The Painted Sky

by Alice Campion

  The flat in Sydney had always felt like her mother’s home, so she’d hesitated to make any changes there. It had been great fun flatting with Olivia after college, but in a rented place you couldn’t do much. Whereas here, it was a blank canvas. A crying shame, as Moira would say. Hilary would either knock it down or let it subside into dust.

  A big gust blew the French doors open, knocking over a pretty side table. She went to close them, calling outside to Bach. ‘Here, boy.’ No sign of him. If he wasn’t back soon she’d have to go hunting for him with the torch. She closed the doors, locked them and sat on the embroidered piano stool.

  She had sat here before. Nina lifted the piano lid. The keys were yellowed and at one end of the keyboard a small shot glass rested in a patch of dried liquor. So Russell had sat here too. Could he play? She couldn’t remember, though she had a memory of happy times and music. Yes, she could see herself with her parents in this room singing along. Everyone laughing. Nina set her glass down at the opposite end of the keyboard.

  Could she remember that piece that had been such hell to learn – ‘Für Elise’? A few unsure notes later, a wavery tune began to emerge. What was next? Dah-dah dah-dah … Her foot remembered to press the pedal and in that moment the pianola came to life. In surprise, Nina knocked the shot glass to the floor. Recovering, she pumped the pedals again and the ghosts played on with invisible hands. She laughed as she recognised ‘As Time Goes By’. The sliding panel above the keyboard revealed the pianola roll magically turning. Little Nina had been fascinated, had begged for a turn, playing all the rolls when she got the chance.

  She stopped pedalling and at once the quiet almost overwhelmed her before another gust of wind rattled the tin roof. Nina pulled out her locket. It was smooth, oval-shaped, heavy as a rock, the rose gold warm and lustrous as a mango. She wore it every day, usually inside her shirt, a constant reminder of Jim and the stories he had told her about it. In moments of stress or uncertainty, she found herself rubbing it, like worry beads.

  She popped it open to look again at the familiar engraving inside. The three wavy water lines, below an odd shape that could be – what? A map, a constellation? The head of a horse? A kangaroo? She remembered her father and Russell trying to work it out and her mother collapsing in laughter as they came up with one wild explanation after another. They said that Barkin’ Larkin – her father’s great-grandfather or was it great-great-grandfather? – had supposedly discovered a massive gold nugget, since hidden and never found. He’d had the locket made from it and engraved with these clues.

  ‘But he had apparently lost touch with reality, love,’ her mother had said. ‘So I wouldn’t get too excited about what it all means.’

  It was just another puzzle in a long line of puzzles. And the answers, Nina thought as she sipped her wine, could be in this house. There was still time, and still more rooms and cupboards to search and clear out. But it was terrible to think of Hilary Flint owning it. How could a woman like that appreciate the elegant bones of The Springs? What did she care about the history of the Larkins going back generations? It was too sad to think about.

  If only Nina had ready money. The Springs hadn’t cost her much so far, though she vaguely remembered something Harrison had said about rates being due. If she finished clearing it out properly – maybe two more weeks’ worth of Moira’s help – and gave it a coat of paint, then she could keep it on the market for another few months, or a year, like she’d told Harrison. Who knows, perhaps a young family might want to live here, or an older couple looking for a tree change? Not too many trees, but you never knew what people might do. It would be so much better than letting it go to Hilary.

  Yes, all she needed was a couple of thousand dollars she didn’t have. There was the possibility of borrowing against the flat. Nina stood up and ranged around the room, straightening the paintings. Maybe she could sell one? They’d be worth a bit, but she dismissed the thought. She hadn’t spent so long chasing memories of her father just to ditch the few things she had.

  What then? It didn’t feel right to add to the mortgage. Julia had always said how lucky they were to get it. To make the leap from public tenants to paying off your own home was like a miracle in overpriced Sydney – thanks to a special government scheme that would probably never come again. And then the years of Julia’s hard work and frugal lifestyle – all so Nina could have some security. And she couldn’t afford it anyway. Even at a bargain price, the payments were huge for someone on a single wage. To add to that would be madness.

  She jumped as another strong gust rattled the windows. She drained her glass. Bach. Where was he? She went to the kitchen, grabbed a torch from the bench and went out into the howling wind.

