As she wiped the bench, Emily wondered for the umpteenth time if she’d ever truly been in love with John – John the man – or if it was what he’d been made out to be – mainly by her mother – that she’d been in love with. Could she really have been that shallow?
In the beginning John had been fun, had made her laugh, and had been kind and caring. She remembered their shared glances of admiration, their hopes for the future as he’d shown her his vast holding of land and his thousands of prime wool-growing merino sheep.
There had definitely been love at the beginning. The feeling that you would do anything for the man you stood beside while watching the sun setting over the groaning windmill up on the hill.
Pity the feeling wasn’t returned for much longer than it took to place a ring on her finger and get her settled at the sink. Was she such a fool to have believed in the traditional marriage vows, to have believed in him?
So it seemed, she thought with a scowl.
Emily looked across at Grace and wondered if the dog had any memory of the day John had shot at her. She hoped not. John thought she’d overreacted – was no doubt dumbfounded that she’d left him because he’d taken pot shots at her dog.
Just because Grace had been in the same paddock as the sheep. Probably nowhere near them, just snuffling around the fence for fox and rabbit scents and fossicking for old bones.
‘Next time it won’t be so lucky,’ he’d said. ‘It needed a fright. If I’d meant to kill it, I would have.’
Emily still hadn’t told her mother the real reason for leaving him.
At that moment Grace, as if reading her thoughts, looked directly up at Emily, stretched, yawned, turned herself around, and settled back down on her mat. Emily smiled. No matter what she went through, no matter how hard things got financially, it had been worth it to keep Grace safe.
She got the vegetables out of the fridge and set about preparing them for roasting. It took her less than twenty minutes. She then looked around the kitchen.
There was nothing left to do – even the finishing touches had had finishing touches. She’d even put a vase of bottlebrush flowers in Jake’s bedroom after deliberating over whether it looked too try-hard or feminine or just plain ridiculous – finally deciding it was a nice welcoming country touch.
Ah, she thought. I’ll put Gran’s buttons into the jar he sent. If Jake saw it empty, he might think she hadn’t really appreciated his gesture, which she had – very, very much.
It was a lot more than John had ever done without prompting. God, she wished she could erase him from her mind. Would she ever feel detached and unemotional about him?
‘Time heals all wounds,’ Gran would have said. I bloody well hope she’s right, Emily thought, retrieving the dark-blue ice-cream container of buttons from the pantry.
She laid out a clean hand towel flat on the bench and tipped the multi-coloured, multi-shaped buttons and other assorted bits and pieces onto it. After the jar had mysteriously fallen, Emily had accidently cut herself while picking up the buttons off the floor. There were probably more bits of broken glass she hadn’t found, but if she picked through them carefully by hand, she’d get any remaining pieces out.
Emily began picking up each button one by one, and putting them into the jar. She decided it might be fun to capture one type and colour of button at a time and remove all examples from the pile before moving onto another. She started with the plain round khaki plastic ones with two holes that had once been on all her grandad’s work trousers and shirts. There were heaps of them, but the pile didn’t seem to have diminished at all when she moved onto a similar style in navy blue.
While rummaging through the buttons, she took great care to check for shards of glass, many of which she found nestled in the weave of the terry towelling. Those that were big enough she took out, the rest she had to leave, picking the buttons out carefully with thumb and forefinger. Occasionally the tiny specks of glass sparkled like glitter in the morning sun.
After focusing on plain red buttons for a while, she paused, closing her hand around those she had already collected. She stood up taller, lifted her head and stretched her neck, aware it had begun to get cramped from stooping.
At that moment she heard a deep, male voice at the front door.
‘Hello, anyone home?’
He’s here.
‘Coming!’ Emily called, leaping up and practically skipping down the hall.
Grace trotted along behind, her thick black and white tail waving high above her back.
Emily opened the heavy front door to find Jake Lonigan standing there.
