by Clare Flynn
Will slapped him on the back. 'How ya going, mate? That lot over there will be full as a boot before long with all that grog. But Hat'll do her block if I let you get sloshed the night before her wedding!'
Michael stared gloomily into the depths of his beer. 'I'm taking it slowly.'
Will looked at his friend curiously. 'You all right, mate? Having cold feet? Don't blame you!' he said, then punched Michael lightly in the ribs. 'I know Hat's a bit of a battler, but if anyone can sort her out, you can. She's been a bit of a grumpy cow since Lizbeth married Pa. She'll get over it once she's married herself and pushing out bubs. Her nose was put out of joint when she heard that Lizbeth has another on the way. Worried she'll be disinherited. But she perked up when the old man told her he's giving her a ton of money when she marries you. Once she's in the bub club herself she'll be happy.'
Michael paused with his beer midway to his mouth and put it down again on the table.
'Your father and Mrs Kidd are having another child?'
'Didn't you know? I thought Hat or Pa would have told you. Dad's made up. He never seemed that thrilled when she was expecting Mikey.'
'And Mrs Kidd?' Michael could hear the tremor in his voice and hoped Will wouldn't notice above the din of the bar.
'Pleased as punch. Hoping for a girl. I am too. As long as she's an improvement on Hat!' He poked Michael in the ribs again. 'I'm only ragging you, mate. Hat's all right.'
Michael threw the contents of his schooner down his throat and banged his glass down. 'Time for another, Will. Let's make the most of me last night of freedom.'
Elizabeth sat at her dressing table, delaying the moment when she would have to take her dress off the hanger and put it on. It was a beautiful frock: a blue shantung silk with midnight blue satin ribbons outlining the V-neckline and falling loosely to meet the dropped waistline. With a sigh, she slipped it on and contemplated her reflection in the glass. She smoothed her hands down the sleeves, feeling the slight roughness of the silk as it flared below the elbows. The cloche hat trimmed in the same blue satin finished it off perfectly. Any pleasure she might once have felt at wearing such a garment, was cancelled out by her dread at what lay ahead.
The announcement of the wedding had failed to thaw relations with Harriet. The girl continued to treat her with contempt and Elizabeth counted the days until she, Kidd and Mikey could head for Wilton's Creek. When she'd first seen that place she'd never imagined that one day she'd look forward to returning there. She didn't relish the prospect of isolation, but the simplicity of life there held no fears. Kidd had arranged for some long overdue improvements to be made to the house and a detachment of workers had extended it at the back, partitioned the room and painted it. Kidd had fixed up a generator and had added a wood-burning stove. Elizabeth would have to get used to pumping water and chopping logs again but she didn't care. As long as she was away from Harriet and Michael, hard work was no punishment. She'd miss seeing Verity and Will, but she was sure Kidd would let her accompany him for the occasional day trip to town.
Kidd entered the room. He was wearing a new brown suit with a sprig of red bottlebrush jauntily decorating the buttonhole. She'd never seen him dressed so smartly – certainly not on their own wedding day. His short hair was plastered flat, glistening with brilliantine and parted in a sharp line. He actually looked quite dapper. She resisted the urge to laugh: his frown telegraphing that he was not comfortable in his new garb and any comments from her would not be welcomed.
'The car's waiting. Get a move on. Oates needs to come back for me and Harriet.'
'There's plenty of time.' She was reluctant to leave the house, to leave this part of her life, to relinquish her faint claims on Michael Winterbourne. To witness him marrying Harriet: to finally forego any claim of her own.
She looked at Kidd again. The hair cream was not to her taste, but it added sleekness to his normally rough and spiky hair. He was cleanly shaven, with no trace of the usual dark shadows that crept over the lower half of his face. He smelt fresh, the scent of bay rum replacing the mixture of fresh sweat and slightly stale tobacco that usually lingered about him.
She felt an unexpected rush of tenderness for him. She raised two fingers to her lips then placed them on his. Kidd stepped backwards in surprise, and coughed nervously. He pulled himself up to his full height, which still fell short by at least an inch from Elizabeth's.
