The Winter Sea

by Morrissey, Di

  She read articles about the fishing industry and the fish co-op founded by Joe Aquino. There was a photo of Joe with Ricardo outside the co-op building, both looking very pleased with themselves. There was another of Joe standing beside a state fishing minister who, according to the caption beneath, said that Whitby Point was one of the biggest commercial fishing ports in Australia.

  There were photos of the beginning of the construction of a timber jetty and the new refrigeration plant. There were slipways, engineering workshops and ice-making facilities. All this gave Cassie a sense of how vibrant Whitby Point had been. She wondered how many of the tourists who now visited this sleepy holiday town really understood the colourful history of the local fishing industry and the dangers, risks and gambles of those early fishing families.

  She worked her way through 1955 and almost to the end of 1956 without finding anything directly about her father. Then, under the front-page headline ‘First Blessing of the Fleet’, she saw a photo of her father. The date was 28 December 1956. There was a photo of a pretty girl, Josi Greco, the Princess of the Fleet, and below the photograph of Josi was one of her father. She read the caption: ‘Patrick Sullivan (pictured) retrieved the cross thrown into the water by Fr Della Torre.’

  Cassie smiled to herself. What a handsome man you were, Dad, and very fit. Bet the girls all fancied you.

  She was more than halfway through 1957 when she found the glaring headline, ‘Death of Leading Family’s Son’ and read the caption to the accompanying pictures, ‘Carlo Aquino was tragically killed by his step-brother Patrick Sullivan in a boating accident.’

  Cassie took a deep breath as she stared at the photograph of Patrick that the newspaper had recycled from the previous December, his smiling face at odds with the gravity of the situation.

  Slowly she read the newspaper account of what had happened.

  Ricardo, Carlo and Patrick had been out fishing when the weather turned nasty so they headed back to port. Patrick was about to throw a last line in and was holding the bait knife when a rough wave threw Carlo onto him and the knife pierced him, killing him instantly.

  But if that’s what happened it sounds like an accident, Cassie thought to herself.

  Whether Mrs Chambers had been watching her or just coincidently found herself with a free moment Cassie did not know or care. The newspaper editor arrived with a small tray with a mug of coffee, milk, sugar and a biscuit, and said, ‘I thought you might be ready for this.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Cassie straightened up and rubbed her eyes. ‘Strange to see pictures of my father as a young man living down here. It was his other life we never knew about.’

  ‘Is that a fact? Goes to show you can’t take people at face value. You never really know what’s inside people, or what they’re capable of, do you?’

  Cassie poured milk in her coffee, preferring not to answer.

  ‘I’ll leave you to it then,’ said Mrs Chambers.

  Now Cassie turned the pages more swiftly, looking for more about her father. She found a photo of Carlo’s funeral. She looked at it closely. She could identify her father and Ricardo and Joe from their previous pictures in the paper. There was a little Italian woman in black so obviously distraught that she was almost being held up by someone. Cassie wondered who she was. Then, on one of the inside pages, she saw a small story that immediately caught her interest. It was headed ‘Hollywood Notable Flies Home after Family Tragedy’.

  Following was a story about Pietro d’Aquino, whose visit home to his family to share stories of his glamorous life in Hollywood as an art director and set designer was now blighted by the tragic death of his brother. The story hinted that Pietro might be nominated for an Oscar that year. Cassie smiled to herself, knowing that Pietro had subsequently won two Oscars.

  She pressed on. She found stories about Patrick’s committal hearing and some months later she read coverage of the first day of the trial. Then, in the very next issue, the paper led with the headline ‘Local Boy Pleads Guilty to Death of Step-brother’.

  Cassie gasped and sat up so violently that she knocked the coffee cup off the table. How can he have done such a terrible thing? she thought. How am I going to tell Mum? Maybe her father was not the man she had always thought him to be. She sat staring at the headline for some time before she could turn to the next page.

  There were a lot of photographs of the participants, especially Joe and Ricardo Aquino, and locals waiting outside the Wollongong courthouse. The newspaper report conveyed the surprise of Patrick’s sudden guilty plea and quoted the judge’s comments about Patrick using a knife against an unarmed man, which were as harsh as the prison sentence he handed down. There were also photos of Joe and Ricardo, clearly distressed by the turn of events.

