The Dreaming

by Barbara Wood

  Another dreary luncheon and another anxious mother foisting her daughter on him. This time, the girl was Lucinda Carmichael.

  Frank Downs already knew exactly what she was going to be like. Ever since his wife-hunt had started, he had met the same type of girl a thousand times over. She was usually short—the mothers worked very hard not to have the bad taste to point up Frank's own shortness—or she would hunch her shoulders to soften any height she might have over him. Her hair would be done coquettishly; her dress would be outrageously expensive and still smell of the dressmaker's shop. She would be demure and retiring to the point of boring him; she would play the piano like an amateur, and she would sing atrociously.

  Whenever his friends or his sister remarked that he seemed to be taking his time about finding a wife, Frank simply said that he was choosy, and that, as it was an important step, he wasn't going to settle for just anyone.

  "G'day, Downs," Geoffrey Carmichael said as he came into the parlor. The Carmichael mansion stood on a hill overlooking the Yarra River, in a Melbourne suburb that was available only to the very rich. When he married, Frank intended to build such a house for himself and his wife so that they could divide their residence between the city and the Western District.

  "Carmichael," Frank said, shaking his host's hand.

  Geoffrey Carmichael, a robust man in his sixties, had made his first fortune in gold mining; his second in boots and saddle manufacturing. He was now about to make his third—in silver. Ostensibly, this was the purpose of their meeting today, to discuss what Frank had found during his visit to a place called Broken Hill. But the real, unspoken purpose of Frank's visit was to have a chance to meet Lucinda, Carmichael's only daughter.

  Frank accepted a glass of whiskey and went to stand in front of the fireplace. It was September, the tail end of winter, and a cold day had Melbourne in its grip. Frank was glad to be back in civilization and drinking civilized whiskey. He and Carmichael discussed the merits of investing in the new Broken Hill silver mine, and when, a while later, Carmichael put down his glass, held out his hand and said, "I trust you, Frank. Consider me another partner," Mrs. Carmichael suddenly appeared, as if she had been listening on the other side of the door and waiting for the business to be concluded. "There you are! Mr. Carmichael, don't be greedy and keep our guest all to yourself. Mr. Downs," she said, entering the room, "I would like to present to you my daughter, Lucinda."

  Frank put his glass down and drew himself up. When he saw who entered the parlor, he found himself staring.

  Lucinda Carmichael was tall—taller even than Ivy. And she had a bold, beautiful smile that was accompanied by an outstretched hand ready for his handshake. She smelled of roses and was not afraid to meet his eyes. And Frank Downs, suddenly finding himself pleasantly surprised, heard himself say—and mean it—"I'm pleased to meet you, Miss Carmichael."

  Instead of hurrying back to the Western District to discuss the Broken Hill mine with Hugh, Frank put off his departure from Melbourne. He took luncheon that afternoon at the Carmichael mansion and attended the theater that same evening with Mr. and Mrs. Carmichael and Lucinda. The next day he appeared again at the house, this time to sit on the lawn and discuss business with Geoffrey, while they watched the lovely Lucinda play tennis on the newly laid out tennis court. That evening he dined at the house, and the next day accompanied the family on a ride to the seaside, where they ate lunch at a cafe in St. Kilda and remarked on the bracing qualities of the sea air. For six days, Frank found himself in the constant company of Miss Lucinda Carmichael, always chaperoned, and by the end of that time, he came to a very practical decision. He could find no better choice for a wife.

  In fact, with her father's wealth and connections, Frank would be getting even more of a bargain than he had first anticipated. But more important than that was the fact that Lucinda was a companionable girl, not mincy and false like so many others he had met, girls he was certain would change the minute the marriage vows were spoken. Lucinda was forthright and sure of herself, and honest in a way that actually gave him a sense of what married life with her would be like. And when he imagined the long legs that must be hidden beneath her skirts, and saw the generous swell of her bosom over a narrow waist, Frank decided he need look no further.