She’d previously thought him handsome in a warm, friendly sense, but now she decided he was handsome, full stop. His hazelnut-brown eyes seemed deeper and his lashes longer. She felt her knees go weak when he smiled broadly at her – a smile that captured his eyes and crinkled the corners around them.
‘Welcome back!’ she cried, and was surprised to find herself enveloping him in a hug, and not feeling at all awkward about it.
‘Thanks. Great to be back,’ he said into her hair. ‘Hi Gracie,’ he said, pulling away and bending down to give the grinning dog a pat. ‘Oh, merry Christmas – I almost forgot.’
‘Yeah, easily done. We’re not exactly looking very festive around here. But thanks, and a merry Christmas to you too. Come on in, I’ve given you the same room as last time,’ Emily said, grabbing the extended handle of his wheelie case and dragging it over the stoop. ‘Though you’re more than welcome to have the other one if you’d prefer, I wasn’t sure, I should have checked…’ Emily suddenly shut her mouth. She was rambling. Well, I want him to be comfortable, what’s wrong with that? she asked herself indignantly, willing the colour of her cheeks to return to normal.
It was odd to be alone with Jake – without Elizabeth as buffer – and her nerves turned Emily into a ridiculous, overly effusive hostess; pointing out the towel, which was very obviously hanging over the back of a chair. She had indicated the wardrobe and chest of drawers before stopping herself.
‘Brilliant, thanks,’ Jake said, clicking shut the handle of the case he now stood behind.
‘I’ll leave you to freshen up then,’ she said, and turned to leave, feeling like banging her head against the wall on her way out. She was sounding exactly like her mother.
‘I’m putting the kettle on if you’d like a cuppa,’ she called from the hall.
‘Coffee would be great, thanks,’ Jake called back.
*
Emily had boiled the kettle twice and resumed sorting the buttons when he finally came in, giving her a fright by appearing silently beside her.
‘Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you,’ he said.
‘No worries, I was just in deep concentration.’
‘Huh. That’s how I’d do it, too – each colour at a time,’ he said, looking approvingly at the jar with its layers of colour and the handful of red buttons in Emily’s palm.
‘Just killing time, really,’ she said, tipping them into the jar.
‘I see you meant it when you said you’re not really into Christmas,’ he said, grinning at her.
‘Sure did. Not a piece of tinsel nor coloured light in sight,’ Emily said proudly. ‘Though that will change when Barbara arrives. She’s insisted we at least be a little Christmassy. Other than popping some crackers and reading some really bad jokes, I’m hoping it’s going to be a very laid-back day. There’ll be just us, David and Barbara, and my father. Mum can’t make it, she’s not feeling well,’ she added, trying not to sound too pleased. The kettle whistled and she moved over to it. ‘White with one, right?’
‘Yes, thanks. Mind if I do some?’ Jake said, indicating the buttons.
‘Not at all.’
Emily stole a couple of quick glances at Jake, who was now engrossed in picking buttons out of the pile. She smiled. She decided she liked having him in her house. Especially without Elizabeth.
She asked herself whether she would like it so muc
h if Nathan was here as well. The dynamic would be completely different.
Jake was only here for the weekend, and it wasn’t as though there was anything romantic between them – it might be fun to hang out with both men together.
Maybe. What about having someone else here all the time?
She’d have the place to herself during the day when Nathan was at work. But she couldn’t just come and go as she wished when he was home – like on weekends – could she?
She’d be forever feeling the need to explain what she was up to and invite him to join in. How could she balance her obligations to a housemate with her need for independence?
Like her mother, who had never been content with her own company, Emily had hated being left alone at the farmhouse.
But during the first weeks of their friendship, Barbara had tactfully enquired if perhaps she just thought she was lonely because Enid had her programmed to think that. Just because she was alone, didn’t necessarily mean she was lonely. People could feel the same sense of despair when others were in close proximity. The realisation that Barbara was absolutely right had come as quite a shock.
Looking back, Emily could see that some of the loneliest days and nights of her life had been while married to John; not only when he’d gone away on camping trips with mates, but more often when he was just over in the shed, right across the table from her, or sitting watching television in silence.
