Tracing Invisible Threads

by C. Fonseca

  It was a sensitive subject Eleanor did not want to pursue right now. She stood and walked towards an antique bookcase in the corner of the room. “There’s a great collection of Eloise’s books at the cottage,” she said, attempting to change the subject. “Quite a few travel books.”

  “Eloise worked terribly hard at that flower shop, but once Alexa was in high school, she took off for two or three weeks every year. Once, she went to Borneo to study rare plants. Alexa stayed with me.”

  “Yes, Alexa told me her mother went to the Kalahari Desert. I found a copy of The Healing Land on a bookshelf at the cottage. I love that book about the bushmen of the desert,” Eleanor said. “Which reminds me, a newspaper article was tucked inside about the 1934 Melbourne Cup winner, Peter Pan.”

  “That no good ex-husband of hers was a gambler. My daughter wouldn’t have known which end of a horse to place a bet on.”

  Eleanor laughed. “Okay.”

  “Did you say 1934? How strange.” Grace frowned.

  “On the other side of the newspaper clipping were the births, deaths, and golden-anniversary notices. Does that mean anything to you, Grace?” Eleanor couldn’t even explain it to herself, but she had an inkling—call it second sense—that Alexa’s mother had kept that clipping safe for a reason.

  Grace gave a start, and the cat leapt off her lap. She clapped her hands together. “Now, before you pick up your camera again, let’s have a cup of coffee. I had Patrick pick up some nibbles from the sandwich shop. He works ridiculously long hours driving that taxi car around but always finds time to run errands for me.”

  Though Eleanor welcomed the offer of coffee, she couldn’t help but wonder why Grace had reacted to the newspaper clipping so strangely. What had elicited her response? Whatever the reason, it reinforced Eleanor’s belief that there was something suspect about the clipping. It was unlikely to be Peter Pan, so, it must have been something to do with the notices on the other side. Eleanor resolved to look into them further when she got home.

  She adjusted the settings on the Leica and took more photos while Grace brewed a pot of coffee on the gas cooker. She followed Grace’s precise movements with her camera as she set out the fine bone china and silver cutlery on a damask tablecloth. In the middle of the black, lacquered table sat a crystal bowl filled with Eleanor’s peonies, their scent filling the room. Eleanor wanted her images to evoke the extraordinary from what was probably an ordinary everyday ritual for Grace and she pressed the shutter button again, snapping more photos of Grace—when she used a pair of shiny tongs to arrange the delicate layered sandwiches on a two-tier platter.

  “Are you sure I can’t help?” Eleanor asked, looking through the viewfinder.

  Grace looked up and grinned.

  Snap.

  “Surprise,” Grace said, looking directly into the camera lens. Returning to her task, she poured the coffee, adding hot milk from a silver jug, and handed the tray over to Eleanor. “Could you place this on the table?”

  Eleanor let the camera rest against her chest from its strap and took the oval tray from Grace’s slightly shaky hands, waiting until she was seated before setting the tray on the table. She smiled warmly as she sat down across from Grace.

  “Help yourself, dear.”

  Eleanor selected an egg and lettuce sandwich, placed it on the side plate, and reached for her coffee. “Thank you. This is a treat.”

  “And not a trace of gluten.” Grace winked, lifting her own sandwich. “Ham and sweet mustard pickle,” she said before taking a hearty bite.

  After surprisingly strong coffee and filling treats, Grace allowed Eleanor to continue with the photoshoot for a short time before she shooed her out of the house. “You must have more important things to do than hang out with this old thing,” she said with a wry chuckle.

  In fact, Eleanor was in no hurry to leave, but it was time to go as Grace was obviously tired. She’d been inspiring company and an excellent subject. It was curious, how one moment Grace would be talking non-stop, the next she’d clam up, do an about turn, and head off into another train of thought. It was clear some subjects were off limits, or at least difficult territory, particularly where her father, William, and his side of the family were concerned. Eleanor couldn’t help but wonder why.

