by Judy Nunn
'Darling, what a pleasant surprise.' Cynthia greeted him at the door, a little glassy-eyed, then smiled charmingly at Gordy and Fleur. 'And who do we have here?' she asked, waiting to be introduced.
When Ian, shocked to the core, reminded her that they were her grandchildren, she covered magnificently.
'But good heavens above, haven't you both grown. How old are you now?'
'Nearly twelve,' Gordy said with a look to Fleur. They'd seen their grandmother only the previous week.
'My, how time flies,' Cynthia laughed.
Arlene had breathed a sigh of relief when Ian told her the story.
'You don't see her as often as I do, sweetie,' she said sadly. 'Cynthia's like that a lot these days.' There were tears in his eyes and her heart went out to him. 'I know, I know,' she said, putting her arms around him and cuddling him close. 'Old age is a terrible thing, isn't it?'
But his mother was only sixty-six, Ian thought as he wept on his wife's shoulder.
He made the booking with the nursing home, but decided not to inform Cynthia of the move until after they'd returned from their overseas trip. Then, leaving the twins with Arlene's parents, they took off for the America's Cup.
Home tomorrow, Arlene thought, staring up at the cabin's polished wood ceiling. Poor Ian, how he was dreading the confrontation with his mother. Yes, this trip had been an excellent idea, she decided. The diversion had done him the world of good.
From the deck and the cockpit, the cheering was reaching a peak. What a relief, she thought, they must be nearing the end of the race. She really should drag herself outside and pretend to join in the fun. She sat up gingerly, aware of a slight headache. That's exactly what she'd do – she'd put on a brave face. She mustn't spoil Ian's day, it wouldn't be fair.
She went into the bathroom to refresh her make-up.
The final upwind battle had seen no less than forty-seven tacks, and Australia II and Liberty were now racing for the finishing line.
The raucous cheers and yells from the spectator boats suddenly stopped. All waited in breathless anticipation for the winning gun, which would sound from Black Knight, the New York Yacht Club Race Committee vessel.
It was five twenty in the afternoon. The sun was just starting to set over Block Island and for one brief moment there was utter silence on the water.
Then the gun sounded. Australia II had crossed the finishing line forty-one seconds ahead of Liberty.
The silence was broken by a cacophony of noise. People screamed themselves hoarse, but they could barely be heard as foghorns hooted, whistles shrieked and firecrackers erupted over the water.
'Bondy's done it!' Spud yelled, whirling Pembo around in a wild dance on the bridge. 'He always said he would and he has!' Spud was good mates with Alan Bond, the Perth businessman who had mounted the Cup challenge. 'Third time lucky! A man of his word!' Spud shouted. 'What a legend!'
Pembo didn't bother screaming back above the noise, but nodded wildly and joined in Spud's insane dance. After three attempts at the Cup, Alan Bond and his team had indeed become the stuff of legend. In bringing to an end a hundred and thirty-two years of American supremacy, they had carved a place for themselves in the annals of sailing history.
Arlene arrived on the bridge.
'I take it we won?' she asked. But nobody heard her.
Mike, Jo and Allie watched the America's Cup on television in their hotel suite in Frankfurt. Given the different time zones, it made for a late night. They stayed up until nearly two thirty in the morning, yelling their encouragement at the screen, urging the Aussies to win.
Spud had invited Mike to join him on the boat he'd chartered out of Newport, but Mike had agreed to speak at the three-day International Oil Spill Conference which was to be held at the Intercontinental Hotel in Frankfurt. Much as he'd longed to be there for the Cup, it hadn't once crossed his mind to opt out of his commitment. He and Jo had planned a two-week holiday around the conference to coincide with Allie's sixteenth birthday, he told Spud. She'd worked really hard to warrant the fortnight off school and this was her first trip overseas. He couldn't possibly disappoint her.
'So take her away on her seventeenth birthday! What's the difference?' Spud had been appalled, Mikey was a yachting man from way back. 'This is the opportunity of a lifetime, mate.'
'I know it is, Spud, and thank you but I'll watch it on television.'
'You're mad, Mikey. You're plain fucking mad!'
Yes, Mike thought, Spud might well be right, he might possibly regret having missed the experience. But there was one thing Spud didn't quite understand. Of course Jo and Allie would have let him off the hook; they wouldn't even have allowed their disappointment to show. But he'd undertaken a commitment. The conference had been coordinated by CONCAWE, the Oil Companies International Study Group for Conservation of Clean Air and Water in Europe, together with the US Environmental Protection Agency. Sponsored by Shell International Petroleum, BP International and hosted by the German subsidiary Deutsche BP, it was of major significance. Environmental and oil industry personnel from all over the world would be in attendance, and Mike had agreed to take part a whole six months ago. Having given his word, he had no intention of letting them down. But if he told Spud that, he knew what the reply would be: Jesus, Mikey, you go all over the world doing that crap. And for what? All expenses paid? Where's the deal? Where's the money in it?