  Poor, poor Dad, thought Cassie, very near to tears. I can’t believe that you were sent to gaol for such a long time. And we never knew.

  Cassie leaned back in her chair. After all this research she was still none the wiser about why Ricardo had left her a substantial bequest. She was not sure where she could go now.

  She was about to leave the newspaper office and go back to the restaurant when a thought struck her and she returned to the news item about Pietro. She read it again. It wasn’t the substance of the story that caught her attention but the timing of Pietro’s visit. Had he been in Whitby Point when Carlo had died, or did he come from Los Angeles just for the funeral?

  Cassie quickly flipped back through the old books, looking this time not for articles about her father, but ones about Pietro. She found two, both of which affirmed the excitement that Whitby Point felt for a local who had made good in the glamorous world of film. Cassie checked the dates on the articles. They were both written before Carlo’s death. Looks like he was here when Carlo died, thought Cassie. She closed the bulky old cuttings book and sat deep in thought. Then she gathered her things and found Alison Chambers at the front desk.

  ‘I’m done. Some of those old papers are just fascinating. Thank you so much for your help.’

  ‘I haven’t done anything. But I’m always happy to help if you need it. I’m just glad we’re able to preserve all the old back copies. Were they useful?’

  ‘A little, thank you. I have to say reading about the fifties in Whitby Point is very enlightening. I’ve learned a lot about life in the town in those days. It certainly was a boom time,’ said Cassie.

  ‘Yes. There’s more to this place than first appears. Did you find out anything helpful about your father? By the way, my husband and I enjoyed a lovely lunch at the Blue Boatshed a while back.’

  Cassie smiled broadly at her. ‘That’s lovely to know. I do hope you’ll come back again. Dinner is more popular now the weather is getting warmer.’

  When Cassie got back to the restaurant, Steve was beaming.

  ‘We’ve got a lot of bookings for lunch, and all my suppliers have come good, including Frank. He wasn’t gracious about selling me seafood but his father must have said something because he sold me some lovely stuff,’ he told Cassie.

  Trixie called out from the dining room. ‘Mollie wants to come back, if you’ll have her.’

  ‘Of course I will. When can she start?’ said Cassie. ‘Mum, when lunch is over we need to have a talk.’

  ‘I’ve got some interesting news to tell you, too,’ Jenny said. ‘But it can wait till later. We’re all too busy to talk about family matters right now.’

  Lunch indeed proved to be a very busy time. The restaurant hadn’t had such a big crowd since Frank’s visit. Just the same, Cassie noted that most of the diners were holidaymakers, there were very few locals. Still, she thought, as long as we can keep our reliable suppliers, the customers will keep coming, even if the locals take a while to come back.

  After they had cleaned up and Steve began prepping for the evening meal, Jenny and Cassie made themselves a cup of tea and sat on the deck for a chat.

  Cassie told Jenny what she had found in the newspaper records.

  ‘I
don’t care what the records say. I don’t believe your father would hurt anyone,’ said Jenny.

  ‘Mum, the papers said he pleaded guilty,’ said Cassie gently.

  ‘I don’t know what the explanation is. I just know your father. He didn’t do it,’ said Jenny, shaking her head.

  Bill was completely engrossed in the raw bone that Steve had given him on the condition that he eat it on the jetty. Even when Michael arrived Bill barely raised his head in acknowledgement.

  ‘Do you mind if I join you, or is this a girls only get-together?’ Michael asked.

  Cassie jumped to her feet, hugged and kissed him and said, ‘No, don’t be silly. We’re just comparing notes.’ She told him what she had found in the newspaper files.

  ‘I’m sorry. It’s one shock after another for you two, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Jenny. ‘I just wish he’d told me. It would have made no difference to our relationship and it might have made things easier for him to have been able to share with me what had happened to him.’

  ‘Another thing I found out, Michael, is that Pietro was here, staying in Whitby Point, when Carlo was killed. Isn’t that interesting?’ added Cassie.

  ‘I suppose so,’ said Jenny. ‘Do you think he would be able to tell us anything?’