  There was no need to talk it over, either with the parents or with the girl herself. The Carmichaels had made it clear that they would welcome Frank as a son-in-law, and Lucinda, who was twenty-one and rather too tall, was ready to settle on a husband. Nor was there any reason to wait. Once his mind was made up, Frank was never one to waste time. He need only make the formal proposal, and then they could settle into a comfortable courtship of a decent six to twelve months, at the end of which he would take his bride back to Lismore and get her settled into country life.

  Considering the fortune he expected to make on his Broken Hill shares, and the unexpected dividend he had found at the Carmichael house, Frank decided he had done all right for himself. And so as he waited for his valet to bring his coffee and brandy and hot water for shaving, he marveled at his good luck.

  And then he thought: I shall stop by and see Ivy tonight, on my way to the Carmichaels'.

  Frank presented himself an hour later on Ivy's doorstep, bearing champagne, flowers, and a very expensive diamond bracelet.

  "You're back!" she exclaimed, having missed him during his absence in South Australia.

  When he saw Ivy's hair, still richly red, and when he smelled the sweet lavender scent she always surrounded herself with, Frank experienced an unexpected pang. He should have come to see her the minute he got back from Broken Hill. But he had been anxious to get Carmichael's commitment, and then Lucinda had appeared, and, well, the week had simply gotten away from him. But he was here now, in Ivy's comfortable flat, handing her his ulster and the gifts.

  "Did you miss me, Ivy?" he said.

  She had wanted to scold him. She hadn't seen or heard from him in over three weeks. But the sight of him, the sound of his voice, flooded her with love. She went into his embrace and kissed him, and when his arms tightened about her, and she felt his passion, she wondered how she could have ever been afraid that he would abandon her. She would never do or say anything to hurt him.

  Which was why she had kept a secret from him.

  She knew that Frank believed she couldn't get pregnant. He hadn't actually spoken of it, but she had felt it after their first year together. She had sensed his relief, and she knew it was partly this that gave him such wonderful freedom in their lovemaking. Ivy had decided to allow Frank his illusion, not wanting to tell him about the illegitimate child she had given birth to years ago and whose whereabouts she no longer knew. She suspected, in fact, that it was not she who was unable to produce children, but Frank himself, and this she would never utter.

  She took his coat, sparkling with winter mist, and accepted the champagne and the bouquet of rain-forest orchids that ranged from deep blue to brilliant pink. Ivy recognized the rare flowers—they came all the way from the northern tropical coast of Queensland, and were very expensive.

  "What a day I've had!" he said, striding to the fireplace to warm the backs of his legs. "Had to run a special edition this afternoon. Got the news off the latest steamship that the Americans are talking of switching to the Australian ballot for their national elections. Can you imagine? They don't have secret ballots over there? I tell you, Ivy, someday Australia is going to be first in everything. By the way," he said, as he reached into his pocket and drew out a small, wrapped package, "this is for you."

  "What is it?"

  "Open it, Ivy. This is a celebration."

  While Frank uncorked the champagne and poured it, he watched her open the jewel case. He could hardly contain himself as he anticipated her reaction to the bracelet. It was by far the most extravagant gift he had ever given her.

  "It's lovely," she said, giving him a puzzled look. "But what's the occasion?"

  "Put the bracelet on and drink your c
hampagne. I told you, we're celebrating."

  While Ivy sipped her wine, the gemstones on her wrist throwing glittering reflections on the walls, Frank told her about his findings at Broken Hill. "We're going to be rich beyond imagining, Ivy!"

  She laughed; his mood was infectious.

  "I'll get you a bigger flat, Ivy. How's that? And an ermine cape."

  "I don't need those things, Frank," she said, laughing. "I've got you. That's enough for me."

  He fell silent then, remembering his other news. This wasn't going to be as easy. He cleared his throat and said, "Well, ah, there's something else, too, Ivy. Something I have to tell you."

  She waited.

  "I've decided to get married."

  The flames in the fireplace crackled and sparks shot up the chimney; outside, a solitary carriage drove by, the horse's hooves clip-clopping with a hollow ring on the street.

