by Cathryn Hein
‘It helps give us some understanding of her motives.’
‘What motives? She loves Digby. Digby loves her. They’re happy. Tell me, what can possibly be wrong with that? How does knowing her past change that?’ When her grandmother didn’t respond, Em stared hard at the road. ‘You’re just a snob, that’s all. You’re scared about everyone finding out and it ruining the Wallace family’s precious name.’
‘Don’t be so ridiculous,’ snapped Granny B. She watched the road for a long moment, her mouth tight, until finally she released a long sigh. ‘It’s not snobbery, Emily. I’m worried. Camrick has changed since her arrival, the whole family has. That girl is causing problems, only for some reason you refuse to see it.’
‘That’s because there’s nothing to see.’
‘Dressing like your mother, wearing the family jewellery as though she already owns it? That’s nothing?’
Em didn’t answer. The jewellery had annoyed her too. But if Adrienne wanted to loan her favourite earrings or any other item to Felicity, Em could hardly bitch about it. Doing so would only make her look sour.
‘What worries me most is how she’s changed since her visit to the hill. Something connected with her that day and now it’s you she’s emulating. Every conversation seems to be about the farm and Digby’s spending a small fortune at Campbells. She’s even imitating the way you speak. As for Digby buying her a horse —’ She sniffed loudly. ‘I don’t like that business at all. It sets a precedent you would be wise to be wary of.’
‘I’m not thrilled about the horse thing either, or Digby telling her she can visit whenever she likes, but I’m not going to read anything sinister into that or anything else. So she likes animals? So do a lot of people. As for the rest, she’s just trying to fit in.’
‘And your mother’s newly acquired drinking habit?’
‘That could be caused by anything. Maybe she and Samuel are having troubles.’
Her grandmother harrumphed before turning away to stare out of the window.
Of course Em had noticed the clothes and accent, the way Felicity’s pronunciation of the ‘a’ in words like plant and dance had changed, switching from a nasal ‘ant’ to a more refined ‘aunt’. But all the Wallaces spoke that way, and Em could see how Felicity would want to fit in. She was to be Digby’s wife; it seemed obvious that she’d have a fear of embarrassing him, and what better way to avoid that than copy his mother and sister? Anyway, for all they knew it could be Digby giving her the elocution lessons.
As for Adrienne’s drinking, Em would simply have to talk to her.
From the cropping zone, the landscape passed back into the rich grazing lands of the south-east. As they headed towards the famous vineyards of the Coonawarra, they passed an Italianate double-storey limestone mansion, once the centrepiece of a vast station and home to one of the Wallace’s great business and agricultural rivals. The house reminded Em of the connections between the district’s various families, and her mind drifted to Charles and his intimacy with Granny B.
‘You and Charles. . .’
‘Yes?’
‘Did you have a relationship?’
‘As it so happens, we did,’ she said, a wistful look softening her face, ‘although a long time ago, before I knew your grandfather. Charles was a fine man, but William was a better one.’
‘And after Grandpa died?’
‘That, dear Emily, is none of your business.’
Em smiled and looked back at the highway. She’d suspected as much from their conversation once the business of Felicity was closed. The table cleared and their drinks freshened, Charles and Granny B had fallen into a nostalgic discussion, reliving the glamorous parties and scandals of the fifties and sixties. They’d moved in similar, privileged circles. Granny B was a frequent visitor to Adelaide. With her wealth, breeding and good looks, she must have had enormous fun.
‘You’d have been quite a catch in those days.’
‘I was rather.’
‘Poor Charles. He must have been very disappointed.’
Granny B smiled. ‘Indeed he was. But he would never have left Adelaide for Levenham, and I wasn’t about to forsake my life there. He was an excellent journalist. Very good at wriggling out secrets. He so easily fooled people, you see. They always believed him far too aristocratic for such a grubby activity.’
‘I can imagine. So will you take up his offer?’ she asked, referring to Charles’s proposal that Granny B return for an extended stay.
‘No.’ But there was a sentimental edge to her voice. ‘Perhaps a few years ago I may have, but not now.’
