Tracing Invisible Threads

by C. Fonseca

  Alexa took the back-of-house stairs two at a time, and Eleanor followed closely behind, the leather soles of her shoes striking the marble stair treads, the noise bouncing off the stone walls.

  As she reached the top of the stairwell, she stopped to get her breath and to take in the sight of Alexa leaning on the balustrade on the second-floor landing with a pleased look on her face. Eleanor gazed admiringly up at Alexa who raised an eyebrow in a nonchalant, almost cheeky way. Her two-button blazer, crisp white shirt, and striped trousers were purposeful clothes; however, worn with white leather sneakers and jet-black shoelaces, the look was avant-garde. With her height and terrific figure, Eleanor imagined Alexa would look stunning in just about anything.

  “Sorry there are so many stairs, but they’re the quickest way up to the Collections offices, and we avoid the crowded lifts,” Alexa said.

  Eleanor climbed the few stairs until she stood beside Alexa. “No problem. Actually, I prefer stairs. In fact, they’re safer in a disaster situation.” Embarrassed by Alexa’s concerned frown, she smiled and said, “Lead on,” to lighten the moment.

  “We’re just down the corridor to the right and through a couple more doors,” Alexa said. Much to Eleanor’s amusement, Alexa set off again at a cracking pace.

  “It’s very hard to get my bearings.” Eleanor lengthened her stride and caught up with Alexa. “Which way is Swanston Street?”

  Alexa pointed to the left and grinned. “That way. The building is a rabbit warren. It’s actually a requirement of employment here to know the wall-follower maze-solving algorithm.”

  Eleanor gave a shake of her head. “And what is that?”

  Alexa stopped outside a glass sliding door, card in hand. “You keep your hand on the left or right wall, following that wall until you find your way out.” She swiped the card across the reader and waved for Eleanor to enter.

  “Or in?”

  “Yes. Or in.” Alexa strode into the room and gestured for Eleanor to pull up a chair at the desk.

  They both sat down facing one another. Alexa unlocked the desk drawer, pulled out an official-looking ring binder and lay it between them on the desk. Eleanor was pleased to see HEYSEN printed in bold letters on the cover of the thick folder.

  “My grandmother was quite taken with you.” Alexa’s eyes twinkled. “Thanks for having lunch with us.”

  “Thank you, for letting me crash your lunch date.” Eleanor looked up and met her gaze. “Grace is pretty remarkable.”

  “She is indeed, and strong willed and independent.” Alexa gave a wry smile and opened the folder.

  “I hope I’m as sprightly when I’m her age.” When Grace had declared she was in her ninety-first year, Eleanor had been gobsmacked.

  Alexa’s whole face lit up. “I’m sure you have questions. Should we go through the report on each image together?” She laid out the papers in a neat row facing Eleanor. “Our team are experts, accustomed to handling glass plate negatives and we’re delighted by the quality of the images retrieved from your aunt’s slides.”

  “Do you know how these five negatives became separated from the others in the collection? Why was there one print with them? Have you any ideas, now that you’ve had a chance to examine them? And why did they end up in China with Aunt Helen?”

  “That’s a lot of questions.” Alexa reached into the top pocket of her blazer and pulled out a pair of chunky, black-rimmed glasses. “Perhaps the notebooks you found in your aunt’s trunk with the Chinese dragon box will give us some clues.”

  Eleanor shook her head, her heart sinking in disappointment. “Unfortunately, the only information pertaining to the slides was that she wanted us to hand them over to the library for identification. There was nothing about where they came from or why they were in China.”

  “Strange,” Alexa said. “Your aunt was on assignment there at the time of the Sichuan earthquake, wasn’t she?”

  “Yes, she was covering the effect of the Chinese government spend on infrastructure for the Summer Olympics. Hundreds of farming communities were displaced.” Eleanor lowered her eyes. With trembling lips, she said, “Helen wanted me to meet her in Beijing.”

  “Oh.”

  “I had a lot going on. I didn’t go.” Eleanor stuffed her clenched fists into her jacket pockets. Why does that shitty feeling never go away? “Helen was last seen at a Chengdu school. We don’t know why she was there, so far from Beijing.”

