The Winter Sea

by Morrissey, Di

  ‘It’s not quite the blue sky or fresh air of home,’ said Michael.

  ‘I’m giving up on this tea. It’s a teabag in lukewarm water. Can I have some of your coffee, please?’

  ‘Sure. Or there’s fresh OJ.’ He smiled at her. ‘Are you ready for the next big event?’

  ‘As ready as I’ll ever be, I guess. Just got to get dressed and then we’ll go,’ Cassie replied. ‘But I’m still nervous,’ she added softly.

  Their cab wound into the Hollywood Hills, around steep bends where tall trees screened private homes.

  ‘Isn’t this fabulous? You’d think Cary Grant or Ginger Rogers might step out of one of the doors,’ exclaimed Cassie.

  ‘All very art deco. Built in the twenties or thirties,’ replied Michael.

  The driver told them the names of movie stars from years past who’d lived in these secluded streets, and eventually pulled into a circular driveway in front of a modest bungalow.

  ‘What a gorgeous old house,’ said Cassie as they got out of the cab and walked across the gravel driveway. The house was sheltered by mature trees that leaned against each other. A climbing rose clung to a lattice on the stucco walls.

  ‘This is just so romantic,’ said Cassie.

  ‘It’s in better condition than some of its neighbours,’ said Michael as he peered through the trees at the surrounding houses. ‘They could use a bit of TLC.’

  ‘A few grand dames starting to show their age,’ agreed Cassie.

  The door was answered by a tall and still attractive elderly man with thick white hair, perfect teeth and tanned skin, immaculately dressed in a powder-blue checked shirt with the cuffs turned back and the collar standing up.

  ‘Hello, Michael,’ he said in a soft American accent as he shook Michael’s hand.

  ‘How are you, George? You’re looking great,’ said Michael warmly. ‘George, this is Cassie.’

  George smiled at Cassie and gestured for them to enter. ‘Pleased to meet you, Cassie. Come on inside. We don’t get family dropping by very often.’

  The rooms of the house were surprisingly small and cottage-like, and decorated in chintzy shabby chic. Silver-framed photos were on every surface and the walls were covered in paintings and photographs. A series of framed prints of set designs caught Cassie’s eye.

  George ushered them into a sunny sitting room that opened onto a small terrace with a view towards the city. Pietro, who was seated in a white wicker chair, rose stiffly to greet them.

  ‘Don’t get up, Uncle Pietro, please.’ Michael went to embrace his great-uncle.

  Pietro smiled and held out a hand to Cassie. ‘Hello, pretty lady. I remember you. Ricardo’s birthday. I’m pleased to see you two are still together. Is this leading somewhere serious?’

  ‘Pietro, don’t pry,’ interjected George.

  Pietro chuckled. ‘Would you like something to drink? Juice? Coffee? Tea? We have proper tea,’ he said.

  ‘I’d love a cup of tea if it’s going,’ said Cassie.

  ‘Me too, thank you,’ added Michael.

  ‘George knows how to make it, but it took me years to teach him how to do it properly. I’ll have fresh juice, please, George.’ George headed to the kitchen and Pietro said, ‘Sit down, you two. What have you been up to?’

  Michael answered quickly. ‘We had dinner at Chateau Marmont last night. That was quite an experience.’

  Pietro rolled his eyes. ‘It’s a tourist mecca now. In its heyday it was such fun. Lots of naughty behaviour and anyone who was anyone stayed there. George loathes it now so we never go. Mind you, we don’t go out a lot these days, but we like to entertain old friends here. Those who are still around,’ he added ruefully.

  ‘Cassie, Uncle Pietro and George have been together a long time,’ said Michael.

  ‘We met not long after I first started working here. He’s younger than me, but not by much,’ he said, his eyes twinkling.

  ‘Has George ever been to Australia?’ asked Cassie.

  ‘No, George hates flying. If he can’t go by car, he won’t go. And I don’t think he’d find a lot to do in Whitby Point.’

  George came in with a tray set with cups, a teapot and a glass of orange juice, which he handed to Pietro. ‘I disagree. I’ve seen photos and it looks charming. Very scenic. I’d love to paint it,’ he said as he poured the tea.