‘Why not?’
‘Someone has to watch over your mother, Emily. And the rest of the family.’
Em stared back at the road. ‘We can take care of ourselves.’
‘Indeed. But never discount the wisdom of old eyes. Even half-blind ones.’
They arrived back at Camrick soon after four and Granny B disappeared to her room with Charles’s folder. Em had every intention of heading straight home to the hill but she was still too disturbed by the revelations of the previous afternoon.
Beyond feeling enormous sorrow and sympathy for Felicity, Em wasn’t sure how she felt about her future sister-in-law’s past with regards to her family. Felicity had almost killed someone. She’d been to jail. Now she was engaged to one of the district’s most eligible bachelors, heir to the famous Wallace name and wealth. She would be scrutinised and Em’s family, which had always fiercely guarded its privacy, would have to somehow cope with that.
The trouble was that this was a secret with no chance of staying that way, and Em was well aware of Levenham’s communal failings. Her father Henry had experienced his own share of prejudice for marrying a woman above him in station. Em had experienced a little of the same with Josh, but being young and in love she’d barely noticed at first, or cared. It had existed, though, the disdain and sly looks, the barbed comments from schoolmates. Gradually, it had worn her down, made her question something that was pure and right.
What affect would Felicity’s past have on Digby, on Adrienne? How would Felicity cope when people shunned her or made their whispers obvious, when women Digby had turned down raked cat’s claws over her reputation? Was she strong enough to face it? From what little Em knew about battered women their sense of self-worth was fragile. Jail wouldn’t have helped either. Who knew what vulnerabilities existed behind that beautiful facade.
Felicity was curled up on the lounge reading a Jilly Cooper novel. She marked her place as Em came in, smiling hello as she leaned forward to put the book down. ‘How was your trip to Adelaide?’
‘It had its moments.’ The cover of Felicity’s novel showed a curvy woman wearing tight breeches and holding a riding crop while having her bum felt up by a disembodied male hand. ‘Good book?’
‘It is, actually. It’s horsey and fun. Full of posh people.’
Em nodded and glanced around the room. Other than some clothes hanging from the knobs of the bedroom robes, the made bed and clean kitchenette, Felicity appeared to have made little impact on Digby’s bachelor decor. Perhaps it was because she spent so much time in the main house, keeping the stables for sleeping and private moments.
‘Did you want to sit down?’ Felicity tilted her head as Em hesitated to answer. Em wanted to stay, to talk about what she’d learned, but to do so would give away that Felicity had been spied upon. ‘Em?’
‘Thanks, but I need to get home to the animals.’
‘Of course you do.’ When Em still didn’t move, Felicity frowned. ‘Is there something wrong? Something I’ve done?’
Em shook her head. ‘No.’ Then she let out a deep sigh. ‘Yes.’ She glanced around for a chair and took the closest, sitting very straight with her hands clasped on her knees, her troubled gaze on Felicity. ‘I don’t know how to approach this.’ She looked down for a moment. ‘I learned something in Adelaide.’
For a heartbeat, Felicity’s puzzlement kept her togeth
er. Then her body seemed to collapse in on itself. A mewl of distress escaped her lips. She hugged her chest, eyes filling with tears. She placed trembling fingers to her mouth, then lowered her hand and with a couple of deep breaths gathered herself. ‘How did you find out?’
‘It doesn’t matter.’
Felicity’s watery gaze slid towards Camrick. ‘It was your grandmother, wasn’t it? I sensed from the start she didn’t like me.’
‘No. Don’t think that. It’s just hard for her. She comes from a different generation, one where you always knew the background of the people marrying into the family. In her eyes, learning about you was a normal thing to do.’
Felicity’s head dropped. ‘She must hate me now.’
‘No one hates you. None of it was your fault. The man was abusing you.’ Em paused, then carried on gently. ‘We all make mistakes, Felicity. I’ve made some terrible ones, hurt people I loved. That doesn’t mean I should be condemned forever.’
Felicity regarded her with hope. ‘It doesn’t upset you, that I’ve been in jail?’
