The bleating of the telephone urged her to rise from her pleasant sunny spot. She knew who it would be before she answered it. Annie was forgetful these days, and even though she still had two of her sons nearby to take care of her, she still liked the reassurance of hearing Catherine’s voice.
‘What time is it happening?’ Annie asked. Her voice had little of the waver of a woman her age.
‘Two pm. Hardly a decent hour to start drinking but it means people can stay for as long, or as little, as they like. Some are staying in Cygnet or Wattle Grove, but others will want to head back to Hobart.’
‘Let’s hope they don’t get breathalysed. Paul’s going to drive me over. Not like the old days when we used to walk to each other’s place. It was so easy back then.’
Catherine had to agree. She still walked around the orchard on a regular basis, but these days she did it slowly, and usually with a stop at Izzy and Stardust’s for a cup of herbal tea and a rest before she made her way back home. ‘How’s the crop looking?’
‘Marvellous,’ Annie said, her voice brightening. ‘Another bumper year. I can’t believe the amount of money Paul and Greg are raking in. If only my mother was alive to see it. Not because she’d be happy about it. More like livid with jealousy.’
Through the years Annie and Dave’s cherry orchard had become spectacularly successful. All of their land plus the Fletchers’ old orchard was now blanketed with white netting covering their precious crop. Tasmania’s fruit fly-free status had seen their cherries command premium export prices and the domestic orders were phenomenal. One year, when the rain had fallen at the wrong time threatening to ruin the cherries, they’d paid for a fleet of helicopters to hover over their orchard and drive off the water. Charlie had been gobsmacked. ‘Do you know how much it costs to hire even one helicopter?’ he’d asked Catherine. She’d had no idea. ‘A shitload, that’s what.’ When Catherine had asked Annie about it she’d shrugged. ‘If you have to spend half a million dollars to save a five-million-dollar crop then it’s an easy decision.’
Catherine was genuinely pleased for Annie and Dave when their hard work finally paid off, and glad Dave had lived long enough to see it happen. Annie was still lost without him, but her sons kept her close. ‘Well, we’ll see you this afternoon at about two then.’
‘I wouldn’t miss it for quids.’
After a breakfast of Izzy and Stardust’s muesli, Catherine showered and dressed. She left the little cottage, which she felt completely at home in now she was a grandmother herself, to take her daily pilgrimage to the walnut tree. She never visited Peter’s grave at the cemetery. To her he was always here. The walnuts were used in the cafe to make cakes and slices, another little touch the tourists loved, but for Catherine it was a symbol of enduring love. She had made peace with the past and with his death. She’d kept her promise. The proof was in the trees that blossomed around them.
It was another death that caused her to weep at the most inopportune moments. She hoped for Charlie’s sake that this afternoon wasn’t one of them. Beside the walnut tree grew a young apple tree – Mark’s favourite variety of Cox’s Orange Pippin.
‘Hello, my darling.’ Catherine touched the leaves of the tree. It was covered with the creamy white and delicate pink blush that made apple blossom so beautiful. ‘It’s a big day today. Everyone will be here, even Angela. Or should I say, especially Angela.’
She knelt down beside the tree, her knees complaining with the effort. ‘Charlie’s launching his vodka this afternoon. It comes in three flavours – cherry, pear and yes, apple. Who knew vodka would become so popular? People are making it out of all kinds of things these days, even sheep’s whey. It really isn’t my cup of tea. I am fond of his cider though, as you know, but even one glass makes me rather giddy. I’d better pace myself this afternoon.’ She eased her legs to sit on the ground. ‘Izzy and Stardust will be there, and Annie. A bunch of old biddies with not a man between us, not that it ever worried Izzy and Stardust. They miss you too. Everybody does.’ She swallowed hard. ‘I know you were tired, my darling. I know you had to go. But if I could, I’d have kept you here with me forever. Selfish of me, I know, when you were in so much pain.’ Catherine laid her hand on the ground next to the apple tree’s slender trunk. ‘You are always with me. In the ground beneath my feet, in the air I breathe, in the music I listen to because of you.’ A faint smile touched her lips. She still had the turntable he’d given her and all the albums they’d bought. Every day she would carefully slip a disc of vinyl from its sleeve. Sometimes she’d move slowly to the music, imagining Mark there with her. The days were long without him, but the memories kept her company.
