by Kate Forster
‘What can I do?’ asked Carlotta to Spencer.
‘I think you should work with Chris and perhaps try to decipher what is happening at the top level and report back to Violetta. Strategy type of a thing.’
‘OK, I have no idea what that is, but I guess it will keep them honest if I am there, or at least I hope so.’
Grace picked at her thumbnail, her eyes downward. Violetta looked at her. ‘Gracie, we are going to need your skills in marketing, I think. You’re a guru at that stuff. Look what you did at Cranfields.’
‘I don’t know how to market fashion though. It’s not real marketing at Cranfields, it’s just making it look nice and selling the auctions,’ said Grace, silently cursing the useless Tylenol.
‘What do you think this is? Just replace the old dusty items at Cranfields with our clothes. Sell the dream, Gracie. I know you can do it. All the numbers and marketing crap, that’s why you have a team. They can tell you what you need to know. This is where we need you. You are so like Mummy in her tastes and understanding for how things should look, you get it. Let’s return Pajaro to her dream when she started it.’
Grace looked up. What Violetta had said made sense, but it didn’t mean she wasn’t terrified. She took in a deep breath. ‘OK, I’ll try.’
The girls looked at each other and smiled, then each put out a hand and placed one on top of the other.
‘Trinity,’ they all said together, an old superstition from childhood coming back to them. Trinity was what Birdie had called them when they were small. ‘Here comes the Trinity,’ she would say, as the girls toddled up to her.
They became so used to the term, they used it whenever they decided that they were all in on something. It had been a long time since they had said it but each one of them felt good saying it after all these years.
The Trinity was back.
5
Birdie, New York – 1983
Birdie walked around the house on the estate. She felt like a prisoner there sometimes. She was so far away from the city, so far from Georgia. Leon was always in New York. All she had for company was Thea, the housekeeper, who kept to herself most of the time. Birdie glanced in the gilded mirror as she passed it. She looked fine, a little older but still quite pretty, she thought, without a hint of arrogance. Birdie was many things but not arrogant. Passionate, vibrant, creative – well, she used to be creative, she thought to herself. Leon had taken over Pajaro as soon as it had turned its first profit.
Now she was at home, waiting to become pregnant. A seemingly impossible task when Leon was so rarely home. Birdie pulled on her heavy Ralph Lauren trench coat and slipped on her walking boots and walked out the front door into the cold air. Snow soon, she thought, as she looked up at the threatening clouds.
Wandering up the driveway towards the front fence, she looked at her horses in their winter coats in the fields. It was a beautiful estate and she had almost the perfect life there. And a baby would make it perfect, she thought to herself.
She hadn’t minded when Leon had taken over her idea and borrowed the money from her parents to start Pajaro. Spencer had been gracious and insisted she get a contract drawn up in her favour. Leon had baulked but Spencer had been firm and Birdie stayed out of the negotiations. She just wanted to design.
Dina had been another story though. She and Birdie hadn’t spoken when Leon had pushed Dina out of the picture early on, and Birdie missed her. She had few friends in New York and she was sure the doyennes of society were laughing at Birdie with her Southern ways and dress sense. So she retreated and stayed at the estate.
As Birdie got towards the mailbox, she saw a large envelope sticking from it addressed to Mrs de Santoval. She pulled it from the box and few smaller envelopes fell onto the ground. She stuffed the smaller ones into her pocket and struggled to open the larger envelope with her cold fingers. As she pulled the letter out something fluttered to the ground. She reached down and picked it up. It was a photo of a baby. A sickly, small child. She turned it over and saw the word ‘Matthew’ written on the back.
Not recognising the baby, she read the letter.
This is your husband’s child. He has been having an affair with me for the last two years. He must recognise his baby as his own or else I will take him to court. I have no other options now, so please speak to him and ask him to do the right thing by his own flesh and blood.
Melanie Sanger
Birdie fell to the ground. Oh Leon, she thought, you’ve broken my heart.
6
When the girls arrived at the hospital, they waited outside as Birdie’s door was closed. A nurse walked past and told them they were bathing Birdie and they could enter in a few minutes. The sisters stood quietly.