  ‘Bachy babe? Here, boy!’ The reply was excited yapping. It took Nina a moment to realise the yapping was coming from the phone in her pocket.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘Nina?’

  ‘Harrison! You scared me. I’m outside. My mobile is usually dead out here but I must be in a sweet spot.’

  ‘Outside? I can hardly hear you. The wind is terrible.’

  ‘Yes. It’s wild.’

  ‘You know, I’m pretty sure Russell kept firewood stacked in the yard if you need it.’

  ‘Thanks. But I wouldn’t know how to light a –’ Nina’s eyes rested on the neat pile of wood stacked near the pomegranate tree.

  ‘What was that?’ said Harrison. ‘I was going to leave you a voice message. I was wondering if you could do me a favour.’

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘Would you be my handbag for Heath and Deborah’s engagement party? My usual dancing partner can’t make it. It’s at Paramour on Saturday night. It’d be a good chance for you to meet people who knew Jim. Everyone will be there. Hilary and Phillip are sure to go right over the top. I know you are planning on heading back to Sydney on Sunday, but you shouldn’t miss this.’

  The engagement party. Of course. A pang of excitement tinged with sadness kindled inside Nina. The whole district together in one place – it would be her best chance to grill people about Jim. Especially Hilary. He was right. She couldn’t let this chance go.

  But Heath would be there. Heath and Deborah happy together. Could she handle it? Of course she could. Anyway, she could always hide in the kitchen.

  ‘Thanks so much, Harrison. That’d be … great. But will Hilary mind if I turn up without an invitation?’

  ‘My invitation says “plus one” so she can’t complain.’

  Nina laughed. ‘Okay, let’s do it. And thanks for the call.’

  ‘My pleasure. I’ll pick you up at seven. See you then.’

  Nina hung up. It was all falling into place. She could question Hilary about what Possum had told her. There would also be the chance to check Harrison out close up. He was still holding out on her, she was sure. And with everyone drinking, people might be happier to share.

  She sat on the back step and tried Olivia’s number. Damn. That sweet spot had been short and sweet. It was useless.

  She felt Bach nose her leg. He was dancing at her feet.

  ‘There you are. This wind freaking you out?’ She picked him up and nestled him against her. ‘How about we get ourselves comfy inside? I think I know just what we need.’

  She went to the kitchen, grabbed a couple of shopping bags and filled them with logs and smaller sticks from under the pomegranate tree. It wasn’t quite cold enough for a fire but Harrison’s words echoed in her ears like a dare. How hard could it be? She relished the physical aspects of life out here, feeling strong and newly sensible. It was all so basic – fire, food, shelter.

  Nina headed to the sitting room. She carefully crushed paper into the fireplace and layered some smaller sticks on top. She stood back, satisfied. Now she needed matches. In the kitchen, she found a fresh box in the very drawer she would have put them herself. Bless Moira.

  She put a match to the paper and watched the flames come to life. Kneeling in front of the kindling fire, she cu
ddled Bach. He licked her cheek.

  ‘Eee-yew!’ said Nina, setting him down before she put a bigger log on the growing flames.

  She stripped off her stained jeans, put on her cowboy print pyjama pants and poured herself another glass of red – well, Bach was technically company. She curled up in the big chair. The little dog jumped up onto her lap like a cat and put his head on her knee, gazing into the fire.

  The party changed things. She couldn’t go and then head back to Sydney the next day. This was her last chance to get answers. She’d need to stay on longer – three weeks in all. In the morning she’d call Helen and beg her for just one more week. What story could she tell her? No stories, she decided. What will be, will be.

  And she would have to max out her credit cards. Just a few hundred dollars. This was, kind of, an emergency.

  Nina scruffed up Bach’s neck fur and buried her face in it, enjoying the warm glow of the fire. So, this is what it would be like to live here, Nina thought. Ten days ago she didn’t know Harrison, Moira, Hilary. Life had become a lot more interesting.

  Moira sat on the bed in Nina’s room, shaking her head.

  ‘Sorry, darl, Sheree must be a different shape to you. Nothing seems to be sitting straight.’

  Nina nodded, disappointed. The pale cream colour suited her, but the proportions of the dress were wrong. The hem hovered at ankle length, and yet the bodice was too long.