  ‘George is a bit of an artist. Those are some of his paintings,’ said Pietro, casually pointing to a couple of delicately detailed watercolours of gardens and flowers. Despite his manner, Cassie heard the pride in his voice.

  ‘They’re lovely! Do you exhibit and sell your work, George?’ asked Cassie.

  ‘A little. I used to be the one who put Pietro’s dreams and designs on paper at the studio. When I retired, I started painting in watercolours. There’s a gallery in Santa Monica that takes what I give them, but I only paint when I feel like it now.’ He handed Cassie and Michael a cup of tea each.

  ‘We were hoping that you’d stay and have lunch with us,’ continued Pietro. ‘Consuela – you remember her from your last visit, Michael – has made her famous chili and guacamole.’

  ‘Thank you, Uncle. That sounds lovely. Maybe we’ll be able to reciprocate sometime during our trip,’ said Michael.

  George gave both Cassie and Michael a smile. ‘Let’s play it by ear, shall we? I’m sure we’ll be seeing more of you.’

  Michael moved the low stool he was sitting on nearer to Pietro. ‘Uncle, you know why we’re here? I told you about it when I rang.’

  Pietro gave a theatrical shrug. ‘Oh, lordy, what now? As I told you on the phone, I try to keep out of family dramas. I don’t understand what all the fuss is about.’

  ‘Uncle, it’s not really about me, it’s Cassie. She has so many questions she’d like to ask you.’

  Pietro smiled at Cassie. ‘Yes, Michael explained to me over the phone your relationship with my family. I expect you’re very pleased about the money Ricardo left you.’

  Cassie didn’t smile back. ‘Since I found out about Ricardo’s will my life has turned upside down,’ she said. ‘My mother and I . . . we never knew anything about my father and the Aquinos and now I need to know.’

  ‘Are you sure you want to? It was such a long time ago,’ said Pietro.

  ‘Uncle, I brought Cassie here because you are the only person who can tell her about her father Patrick, and I think she has the right to know.’

  Pietro was silent for some time before he said, ‘Pat was a quiet boy, kind and always a good person. We got on really well. It was a wonderful thing when he and his mother came to live with us. Our mother died when Carlo was born, and Ricardo and I were still very young.’

  ‘So Joe married my grandmother Bridget. Is that right?’

  ‘Bridie, everyone called her Bridie. She changed our lives. We all adored her. As sweet as a bird, she was. She met my father on the ship out to Australia but she was engaged to another man. Papà said that it broke his heart when she left him at the wharf.’

  ‘So she married my grandfather Sullivan, then? Do you know what happened to him?’ Cassie asked. She felt excitement welling up inside her as Pietro spoke.

  ‘I think he died during the Depression. The story Bridie used to tell us was that she was struggling to raise Pat by herself when she met Papà again by coincidence one day in Sydney. He persuaded her to come back with him to Whitby Point and a short time later they were married.’

  ‘She must have been special for all of you to have liked her.’

  ‘She was. So lively and fun and she always took an interest in everything that we did. I loved her. If it hadn’t been for Bridie, I probably would have ended up in the fishing industry. She encouraged me to take an interest in the stage. When I was involved in a local production, she insisted that all the family come to watch me. It was an awful show, but she made me feel as though it was wonderful and that I was its star. Then she took me to see a professional production in Sydney. That really opened my eyes.
When I said I wanted to become involved with plays and the theatre, she didn’t laugh, but helped me to find a way to do it.’

  ‘She sounds like a very understanding person,’ said Cassie. ‘I wish I had known her.’

  ‘She wasn’t just understanding. She was brave and very loyal. During the war Papà was interned as an enemy alien. A lot of Italians were locked up.’ Pietro turned and looked at Michael. ‘I bet you didn’t know that, my boy. Papà was always so ashamed that the government thought he wasn’t much better than a common criminal. Anyway, Bridie wasn’t going to leave him in an internment camp for the duration, so she started a petition to have him released. She got thousands of signatures. She badgered the mayor, the local MP, the priest, even the CWA, until Papà was freed.’

  ‘I didn’t know anything about that,’ said Michael. ‘She sounds remarkable.’