  ‘I guess not,’ said Cassie, ‘if he wasn’t on the boat.’

  ‘Have you been doing detective work too, Jenny?’ asked Michael.

  ‘Actually I have. I managed to find out through Births, Deaths and Marriages that Bridget Sullivan married Giuseppe Aquino in 1933. Patrick would have been about five years old then.’

  ‘And he was still in Whitby Point in 1957? He must have lived nearly all his early life here. So he really would have been part of the Aquino family; it’s the only thing that makes sense. But now I’m even more muddled,’ said Cassie. ‘Why would my father never have mentioned the Aquinos and why don’t any of the Aquinos know anything about him? I wish Ricardo was still alive, I have so many things that I want him to explain to me.’

  Michael, who had been sitting very quietly while Jenny and Cassie talked, suddenly said, ‘Pietro’s still alive. Why don’t we ask him?’

  ‘I’ve only met him once. He probably wouldn’t want to talk to me either, especially when he finds out that his brother left me all that money. I feel that the money will always come between me and the Aquinos,’ said Cassie with a sigh.

  ‘Well, it won’t affect you and me,’ said Michael. ‘But I understand what you mean. It will make it hard for the two of us if the rest of the family don’t understand Uncle Ricardo’s motives. I think we should give Uncle Pietro a ring and ask him some questions about your father and where he fitted in with my family. Can’t do any harm.’

  ‘Who’s going to ring? You or me? And what time is it in LA?’ Michael was right. Pietro might have the answers.

  ‘About midnight. I think I’ll ring in the morning. It will be more civilised then.’

  The restaurant was very busy that night as well. Jenny was in her element and clearly loved working in a restaurant again.

  ‘I wouldn’t want to make a habit of this,’ she told Cassie when most of the clearing away and cleaning up had been done and Steve and Trixie had left. ‘But it’s nice to be back in the action again. There were certainly no complaints from the customers. They loved everything we served. This place is a credit to all the hard work you’ve done.’

  ‘Thanks, Mum,’ said Cassie. ‘I appreciate that, coming from such an experienced restaurateur as you, but I could not have done it without a lot of very good help.’

  ‘True, but even the best helpers in the world need to know that they have a dedicated leader who knows what she’s doing. Now I’m off to my comfy bed. You sure you’re all right on the sofa?’

  The next day Cassie could hardly wait to hear from Michael to see if he had any answers from Pietro, so she was a bit surprised when he actually turned up at the Blue Boatshed.

  ‘What happened? What did he say?’ she asked eagerly before Michael even had a chance to come inside.

  ‘Cassie, I spoke to him, but all he said was that it all happened a very long time ago and he thought it better to let sleeping dogs lie.’

  Cassie looked at Michael in dismay. ‘What now?’ she asked.

  ‘I think we should both fly to Los Angeles and confront Uncle Pietro.’

  In the distance, beyond the walls and grounds of the classic French-style Chateau Marmont Hotel, Cassie and Michael were aware of the pulse of traffic on the nearby Strip heading into the heart of Hollywood.

  ‘This place is insane,’ whispered Cassie. ‘Old Europe with a touch of Middle Eastern souk. A hotel whipped up by Baz Luhrmann! Whitby Point eat your heart out!’

  ‘We’re coming to see Pietro, a Hollywood legend in his own right, so why not experience another one? I think we deserve a bit of fun, so I thought I’d show you this place,’ said Michael as they walked through the lobby of gothic archways, Tiffany lamps, padded and fringed velvet sofas, and deep plush armchairs with gold-tasselled cushions. A waiter with movie-star looks served a late afternoon tea, while another poured champagne into a crystal flute. Cassie stared at the opulence of the coffee house restaurant with its chandeliers and crisp linen.

  ‘Getting a few ideas for the Blue Boatshed?’ asked Michael with a chuckle.

  ‘Don’t think the brocade wallpaper would work at the Blue Boatshed somehow. The price of the food in this place must be astronomical! Are we going to eat in here or grab a hamburger down the road?’

  ‘Let’s eat here. It’ll be fun on the garden terrace, seeing and being seen, like everyone else!’

  ‘You’re nuts. But I’m liking it,’ said Cassie, laughing. ‘Maybe we could bring Pietro here, though he probably has been here a zillion times.’