Catherine wiped her eyes with the handkerchief she always tucked up her sleeve when she visited this place; one tree old and strong, the other young and full of promise. The irony was not lost on her. She cleared her throat. ‘Sarah and Scott will be here. Can you believe we’re about to become great-grandparents?’ Mark and Catherine’s daughter, Sarah, had delighted both her parents and Annie and Dave when she and Scott married. ‘Our families are united forever,’ Annie had said at the time. Scott was a good ten years older than Sarah, but Annie insisted boys took longer to mature than girls and the age difference made them a good match. Sarah worked as a teacher, as her mother had, and Scott had a small but successful legal practice in Hobart. Catherine had always been proud of her godson and couldn’t imagine a better match for Sarah. Lucy, the couple’s oldest, was expecting her first baby. ‘Great-grandparents,’ Catherine sighed. ‘Hard to believe.’
She struggled to her feet with the noise old people make when they exert themselves. ‘I can hear you laughing, you know,’ she said to the tree. ‘But let’s face it, I am old.’ She touched the leaves one more time. ‘Goodbye, my love, I’ll see you tomorrow. And we’ll raise a glass to you this afternoon. You’re always in our thoughts.’
Later in the day Catherine walked down from her cottage towards the cafe. It was a sprawling affair built to look like an old packing shed, except this shed had a state-of-the-art kitchen, an espresso machine, air conditioning and heating, and a massive deck with big gas outdoor heaters for the crisper weather. Behind the cafe was another building Catherine referred to as Charlie’s laboratory. It was where he concocted the brews that kept the orchard alive. More than that, the orchard was thriving because of the changes he’d made, including incorporating a lot of Stardust’s techniques. A few years ago, before prices had gone crazy, he’d bought land on the other side of the gully to plant more of the cider apples that were so unfamiliar to Catherine. His cider was an award-winning brew stocked in bottle shops, pubs and restaurants all over the country. Catherine had cried when he’d told her what he’d decided to call his cider. Cat and Mouse. ‘I’ll never forget how wonderful you were to me all those years ago,’ he’d said. ‘I began to laugh, to really enjoy life, because of you.’
The cafe was bustling with activity. The waitstaff in their freshly ironed uniforms and long black aprons always looked so professional. The star of the afternoon was Charlie’s new range of vodka, the bottles displayed on a table set up on a small stage, with a spotlight shining on them, no less. A huge banner announcing their launch hung across the rear wall and speakers on slim silver stands flanked the stage. It made sense, Catherine supposed. Once people had a few drinks the noise level would increase, and for the speeches a microphone would be a necessity.
Catherine hovered on the deck keeping an eye out for Angela. Her home was in Sydney now, when she wasn’t in her flat in Paris or her apartment in New York. Catherine was glad Annie had made the decision to tell Angela the truth before she became famous. As soon as she’d begun to attract world attention, Lara had swooped in like a bejewelled vulture, claiming her for her own via a media blitz, of course. Some claimed Angela would never have made it to such stratospheric heights without the publicity it garnered – Lara being married to rock royalty and Angela her long-missed daughter. Those with any discernment
knew differently. The combination of Lara’s stunning beauty and Mark’s musical talent had created the perfect package. Angela was always going to be a major star. The fact that she’d been adopted under unusual circumstances certainly added an extra fillip of intrigue, but ultimately ended up reflecting badly on Lara.
In interviews Angela was always gracious about being adopted, saying yes, she was surprised when her parents had told her, but grateful they’d given her such a marvellous upbringing on an orchard in Tasmania. The international press in particular loved that fact – to them a Tasmanian orchard was somehow exotic. Angela always mentioned Mark with pride and as a result his songs had seen a resurgence on the Hits and Memories radio stations.
As her music career began to take off, Angela had decided she would be known to the world only as ‘Angela’. It wasn’t done to shun the parents who’d brought her up, or to shut out her biological father, it was done out of respect to the village that had born and raised her, nurtured and inspired her.