  With a spring in her step, Eleanor walked from Grace’s house down Brunswick Street, and boarded the two-fifteen tram. Finding an empty seat, she tucked her pack snugly beside her, ensuring the twelve-thousand-dollar camera and lens kit was well hidden. She’d already transferred the images from the camera to her phone and sat browsing through them. Eleanor was sure she’d interacted with Grace and set up the scenes for maximum effect. She was pleased to see that, in many of the images, she’d captured a hint of Grace’s spirit.

  Eleanor paused at the series of black and white portraits of Grace sitting at her antique writing desk. She zoomed in on a picture taken just as Grace admitted to having four different suitors after Eloise had left home. She’d met Eleanor’s look of surprise with a playful grin. Her eyes were sparkling and crinkled with laughter. Eleanor’s heart warmed at the joy on Grace’s face. She couldn’t wait to show this image to Alexa.

  She flicked through the images of Grace in her garden and then located the photos from last weekend. It wasn’t the first time she’d looked at the pictures of Alexa, or the second, or the third. The ones of Alexa impersonating Mabel were so comical—pure Alexa. Mischievous and engaging.

  The tram came to a screeching halt, and she lowered her phone. Eleanor looked up, but it wasn’t her stop. Lifting her phone again, she found the picture of Peter Pan and then zoomed in on the next image. One of the obituary notices read, Mrs Mei-Li Brown, nee Kwan, wife of Otto (deceased), mother of William. She snapped her fingers. “That’s where I’ve seen that name!” Her heart pounded in her chest. What was going on with Alexa’s family? Why the secrecy about William? Eleanor had no idea, and although she knew it was none of her business, she couldn’t ignore her desire to find out more.

  She looked back at the images, searching for the one of Alexa holding the red umbrella in the rain. These photographs were conduits to mostly pleasurable memories. Memories of Alexa Bellamy. Alexa stirred something inside Eleanor that refused to settle, spreading through her like warm honey.

  * * *

  According to Gran, yesterday’s photo shoot had taken place mostly indoors. Last night, she’d chattered away on the phone about Eleanor’s visit with an excited edge to her voice, slightly raised and breathless. Her grandmother was clearly impressed with Eleanor’s charming and respectful manner. Alexa admired Eleanor for the way she’d put Gran at ease.

  Alexa couldn’t wait to see if Eleanor had captured Granny’s feisty personality and her air of mystery. She’d have loved to have been the proverbial fly on the wall, listening to their every word and watching Eleanor—catching a glimpse of her artistry and skill at work—but she’d been too busy debating archival principals with the Pictures Collection team at the library.

  Gran had skipped their usual lunch date today because of a Mahjong tournament she was attending with Patrick, giving Alexa an excuse to go shopping during her break. Thankfully, he and her grandmother were simpatico especially when it came to Mahjong because, although Alexa had occasionally played with her mother and grandmother, she hadn’t shared their passion for the game.

  While her mother had been caught up with wedding bouquets and party floral arrangements, Alexa, aged six or seven, often accompanied her grandmother to her friends’ home for a Saturday afternoon game of Mahjong. She remembered foreign languages being spoken and the clicking and clacking of the tiles being shuffled. When the adults had moved on to cups of tea, spring rolls, and colourful coconut cakes, Alexa would build towers with the tiles under the table.

  Alexa joined the end of the cue at her regular coffee stop. The delectable aromas from the vegetarian noodle shop nex
t door wafted in the air. Ginger, garlic, lemongrass. Yum. She’d never have time to pick up an order of steamed dumplings and race down the street to check out the funky jacket Jac had spotted in the arcade. She patted her stomach regrettably. Not today. Perhaps, another time, with Eleanor.

  Pleased with her purchase from the second-hand shop, Alexa hummed quietly to herself as she stepped out of the Royal Arcade into brilliant sunshine. The pavements glistened like sealskin, and car tyres sizzled on the wet road surface. After the weekend’s storm, followed by days of dreary weather, it was such a relief to see the sun again.

  Alexa pushed through the doorway and took the back-of-house stairs two at a time. Her lunch break had gone on a smidgen longer than usual. She swung the brown paper bag in her hand, pleased with Jac’s tip-off.