'You look very smart, Jack.' It was the first time she had used his given name.
He flushed and coughed again, frowning. 'Motor's waiting.' Then rapidly: 'Get moving. Where's the boy?'
He opened the bedroom door and called out onto the landing, 'Will! Where the devil are you? Where's the child? Get in the motor. It'll look bad if you're late.'
Closing her eyes and breathing deeply, Elizabeth headed down the stairs towards her small son, her stepson, the waiting motorcar and the wedding she dreaded with every atom of her being.
McDonald Falls had never seen a wedding like it. Kidd had decided to spare no expense for his only daughter. Half the town was invited and the big stone church was packed to capacity.
Elizabeth, in the front pew, sandwiched between Will and Mikey, clutched her little boy's hand all the way through the ceremony. She kept her head down, her eyes closed and tried to shut out the goings-on in front of her on the steps of the altar.
Harriet was wearing ivory silk, encrusted with tiny seed pearls, with more pearls woven into the fabric of the veil which swept down to the floor from her pearl-encrusted satin skull cap. The dress had cost a small fortune and looked it. The shape was fashionably loose and fell flatteringly over the girl's slender figure, revealing a pair of trim ankles enclosed in white silk stockings and ivory satin shoes. When she walked up the aisle on her father's arm to the sound of the creaking organ, Elizabeth heard the gasps and whispered admiration. They did indeed make a handsome couple.
Keeping her eyes lowered, Elizabeth remembered her own wedding, three years earlier. She looked at her husband in his smart brown suit and remembered the shabby garments, the un-oiled hair, the rough hands and the dirt under his fingernails. Married life had effected some improvements.
The minister had reached the exchange of vows. Elizabeth dug her nails into the palm of her left hand, while clinging to Mikey's hand with her right. The little boy wriggled and tried to pull away, forcing her to relax her grip. She bent down to settle him, stroking his blonde hair, grateful for the distraction from the ceremony. She shivered when Michael's voice, with its still strong North Country burr, spoke out confidently in response to the prompts. Then Harriet's, softer, but clear enough for all to hear. Elizabeth swallowed, realising she'd been nursing an unvoiced hope for divine intervention. The minister pronounced the couple man and wife. There was to be no reprieve.
Elizabeth was standing on the steps of the church while the photographer fussed with his equipment, when Mikey, tired and hungry, started to cry. She was about to slip away with him, but she felt Kidd's hand on her arm.
'Leave the child be. Mary can take care of him.' On cue, Mary stepped out of the crowd and swept Mikey up in her arms and carried him away.
The formal reception of guests and the interminable wedding breakfast were followed by dancing. The celebrations were held in the vast formal dining room of the Queen Alexandra Hotel. It was a very grand building, looking out over the gardens to the town. Elizabeth was surprised at the grandeur, relative to the size of the town, but remembered that there was plenty of money pouring into the mountains from wealthy tourists and weekenders who expected the same high standards they enjoyed in Sydney. The ceiling was decorated with elaborate cornicing and two enormous glass chandeliers. Romanesque arches ran down each side of the room and ornate columns supported the high ceiling. Kidd must have bought up every florist in Sydney and the room was filled with the scent of flowers.
Elizabeth was conscious of Michael sitting beside her at the top table. Will was on her other side and she talked to him animatedly, des
perate to avoid the need to turn to her left and speak to her new son-in-law. She need not have worried, as Winterbourne showed no inclination to talk. Sitting so close to him was like a slow torture. Her leg was a couple of inches from his and he accidentally brushed against her when they sat down. His leg sprang away as though electrocuted. Did he really hate her so much?
It was all such a terrible mess. She cursed herself, cursed the savage gods, whoever they were, for arranging things so cruelly. Then she thought of Mikey and told herself she could face anything as long as she had him. He brought her joy every day of his life and his presence helped wipe out the memory of his conception.