Grace spoke quickly. ‘I hope you don't hate what I did to Mummy's room. It’s maybe too much but let me know. I won't be offended. I just wanted to make it special.’
Violetta smiled. ‘I'm sure it will be lovely. Mummy always loved your taste in everything.’
‘I’m a bit conservative, so is Mummy. She was always telling me to try new looks like you, to be more fashion forward and cool. She wanted you to take me shopping but I was afraid to ask.’
Violetta looked at her in surprise. Birdie had admired her taste? Thought she was fashion forward? She always thought her mother’s comments were criticisms.
‘I won't be surprised if a fucking grand piano is in there, judging by the amount of noise you made this morning,’ grumbled Carlotta.
Gracie stuck her tongue out at her and Violetta felt like they were small children again.
The door opened slightly and two nurses came out. ‘Hello, your mother is all clean and fresh now. We love what you did with the room, gave us something to talk to her about. It's really lovely,’ said one nurse, smiling at the sisters.
Grace glowed as her sisters smiled at her appreciatively.
‘You go in first,’ said Grace to her sisters.
Carlotta and Violetta walked into the hospital room and gasped with surprise. Birdie was propped up in the hospital bed, but on the bed were her finest Porthault linens, with green fern edged embroidery pillows and sheets. The machines next to Birdie had been tucked away behind a small Chinese screen in greens and pinks. The ugly hospital trays had been covered with a divine mother-of-pearl inlaid antique tray. The uncomfortable hospital chairs had disappeared and instead were two black Frances Elkin loop chairs, covered in a striped green and white silk. Paintings hung at the end of the bed on the far wall – some of Birdie’s collection of waterfall paintings that she loved so much and had been collecting for years.
‘These are the least expensive pieces in the apartment, so I thought I would bring them,’ explained Grace, suddenly nervous about her sisters’ opinion.
Small bottles of Grace’s lotions and perfumes stood on a silver tray next to the bed, a Christofle water carafe and tumbler on a white lined mat. There was a beautiful Chinese ginger jar lamp on the small wooden table between the chairs and an electric oil burner tucked in a corner, burning essence of orange oil.
‘It promotes communication, I read,’ offered Grace when Violetta bent down to look closer.
Carlotta fingered the beautiful new curtains. They were thick and soft, white with scalloped edging in the fern green.
‘Mummy's Pratesi guests’ sheets. I sewed them together to make them thicker,’ said Grace.
Violetta nodded approvingly. ‘It’s beautiful, Grace, so beautiful. When Mom wakes up she will be so thrilled to see such gorgeous things.’
Carlotta, overcome with emotion pulled her younger sister close and hugged her around the neck as she would her horse.
As Carlotta rubbed her head softly, Grace started to laugh. ‘I’m not a horse,’ she said.
Carlotta chucked her under the chin. ‘Well, I love you nearly as much for doing this,’ she said.
Grace smiled. ‘I just wanted it to look nice for Mummy.’
Trying to forget her guilt at the drinking binge
before the board meeting, she had tried to make it up to her unconscious mother by doing what she knew best, making things beautiful.
Carlotta looked at her watch. ‘I have to fly and head off. I’ll be back later,’ she said to her mother, and kissed her cheek. ‘Just a quick visit to see you’re OK but thanks to Grace, you’re more than OK.’
Grace kissed her mother’s cheek also. ‘I have go to Cranfields and tie up a few loose ends for Alan,’ she said to Violetta. ‘Do you mind being here alone?’
Violetta shrugged. ‘No, it’s fine, just me and Mom shooting the shit.’
Carlotta laughed. ‘You are pretty funny sometimes,’ she said as she left the room.
Grace was standing at the door. ‘Yes, she always was the funny one, according to Mom,’ she said to Carlotta as they left the room.
Violetta watched them leave and then sat next to Birdie. Funny? Great fashion sense? She shook her head; she never thought her sisters and mother thought of her that way.
Refilling the oil burner, she turned as she heard a knock at the door and the doctor walked into the room. ‘I like what you’ve done to the place,’ he said, looking around.