  “Chengdu was the city closest to the epicentre of the earthquake,” Alexa said.

  Eleanor looked up and caught a glimpse of sadness in Alexa’s eyes. She swallowed hard to suppress the pain. “Helen wrote in one of the notebooks that she was looking forward to me joining her in Beijing. She wanted to take me on a photoshoot to the Great Wall. I didn’t go,” she repeated.

  “I’m sorry,” Alexa said in a soothing tone.

  Eleanor tried her best to blink unshed tears out of her eyes. “Can we have a look at the images now, please?”

  “Yes. Let’s have a look.” Alexa put on her glasses and tapped a neatly trimmed fingernail on the image to the left. “This print of the family in front of Chewton Town Hall has been identified. It is also one of the five glass plate negatives. The subjects are Mister Yang Jun Lye, his European wife, Mabel, and their children, Arthur and Margaret.”

  “Really? What have you learnt about them?” Eleanor breathed a sigh of relief. Thankfully they’d moved on from the subject of Aunt Helen’s disappearance.

  “They were residents of the town. There are two other pictures identifying them in the Lehmann Collection. Yang Jun Lye was a miner who also worked as an assistant to the photographer Robert Norlane,” Alexa said. “His wife, Mabel Yang, was the personal maid to Mrs Lehmann.”

  “But how on earth did these slides get to China?” Eleanor raised her hands in exasperation. “They are fragile, and it would have been a long and bumpy journey by sea and land from Victoria all the way to China.”

  “Many of the miners returned to their families there,” Alexa explained. “However, some stayed and, like Yang, married European women and started families here.”

  Eleanor nodded. “Well that makes sense.”

  Focusing on the next image, Alexa said, “This is a worker’s cottage in Chewton—remember, it was known as Forest Creek back then—where the Yang family lived.” She pointed at the next image. “And here are the children in front of what we’ve positively identified as a schoolhouse. If you look closely, you can see part of a sign, just covered behind the child’s outstretched arm.”

  “This one looks like Mabel, with what appears to be a gold nugget in the palm of her hand. Look at the size of it.” Eleanor glanced up from the paper she held and caught Alexa watching her over the top of her glasses. “Imagine what that was worth.”

  “We estimate the nugget weighed over five hundred grams. Pretty handy find, I’d say.” Alexa wiggled her eyebrows and placed the last sheet on top of the pile. “We have not determined the name of the man in this slide, but as you can see, he is sitting in front of a dispensary with the large herbalist box. The folding doors of the box are open, and you can see the contents.”

  “Hmm…” At the library café, Eleanor had thought Grace’s reaction to this picture was peculiar, but she decided not to raise the subject now.

  “It would appear the glass plate negatives are related to the family’s life in Australia,” Alexa said. “It is possible they were given to someone returning to China—to take to Yang’s family…” She tapped her pencil on the desk. “…as evidence of his prosperity in his new homeland.”

  Eleanor rested her chin in her hand and said reflectively, “Maybe, the Yang relatives entrusted Helen with the slides in China because she was an Australian journalist.” It was a shot in the dark, but it could be true.

  “That’s right,” Alexa said.

  Eleanor p
icked up one of the prints and studied it. “These are remarkably sharp considering they’re copies taken from the slides.”

  “Our tech guru has offered to explain to you how he performed the magic using his super scanner.”

  “Are you sure? I’d love that,” Eleanor said quickly, sitting upright in her chair. “I’m curious about the process.”

  “Seeing as you’re a professional photographer, Katherine has wheeled and dealed to get special dispensation for you to spend time with the tech team. But don’t worry, I told her you’re probably too busy,” Alexa said with a straight face, although her eyes twinkled with obvious amusement.

  “Are you serious? That would be brilliant.” Eleanor covered her mouth with her hand. She was sure she wore a big goofy grin. Alexa and her colleagues were going out of their way to be helpful.

  “Okay, I’ll set it up.” Alexa’s mischievous smile was reminiscent of Grace.