A sleek deep-blue Lexus pulled into one of the reserved parking spaces in front of the cafe. Catherine recognised Angela’s glossy dark hair immediately but wondered about the silver-haired man in the driver’s seat. Angela unfurled her long legs and stood beside the car, stretching. She was as slender as ever, clad in tight black trousers and a slinky scarlet top. She reached into the car and slipped a soft black leather jacket over her shoulders. Angela was in her fifties now, but still looked every bit the star in her expensive clothes and large sunglasses. The man opened the boot and extracted a long black case. Angela waved at Catherine and took the man’s spare hand in her own as they walked towards her.
Catherine enveloped Angela in a lingering hug.
Angela leant back, both hands on Catherine’s shoulders. ‘You look wonderful.’
‘That’s very kind and you, of course, are as beautiful as ever.’ She turned to the silver-haired man. ‘And who’s this?’
Angela slipped an arm around the man’s waist. ‘This is the fabulous Richard. He’s my producer. We worked together years ago when I was too young to appreciate him fully, but we hooked up again for my latest project and … hooked up.’ Her laugh was too polished to be spontaneous. Catherine knew she’d used the line before.
Richard took Catherine’s hand and kissed it. ‘A pleasure to meet you, Catherine. I’ve heard so much about you and of course your—’
‘Shh.’ Angela laid a manicured finger on his lips. ‘It’s a surprise, remember?’
‘Ah, yes,’ he said. ‘Where should I put this?’ He indicated the black case.
‘We need to find Charlie.’ Angela slid her sunglasses up to the top of her head. As always, Catherine was hypnotised by those golden eyes.
‘He’ll be inside somewhere,’ Catherine said. ‘Shall we?’ She led the way into the cafe. One of the young waitresses gasped and clutched at her chest as if she’d been kicked by a horse when she caught sight of Angela. For those who didn’t know her, it was sometimes a shock to encounter someone so famous in everyday life.
Charlie came over and gave Angela a big hug. ‘How ya goin’, sis?’
‘Bonza, mate,’ she replied. It was their standard greeting.
Charlie shook hands with Richard and suggested he put the case behind a black curtain beside the stage. ‘Just set it up there. There’s power and leads.’
‘Did you get me a stool?’ Angela asked in a whisper.
‘Of course, sis. It’s all taken care of. Hey, and thanks.’
She grazed his cheek with her lips in a brief kiss. ‘No, big brother, thank you.’
Catherine watched with curiosity. They were up to something.
‘You can freshen up at the house if you want to. You’ll have the place to yourself. Melissa is in her studio and Jack’s cooking up a storm here in the cafe.’ Charlie had met Melissa when she was in the valley sourcing specimens for her art. In the years since they’d married she’d become a renowned botanical artist. Many of her prints of apple and pear blossom decorated the walls of the cafe, along with beautiful depictions of the Tasmanian native flora. Catherine knew she was in her studio putting the final touches on a present for Angela. When their son was born, Catherine’s parents had been delighted when Charlie told them they were naming him after Catherine’s father. Her mother became close to her great-grandson, as she had done with Charlie, and the hours they spent together in the kitchen baking had inspired Jack to become a chef. Usually he worked in Melbourne, but he’d come down especially for this event to create delicious morsels for the guests.
Angela left the cafe with Richard beside her, causing a ripple of nervous energy from the staff. Catherine raised a questioning eyebrow at Charlie, but all he did was smile. ‘Bit busy, lots to do. Oh, look, here’s Annie and Paul.’ He waved in their direction and, once she was distracted, scooted off.
The crowd grew steadily until the cafe was packed. Luckily Catherine and Annie had nabbed a table as well as saving seats for Izzy and Stardust when they finally arrived, and for Melissa. Paul and Scott made sure they were all kept fed and watered as Catherine caught up on the latest in Sarah’s life, the happenings in Annie’s orchard, Melissa’s art and the latest shenanigans of Stardust’s sheep. Catherine was astounded at the number of photographers present. The Huon’s Cider Trail and the valley’s reputation as a foodie haven had grown exponentially in recent years. That might explain the number of people taking photos of the vodka, the cider, the food and the cafe itself, not only with their mobile phones but with professional cameras. There was also a television crew and one of the local presenters. Since when was the launch of a new vodka so newsworthy? She was pleased for Charlie, but it seemed like overkill.