  Ivy stared at Frank and felt herself turn to wood. So ... it had happened after all. She had been preparing herself for this moment, she had tried to imagine what it was going to be like, how he was going to tell her and how she would react. But now that the moment was here and Frank had spoken the dreaded words, Ivy found herself suddenly unprepared.

  "Married?" she heard herself say.

  He cleared his throat again and found that he couldn't look directly at her. "Well, Ivy. I've got Lismore to think of. I need an heir. I owe it to my father."

  "Who," Ivy said, "who is she?"

  "Lucinda Carmichael, the daughter of the man who's buying into Broken Hill with me."

  Ivy sat stiffly on the sofa, her hands clasped tightly in her lap.

  Frank spoke hurriedly. "I don't want you to think that this will make any difference between us, Ivy. I'll be living right here in Melbourne, just as I always have."

  Ivy looked at him. "What are you talking about?"

  "About us, Ivy! You didn't think I would leave you, did you?"

  She stared at him for a moment, and then her eyes widened in horror. Of all the scenarios she had imagined, this was not one of them. He meant to keep her! "Frank," she said. "You'll be married. You can't go on seeing me after you're married."

  "Why not?"

  She shot to her feet and began to tremble. Everything was suddenly all wrong. The scene seemed twisted, backward. It wasn't playing out the way it was supposed to, with Frank announcing that he was leaving her. Instead it was Ivy uttering the long-dreaded words, Ivy who was putting an end to their years together. "Don't you know what that would make of you, what it would make of me?"

  "I don't see what's different about it."

  "Oh, Frank! It was one thing when you were single. But now you'll have a wife! You'd be an adulterer, and I'd be a—" She turned away. "I won't see you any more, Frank," she said quietly. "Not after tonight."

  He went up to her and put his hands on her shoulders. "Ivy, believe me, Lucinda Carmichael can never mean to me what you do. My God, do you think I want to do this? I've got the best life any man could want. I've got you—"

  She stepped away from him. "You don't have me anymore, Frank. I will not be a married man's mistress."

  "But it wouldn't be like that! Not for you and me, Ivy! We've been together for too long. We mean too much to each other."

  She turned to face him, and spoke calmly and without anger. "Frank, I have loved you for seven years. Longer, perhaps. I probably even loved you while I worked at Finnegan's. And I shall go on loving you until the day I die. But this is where we come to the parting of the ways. You spoke of duty. You're right. You must get married. I've known it for some time. I knew this night was coming. But from this moment on, we go our separate ways."

  He stared at her. "You can't mean it, Ivy."

  "I can and I do."

  "But how will you live? You have no income. You need me, Ivy!"

  "As a matter of fact," she said, her voice growing strong, "I don't need you. At least, not for financial support. I can support myself, and that is exactly what I intend to do."

  His distress began to turn to rage. "And just how do you expect to live without my help? This flat—"

  "I don't need this flat any more. I've found another place to live."

  "And another man to take care of you, I suppose."

  Ivy knew that she should have been furious at his words, but all she could feel were sadness and disappointment. "No, Frank," she said. "There is no other man. I shall be taking care of myself from now on."

  "And just how do you intend to do that?"

  She looked down at her hands and saw that she had been twisting the diamond bracelet Frank had just given her. Judas diamonds, she thought. To salve a guilty conscience. "I shall live in St. Kilda. I have rented a cottage there, by the seaside."

  He stared at her.

  "It's true, Frank. I've paid a deposit on a small house by the sea. In time, I hope to be able to buy it. I shall move there before the month is out. And we won't see each other again."

  He stared at her in disbelief. "But how are you able to do this, Ivy?"

  She told him about Al Gernsheim and the work she had started doing at his studio. Her clever tinting of photographs was proving to be popular, and therefore lucrative for both Gernsheim and herself. Ivy suspected that she would soon be so busy with commissions that she would have to start turning down orders.

  When she finished talking, Frank continued to stare at her as if he hadn't understood a word she said, so Ivy went into her workroom and brought out a framed picture. It was the one she had done of the eucalyptus in the outback. She was keeping it for sentimental reasons, and she showed it now to Frank for the first time. "I will be able to support myself on this work," she said. "In fact, Mr. Gernsheim predicts that 'Tinting by I. Dearborn' will soon be in demand."

