Prodigal Daughter

by Jane Carter

  ‘They shot it all on the beach, barefoot.’

  Trailing behind Sienna and Stella, who were debating the merits of big bags versus little bags and ankle boots over knee-length, once again Diana was struck by how little she knew of her mother’s life in Sydney before she married. Going from working on fashion shoots to living on a farm, with three thousand sheep and a handful of dogs for company, must have been quite a change. Guess that was love for you. And her dream, she’d always said, had been to travel, for which she had waited thirty-five years. Diana let out a sigh and quickened her step. The shopping jaunt was mostly a success. Sienna had brightened up considerably, so it had all been worth it.

  * * *

  When they returned that afternoon, Alex and Sam were back. The children fell into each other’s arms and within the space of thirty seconds had decided to go to the beach.

  ‘No one’s to go in the water,’ Diana called after them, and looked exasperatedly across at Marnie at the lack of response from any of them.

  ‘They’ll be fine. My boys are besotted with catching crabs. Would they like to have dinner with us? I can throw a few more steaks on, or would they prefer sausages? I’d ask you all but I think Patrick’s got plans. Your mum’s very welcome.’ Marnie’s look wasn’t sly exactly, but near enough.

  That made Diana more uncomfortable, and more determined than ever to keep her mother firmly by her side.

  ‘They’d love it. They haven’t been with many children since we came over. I can see they’re enjoying themselves immensely. It’s my last night with Mum, so we’ll cook dinner for Patrick.’

  Diana followed Stella back upstairs. She went to the fridge and freezer and pulled out food enough for three and started cooking dinner.

  ‘Hello.’ Patrick lounged against the doorjamb, his jacket off and his collar loosened. He looked tired. Diana handed him a beer.

  ‘Thank you. Where are the children? And your mother?’

  ‘Mum’s having a rest, and the children are being entertained by your two nephews.’

  Diana found Patrick’s concerned frown funny. ‘I wouldn’t worry too much. Don’t forget, my children are tough little Londoners. They can look after themselves. It was in the country they were like fish out of water.’

  ‘You didn’t have to do this.’ Patrick took in her preparations. ‘I was going to take you out to dinner.’

  ‘That’s okay. I thought I could do something for you, to thank you. And it’s our last night.’ Suddenly it was real, they were leaving tomorrow. Damn. She did not want to go.

  ‘That’s very thoughtful of you, Diana,’ he said, and bent to kiss her on the lips. She nearly dropped her beer. She would have, except Patrick caught it and put it down on the benchtop before kissing her again. She felt his body warm and solid against her. Real. She reached up and wound her arms around his neck. ‘Stay,’ she thought he whispered into her mouth, but when she opened her eyes he’d moved over to the fridge to check there was wine cooling. She must have been mistaken.

  ‘Red or white?’

  What? She had to think. Scramble her thoughts back together. ‘Um, we’re having steak, but I think Mum likes white, if that’s all right.’

  ‘No problem. I’ll just go and get changed.’

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  Diana closed the bedroom door behind her and leant against it. This was ridiculous. Her real problem was that she had enjoyed that kiss far too much. and they were getting better. That is, if you considered better to mean her head going dizzy and that awful feeling of her knees going all weak. Now she was forty years old and not to be fooled by the chemistry. That’s all it was—lust. What was really interesting was she could feel it all again. Feeling wasn’t good at the moment. She needed to have control over her emotions. The next twenty-four hours were going to be terrible.

  So, deep breath, Diana.

  * * *

  They’d finished eating and her mother had disappeared into her bedroom with the telephone to talk to her father. Diana was out on the balcony, listening to the chatter of the children below her and the crashing of the waves beyond that. It was dark, no moon tonight, but the stars were munificent, and lights twinkling on the water indicated ships passing.

  ‘This is very beautiful.’

  Patrick had come up and leant on the balcony beside her.

  ‘You have no idea how lucky you are.’ She felt him tense.

  ‘You own this, all of it, the boat, this lovely house, the farm.’

  ‘Well, yes …’ He sounded uncertain, not understanding her.