Charlie climbed onto the stage, his face flushed with excitement, and made a beautiful speech about how much the orchard meant to him and how growing up in such a beautiful part of the world had shaped his work and his aesthetic. He extolled the virtues of the clean air and water helping to make his cider and vodka the best it could possibly be. He proposed a toast to the Huon Valley and the crowd cheered mightily as they tossed back more alcohol. Charlie nodded to a couple of waiters hovering nearby who quickly dismantled the set-up on stage, leaving the space clear.
‘Thank you all once again for coming.’ Charlie beamed at the crowd. ‘I have a big surprise for you today.’ As he spoke, Richard appeared with another of the staff members carrying a keyboard between them. They set it up on the stage beside Charlie along with a piano stool. The news crew and photographers rushed to the front of the stage. ‘As most of you are aware, Angela is my little sister.’ A gasp rustled through the hushed crowd. ‘And she has something she’d like to share with you today.’
Angela emerged wearing a silky dress of the deepest purple with a pattern of apple blossom twisting along its length. The only jewellery she wore was the golden snake bracelet with the emerald eyes. The single spotlight glinted on her lustrous hair and highlighted her magical eyes. The photographers went crazy in a flurry of shutters as the crowd roared its approval. Catherine and Annie stood to get a better view, clutching each other’s hands in solidarity and support.
Angela thanked Charlie, made a quip about his delicious vodka, and then turned her magnetic personality on the crowd. A hush descended on the cafe. ‘As you all know, I grew up right here in Wattle Grove. My mother is here. Hi, Mum.’ She waved in Annie’s direction and Catherine felt the hand in hers grip more tightly. It was from joy, and pride. ‘And both my fathers are here in spirit.’ Catherine leant closer to Annie, sharing their losses. ‘I also acknowledge my birth mother with this bracelet she gave me.’ Angela stretched one toned arm up to display the golden snake.
‘She didn’t actually give it to her,’ Annie muttered in Catherine’s ear. ‘She sent it in the post without a card or a letter.’
‘I know, and so does Angela,’ Catherine whispered to her friend. ‘And that’s what matters.’
‘I’m here today to thank them all for the different wa
ys in which they shaped my life,’ Angela continued. ‘But there’s someone else here today who you might not be aware of. This was originally her orchard. She was the only female orchardist here in the valley for many years, and she held on through everything nature and the economy threw at her to remain one of the very few orchards left in the Apple Isle. I wasn’t aware of any of this when I was a kid, but I did know she was the first person to demonstrate the beauty and the power of the piano and encourage me to explore it for myself. She was my first piano teacher and to this day I still think she was the best.’
Catherine swayed slightly. Why was Angela talking about her? She remembered the young child, barely three years old, playing along with her on the piano at Dave’s birthday party, and coming to the house for lessons from when she was eight. Angela’s talent was apparent from the very beginning. It had been thrilling to watch it blossom.
‘She was the most inspirational teacher I ever had,’ Angela continued. ‘I know my father found her inspiring too. That’s one of the reasons I decided to record an album of my father’s songs. Some of them are famous and others are just favourites of mine. I also wanted to honour my father and the magnificent songwriter and musician he was. A man who gave it all up, not once but twice, for the sake of those he loved. It’s an acoustic album, mainly only me and my piano, produced by my marvellous producer, Richard.’ She nodded at the handsome silver-haired man standing beside the stage. ‘And today, along with some delicious vodka, you are getting the very first taste of my new album.’
The cheer that erupted was deafening. Catherine and Annie clung to each other in the heaving sea of excitement and enthusiasm. The room shifted and swayed around Catherine as the memories came flooding back; Mark and her playing songs on the tiny porch of the pickers’ hut, dancing in the lounge room to their favourite records, and the songs he’d hummed in her ear for only her to hear. He was here with her now, in her heart and in every cell of her body.
The Last of the Apple Blossom Page 38