  Apart from Chrissy, the rare books librarian having a solo lunch at her desk, the other workstations in the partitioned office space she shared with the Collections Team were empty. Alexa tucked away her bag and new purchase in the desk drawer and hung her coat over the chair. She didn’t feel too guilty.

  Chrissy glanced up and raised her hand, clutching a half-eaten sandwich. “Have you been shopping again?”

  “You know me and second-hand bargains. It’s Jac’s fault. She found it.”

  Chrissy stared at Alexa while chewing on the remains of her sandwich. She swallowed. “Show me what you’ve got.”

  “I don’t know when I’ll ever get to wear it.” Alexa laughed. “I couldn’t help myself.” She pulled the package out of the drawer and extracted the black velvet, thigh-length coat with high collar, upturned cuffs, and barely visible silver threads, holding it up.

  “Ooh, look at those shiny metal buttons. I’d love to run my fingers over them, but not until I’ve washed my hands,” Chrissy said. “You’ll look like a time-travelling, steampunk model on the catwalk.”

  “Meow.” Alexa raked her free hand through the air, fingers splayed like claws.

  Chrissy giggled. “By the way, Catwoman, the West Team delivered the stuff you requested into Workroom A. I signed the delivery slip for you.”

  “Thanks.” She picked up the slip of paper. It was Eleanor’s bequest. “I’ll go and work on this now, so that’s where I’ll be if anyone needs me.”

  “No problem.” Chrissy smiled and turned back to her computer screen.

  Alexa returned the new purchase to her desk. She grabbed her glasses, tucked them into the pocket of her tweed waistcoat, and headed for the lab down the hallway across the corridor, eager to get back to work. She clicked on the light switch and entered the room.

  At the end of the long white table sat a thick A3 cardboard envelope and a dove grey box. Beside them, a larger polypropylene storage box held the rehoused glass plate negatives. It was labelled, Heysen: Handle with Care.

  Alexa reached underneath into the table drawer and pulled out a pair of nitrile gloves. She blew into each glove before slipping it onto her fingers. “Hmm…Eleanor Heysen. Handle with care.” She sighed heavily as her imagination ran riot with visions of handling Eleanor with care. After last weekend’s rejection, she had no idea if she’d ever get a chance. She really hoped she would.

  Alexa opened the envelope and peeked inside to check the contents. Alongside the six prints interleaved with acid-free tissue was the certificate of thanks from Katherine Kent. The Head of Collections, affectionately known as Kit Kat, had requested the images be printed on archival paper using inks of the highest quality. Alexa looked forward to presenting the library’s gift to Eleanor on Friday. It was a big deal. The fact that Alexa was the first person to realise the significance of Helen Heysen’s slides was totally awesome. Having completed the Lehmann Collection, Eleanor’s donation secured the Library’s resources as one of the largest nineteenth-century photographic archives in the Southern Hemisphere. This was definitely a highlight in Alexa’s career.

  Alexa twirled her black-rimmed glasses between her finger and thumb. She removed the small bundle from the envelope and carefully flicked through the images until she found the slide that fascinated her most and which had triggered such a puzzling response from her grandmother. Alexa scrutinised the image of the Chinese herbalist; the gentleman was graceful in his seated position, reed-like with a short wispy white beard. He was dressed in a long suit coat, loose striped trousers, shiny black shoes, and a narrow pot-like hat with just a bit of shirt and bow tie visible above his crossed arms. The herbalist was handsome with a serene expression—the face of a healer.

  The camphor wood trunk was open, displaying urns and boxes covered in Chinese symbols. Small drawers revealed bottles of many colours with half-waxed seals. The details in the image were so clear Alexa could see pieces of bone and animal hide spilling out of the drawers. She shivered. It was a little creepy, but the image wasn’t frightening, so what had spooked Gran? Alexa was curious about her grandmother’s reaction; the difficulty was how to approach the subject and find a subtle way of bringing the herbalist’s picture into a conversation.

  Alexa slid the images back into the envelope along with the accompanying certificate, resealed it, and placed it on the table. She switched on the computer, typed in her password and prepared to complete the data entry for Eleanor’s bequest. This was the last step before the items would enter the stable environmental conditions of closed-collection storage.