‘It wasn’t me, it was my sister Grace,’ Violetta said. ‘I hope it’s OK.’
‘It’s fine. Maybe your sister can come and decorate my place. God knows it needs it,’ he said.
‘Maybe, I can ask her if you want,’ said Violetta, unsure if he was serious or not.
The doctor shook his head. ‘No, no, it’s fine really,’ he said, going back into his professional persona.
Violetta wondered if he was nervous for some reason. ‘Jeff isn’t it?’ She asked.
He nodded, ‘Yup.’
Violetta felt out of place suddenly. In her skin tight black jeans, her purple singlet and black fake fur bomber. She felt like an extra from Almost Famous, with her heavy eye makeup and a gold snake bangle pushed up high on her toned arm. The doctor was so serious in his blue shirt with the sleeves rolled up to the mid forearm. He had nice forearms, she noted. She also noted no wedding ring.
He moved the screen away from the machines. ‘I don’t think we can have this covering these,’ he said apologetically.
‘That’s OK,’ she said. ‘It’s my sister Grace, she’s in denial. Thinks if she can put things behind beautiful screens or hang art then the ugliness won’t show.’
Violetta wondered why she was being so candid with him and felt disloyal to Grace.
‘She has amazing taste in everything though,’ she added, wishing she could stop talking so much. He probably already thought she was an absolute airhead.
‘Can we chat outside of this room?’ he asked.
Violetta nodded and followed him to the airless room that she was beginning to hate the sight of.
‘Things haven’t improved as we would have liked,’ he said carefully.
Violetta sat up straight in her chair.
‘Your mom’s had a massive cerebral bleed and the brain is very swollen. I’ll wait but if things don’t improve then I suggest surgery.’
Violetta’s hands had flown over her mouth. ‘Surgery?’
‘Yes, I’m afraid that is an option at this stage, but we will be cautious.’ He leaned forward in the chair. ‘I am trying to be as conservative as possible but I have to be mindful, we can’t pretend that surgery isn’t our last option.’
‘When do you think that would be likely to happen?’ Violetta asked, trying not to cry.
‘We’ll wait for a few days, as I said, but I will contact you all if that happens. I will get the nurse to get all your contact details and I will give you my cell number if you have any questions. Please know you can call me at any time. The brain is a mysterious organ and I know it’s often hard for a patient’s family to comprehend. Your mother looks fine on the outside but she is very, very sick,’ he said in a kind voice.
Violetta had felt herself being almost mesmerised by his voice as he spoke. She looked at him closely. He could be quite handsome if he lost the cheap shirt.
His sandy hair was slightly too long and it was a bad haircut. He had a nice face, good skin and green eyes. And he was in good shape; maybe a runner, she thought, looking at his long legs in his blue pants. She noticed a black belt and brown shoes. Number one fashion mistake of men, and then caught herself. What the hell was she thinking? Checking out the doctor while he spoke of brain surgery? Jesus, she was awful. She crossed her arms and looked down at her boots.
Jeff stood up. ‘Call me anytime,’ he reminded her as he left.
‘Mom,’ she later whispered in Birdie’s ear. ‘You have an excellent doctor. Terrible dresser, but I think I can help there.’
And she wondered if she had imagined the flicker at the corner of her mother’s mouth.
•
Was the daughter checking him out, he wondered as he went back to the nurses’ station. He saw his favourite nurse filling in forms. ‘Hey Leticia,’ he said. She knew all the gossip about the de Santoval sisters.
‘Hmm?’ She looked up.
‘Do you think I dress well?’ he asked.
‘Oh honey!’ she laughed uproariously. ‘You are the worst dresser we have ever seen in this hospital.’
‘Really?’ Jeff felt affronted.
‘Black shoes, brown belt, that tie? Oh baby, but what you lack in style you make up for in brains,’ she said, chuckling to herself.
‘I’m offended,’ he said, feeling miffed.
‘Don’t be. Style is nothing without substance,’ she said, preening herself in her large floral shirt. ‘See how my crocs match my top?’ she said, holding out her red plastic shoes for him to view. ‘Now that is style.’