Spud was always at him. It was far easier, Mike thought, to let Spud believe that his wife and daughter were the governing factors in this case. There were some things he and Spud would never see eye to eye on.
They'd arrived in Frankfurt on the Sunday before the America's Cup race, and Allie had fallen instantly in love with the Interconti, as it was affectionately known. From the moment the taxi had pulled up outside the towering building's grand main entrance and they'd stepped into the huge open-plan lobby, her jaw had seemed permanently agape. Allie had never stayed in a luxury hotel before.
After a full investigation of their suite on the fifteenth floor, she'd disappeared to catch the lift up and down, exploring every nook and cranny the hotel had to offer. She'd given the fitness centre a good going-over, then the beautician and hair salon, followed by each of the restaurants, coffee shops and bars, and even those conference areas to which she could gain access.
Half an hour later, she burst back into the suite waving a pamphlet in the air. 'Look! The man at reception gave me a map.'
Her mother, having finished unpacking, was sprawled on the bed, and her father, having poured himself a scotch, was sitting at the table by the windows, gazing out at the river. Allie, in her excitement, had failed to succumb to the effects of jet lag, but the long flight from Perth, with its brief stop in Singapore, had taken its toll on Mike and Jo.
Allie spread the pamphlet out on the table. 'We're right here. See?' She jabbed her finger at the biro-marked cross on the map. 'Wilhelm-Leuschner-Strasse.' She said each word with care, having asked the man for the proper pronunciation, then repeated exactly what he'd told her. 'The hotel is in the heart of the city, on the banks of the River Main.' The man's English had been perfect, but then Allie, in typically gregarious fashion, had talked to quite a number of the staff and it seemed they all spoke excellent English. She'd determined to learn as many German words as she could during her stay. It was only right that she should make the effort.
Mike had been to Frankfurt before on a brief business trip and roughly knew the layout of the city, but Jo didn't. She hauled herself from her weary state on the bed to study the map over her daughter's shoulder.
'If you go down here,' Allie said, 'you come to the river, and you can walk all the way along it, see?' She traced her finger across the map, then cast a hopeful look to her mother, who was a very keen walker. 'What do you say, Mum?'
'Not right now, darling. Tomorrow, I promise.'
'Okay.' Allie, pretending indifference, tucked the map in the hip pocket of her jeans. 'I'll go on my own then.'
'No, you won't,' Mike said, the voice of authority. 'You'll wait until tomorrow and go with your mother.'
Allie's brief rebellion disappeared in an instant; she never pushed the boundaries with her father. The occasional defiance she displayed towards her mother was purely competitive – the bravado of the female adolescent.
'Can I just go down to the river?' she begged, 'It's only a block away.'
'That's up to your mother.' Mike's voice still held a reprimand.
'Can I, Mum? Pleeease?'
Jo couldn't help but smile to herself. Allie, in her bud-ding womanhood and already a true beauty, still had so much of the child about her. The mixture was beguiling, particularly as Allie herself was utterly unaware of it.
'Yes, you may,' she said with a dignified nod.
Allie gave her a quick hug and belted for the door.
'Be careful,' Jo called, but she was already gone.
'Where on earth does she get the energy?' Mike asked.
On the Monday and Tuesday, while Mike was locked away in the conference, Allie and Jo walked everywhere. Firstly along the banks of the river, and then back through the city centre where they window-shopped endlessly, ogling all the latest fashions. Jo wanted to buy Allie a smartly tailored designer-label trouser suit, which she found very elegant herself, but Allie wasn't interested. 'It's great, Mum. I mean it's really fantastic . . .' She didn't want to be hurtful. 'But it's not really me, is it?' Jo was forced to admit that her daughter was still a tomboy at heart, so they settled for a number of T-shirts instead.
They visited the magnificent Old Opera House, reconstructed just two years previously following its annihilation during World War Two. Like so many German cities, much of Frankfurt's early architecture had been destroyed by the bombs and was only now in the throes of reconstruction. The Old Town itself had been destroyed, which Jo found shocking. Buildings testament to a bygone era, architecture centuries old, long predating the settlement of her own country, had been obliterated forever. How terrible, she thought, that war should wreak such havoc on a city's history.
As they lunched at one of the crowded outdoor cafés in the busy boulevard of Fressgass, they were enthralled by the pageantry of the passing parade. A major world centre for trade and commerce, Frankfurt was a vibrant, cosmopolitan city. 'It's even more buzzy than Sydney,' Allie said.