  ‘My father is home on his farm tonight because it owns him. He’s obsessed with it, he won’t leave it, can’t leave it. It’s like a millstone around his neck. He doesn’t see it, of course. He feels he has this responsibility to keep it going, but it owns him. Now there’s Mal, waiting for him to hand it over. He’s been waiting for twenty years. Twenty years! That’s a hell of a long time.’ Diana moved away slightly, turning so she could look at him. ‘Have you understood what a wonderful thing your grandparents did for you? By having the courage to break the ties to their history, their safe world, all to build a better future for their children.’

  ‘I’m not sure my parents would agree with you. My dad has always felt deprived of his heritage, cut off from his roots.’ Patrick looked down at her curiously. ‘When I went back to Ireland, I understood we would have had no future there. I went up to the farm—or at least where it would have been, the country that my grandparents owned—and I stood there on that green hillside and I knew I wanted to own land, if not there, here. It was so beautiful. Very powerful. More than that, it was inside me, something I had to do.’

  Stella walked out to join them.

  ‘I can hear the children.’

  There was noise on the stairs and the children arrived—exhausted, over-excited and not in the least wanting to go to bed. Patrick took over bath duty and had ended up as wet as they were. Her mother very nearly had a stroke seeing all that water going down the drain in Patrick’s enormous tub. Finally, the children were in bed, but not asleep, Diana concluded from the muffled bumps and noises escaping from their bedroom.

  ‘Coffee?’ Patrick stuck his head round the door. Diana had gone back out to the balcony.

  ‘Oh yes! Thank you. Mum excused herself. She’s exhausted and she’s gone to bed.’

  He reappeared with two cups, with two chocolate biscuits balanced on top. ‘I had to change my shirt,’ he said.

  ‘It looked like you’d have to change more than that, from where I stood.’ Diana was laughing as she took her cup.

  ‘How do parents ever manage to have an intelligent conversation?’

  ‘Not very often. By the time the children are in bed they’re too tired to talk. Often Charlie and I communicated with a series of grunts.’ Diana felt her cheeks warm as she realised her comment might be misconstrued and looked out to sea.

  ‘Do you want to talk about Charlie?’

  ‘I do and I don’t. No one out here really knew him and I’m finding that hard. I thought pushing him away and filling up my life with my old world would make it hurt less. But now Charlie’s following me around. He’s in my head. I don’t like that either.’ A shout followed by a squeal erupted from the bedroom.

  ‘I’m sorry. Wait here. If they don’t go to sleep soon they’ll be impossible tomorrow.’

  Diana was embarrassed. She put her coffee down and disappeared inside. Why did she say that? By the time she came back, Patrick had surrounded himself with a bunch of pamphlets.

  ‘I wanted to show you these. I want to grow hops, with the idea of building a brewery. I’m thinking of putting in around six acres to start. I’ve talked about this with Tom, I thought he might give me some advice, that he may even want to plant a few as well.’

  ‘Good heavens!’ Diana was dumbstruck. ‘What on earth did he say?’ Their fingers brushed as she took one of the brochures. She thought she’d been burned.

  ‘I might have
to do some more talking. He’s not convinced.’ Patrick laughed. ‘I’m not finding Mal very responsive to my ideas either. Look here.’

  Patrick was too close. The hairs on her arm were standing on end. The very air around them crackled. The words blurred on the pamphlets he handed her. ‘So when do you plan to start?’

  ‘Next week. I want to begin ploughing and planting the hops.’

  ‘You?’ She needed to step away. Get some distance.

  Patrick chuckled. ‘No. I’m employing contractors.’

  ‘That’s an unusual thing for our district, isn’t it? I can’t imagine Dad doing it. He only wants to run sheep.’ It was so hard to concentrate on what she was saying. Patrick’s arm rested on the balcony railing beside her. She was fascinated by the hairs on his arm. Were the hairs crinkly, or as soft as they looked?

  ‘He could lease it to me, I’d do all the work. At his time of life that may not be such a bad thing.’ He paused. ‘As for me, I only want to kiss you again.’

  Diana looked up to find Patrick’s eyes intently studying her.