  "Why, Ivy?" he whispered. "Why didn't you come to me? You know you would always have a job with the Times."

  "Because I knew that someday I would lose you. And I couldn't work for you after that."

  "But you aren't losing me! I've told you that. My getting married isn't going to change anything!"

  Tears welled up in her eyes. "Oh Frank, this is such a mess. All this time I've been afraid you would abandon me. I was prepared for that. That was something I could understand. But ... to say that you would still keep me, to make something dirty and deceitful of our love, that I cannot abide."

  Frank felt something dark and alien begin to boil inside him. There was Ivy, his precious Ivy, standing there with that colored photograph, showing it to him as if to mock him, telling him that she no longer needed him, that she had gone behind his back and found a job working for another man! He had taken care of her, and now she had the audacity to tell him she didn't need him! It so thoroughly enraged him that he couldn't speak.

  Finally, he said in a thin, high voice, "After all I've done for you, this is how you repay me."

  "After all you've done for me?" she cried. "How many hours have I sat here, staring at the clock, hoping that this was the evening you would come to see me, only to end up going to bed alone and disappointed? Even on days when I wasn't feeling well, I always placed your comfort and pleasure first. How about everything I have done for you?"

  "And what do you think I have been doing all these years! Keeping you in a fine life-style! You've never lacked for anything, Ivy! You've never gone wanting! All you ever had to do was ask!"

  "I never wanted a keeper!" she shot back. "I only wanted a man who loved me and cared about me."

  "I've cared about you more than I've ever cared for anyone."

  "Did you ever show any real interest in my painting, Frank? Did you ever ask me about my dreams, my worries, my uncertainties? It was always you, never me."

  He seized her arm and raised it to the light. "What do you call this, then? A bracelet that cost me two hundred pounds! If this isn't caring, then what is it?"

  She drew in a deep breath and, regarding him with pain-filled eyes, said, "Payment for services."

  Silenc
e descended on them again, a silence filled with dangerous, ominous overtones. Letting go of Ivy's wrist, Frank turned, snatched up his coat, and walked out the door, letting it slam behind him.

  Payment for services! How dare she!

  "Stop here," Frank said to the driver of his carriage. He was on Princes Bridge, which spanned a sleepy, mist-shrouded Yarra River. Behind him, Melbourne's gaslit streets twinkled in the night; up ahead, the river disappeared behind dense woodland, with only the occasional light showing from one of the secluded mansions.

  Frank was so enraged he could hardly breathe. Looking down at the dark water, he heard Ivy's voice echo again in his head: "Payment for services."

  Who was she to say that to him! A barmaid who thought she had talent! A woman no other man wanted. A woman who would have ended up working Collins Street if Frank hadn't come along and taken pity on her. After all these years, this was how she treated him!

  Well, good riddance, he decided, trying to control his fury. He had to be at the Carmichaels' house soon. They were expecting him. He was going to make the formal proposal to Lucinda, and then they were going out to supper to celebrate. He couldn't show up in this agitated state. What if they asked him what was wrong? "I'm a bit upset. You see, I've just broken up with my mistress."

  Good God, why couldn't things be simple? And why did Ivy have to turn out to be just like the rest of her irritating sex? Of the millions of women in the world, Frank had given her credit for being different. But tonight he had found out otherwise.

  Fine then! he decided as he paced up and down the bridge. Let her go off on her own. See how she likes it. Women thought it was so easy being a man. See how she liked having to work for a living, praying that the money kept coming in and that some disaster didn't overtake her. He didn't need her anyway. Frank didn't need any woman. It boggled him now to think he had gone searching for her that day at the harbor. He must have been out of his mind. And then to stay with her for seven years, the same woman, and older than he was at that! By God, it was a good thing he had found Lucinda. She had come along just in time for him to get his eyes opened good and proper. He didn't need Ivy any more, he never really had. He was his own man, and a great deal happier when he was with his friends at the pub than among tiresome female company.