  “Thank you.” Eleanor glanced down at the photograph of the unknown Chinese herbalist, recalling Grace’s reaction again with a frown. “Was it my imagination, or did your grandmother get upset when she saw this picture? Or was she really unwell from the gluten in the food?”

  Alexa leaned forward in the chair and pressed her fingers against her forehead. “Gran has recently been obsessed about gluten. It’s just one of her quaint idiosyncrasies. But I agree, she was distressed about something.”

  “It was as though the frittata incident was being used as a diversion. The picture had her flustered. Why would that be?”

  “I have absolutely no idea,” Alexa replied with a shrug.

  Eleanor was puzzled by Grace’s behaviour and was keen to know more about what caused her surprising reaction. Alexa’s grandmother was a fascinating woman. It occurred to Eleanor again that she would make a perfect subject. She’d always been passionate about taking photographs that conveyed deep emotions, and she wanted to capture the story behind the wrinkles around Grace’s laughing brown eyes—the window to her soul—that belied her ninety-one years.

  “You got on well with my grandmother,” Alexa said, as if reading Eleanor’s thoughts. “I could have vanished, and the two of you would have barely noticed.”

  “You’re wrong. I am aware of your every move.” She glanced at the ceiling. Did I really say that? Heat rose from the tip of her toes to the top of her head. “I mean, I was. No, I mean, I am,” she choked out. Eleanor took a moment to compose herself. “Grace interests me, and I would really like to photograph her. With her consent, of course.”

  Alexa tilted her head to one side, and she twirled a strand of dark lustrous hair through her fingers. “Did you ask her?”

  “No, I haven’t,” Eleanor said. “I have an idea for a project exploring older people, especially women—their daily lives, their attitudes to life.” Eleanor surprised herself. She didn’t find it easy to talk about her work, especially while still in the conceptual phase. The idea had been mulling around in her subconscious for a while, and meeting Grace West today confirmed it was a subject she planned to pursue. “It may not come to anything, but I’d still like to photograph your grandmother.”

  Alexa blinked, and her face took on a serious expression. She nodded for Eleanor to continue.

  “Some people are convinced that their age makes them unworthy of being photographed. I want to change that. People of advanced years have so much wisdom, so much to teach us. They deserve to have their own particular stories portrayed.” Eleanor stopped. She was getting carried away. “I’m sorry, just tell me to shut up.” She laughed.

  Alexa lowered her glasses, leant forward in her chair, and gave Eleanor what could only be described as a tender smile. “I can hear the passion in your voice. It’s refreshing.”

  Suddenly shy, Eleanor shrugged. “I am lucky to do what I love.”

  “You are,” Alexa said quickly. She gathered the papers together and placed them into the ring binder. “I think you should ask Gran. I’m sure she wouldn’t mind.”

  Eleanor whipped her phone from her satchel. “I’d be really grateful if you’d give me her telephone number.”

  “I will, but it would be much better if you asked in person.”

  Eleanor stared quizzically.

  “I’m having lunch at Gran’s this Saturday,” Alexa elaborated. “Why don’t you join us?” Eleanor detected a hint of a challenge in Alexa’s sparkling eyes.

  She blinked in surprise. “Lunch? Really? Twice in one week?”

  “Uh-huh. Yes, I’m positive. Gran would love to get to know you better, and I would love to see her reaction when you ask her to pose for you.” Alexa stood up, reached into the inside of her blazer, and pulled out a small pocket watch on a silver fob.

  “I will definitely ask her then.” Eleanor pointed at the watch, with amused admiration. “That’s awesome.”

  “Thank you.” Alexa held up the antique silver watch by its chain and let it swing.

  Eleanor liked Alexa’s air of confidence, almost impudence.

  “I bought it at The Mill Market in Castlemaine. I’d been looking for one just like this forever. My trousers are from the vintage bazaar, too. I love it there. It’s like a step back in time. A great place for a bargain.” She checked her watch again and tucked it back into her pocket. “I am sorry, but I have another appointment, Eleanor.” She smiled hopefully. “I’ll give you my number, so you can text or call if you’re free on Saturday.”