  ‘I want to kiss you too.’ The truth was clear in her mind, it was no use denying it or pretending anything else. All her good intentions had flown out the window … well, over the railing.

  Patrick pulled her over to a darkened corner of the balcony out of sight of the living room, lifted her chin and bent his head to find her lips. Rockets, an explosion or two, her knees gave way and she was clinging to his shoulders. One of his arms was supporting her, the other hand pulling at her nipple. She groaned into his mouth and his hand went straight down to her jeans, flicking open the metal button at the top and sliding down the zipper and cupping her. Their mouths locked and she arched up into his hand. His finger slid into her. And the unbelievable happened. She climaxed. With an intensity that shocked her.

  Patrick held her as the tremors died away, kissing her softly, her eyes, her lips her neck. He was smiling. ‘Goodnight, Diana. Sleep well.’ And he turned and left her.

  What on earth just happened? Diana stood stunned, unable to move or think … Well, she knew what had just happened. How and why was a little harder to understand. She also knew she’d been his for the taking and he hadn’t. Not even asked.

  Turning off lights, she made her way to her room and got ready for bed, slipped into her pyjamas, brushed her teeth and sat on the edge of the perfectly made bed, absently stroking the satiny beige doona and whistling softly to herself.

  She’d done it again, lost all reason when his arms surrounded her and his lips touched hers. It wasn’t even one of those slow building kisses. No, it was pure, explosive heat. Insanity, kissing Patrick with her mother two rooms away, her kids not asleep. Would that have stopped her? She didn’t think so, it only occurred to her just now. But for that to have happened … she didn’t even know if she really liked him.

  She was leaving tomorrow. Insanity.

  ‘Sleep well.’ It was on the cards that she wouldn’t. She didn’t know about Patrick.

  * * *

  Lunchtime they were packed and all ready to go. Patrick was taking them to the airport. Diana felt it was desperately important that she carry them all through this. The children looked lost and her mum was being so brave. Patrick was being a pillar of strength; he seemed to know how hard this was for her. When he was talking about London and teasing Saskia about not locking herself in the toilet this time, Stella disappeared into the bedroom.

  She returned with Diana’s phone in her hand. ‘I can’t understand why I can’t get through to your father. I know he wants to say goodbye. He won’t answer the phone.’

  Patrick looked up from his computer. ‘Would you like me to ring Mal and get him to try? He might get through on the UHF.’

  Marnie and the two boys appeared at the door.

  ‘Hi, we just have a little going away present for you all. Some pictures we took at the races of everyone.’

  Diana stood there looking at the pictures of the children cheekily balanced on the wooden railings of the racetrack, her mother and Rosie, Patrick looking at her. Oh crikey. She nearly dropped the photo. Then there was one of Sean and Patrick, one of her dad in the tent, his head thrown back and laughing, with the girls draped around him.

  ‘I’m speechless. Thank you, Marnie, they’re beautiful.’ She went over and gave Marnie a hug.

  ‘It was a wonderful day, wasn’t it? Now you have to come back really soon. The boys were thinking they might have a little run on the beach before you leave. Is there time?’

  ‘We’ve got half an hour, haven’t we, Patrick?’ He nodded and took the phone with him into his office. ‘Sure, would you guys like to go? Don’t get dirty.’

  Her kids looked as if someone had just handed them a lifeline. They raced after Sam and Alex, discussing where they found the best crab yesterday.

  ‘Coffee?’

  Marnie laughed and shook her head. ‘No, thanks. You’ll be sick of the stuff by the time you get to London. Airport coffee. Yuk.’

  ‘Thanks for that.’ She gestured vaguely in the direction the children had taken. ‘I think everyone was getting a little tense. A bit of a run will be good for them.’

  ‘How are you getting home, Stella?’ Marnie asked.

  ‘I’m going to catch the train. There’s one about six, I can get it from the airport.’

  ‘Why don’t you come back here? The boys and I are going down to the farm tomorrow for a few days, and we’ll take you.’

  ‘Thank you all the same, but I want to get back to Tom. We haven’t been apart this long since I went to London to see Diana, and I have a feeling I’m going to be pretty miserable company tonight.’

  Diana’s phone rang.

