They made love twice, the first time with a frenzy that could not be sustained, and she felt him convulsing in her within moments, but her own craving was such that she was already climaxing with him. Then, it seemed only minutes later he entered her again, and this time their movements were slow and gently arousing, taking themselves to the brink, then down again until they could resist no longer, culminating in an ecstasy that left them weak with wonder at the sensations they could arouse in each other. Sometime later in the night, they woke and joined their bodies together again.
Later still, before they finally went to sleep, Elizabeth asked, ‘The present for Heinrich — what did you make for him?’
‘A small wooden bucket, so he could follow us at this year’s harvest, and help us pick the grapes.’
She smiled.
‘Next year,’ she said. ‘There’s always next year.’
EIGHTEEN
‘Order,’ the Speaker called: ‘The House will hear the Right Honourable WiIliam Patterson.’
William rose to a mixed reception. There was derision from the Opposition benches, but to his ear it was friendlier than the lack of enthusiasm from his own side of the House. They all knew it was a final appearance before his resignation, and that having been suggested as a candidate for the Senate by Barton, he would certainly be chosen and elected.
‘Mr Speaker, thank you. I leave this place with some nostalgia and regret. Above all, I shall miss the Honourable buffoons opposite …’
It was greeted by the mocking chorus from those across the chamber, but among them were a number of grinning faces. William glanced up at the public gallery, and saw that Hannah was there.
‘However,’ he continued, ‘I am assured there will be even bigger ratbags in the new Senate. I look forward to it. I am merely here to bid you farewell, and to say I could hardly leave this place, without expressing my gratitude to four Honourable members who have given me such support in this Parliament. I refer, of course, to Mr Cartwright, Mr Shrewsbury, Mr Ross, and Mr George Roland.’
From above, Hannah saw him smile at each of them in turn, and saw each forced to respond. She had enjoyed many occasions here, but few more than this last appearance. As she stood to leave, she saw James North look up and observe her. She knew how dearly he would love to have implicated William in a scandal, and how careful they had been to avoid this. North knew of their liaison, of course, had known for years, since the days when the two men were still friends and he had helped arrange William’s entry into politics.
Hannah realised, better than most, James North’s ambitions and his capacity for malice. She was glad they were moving from his political orbit. Leaving the public gallery, she experienced a feeling of relief at knowing it would be for the last time.
Later, in Paddington, sitting in the garden she recounted to William her hilarity at the view from what she sometimes referred to, in theatrical parlance, as ‘the Gods’. ‘The four Honourable supporters were not amused.’
He laughed. William had relished his final appearance in the Assembly. After having been forced to accept his political expectations had been virtually ended by the Wexford Street exposure, he had then had the extraordinarily good fortune to be of use to Barton, and able to strike a deal which would make him a Senator. It was not what he had once envisaged. It was the Upper House, and the constitution which he had helped to draft was such that the Senate had restricted powers and could never produce a Prime Minister. Yet despite these limitations, he was grateful his political life was not entirely over. It was a great deal more than he had expected a few months earlier. In the meantime, he had to keep his promise to Elizabeth and return her son to her. He knew it was going to cause distress and heartbreak.
‘When do you leave for the Barossa?’ Hannah asked, and her perception was no surprise. She often anticipated his thoughts.
‘Soon,’ he said. ‘Much too soon.’
‘His parents will be glad to see him.’
‘I expect so. Edith is going to miss him like hell.’
‘And so are you,’ she told him.
He had no answer for this because it was true. He had come to love the boy, and could hardly bear the thought of the long journey they would be taking together, which would effectively remove him from their lives.
They sat in the shade, near their new plantings, and ate the lunch Elizabeth had packed. On the terrace above, and all the way down to the creek below them the vines were stripped of their grapes; the harvest was over, and they had bottled twice as many gallons of white wine and a little more red than the previous year. Prices for wine had risen, and they should show a profit, although much of it was already committed to be ploughed back into new vines and irrigation.
‘Next year,’ Stefan said, ‘I can start to repay your father.’ Elizabeth avoided a reply. She knew, that while it was of great importance to Stefan, her father would not welcome the repayment of the little money he had expended here. Meanwhile she had another matter on her mind. She said casually, ‘Why didn’t you tell me about what happened to Eva-Maria? Someone threw a stone at her, didn’t they?’
It was a few moments before he answered. ‘Who told you?’
‘Just someone in town who thought I knew. They said a drunken man threw stones, and called her a lousy Beer-loving German bitch, while the police stood and watched. Is that true?’
She could see he wanted to lie, but was uncomfortable with the idea of it. ‘Yes, it’s true,’ he said eventually.
‘Why didn’t you tell me?’
‘What was the point of it?’
‘You asked them not to mention it. Why, Stefan, did you feel
I should be the only one not to know?’