Aware of how much their friendship rode on this and, potentially, her relationship with Digby, Em chose her words carefully. ‘It’s not ideal, but the reason why at least gives it perspective. Digby knows, doesn’t he? All of it?’
‘I told him everything when he asked me to marry him. He said it didn’t matter, that he’d love me no matter what I’d done.’
Em’s chest swelled with pride in her brother.
Felicity fixed her blue eyes on Em’s, her pain and plea-filled gaze locking them together. ‘All through my life, my dad and brother, even Mum, used to treat me as though I was worthless. Like I was nothing.’
‘You’re not nothing, Felicity.’
‘I know that now, thanks to Digby. And with him I have a chance to show the world that I’m worth something.’ She touched her neck and smiled dreamily. ‘He’s wonderful, you know? Like no one I’ve ever met. It’s like he looks at me and sees only good things. How can I not love a man like that? He makes me want to be different, to be as special as he sees me.’ Her focus returned, flowing with determination. ‘To be the wife he deserves.’
Em embraced her. ‘You already are.’
Em contemplated Felicity’s words as she walked across to Camrick. When word got out, Digby and Felicity would still face a rocky path, but Em had confidence that the way they felt about each other would see them through. She smiled to herself. It was incredibly romantic when she thought about it. Perhaps she’d make Cendrillon, Charles Perrault’s seventeenth-century version of the Cinderella tale, her next project.
Halfway across the yard, Em noticed Granny B pacing the back lawn, trailing smoke, the glow from her cigar weaving cosmic lines in the dark. The evening wind was glass-sharp and far too chilly for an old woman, even one with the constitution of a stud Hereford.
‘Don’t tell me you’ve been waiting for me?’
Granny B jammed her cigar between her teeth. ‘What else would I be doing out here without a decent malt? You’d better come inside.’
‘What’s up?’
‘You’ll see.’
She followed Granny B into the hall. Distracted, Em took three strides before she realised the floor wasn’t right.
‘Now do you see?’ asked Granny B.
Thick cream carpet now lay where the beautiful floorboards had ranged in warm golden hues. It spread like a hayed-off lawn to the end of the house before blanketing the stairs to the floor above. The effect was not as Em had expected. The hall was brighter, but it also had a sterile feeling. Too much cream, too much blankness. The doctor’s surgery of Granny B’s warning.
For the first time Em could recall, her mother had an interior design wrong.
Seventeen
Friday morning saw Rocking Horse Hill once more fogged with noise as workers arrived to grind the cypress stump.
Em had observed the previous day’s tree removal with a kind of morbid fascination, the drone of machinery vibrating in her chest, worsening her heartache, yet she couldn’t stop pacing the yard and paddocks, watching. The men used their chainsaws and chains with honed skill, fluoro work shirts and hard hats flashing bright against the wall of remaining pines. The truck’s haulage arm lifted the heavier pieces to the tray where they were quickly secured by straps. Piece by piece, the space in the Avenue of Honour widened. By the end of the day, the tree line appeared more gap-toothed than ever.
Afterwards, Em had waved them off and stood back, her sense of loss acute. Sawdust left pale patches on the grass and darker layer of pine needles, and channelled the eye to the tree’s low wide stump, a stark and sad grave marker against the shadows.
After this morning it, too, would be gone.
Tiredness didn’t help. She’d woken early to move a highly recalcitrant Kicki and Cutie to the hill paddock where they were less likely to be spooked by the grinder noise, then Lod, who was much more cooperative. A quick breakfast and shower, and Em had rushed into town to collect Granny B and install her at PaperPassion. Neither was enthused by the idea of a morning with her in charge of the shop. With her impatience and intolerance of fools, Em’s grandmother made a less-than-ideal shop assistant and, after the carpet episode, both would have preferred she stayed at Camrick to watch over Adrienne. But Em simply couldn’t afford the expense of more casual wages. She could only pray that Granny B wouldn’t cause too much damage.
The new carpet at Camrick still bothered Em. All those classic floorboards, with their handsome grains, covered with that pile. Whatever her mother had envisaged, surely it hadn’t been that travesty?