  ‘It’s my ring, but where is the bloody thing?’ Diana was searching her handbag, pulling out the passports and packets of tissues she’d stuffed in there. Stella joined her, lifting up cushions and looking around the chairs.

  ‘There it is.’ Diana pounced on her suitcase. ‘How in the hell did it get there?’ By then it had finished ringing. She scanned the number. ‘Damn, it was Mal.’ The phone rang again in Patrick’s study. ‘It’ll be Dad,’ Diana reassured her mother.

  Patrick walked back into the room, his face solemn. ‘Sorry, Stella. It’s Mal.’

  One look at his face and Stella sank into a chair and took the phone with shaking fingers. ‘Oh my God, no. Mal, how is he?’ She listened. ‘Thank you, let me know as soon as you can. Yes.’ She put the phone in her lap unable to let go of it. ‘Oh no.’ She gulped. ‘Diana, Mal has just found Tom, up in the sheep yards. He’s unconscious, not responding. Mal didn’t wait for an ambulance. He’s driving him into town and he’s rung on ahead and the hospital’s waiting for him.’

  Diana just stood there. It was happening again. This, out of the blue, unbelievable … No, no. Patrick put his arm round her. She wasn’t entirely sure she would be standing otherwise. There was a clatter on the stairs. The children were back.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  Night was falling fast, as it did midwinter in the south. Diana looked out the window at the yellowing landscape as it faded into the purples and blacks and pinpricks of light from the oncoming cars. There was no wind and you could feel the frost settling already.

  She should have been in a plane on her way to England. Now she was in Rosie’s car following the helicopter that had taken her mother and father from their local hospital to Albury. She didn’t know how her dad was doing. Or the kids. Perhaps she should wait a little before ringing them. They were at Lost Valley with Patrick and Marnie, and looking pretty vulnerable and lost when she’d last seen them. How they’d got her mother home had been entirely due to Patrick’s efficient organisation. Diana had been no use. The last time she’d seen her father kept cropping up in front of her. It would be so unfair if anything … Not this time. Please. She couldn’t bear to go through this again.

  Rosie shivered. ‘It would help if you put the window up.’

  Diana closed of
f the inch or so of air she had been hoping would clear the fug from the overheated car. ‘What’s up, Rosie? Have I done something to annoy you?’ She looked at her sister’s profile across from her.

  ‘Only what’s usually wrong after you’ve been around for a while.’

  ‘Well, I was nearly gone. I should be halfway to London by now.’ Diana looked out the window again. Saw the sinister shape of a kangaroo lope away from the side of the road. ‘Oh, watch it, there’s a kangaroo.’

  ‘There are millions of the wretched things. They’re always here at this time of night, they love the green pick beside the road, I think. But don’t worry, I’ll be careful. We wouldn’t want to risk your precious neck, would we?’

  ‘Oh, for Christ sake, Rosie. Dad’s in emergency, in hospital, with we don’t know what. Lay off the sarcasm, will you?’

  ‘Diana rides to the rescue again, goddess in shining armour. How did we all get on without you, these last twenty years?’

  ‘I can’t imagine. Pure luck, I guess.’ Diana was so sick of these jealous confrontations. They had more important things to worry about, surely.

  ‘Right, lucky. You are one lucky girl, aren’t you? You couldn’t just be a poverty-stricken artist, could you? You swan in with three perfect children, and within a couple of months have Patrick salivating all over you.’

  ‘I can’t believe you said that. Have you no concept of what I’m going through? Charlie’s dead, Rosie. It bloody hurts. The pain is so great sometimes I can’t breathe, and I think good, stop breathing. Then I remember I have three children depending on me and I have to keep on breathing. Then there are the nights when I think, what if I die too and there’s no one for them? No one, Rosie. That’s why I had to come out here. If something happened to me, my kids have a family—you and Mal, and Mum and Dad. People to love them. One thing I’ve discovered is that death happens. And what’s more, it is final, Rosie, no second chances, no “let’s try again” … No chance to say I’m sorry. You don’t get to make up. Oh hell!’ Diana swallowed. ‘When’s the last time you saw Dad?’