  ‘Maybe, but he told me at Uncle Ricardo’s party he doesn’t go out much in the evening. He said he prefers brunch or lunch. I’m not sure whether he meant at the same time or not.’

  ‘You said he didn’t sound very enthusiastic about meeting us and talking about the past,’ said Cassie anxiously.

  ‘Yes, I think he was taken aback when I told him that we’d hopped on a plane and landed on his doorstep so that we could speak with him.’

  ‘I still can’t believe I’m here either. You certainly are a man of action, the way you organised someone to look after your practice so quickly. And, you know, I think Mum is really pleased to be running the restaurant for a few days and looking after Bill.’

  ‘So start enjoying yourself. I know this is an emotional trip, and we mightn’t learn anything, but if we don’t ask Pietro, we’ll never know. When he sees us and realises how troubled you are, I’m sure he’ll be pleased to help.’

  Cassie didn’t answer as they were led out onto the garden terrace. Instead she caught her breath at the sight of the lovely restaurant with its comfortable wicker chairs and tables discreetly set amid the flowering vines and Canary Island date palms. Tiki torches flickered against the last of the sunset sky and the city lights of Los Angeles began to glow, creating a spectacular background.

  She took the seat the maître d’ offered her and refrained from glancing around, even though she just knew there must be famous people everywhere in the dim corners of the garden. Her attention was quickly taken by the menu as Michael ordered them a good Californian sparkling wine.

  ‘Listen to this, Michael, some nice Californian cuisine touches – fresh peach bellinis, sun-kissed stuffed dates with honey and fig puree and gin negronis.’

  ‘I’m hanging out for the “Damn Good Burger”. He lifted his glass of sparkling wine. ‘Here’s to us, Cassie.’ They touched glasses.

  ‘Thank you for bringing me here. This place is certainly OTT and expensive, but so lovely.’

  ‘Our hotel is nice but not as flash as this one, so I thought it’d be worth every cent to be here with you and share the experience,’ Michael smiled. ‘I haven’t had a break in a long, long time. All I seem
to do is work and occasionally surf, although I do visit this really classy little eatery called the Blue Boatshed. I like the food and the ambience, and I love its owner more than I can say.’

  Cassie smiled but still looked troubled. ‘Oh, Michael, that’s lovely but I just can’t get rid of the uncomfortable feeling I have about Ricardo’s bequest. I won’t be happy about that money until I find out why he left it to me. It’s all too bizarre.’

  A shadow crossed Michael’s face. ‘Cassie, it’s yours for whatever reason. Stop worrying.’

  She nodded but still looked unhappy. ‘Okay,’ she said. As the waiter hovered to discuss the menu, she turned to give him her full attention. They ordered, and then she and Michael talked about movies and theatre, museums and travel. After a very enjoyable dinner, they had coffee in the main lounge and watched the trendsetters sashay past, all angling to be noticed.

  ‘Do you want to go on to a club? There’s a good blues and jazz place not far from here,’ said Michael.

  ‘Do you mind if we don’t make it a late night? I’m still jet-lagged and worried about tomorrow,’ Cassie replied, frowning again. ‘I’m scared Pietro might not tell me anything but then what if he tells me things I don’t want to hear? Afterwards I might wish I’d never asked.’

  Michael took her hand and they walked to the front entrance, where he asked the doorman to get them a taxi. ‘I can understand that you must feel anxious,’ he said sympathetically.

  ‘Pietro is the only person still alive who knew my father when he was young and I have so many questions I want to ask him,’ Cassie said as the taxi drove away from the Chateau Marmont.

  ‘Cassie, Cassie,’ said Michael, sighing. ‘It will all be fine, you’ll see.’ He took her in his arms and kissed her. She returned his kiss, lost in his now familiar smell and the taste of his lips. As they drove up to the entrance of their boutique hotel off Sunset Boulevard, the doorman smiled at them as he opened the car door. ‘Evening, sir, madam.’

  *

  The next morning, wrapped in fluffy towelling robes, Cassie and Michael sat on their small balcony enjoying croissants and fresh fruit. Stately old palm trees floated on the distant boulevards through the morning haze.