  On Friday, she would give Eleanor the envelope and find out how she’d spent her time behind the scenes with Digital Imaging. Seriously, Friday was a long way away. Could she wait that long before seeing Eleanor again?

  Alexa had never experienced the kind of affinity with any woman that she did with Eleanor. There was such a physical energy between them, a spark that could be electrifying if taken into the bedroom. Alexa was convinced Eleanor felt it too. She’d been surprised and a little hurt by Eleanor’s rejection considering the way they’d flirted with each other all day. If Eleanor hadn’t been flirting and Alexa completely misinterpreted her behaviour—then she was losing her mind, or losing her touch, or both.

  Eleanor never spoke about her life in London, her flatmates, or a girlfriend. She seemed perfectly contented with being home in Melbourne, but she was a photographer. No doubt she would take up another assignment and be gone soon. So why not have some uncomplicated fun? She and Alexa could be friends with benefits. And when Eleanor left, neither of them would get hurt.

  That was the theory anyway. If she faced facts, though, Alexa was already in deeper than she should be, even though she and Eleanor hadn’t even slept together. Once Eleanor left—if she left—Alexa would have to shake off the loss and get on with her life, but her stomach churned at even the thought. It was the emptiness she feared, the void someone else may not be able to fill. So perhaps, after all, friendship was best for both of them.

  Alexa’s cheeks flushed. Could she do just friendship? Uh-huh. If that was her only option. Eleanor was worth it. She’d rather have Eleanor as a platonic friend than not in her life at all.

  Chapter 14

  Fishing hands

  The last time Eleanor visited the Queen Street law offices of Miller Legal in the CBD would have been over a year ago, to meet her father for lunch. He’d always make time for her when she was in town, making her feel extra special—whisking her off to a little pizza place in Hardware Lane or enticing her to grab a sandwich and head to the Flagstaff Gardens for a bit of afternoon jazz, even though jazz wasn’t really her thing. She smiled fondly at the memories.

  Her mother had rarely joined them, occupied with business lunches or working through with a salad at her desk. She always worked so hard; it was surprising she hadn’t been the one to have a heart attack.

  As she approached the elevator, Eleanor felt prickles of trepidation. She should have checked if her mother was in the office before embarking on her impromptu visit. The doors closed tight, and she was swept to the third floor.

 
Since the photo session with Grace, Eleanor’s imagination had run riot. Grace had hinted at skeletons in the family closet, and now Eleanor was like a dog with a bone, determined to explore further. She was sure the key lay with Grace’s father, William, who’d attended Melbourne University during the same period as her own great-grandfather. With luck, she’d verify her suspicions that William was linked to one of the obituary notices in the newspaper clipping found at the cottage, and she’d find the missing piece of the puzzle here, within the tomes of the firm’s law library. When Eleanor had chosen to follow her instinct, she’d debated the merits of telling Alexa straight away but had decided against it, just in case her search was a dead end. A twinge of guilt nagged at her, but curiosity won out.

  The elevator dinged, and the doors opened onto the foyer. As a small child, she’d been intimidated by the movie-set-like entrance with its dark wood-panelled walls and plush carpeting. It was still a little stuffy and old-worldly, but she no longer felt that same sense of childlike awe. She walked over to the massive reception desk—which was, at this moment, oddly, unattended.

  Eleanor peered through the glass doors of the conference room, which was also empty. Just as she was contemplating sneaking down the hallway to the library, hoping to avoid running in to her mother, a dapper-looking man exited one of the side offices and briskly walked towards the reception desk with a stack of files wedged under one arm and another pile held in his right hand.

  He deposited the files onto the desktop’s polished surface with a thump and looked up. “Good afternoon. I’m so sorry I didn’t hear the elevator. How may I help you?” He smiled, flashing a set of pearly white teeth. “Do you have an appointment?”

  “No, actually, I don’t.”

  He cocked his head to one side, appraising her. Then, as if having a light-bulb moment, his eyes widened. “Oh, wow, you’re the boss’s daughter.” He held out his hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ms Heysen. I’m Trevor Henry, paralegal cum receptionist. General dogsbody, really.”