  ‘Sheree looked just lovely in this for her deb ball,’ sighed Moira, ‘but it’s not working, is it?’

  ‘You’re right. It’s not for me,’ smiled Nina as she pulled the dress over her head and draped it across a chair. ‘I’ll have to tell Harrison I can’t come. There’s no way I can afford to buy anything. I’m living off credit as it is.’

  She caught her reflection in the full-length mirror and paused. The matching silk slip clung to her curves, emphasising her delicate bone structure. Nina glanced at Moira, and they laughed.

  ‘What do you think?’ asked Nina. ‘Do I dare?’ She twirled. The slip showed off her tan and settled in a flattering bias-cut drape around her hips.

  ‘It’s perfect,’ said Moira. ‘There’s not many could wear it but you. Oh yeah, you definitely can. With that wavy hair and those big eyes you look like a 1930s movie star. Hedy Lamarr.’

  ‘You think so?’ Nina turned back to the mirror. ‘It won’t be too simple, will it? Harrison made this party sound like a pretty big deal.’

  ‘That’s the beauty of it, love. Less is more,’ said Moira, leaving the bed and joining Nina to stare at their reflections.

  ‘Look here.’ She pulled a polka dot comb from Nina’s hair so the soft waves fell down to her neck.

  ‘There now, see what I mean about the hair? Forget those pony-tails and sprays and barbecue tongs and such.’ Her quick fingers tucked the hair behind Nina’s left ear and spread out the right side so it fell in a soft curtain down her face. ‘Maybe a fresh flower on the left there, and with your beautiful locket on, and here –’ She grabbed an embroidered Indian wrap and draped it around Nina’s shoulders so that the end dangled stylishly behind – ‘You won’t get a chill with that. Hubba hubba,’ she said, chuckling. ‘What did I tell you? I’d love to see Hilary’s face when you steal her limelight.’

  Nina laughed. ‘Hilary won’t even notice I’m there, at a big party like that.’

  ‘We’ll see.’

  Nina sat down on the bed and looked at her hands. ‘I wish Mum was here.’

  ‘I know, love,’ said Moira, sitting next to her and putting her arm around her shoulders.

  ‘Do you think I look like Dad?’ Nina asked, gazing in the mirror.

  ‘Those dimples, they’re the dead spit. No question. And the colour of your eyes is just the same. It’s unusual. Reminds me of a pool table.’

  ‘It’s funny, being here,’ Nina said. ‘It makes me feel differently about family things. I really never wanted to know about my birth mother, because I already had the best mum in the world. But maybe it’s more important than I thought.’

  ‘Do you mean …? I never knew. Julia wasn’t your birth mother?’ Moira looked completely taken aback.

  ‘No. I know it’s weird that no-one seems to know about that. Mum and Dad told me, of course, but they didn’t tell anyone in Wandalla. Not even Harrison, and he was supposed to be Dad’s best mate. You should have seen his face when I told him Mum wasn’t my real mother.’

  ‘Well, yeah,’ said Moira, frowning.

  ‘I don’t look much like her. She was from Oslo, so of course she was blonde. I’ve got a couple of photos of her at home.’

  ‘Oslo?’ said Moira. ‘You mean, Norway?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Nina. ‘Thora was her name, it means thunder in Norwegian. She was an artist Dad met at college, an exchange student. She worked with lights and sound, like her name. I think that’s kind of cool.’

  ‘When was this?’ Moira leaned forward.

  ‘Just before Mum and Dad met,’ replied Nina. ‘From what he said it wasn’t really a proper relationship. She was a free-spirit–type who didn’t want to be tied down. When she went home, they decided it was best for me to stay with Dad, and Mum adopted me.’

  ‘Lucky for your mum,’ said Moira.

  ‘When I was about seven, Dad told me the whole story after Thora died in an accident. Anyway, I just didn’t want to know. Mum told me I could always ask her anything about the adoption, but I never wanted to. It didn’t feel right. I got the feeling from Dad that Mum was upset about him being with Thora and I didn’t want to make it worse. I don’t even know if she met Thora.’

  ‘Oh, love, that’s a lot for a little kid to take on. But you must have a whole family over there. Aren’t you curious?’