  ‘During the war she drove the fish truck up to Sydney. The business was short on manpower and she decided that the best way she could help was to drive the truck. The road to Sydney was pretty awful in those days and right at the end of the war she was killed in a terrible traffic accident on her way home.’ Even after all the intervening years, Pietro’s voice was still filled with emotion as he told the story.

  ‘That is so sad,’ said Cassie. ‘It’s strange to hear about a grandmother whom I never knew and yet she was so special to you and your family.’

  Suddenly Pietro stood up, as though something important had occurred to him. ‘Excuse me a minute, I have something that I’d like to show you.’ Pietro walked out of the room and the other three sat in silence awaiting his return. He was back in less than a minute, holding a little box, which he gave to Cassie.

  ‘Open it,’ he told her.

  Cassie peered inside the little box and took out a simple ring set with a red stone.

  ‘This ring originally belonged to my father,’ said Pietro. ‘It was given to him by his grandmother when he left Sicily and she told him to sell it when he needed money. Evidently, when he first came to Australia he pawned the ring, but Bridie went and bought it back and gave it to Papà. Then he gave her the ring on their wedding day.’

  ‘No way!’ exclaimed Cassie. ‘How beautiful.’

  ‘It’s not valuable, you understand, but when Papà died I asked Ricardo if I could keep the ring as a reminder of a beautiful and wonderful person. This ring would mean nothing to anyone else but, as Bridie was your grandmother, I would like you to have it.’

  Cassie’s eyes filled with tears and her hand shook. ‘Thank you so much. I will always treasure it, if you are quite sure that you can part with it.’

  ‘I’ve got two Oscars because of your grandmother’s belief in me. The least I can do is return this ring to her granddaughter.’

  ‘Where are the Oscars? I’d love to see them,’ asked Cassie.

  ‘Oh, back there, somewhere.’ Pietro waved his hand vaguely. ‘I always think that it’s tacky to have them on display. I’ll show them to you later if you like.’

  ‘Did my father work in the fishing industry?’ Cassie asked him. She was starting to realise that, while Pietro was happy to talk about Bridie, he seemed reluctant to say much about her father.

  ‘Pat and Carlo worked for Papà but Ricardo, being the eldest, was destined to take over the business.’ He shifted uneasily in his seat. ‘George, can you get me some more juice or some water? I need a drink, I’ve been talking so much.’

  ‘I’ll get some water for you,’ Michael offered.

  ‘Thank you. That would be nice.’

  As Michael headed for the kitchen, Cassie asked, ‘Tell me what else you remember about my father. Was he smart at school?’

  ‘He was pretty smart. Bridie encouraged him to stay at school. Actually she and Papà encouraged us all to stay as long as possible, so your father did. As I remember, Carlo left school the minute he could but the rest of us stayed till the end. I don’t think Patrick had any real interests outside of fishing and the beach. He loved to body surf. He did like to help Nonna in the kitchen sometimes. Nonna was Papà’s mother who came out to Australia to look after us when our mother died. She was a great cook and Patrick used to ask her how to make things. I wasn’t above helping Nonna either. I still use some of her recipes, even after all these years.’

  Cassie noticed that Pietro, even when asked a direct question about her father, chose to talk about another member of the family.

  Michael returned with Pietro’s drink as Cassie started to ask another question.

  ‘Did you often go back to Whitby Point after you left for America? I noticed that you were home when . . . the, um, accident happened. I saw your photo in the local paper, and I’ve been wondering if you know anything more about what happened than what was reported in the paper.’

  Pietro shook his head. ‘It was a long time ago. I don’t remember all the details,’ he said, turning his head away.

  For whatever reason, it appeared to Cassie that the death of Carlo was off limits.

  Then George spoke. He had been sitting quietly in the corner of the room listening to the conversation but now he briefly took centre stage. ‘As you say, Pietro, it was a long time ago and I don’t think that at this point in time it would do any harm at all to tell this girl the truth about her father. I think that it is the least you owe her. You must tell her what happened out on the boat the day of your brother’s death.’

  Cassie and Michael stared at George and turned to look at Pietro, who was still looking away from them, staring across the sprawl of the City of Angels. He was silent, but his mouth was working as he chewed his lip.