The party moved to the large ballroom where the dancing began, led off by the newlyweds. The second dance was between father and daughter and Elizabeth, to her horror, was pushed towards Winterbourne by Kidd and Will, urged on by the crowd who gathered around the dance floor, eager for the dancing to be opened to all.
When the musicians struck up, Kidd shuffled uncomfortably around the room, led by his daughter rather his own footwork. Michael took Elizabeth's hand for the dance, a waltz. He looked like a man going to his execution. Elizabeth held herself stiffly, feeling awkward and embarrassed, but as he held her, the music swept them up and she felt herself relax. Maybe it was the effect of the champagne, but she felt that she would rather be nowhere else. The smell of Michael, the feel of his skin against hers as their hands clasped, the light touch of his other hand against her spine. It was a long time since she'd last danced. Not since Stephen died. Their bodies moved together and the music moved through them as though they were one single being. She didn't want it to stop. She didn't want to let go of him.
The music ended and they stepped apart. For an instant he looked into her eyes and she felt the old Michael Winterbourne had returned. The moment passed, his body stiffened, his eyes narrowed into a frown and, nodding curtly, he stepped away to reclaim his new bride from her grateful father. Not a word had passed between them.
Elizabeth saw Verity across the crowded room and went to join her, glad to sit with her back to the dancing and the newlyweds. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Harriet making a circuit of the room to show off her gown and her rings to the many former school friends present. Verity smiled. 'Doesn't she look a picture? You must be proud.'
Elizabeth nodded. 'She does indeed look lovely.'
'She's in her element with her old classmates. She'll be thrilled to be one of the first to be married – and to such a handsome man. She looks quite the lady now.' She paused, looking embarrassed. 'I mean... not that she hasn't always been lady-like...'
'I know what you mean, Verity. She's suddenly grown up.'
'Indeed. That's exactly what I meant. She looks so sophisticated and elegant. And Mr Winterbourne looks so handsome. They make a lovely couple.'
'They certainly do.' Elizabeth forced some enthusiasm into her voice.
When he came back from the bathroom, Harriet was sitting up in bed thumbing through the pages of the Sydney Morning Herald. She dropped the paper onto the floor, flicked off the switch on the night-table lamp and slid down beneath the covers. Michael climbed into the bed beside her, and then as he reached for her, she spoke.
'Can we get it over as quickly as possible?'
He removed his hand from her waist and went to switch the light on again.
'No, leave it off. Just get on with it please. I know it's going to hurt, so do it as fast as you can.'
Michael started to laugh.
'Why are you laughing at me? What's so funny?'
'I don't expect Rudi Valentino's ever got fed a line like that.'
'This isn't the pictures.' She was sounding sulky now. 'I know what happens. My friend told me. It's horrible for women. So I want to get things clear from the start. Do it if you must but I don't want to discuss it.'
'Harriet, for heaven's sake! Go to sleep.' He turned on his side away from her. As he lay there trying to sleep, she started sobbing quietly and feeling suddenly sorry for the girl, he rolled over and took her in his arms.
'Hush now. It's all right; you don't need to be scared. I won't do 'owt to hurt you and I won't do anything you don't want me to.'
'I don't want to die.'
'What?'
'Like my mother.'
'What're you talking about? What happened to yer mother?' He felt her hot wet tears in his hair.
'She kept on expecting babies and losing them and then she died. It was horrible. I couldn't do anything to help. Pa was away and Nat, my older brother, went off and I couldn't find him and Ma was really ill with the influenza and then Will went for the doctor but the baby started coming and I didn't know what to do and she was screaming and there was blood all over the bed and then she looked at me all sad and then she died. I don't want that to happen to me.' The words tumbled out almost unintelligibly.
'Harriet, that's not going to happen.'
'All she did was have babies or lose babies. Pa didn't let her alone and she wasn't very strong. She was always tired. She worked really hard. I miss her so much. It was my fault she died. I didn't know what to do. I couldn't help her. I had to watch while she died. It was horrible.'
Her body shook as the sobs convulsed her. Michael cradled her, stroking her hair and whispering what he hoped were words of comfort, until she drifted off to sleep.