She thought about Nathan again and pursed her lips. No, as much as she’d love the extra money, she could see it would be a backwards step. She needed the space to truly find herself – as naff as that sounded – and she was sure Barbara would agree.
Nathan would be disappointed, but she could only hope he’d meant it when he said there’d be no hard feelings. She’d better tell him soon so he could make other arrangements.
Meanwhile she had Jake to entertain and Christmas lunch to cook. She poured the steaming water into their mugs, and was just adding milk when he spoke, startling her.
‘What the hell?!’
‘What’s wrong? Oh God, you didn’t cut yourself, did you?’
‘No, but have you seen this?!’ he asked.
Emily looked over at him, frowning. Jake was holding up a smoky blue-grey stone about the size of the nail on her index finger.
‘Oh, yeah, Elizabeth noticed that the other week when you guys were here – weird, huh?’
‘Do you have any idea what this is?!’
Emily shrugged. ‘Just a pretty little pebble; Gran was accumulating all sorts of stuff near the end.’
‘It’s an uncut diamond.’
Chapter Five
‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ Emily said with a laugh, moving towards him. Something tugged at her memory, but she was unable to secure whatever it was, and returned her focus to the tiny object in Jake’s hand.
He held it out to her.
Emily closed her fingers around it and pulled both hands to her chest in an exaggerated theatrical gesture.
‘What? You mean I’m rich?!’ she said, doing her best Scarlett O’Hara impression. She then held it up for a closer look.
It was a strange-looking little stone, a deep grey-blue colour, sort of clear, but not quite, and with a slightly milky sheen. Up close, she saw that it was oddly shaped – long in the middle and pointy at each end.
‘Seriously, Jake, you shouldn’t get a girl’s hopes up like that. It isn’t fair,’ she said, pouting, before handing it back to him.
‘I’m telling you, Em, it’s an uncut diamond!’
‘How would you know anyway, you’re a…’
‘An architect? Actually, I’ll have you know I’m a man of many talents,’ he said, grinning at her. ‘I did an introductory course on gemmology a few years back. And I would put money on that being an uncut diamond. See, the shape – a tetrahedron – it’s how they’re formed. It looks silky and smoky, but not really opaque,’ he said, sounding more and more excited. ‘There’s no other gem quite like it.’
Emily had never seen a loose diamond before, let alone one in its uncut state. ‘Looks like quartz or opal to me, or scratched glass, or something.’ She frowned slightly.
‘Well it’s not, trust me. Bloody hell, this could be worth a fortune! How did it get here? Where did it come from?’
Emily rolled the small object slowly around between two fingers. Something in the back of her mind was fighting to be remembered, but it was still too small to grasp.
‘It does feel sort of silky,’ she said thoughtfully, as she tried to focus her mind. ‘They come out of the ground in this shape?’
‘Pretty much – in different sizes of course.’
‘It’s actually pretty big, isn’t it?’
‘And, being such an unusual blue-grey colour, I wouldn’t mind betting it’s really quite rare. Probably worth a fortune.’
Emily suddenly felt as if the blood had drained right out of her body. Feeling quite unstable on her feet, she dragged the nearest chair away from the table and sat down. Oh God! The letter she’d found among Granny Rose’s things.
Jake continued to inspect the object, turning it over and over, around and around. She watched, stunned, struggling to form thoughts or words.
‘Wonder if it was mined in India or South Africa,’ he muttered.
‘India,’ Emily said. ‘Golconda, India. They’re from India.’ She had no idea why she was sounding so calm; she felt anything but. Jake was staring at her wide-eyed.
‘They’re!? They’re from India? Emily, how many are there?’
‘There were originally seven of them – but that was back in the forties.’
‘Seven! Jesus Christ, Em! You knew about them?’