Jo had taken Allie to Sydney just the previous year for a week's holiday with Nora. She'd told her daughter of the past, never intending to lie, but Allie had had no memory at all of Nora, or of Nora's children who'd played with her when she was a little girl. Nora had laughed. 'How could she possibly remember us, Jo? She was only three.'
Allie recalled nothing of her infant years, but she'd thought that surely there could be no city in the world as buzzy as Sydney. She wasn't so sure now. Mentally, she listed the cities she knew. Or rather those she'd been to: there were only three. Perth, where they now lived, was very pretty, sitting on the banks of the Swan River. And Sydney, with its harbour, was very dramatic, she thought. But Frankfurt was something else altogether. Frankfurt was truly international. Allie was developing a worldly streak.
On the Monday night, Mike took them out to dinner, to a beautiful restaurant overlooking the River Main and the glittering lights of the city skyline. Then, on the Tuesday evening, they ordered room service and settled down to watch the America's Cup.
Jo glanced at Mike as she snuggled beside him on the sofa. How he must long to be there, she thought. She'd urged him to accept Spud's offer. 'Allie would understand, you know.' He'd simply replied that he was committed to the conference. She'd believed him. He was an honourable man and she loved him for it. But she was nagged by a vague sense of unease. Did he have regrets? She hoped not. It somehow placed a dampener on the holiday if he did.
The following day was Allie's birthday, and she was thrilled with the Seiko watch her parents gave her. She put it on, angling her wrist so that the silver and gold caught the light streaming through the windows.
'It's very stylish,' Jo said. 'You'll be able to wear it with everything.'
'You'll be able to wear it a hundred metres down too,' Mike said. 'It's a diver's watch.'
That clinched the deal as far as Allie was concerned – the Seiko had her absolute seal of approval.
Mike wasn't needed for the third and final day of the conference, or rather he'd taken himself out of the running to spend time with his daughter. They'd decided to go sightseeing for Allie's birthday, before attending the official dinner that evening.
The three of them walked the several blocks from the Intercontinental to Frankfurt's huge main railway station and caught the train to Eltville am Rhein. Mike, knowing nothing of the surrounding countryside, had made enquiries of the concierge.
'Rheingau,' he'd been told, 'the wine region, very beautiful. Take the train to Wiesbaden and change there for Eltville.'
The train trip itself was an experience. Allie sat glued to the windows, gazing out at the little garden plots zooming endlessly by, each with a character of its own. Some boasted orderly immaculate rows of vegetables, some were ablaze with riotous blossom, and some were simply an indiscernible mess of vegetation.
'Gardens are a bit like dogs, aren't they,' she said thoughtfully, 'they look like their owners.'
Eltville took Allie's breath away. But she wasn't alone. The little medieval township on the banks of the River Rhein had the same effect upon every tourist who visited it. Dominated by an elegant five-storey tower, the only functioning remnant of its once magnificent castle, Eltville was indeed picture-book beautiful. As the three of them walked its narrow cobbled streets, Mike and Jo shared their daughter's wonderment.
The streets were lined with half-timbered houses evocative of fairy tales, and tiny alleys led through arches into small stone squares – community centres where people gathered. In many a square was a little wine garden, and on many a corner a cosy pub, all offering the local wines, particularly riesling. The region was famous for its rieslings, they were told.
After thoroughly exploring the township itself, they spent a further hour wandering through the rambling gardens of the old castle ruins. They leaned over the sides of its ancient stone well, calling into the depths, hearing their voices reverberate. They criss-crossed the little stone bridges that forded the moat, and on reaching the highest vantage points of the castle's ramparts, they looked out over the whole of the village and the River Rhein below.
By now starving, they made their way down the hill, passing cafés and restaurants all doing a brisk trade. But they'd decided to pick a place with a view of the river.
'That one,' Allie said, pointing ahead to a restaurant whose verandah projected out over the Rhein.
'Well, we couldn't get a better spot if we tried, could we?' Mike said as the waitress led the way to a table by the railings.
They sat, admiring the view. The River Rhein appeared to meander gently by, but its tranquillity was deceptive. Given the efforts of a rowing eight crew as they hauled on their oars heading upriver, the current was immensely strong. A cruise ship passed barely thirty metres from the restaurant: a long, low-lying riverboat, one of the many that plied their trade up and down the Rhein during the tourist season. Passengers were leaning over the railings taking in the sights. Allie waved to them and they waved back.
Mike ordered a bottle of the local riesling.
'When in Rome,' he said.
They placed their food orders, and the waitress offered Allie a word of warning about her choice. 'It is not cooked,' she said. 'The fish is raw.'
'Oh.' After the briefest of pauses, Allie looked at her father. 'When in Rome,' she said and smiled. Then she turned to the waitress. 'I'll have the matje herrings, thank you,' she said firmly.