  Michael turned to his great-uncle. ‘Please, Uncle Pietro, is there anything you can tell Cassie to help her understand what happened?’

  Eventually, after what seemed to be an age, Pietro turned and faced Michael and Cassie.

  ‘George is right. It is time for me to tell you both what really happened on the Celestine. You see, I was on that boat.’

  Cassie inhaled sharply. Whatever she had expected Pietro to tell her, this was a complete surprise. She didn’t know what to say about this revelation, so she said nothing.

  Pietro’s eyes stared at nothing in particular and, when he spoke again, Cassie realised that the old man had travelled back to that winter’s day in Whitby Point in 1957.

  *

  ‘Pietro, don’t be such a sissy. What’s the point coming all the way to Australia if you don’t want to share some special time with us? You might never have the chance to do this again. Come on, Pietro, be a sport,’ cajoled Ricardo.

  ‘He thinks he’s too famous to go on an old fishing boat. Been mixing with the movie stars so he’s too good for us now,’ said Carlo.

  ‘We won’t be out too long, and you can’t go fishing with the best fishermen in Australia when you’re back in Hollywood,’ added Patrick.

  Pietro flung up his arms. ‘All right, okay! I’ll come. I’ll just tell Nonna what I’m doing so she doesn’t go looking for me.’

  ‘Don’t worry about her. I think she’s asleep. Come on, everyone, time’s a-wasting,’ said Ricardo.

  They all hurried to the wharf where the Celestine was tied up and jumped on board.

  ‘Do you have a spare jacket I can wear?’ asked Pietro.

  ‘There’s a rain slicker inside the cockpit, but you won’t need it. It’s a fine day. Let’s go. Cast off, Carlo.’ Ricardo turned his attention to starting the engine and then pointed the boat towards the open sea.

  ‘I’ll help rig you a line, Pietro,’ Patrick offered.

  After they left the harbour, the sea started to become choppy. Patrick braced himself and began to organise some lines with efficiency born of practice. He laughed as Pietro clung to the side of the boat.

  ‘Look at you, Pietro,’ said Patrick. ‘You’ve certainly lost your sea legs.’

  ‘I think you must have been born with sea water in your veins,’ Pietro replied grimly.

  ‘I doubt it. Probably my family were potato
farmers,’ said Patrick.

  ‘Well, if they were you’d never know it from the way you manage at sea.’

  ‘Thanks. I’m not as good as Papà, though. He’s still the grand capo – the big boss!’ said Patrick with a laugh. ‘But I do love it out here. The sea, the wind, the hunt. These challenges all make me feel alive.’

  ‘Will you stay here in Whitby Point, Pat, in the business?’ Pietro asked.

  ‘I assume so,’ replied Patrick. ‘I like it here. I like to handle the fish, to talk to buyers, especially the restaurant people. I like to know the different ways they plan to use the fish they’ve bought.’

  ‘I suppose if you don’t go on fishing you could always become a cook, a chef,’ teased Pietro.

  ‘I wouldn’t think so, but who knows?’ said Patrick with a shrug and a smile.

  They had been out for less than an hour when the weather started to close in. Rolling dark clouds rumbled from the horizon towards them, causing the old Celestine to pitch and roll.

  ‘Should we turn back to port?’ called Pietro. ‘Do you know what the forecast is, Ricardo?’

  ‘Nothing major, as far as I know. Could get a bit rough, but nothing we can’t handle. There’s a good reef shelf a little further out. Let’s give it a go,’ shouted Ricardo.

  ‘Are you okay?’ Patrick asked Pietro, who was not looking at all happy.

  ‘A bit queasy. If I’d known that there was going to be such a change in the weather I wouldn’t have let you lot talk me into coming. I don’t like the look of those clouds.’

  ‘It’s just a bit of a squall. Rain won’t hurt you,’ said Carlo. ‘Not unless you really have got used to the soft life in Hollywood.’

  ‘We haven’t had a lot of success with the fish. I hope this is worth it,’ muttered Pietro to Patrick.

  ‘Don’t complain to Ricardo. It’s never the skipper’s fault!’

  After another hour they decided to give up. The deteriorating weather made it too hard to catch fish in the heaving sea.

  ‘Let’s pack this in,’ suggested Patrick.