Jeff poked his tongue out at her and laughed and turned to see Violetta standing behind him.
‘Oh hi,’ he said, embarrassed. ‘Leticia was giving me a lesson in fashion. Apparently I have no idea,’ he went on, wondering why he was telling her this.
Violetta smiled at them. ‘Men’s fashion is harder to get right than women’s. The rules are tighter.’
Jeff looked down at himself. ‘Yes, the brown belt with black shoes rule is something that I haven’t been exposed to before.’
‘I blame his girlfriend or wife,’ said Violetta playfully to Leticia. ‘Letting him out like that.
Leticia was thrilled her poster girl for style was talking to her and she joined in the banter. ‘Oh honey, those examples should show you that he has no girlfriend or wife. No self-respecting woman would let a fine man like Doctor Carson out like that.’ She finished with a flourish and a snap of her fingers.
‘Hey, I am here!’ Jeff said, rising to his own defence.
‘He is so nice,’ Leticia confided to Violetta. ‘But he needs a makeover. We have tried for three years here but he ain’t biting. Perhaps you should try. You would do us all a huge favour.’
Violetta laughed. ‘Well, you can lead a man to Prada but you can’t make him wear it.’
‘Prada? What’s a Prada?’ asked Jeff, confused.
Leticia snorted at him. ‘Something you can afford but can’t afford not to wear. Please child, take him and make him your own. He wears us down with his poor styling here,’ she laughed as she walked away in the direction of a buzzer ringing.
‘Sorry about that,’ Jeff said, blushing. ‘I am sure you didn’t come here to discuss my sartorial elegance.’
‘I was wondering if you could call me overnight if there is any change. I am on the roster for tomorrow morning.’
‘Absolutely,’ he said, making a note on the chart. ‘It’s good to have a roster.’
‘Yes.’
Violetta waited awkwardly and then turned to walk away.
Jeff turned back to his chart but he seemed flustered. He seemed so unconfident and perplexed that she felt sorry for her and Leticia’s playful roasting.
‘I can take you,’ she said quickly.
‘Sorry?’ Jeff looked up at her in surprise.
‘To Prada.’
Jeff stared at her. He waited and then laughed. ‘No, no. It’s fine. I’m sure I’ll get by.’
Violetta shrugged. ‘Sure, but if you do decide you want some advice, let me know. They know me there, I can get you styled and fabulous in no time at all. It’s the least I could do for helping my mother,’ she added.
Jeff nodded. ‘Thanks. I’ll think about it.’
As Violetta walked away she was sure Dr Carson was watching her walk back to her mother’s room.
*
The next morning, Violetta was woken to buzzing from the doorman downstairs.
‘Ms de Santoval,’ his voice came through the speaker. ‘There is a camera crew here for you.’
Violetta groaned. Spencer had said there was no way out of her contract short of her disappearing in a mysterious Bermuda Triangle, and even if she did resurface they would still own the rights to her story. The schedule for filming was rigorous and unrelenting. Adam had fought Jeff over the camera being allowed at the hospital but Jeff had stood firm, much to Violetta's relief.
Telling her sisters was another matter though. Carlotta had avoided her calls for three days and Grace had shrugged and given her the look of disappointment that she had inherited from Birdie.
‘You do that look very well,’ Violetta had said when she met Grace for lunch at the hospital café.
‘I don’t want to make you feel bad, I can tell you regret it Letty, but TV? It’s so base,’ said Grace, turning down her perfectly upturned nose.
‘I know, I know. It seemed so exciting at the time,’ Violetta tried to explain.
‘And who else is participating?’ asked Grace, the word ‘participating’ sounding like the most vile word she had ever uttered.
‘CeCe Porter, Sabrina Russo and Maisie Zefferman have all signed on.’
Grace raised an eyebrow. ‘Them? I’m sorry but they are way out of your league. I know I sound like a snob but they are all new money.’
‘You do sound like a snob,’ said Violetta, tearing apart her bread roll.
‘Well, they are all so gauche. You wouldn’t find the likes of Marina or Aerin doing this in their day,’ Grace said.