‘I can only imagine she made the decision after one too many glasses of wine,’ her grandmother had whispered as they’d headed towards the kitchen.
Em had kept her voice equally low, although, given the carpet’s thickness, any sound was unlikely to carry. ‘It’s not bad. . .’
‘You certainly couldn’t describe it as good.’
‘Has she said anything?’
‘No. But I can tell she’s not pleased. A little tick appears at the side of her mouth whenever it’s mentioned.’
‘What did you say when you saw it?’
Granny B’s gaze shifted sideways for a moment then she raised her chin. ‘I told her it was very nice.’
Em had lied too. Hugging her mother hello, she said that the carpet lightened the entire area.
‘So much better than all that timber.’ Adrienne gave a shallow, twitchy smile. ‘I know the boards were lovely but they were old-fashioned and made the area so dark. And it’s so much safer for Mum on the stairs now.’
It was all so worrying.
Despite her fatigue and a morning’s opportunity to work on The Ballad of the White Horse, Em stayed outside, wandering the yard and paddocks, observing the grinder as it chewed the last of the tree to scrap.
Finally the job was complete and the workers and truck departed. Arms folded tight across herself, Em trudged back to the car. The tree was done. In the spring, a sapling would take its place, the scar would heal and Second Lieutenant Stanley would be memorialised once more, as was right.
She drove into Levenham, mind skittering from subject to subject: Josh, the lost cypress, Felicity and Digby, her illuminations, the message she’d left for Teagan that was still unreturned, the shop. Her thoughts returned to Josh and settled there. Em hadn’t heard from him since Sunday, which seemed odd, but he was most likely as busy as she.
Em could have called him but she was scared of hearing the same resignation in his voice as on Sunday. They’d parted that morning with their relationship unresolved. If anything, it was even more tenuous than before. What if she rang him and his voice held the tone that told her forgiveness might never come?
Em glanced at the dashboard clock, assessing how much longer she could leave Granny B in charge of PaperPassion. Surely half an hour wouldn’t matter, and her grandmother was the one who’d encouraged a visit to Michelle in the first place. Em may as well mak
e the most of her spare minutes.
She took the road to the eastern side of town, winding her way through the rabbit-warren streets of the old public housing quarter, noting with satisfaction that the area had, as the local paper and others suggested, experienced a renaissance. It was still nothing like the southern side of town, where large houses clustered the high ground, or the inner north, where Camrick maintained its grand footing, but it had a new air of pride and tidiness. More well-maintained houses and gardens lined the streets than ill-tended ones. Newer-model cars held pride of place in the drives. On roofs, satellite dishes turned their faces to the day like sunflowers, a more telling sign than any of the east’s changed fortunes.
She almost missed the Sinclairs’. Where once the fence was chainwire and steel tubes, a picket fence painted British racing green now marked the boundary. The limestone house had changed too. It used to be a weathered grey with bluish mortar peeping between the joins; now it was rendered smooth and painted a sandy white, its frames and guttering the same green as the fence. The front garden remained the same: standard roses against the fence line, a trimmed and well-weeded lawn, and a swept concrete path lined with winter blooms. Michelle hadn’t lost her gardener’s touch.
The sight of Josh’s ute, parked to the side of the house under a dark green Colorbond carport, caused Em’s heart to skip in anticipation, even though it wasn’t him she was here to see. Not really.
She pulled up across the street, remembering sweet times. She’d adored Josh’s family, its simplicity and deep love. Its wholeness that made her own somehow lacking, especially after her father left. The Sinclairs argued and occasionally yelled, but without losing the love in their hearts. Michelle mothered her family with both indulgence and firmness. Tom, Em didn’t know so well – he was always working. But she could see how much he and Josh loved each other. They were alike, too, both in looks and manner. Kind-hearted men any woman would be proud to call husband.
Em lowered her head. When she’d broken up with Josh she’d lost them all, a repercussion she hadn’t comprehended until it was too late. Shame had kept her away since. She hoped it wasn’t too late to reconnect now.