The next morning a shutter had slammed down over her emotions. When Michael woke and reached for her in the bed she wasn't there. She was dressed and sitting at a small table in front of the hotel window, reading the newspaper.
'You're up and about bright and early. Don't forget we're on our honeymoon. There's no need to be rushing off anywhere.' He patted the bed.
She ignored him and said, 'I've made plans. We're calling on friends of mine. We have to make an effort if we're to be invited to the best places. And we must go to the theatre. Everyone who's anyone will be there. And there's a concert tomorrow night: the London Philharmonic are visiting.'
'Hold your horses, Hattie.'
'I've so much shopping to do. I need new clothes and the furnishings in Kinross House have to be changed.'
'Whoa! Harriet. I'm not spending my honeymoon watching you shop and being paraded around Sydney like a prize bull. I'd in mind that we'd spend our honeymoon together. Just the two of us. Isn't that the point of honeymoons?'
She didn't answer, but went on flicking through the pages of the newspaper.
'I thought we could travel up the coast? I've been underground for months and I'm longing for a bit of sea air. We could do some walking. Enjoy the scenery. Mebbe take a picnic. Go on a boat trip round the Harbour. Take the ferry across to Manly and have a bit of a look around. It'll be the first chance I've had to explore. I don't want to be stuffed into me best bib and tucker, making polite conversation with a bunch of high society folk who'll be looking down their noses at us.'
'At you maybe. No one will be looking down on me.'
'That's as mebbe... but surely you want to spend some time together? It's our honeymoon. There was me thinking it were women who were the romantic ones!'
'I've told you – we're not living in some stupid Hollywood picture. Romance doesn't enter into it. If you must know, I only married you to get away from my dreary life, my wicked stepmother and most importantly to get Pa to settle some money on me. I intend to spend most of my time in Sydney. It's as simple as that. You're a means to an end. I'm sorry to be blunt, but I've no wish to sit dandling on a porch swing with you or walking hand in hand into the sunset.'
'I see.'
'Don't look like that! You know as well as I do that this marriage suited us both. I get my freedom and we both get to spend my father's money. You can go back to work next week and I'll stay on for a couple of weeks. I'll come back to sort the house out and keep up appearances, but otherwise you're free to get on with your life. Once I've found a place here you're welcome to come down for the weekends if it makes you fell better. Entirely up to you.'
'You've got it all worked out then?'
'Of course I have. I'd nothing else to do but think about my future while I was shut up in that house avoiding the fortune-hunter.'
'Don't speak of yer stepmother like that.' His voice hardened.
'And what's it to you if I do?'
'It isn't respectful.'
'She deserves no respect. She's a money-grabbing witch, who's taken advantage of my poor old father.'
'Yer father's big and ugly enough to take care of himself.'
'No he's not. I'm sure she got herself knocked up with a baby to trick him into marriage. She's probably just a common prostitute. I'm not even sure the brat's his.'
Michael lunged across the room and grabbed her by the wrist. 'Don't you dare say that about her.'
'Why should you care? What's she to you?'
'I won't tolerate you calling yer father's wife a prostitute.'
'Let me go. You're hurting me.'
His contempt was palpable. 'You're disgusting.'
'You knew her already, didn't you? You'd met her before? I knew it! Did you plan this together? Did you cook the whole thing up together back in England?'
'Don't be ridiculous.'
'It's true isn't it? I can tell. You and she are in this together. Oh my God, I must tell my father.'
Michael sank back onto the bed. 'Believe what you want but it isn't true. Yes I met Mrs Kidd once before. We were on the same ship and we ran into each other again after we docked in Sydney. I'd no idea she was married to yer father and I'd no idea she was in McDonald Falls, so I was surprised to find out she were married to the gaffer. I'm sorry about what happened to your mother but maybe you have to accept that yer father, much as he loved her, wanted another wife.'
'That's rubbish. Pa would never have wanted ...'
'Mrs Kidd's an attractive woman and it's understandable yer father would want to wed her. It's hard for a man to be on his own. Believe me, I know.'