Emily nodded. ‘Yes and no. There was always a family myth that Gran had chosen Grandpa over an Indian prince. But there was never any more detail than that. After she died I was going through her recipes and found a letter. It was from an Indian prince, and it said he was giving her “seven of Golconda’s finest” as a wedding gift. When I Googled Golconda, I found out diamond mining was big in the 1940s, so guessed that was what she’d been given.’
She remembered how excited she’d been as she’d waited for the pages to load, and the overwhelming urge she’d felt to rush off on a romantic crusade to India to find this man her grandmother had known. When the page revealed he had died five years before, she had been quickly brought back down to earth. That was the end of it. Or so she’d thought.
‘I figured the diamonds must have been lost or sold, or even sent back. I can’t imagine Grandpa being too thrilled with another man giving his wife a gift like that. Even Mum pooh-poohed the idea. So I just thought it was an unsolvable mystery. Wow! My head is spinning.’
‘I’m not surprised. You know, if there are six more just like this, your money worries are over, my friend,’ he said, starting to earnestly pick through the pile of buttons.
Emily knew she should be getting out the letter to show him, but she couldn’t make herself move. And then the lightness she was feeling was suddenly replaced by a realisation that if she proceeded, everything would change, and not necessarily for the better.
If the diamonds mentioned in the letter were real, then technically they’d belong to her mother and aunt – they were Gran’s next of kin. Neither Enid nor Peggy were sentimental or romantic; they’d cash them in at the first opportunity. Emily would never see any of the proceeds.
On the other hand, if she did keep them a secret and somehow sold them herself, she’d never be able to use the money without serious probing from her mother.
And if some of the diamonds had survived unsold this long, then perhaps that’s how they should remain. She owed it to Gran to keep her secret, didn’t she? After all, Gran had asked her to take good care of the button jar when handing it over.
Emily’s heart was beating so slowly she thought it might stop.
‘Come on, Em, you could be rich; give me a hand here, will you?’
Emily remained w
here she was.
Jake looked up from the towel. ‘Are you okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost. Don’t you want to find them?’
‘Honestly, I’m not sure I do,’ she said, shaking her head.
Jake stopped what he was doing, collected the cups Emily had prepared for them and joined her at the table.
‘I’m sorry; I’ve come in like a bull in a china shop. They’re your diamonds to find or not. No pressure.’ He smiled kindly at her. ‘Though, I can keep a secret if you need me to. Scout’s honour,’ he added.
Emily didn’t know what to say.
‘Seriously, if you don’t want to take it any further, that’s up to you,’ he said, taking a long sip from his mug. ‘But you’ve got to admit, it’s pretty bloody exciting,’ he added, grinning mischievously. ‘And here I thought I was coming to the country for a nice quiet weekend away.’
Emily rolled her eyes in mock consternation. She sipped her tea silently while trying to put her thoughts in order.
‘So where’s the letter?’ he asked after a few moments of silence. ‘Sorry,’ he said, holding up a hand briefly in apology before returning to his coffee.
‘You said no pressure.’ But she was smiling gently. Of course she’d show it to him.
‘I know what I said, but this is bloody excruciating.’ He started squirming in his chair. ‘You do still have it, don’t you?’
‘What, you think I’d throw it out?!’
‘I don’t know. I wouldn’t put it past Elizabeth.’
‘I’m the one who’s held onto a jar full of old buttons just because they were my Gran’s, remember?’
‘All right, all right, I get it; you’re soppy and sentimental. Are you going to show me this damned letter or not?!’
Emily went to the pantry cupboard and got down the large cardboard shoe box in which she now stored Gran’s pile of old recipes tied up with her trademark grey string. Back at the table she took off the lid, untied the bundle, and began carefully taking out each fragile and stained piece of paper and well-thumbed book, turning them over to keep them in the same order. After she’d read it the first time, she’d put the letter back in exactly the same place, between the recipes where she’d found it. She liked the idea that it might have been there for over sixty years, filed between Mother’s Irish Stew and Quince Jam the whole time.
Time Will Tell Page 4