to voice the concern that niggled so persistently. ‘What’s going to happen to us, Mam?’

  Kathleen eyed her for a long moment. There seemed to be no compassion in her face, no softness or light – merely an acceptance of her lot. ‘We’ll discuss that later,’ she said sharply. ‘For now I want you to take Davey next door.’Tisn’t fitting for him to see what’s afoot today.’

  ‘He should be told, Mam. It isn’t fair.’

  Kathleen’s mouth thinned. ‘There’s enough troubles on our shoulders without Davey having one of his turns. Do as you’re told.’

  The day was barely started but to Rose it already felt as if it had lasted forever. She crossed the hard-packed dirt floor and grasped her brother’s bony wrists until he stopped his tuneless humming and looked up at her. ‘We’re going visiting, Davey,’ she said softly.

  Poor boy, she thought as she stroked back the lick of hair from his forehead. His blue eyes and black hair should have made him handsome, but there was a vacancy behind that stare and an un-coordinated droop to his mouth that were the legacy of a childhood accident. A kick from the huntsman’s horse had meant he would never hold down a proper job for people didn’t take to his queerness, didn’t understand his childlike babbling and endless singing. Davey would always be four in his mind despite his sixteen years.

  ‘I want me da,’ he said stubbornly. ‘Not going.’

  Kathleen’s skirts rustled with impatience as she snatched away his bowl and spoon and roughly dragged him from his seat. ‘You’ll go when I tell you,’ she said sharply.

  Davey frowned but let Rose lead him out of the cottage to next door where Mrs Grey was waiting to walk to market. Rose sighed as she watched the long, lanky figure stride along next to the dumpy little woman, and almost envied his ignorance.

  Returning indoors, she pulled the sacking curtain tight over the bedroom doorway, stripped to her petticoat and wriggled into her coarse brown dress. It was meant for work at the Manor but was the only one she had that would be half-way decent for church. Money didn’t stretch to buying mourning, even hand-me-downs. The bodice was tighter than ever and the sleeves were short of her wrists, but it was clean, and still covered most of her boots because she’d let down the hem the night before.

  The scant bristles of her much-used hairbrush caught in the knots of her black hair as she released it from its pins and hung it over her shoulder. Yet it wasn’t the tug of the brush, the lack of decent clothes, or the want of a few extra pennies that made the hot tears roll down her face – but her frustration and hurt at Mam’s coldness. Death should have brought them closer, bonded them so they could face the future together, but all it had done was tear the family apart and Rose had an awful feeling this was only the beginning.

  The rumble and creak of wagon wheels drew near as she returned to the kitchen. Kathleen came from her room to gather baby Joe in her arms and stand beside her daughter, but she was an island in her sorrow, distanced by the thoughts she kept in her head and the rigid control with which she held herself.

  Rose collected their shawls and, almost hesitantly, placed her mother’s on her shoulders. There was no acknowledgement, merely a shifting of Joe from one arm to the other as Kathleen adjusted the heavy black cloth.

  Once the coffin had been laid on the wagon, the carter flicked his reins and Brendon Fuller began his last journey down Wilmington Lane to the church of St Mary and St Peter.

  *

  John Tanner had been tramping the hills around Lewes since dawn, his thoughts on Rose. He understood how she must be feeling today for although his mother had died when he was just three years old, the loss of his father haunted him still.

  Max Tanner had lived life to the full if the stories were to be believed. He liked the women and they liked him, and sometimes this had brought trouble to his Romany clan and they’d had to move on. Yet he’d been a respected horseman and trader, with a cunning to match the most wily of mind
s, his lack of fear bringing him general respect. It had also brought disaster.

  John could still remember that day. It had been a wild sort of morning with the wind howling in the trees, flattening the grass against the earth and sending the clouds scudding over the sky. The stallion had been bought at the Lewes horse fair and, like the weather, it was untamed.

  There had been a full moon the night before, and much to his disgust six-year-old John had been made to go with the women to collect mushrooms. He’d waited until they were engrossed in their work then dodged away through the trees. He could hear their shouts but ignored them, and soon there were only woodland sounds following him.

  The men were in the valley. Surrounded on all sides by trees, it was a natural arena for the breaking of new stock. A rough barricade had been erected in the centre and the young John had approached this as close as he dared then hidden behind a fallen tree. If the men caught him watching they would probably send him back to the women – and that was not a humiliation John was prepared to suffer for even at that age he had a fierce pride.

  Max stood in the centre of the makeshift corral, his waistcoat and trousers dark against the bright red of his shirt. Gold glinted at his earlobes and throat and the wintry sun gleamed blue on his long black hair. He wasn’t a big man but more compact than most, with arms and legs thickened with muscle and shoulders that squared up to trouble.

  To the watching boy, Max and the stallion shared the same freedom of spirit, the same wildness. It was there in the flying mane, the bunched muscle, the strength of man and beast as they vied for superiority. The stallion stamped and snorted on the end of a long rope, his mane tossing, eyes rolling. John couldn’t hear the words his father used but knew they would be the Romany words that by tradition were used to calm a wild horse. He watched in awe as Max took his time with the beast.