  ‘Julia was all the family I needed.’

  ‘Maybe that’s your next stop after here then. Scandinavia?’

  ‘I don’t know. Maybe. Three lost parents – that makes me some kind of super-orphan, right?’

  Moira gave a dry chuckle and patted her back.

  ‘Mum, Julia, that is, chose my name,’ said Nina. ‘She always said I was her girl, her miracle girl. In Spanish, Nina means girl.’

  ‘And in Hindi, Nina means pretty eyes. Did ya know that?’ asked Moira. ‘They sure got it right there anyhow.’

  Nina stood up and went to the mirror again. She opened the wrap and turned her hips this way and that, still afraid the dress was too revealing.

  ‘If yer got it, flaunt it,’ said Moira. ‘My work here is done.’ She picked up the bag of clothes she’d brought over for Nina to try.

  ‘You’re my Fairy Godmother. What would I do without you?’ Nina said.

  ‘Seems like just yesterday my own girls were getting dressed up to go out on dates. Now they’ve got girls of their own.’ Moira headed for the door and then paused. ‘You gotta tell me every detail of this party on Tuesday. It’s gunna be a hoot!’

  ‘Every detail,’ Nina agreed, giving her a big squeeze and a kiss.

  CHAPTER 6

  Nothing could have prepared Nina for the scene that greeted her as she glided up the drive in Harrison’s old Mercedes. It was just on dusk, and the fairy-lit topiary offered an entrée to Hilary’s house, Paramour. It was a three-storied meringue with fluted columns like piped cake decorations. But even more surprising was the formal flower garden around a large pond – unknown in Wandalla. How much water did it take to maintain that? Nina wondered.

  A white marquee illuminated by Chinese lanterns stood on the lawn, and waiters served champagne to clusters of guests. As their car was flagged to a marked parking area by an attendant, Nina turned to stare at Harrison, incredulous.

  ‘Well, what do you think?’ he asked, grinning at her expectantly.

  ‘I’m not sure what to think.’

  ‘The usual response is, “What were they thinking?”’

  They laughed.

  Yet Nina was nervous as Harrison, looking like a film star in black tie, opened her door. Was she underdr
essed? But then her fingers touched the warm heaviness of her locket and she felt her confidence rise. She looked fine, she decided.

  ‘Wait,’ Harrison said gently as he helped her out of the car. ‘I just … my dear. You look stunning.’

  ‘Harrison, you’re an old softie,’ Nina smiled as she took his arm.

  They joined a queue snaking its way up the entrance steps to the family standing in the portico. A string quartet launched into Vivaldi’s ‘Spring’. It was like a corporate function, Nina thought, except for the pair of Jack Russell terriers policing the queue. They wore rhinestone bow ties.

  ‘Dolce and Gabbana,’ said Harrison, scratching the ear of the nearest dog.

  Nina laughed. ‘You’re kidding, right?’

  ‘No joke.’

  New arrivals lined up behind them, the multicoloured plumage of women’s dresses blowing softly in the evening breeze. Nina saw that the young men wore black tie like Harrison, but some of the older men had stuck with the tweedy jackets they wore to town.

  ‘Where did all these people come from?’ Nina asked.

  ‘It certainly looks like everyone’s here,’ answered Harrison.

  ‘Some of these people must have known Dad.’

  Harrison looked at her. ‘Yes, indeed.’

  ‘Can you introduce me?’

  A flicker of reluctance crossed his face, and then he seemed to master it. ‘Of course,’ he said, and patted the hand she had tucked in the crook of his arm. ‘Of course. I’ll do my best.’

  ‘Hilary’s my main target,’ Nina said.

  ‘Maybe, but I’d keep well away from her if I were you,’ he said, flapping his hand dismissively. ‘She’ll be busy and stressed – not a good combination. The thing about Hilary is she’s not all she seems. She likes to think she’s the local squattocracy, the queen of the district. Actually, if you look down there, you’ll see the real deal.’

  Harrison indicated a familiar, tall, elegant-looking couple below them in the line. The woman wore a softly-flowing dress draped with an indigo pashmina, the man was tanned and lean and had a trimmed white beard. It was the couple she’d seen in town with Heath last week.