  “Absolutely.” Eleanor held up her phone and entered the digits as Alexa rattled off the numbers. “Got it.” She smiled sheepishly. What an unexpected bonus; now, she had a direct line to Alexa.

  “I have yours on file.” Alexa patted the folder. “If I don’t hear from you about lunch, I’ll let you know when Katherine has things arranged for you to hang out with Digital Imaging.”

  The low enticing pitch of Alexa’s voice caused Eleanor to take a deep breath, and she simply nodded.

  Alexa walked to the door and held it open.

  “Oh, I’m making you late for your appointment,” Eleanor said, scrambling to her feet. She collected her bag and jacket from the back of the chair. “I really appreciate you taking the time to go through the report, and I look forward to you keeping me up to date with new information. It’s exciting to be involved, even in a small way.” She almost held out her hand but changed her mind and slipped it in her pocket. When she looked up, and their gazes met, Alexa’s eyes shone with what looked like interest. Eleanor gulped. “I’d better get going. Thank you; it’s been great.”

  “Very well then. I look forward to seeing you soon,” Alexa said with a matching bright smile. “Let me know about Saturday.”

  “I will,” Eleanor said. “After you.”

  They walked silently, side by side, along the corridor. Alexa was no doubt already focussed on her next appointment, and Eleanor had plenty to think about herself. Her mind was still reeling after everything that had happened in such a short period of time.

  Alexa tugged on her sleeve. “Here we are. This will beam us down to the ground floor,” she said, stopping at the lift. Alexa pressed the button, they stepped inside, and the lift began its descent.

  Eleanor leaned against the back wall and stared at her shoes.

  “Oh, no,” Alexa cried out.

  “What is it?” Eleanor looked up, alarmed.

  “I just remembered you don’t like lifts.” Alexa reached for the control buttons with panic in her eyes.

  “Wait.” Eleanor grabbed Alexa’s wrist. “It’s not that I’m afraid. I just choose not to use them, if possible.” It was thoughtful of Alexa to remember Eleanor’s aversion to lifts. “I’ve never much liked them. Apart from being dangerous in disasters, being trapped in one during an Athens heatwave for over an hour with a woman who vomited was unpleasant.”

  “To say the least. You poor thing.” Alexa turned her palm upwards,
slid her hand into Eleanor’s, and gently squeezed her fingers.

  Eleanor’s gaze dropped down to their joined hands. She savoured the warmth and reassuring strength of Alexa’s grip. Her palm tingled.

  “All good, then?” Alexa smiled, a brilliant smile, and Eleanor noticed, not for the first time, the perfect shape of Alexa’s full lips.

  Startled by the loud ping of the lift reaching its destination, they drew apart. Eleanor was surprised to feel a twinge of regret at the sudden distance between them. She could think of worse things than being trapped in a confined space with Alexa Bellamy.

  Chapter 8

  Earth’s grace

  “I’m just an old lady—why do you want to photograph me?” Alexa’s grandmother held up her small glass of champagne and chuckled.

  “The first time I saw you at the library, I was struck by your determination to carry that large bag up the stairs. Even from a distance I noticed the twinkle in your eyes and was drawn to you.” Eleanor raised her glass, and Alexa smiled at her explanation. “Your face is so expressive and full of life. You’re the perfect subject.”

  “I’ll drink to that,” Gran said, taking a sip of her drink. “Please don’t make me look like an old fool. Even though I can be.”

  Alexa spluttered. “Oh, Granny.” She was filled with admiration for her grandmother, even if Gran had a tendency to play down her worth.

  Eleanor narrowed her brow. “Actually, the relationship between the subject and photographer is a creative collaboration. I’m the one looking through the lens, but you’re taking a risk by revealing yourself and trusting me,” Eleanor said earnestly. “I’d seek your permission to publish any images of you. You can trust me, Grace.”

  Alexa leaned towards Eleanor. “What happens when you’re in the field? Surely, you can’t always get permission?”

  Eleanor’s brown eyes took on a serious expression. “Speaking for myself, I follow a code of ethics. Before I accept an assignment, I thoroughly check the agency or publication’s credentials. Things can go wrong—but not if I can help it.”