‘You were away,’ he said evasively. ‘That’s hardly an answer.’
‘It was better not to make a fuss.’
‘A fuss? You mean I’m someone who should be protected from this kind of news? I’m not sure I like that.’
‘It was nothing of the sort,’ he said. ‘I asked them not to speak of it — because I felt ashamed.’
The reply puzzled her. ‘Ashamed?’
‘That they are able to call Eva-Maria such names — and the police do nothing. You know what it means? That we are … inferior. Foreigners of no account. They forget Queen Victoria’s husband was German, and the British royal family is the House of Saxe-Coburg. They forget and throw stones at a harmless woman, a friend, because to them we are all just German bastards.’
She wanted him to stop. She felt disturbed by his bitterness. ‘The war in Africa should soon be over,’ she said.
‘And let’s hope to God,’ he replied, ‘that there’ll never be another.’
William could hear the dog barking as he walked home. It sounded young — a puppy. Then, as he opened the gates and walked up his driveway, he heard the excited barking mixing with the sound of happy childish laughter, and Edith’s voice calling a name. Whoever owned the pup must be visiting them. Turning down towards the side lawn, he saw the puppy — it definitely was a very young puppy — was black and white. Spotted. He assumed it was a Dalmatian. Edith was sitting in her wheelchair, managing to throw a rubber ball, with both Henry and the puppy scampering in pursuit. The dog barked, the boy laughed, and they rolled around in happy and complete accord.
There was no visitor. ‘Grandpa? Grandpa. Look!’
Henry could not manage to lift the tail-wagging animal, so he stroked it instead. William tried not to betray his sense of shock. ‘What’s this?’
‘A puppy dog,’ Henry said. ‘Where did it come from?’
‘From the shop, Grandpa. A dog shop.’
‘When?’
The question was directed to his wife, but Henry and the pup were dancing around him, excited. ‘He’s mine. Grandmama said so.’
‘Did she?’
He was aware of Edith, sitting very still, her eyes fixed on his face. He made the effort, clearly expected of him, to stoop and pat the dog.
‘Goo
d boy,’ William said. ‘He’s a girl.’ Henry laughed.
‘Oh. Well, take her for a walk round the garden, old chap.’
‘Come on, doggie — walkies.’ Henry ran off and the pup jumped up and followed him.
They both watched this.
‘Why, Edith?’ He asked the question while watching the dog and child run towards the tennis court. ‘Why have you done this?’
‘He loves animals. You can see he does.’
‘So you bought him a dog. And tomorrow evening, is the dog to go home to the Barossa with him? Did you intend it as a farewell present?’
He knew the answer to his question, and her despairing silence confirmed it.
‘What does this achieve, except to make it more difficult for him to leave here? It wasn’t kind to do that. It helps no one.’
She made no reply to this — just looked down at her hands, and shook her head, as if each word he said was a blow. ‘Edith,’ he tried to be gentle, ‘he has to go back.’
‘Not yet,’ she said. ‘Please.’
‘You know perfectly well the reservations are made. I’ve written to Elizabeth. She’s expecting him.’
‘No.’
It was a vain, wounded sound, and it moved him more than he thought possible.
‘I made a promise to her. We both did.’
‘Please, William.’
‘Edith, he’s not our child. Don’t make it more difficult.’
‘He loves it here. Loves us.’
‘But he can never be ours.’
He knelt beside her, and took her hands. It had been a long time since they had had any physical contact. Her skin felt dry, and her fingers trembled, so desperate was her unhappiness. He realised now that prolonging the boy’s stay had been a mistake; far better for them all if he had gone home with Elizabeth and the others. It was a decision his daughter had made, and he had welcomed it then, not only for his wife’s sake, but for his own.
He was paying for it now. Because there was nothing he could do for Edith. She had little to look forward to except an arid life, and the one factor that would have made it bearable, he could not obtain for her. For the first time in their joyless years together, he wanted to make her happy, and knew that he could not do so.
NINETEEN
William arrived at the vineyard in the same landau, and with the same driver. As it approached across the creek, Elizabeth began to wave, then realised with bewilderment that Heinrich was not with her father. She saw Stefan start to run down from the top terrace. They converged as the landau pulled up.
‘Where is he?’ Stefan did not even bother with a greeting. ‘Papa …?’ she started to ask, as William got down from the landau and kissed her. ‘Long journey,’ he said.
‘Where’s Heinrich?’ Stefan demanded:
‘Can we talk at the house? I’m sure my driver would appreciate a cool drink. I know I would.’
‘You didn’t bring him,’ Stefan said.
‘Perhaps even a bite to eat, then I’ll explain.’
‘Father, answer the question.’
The driver said tactfully, ‘I’ll go on up, Senator, and put the horse out for a spell.’
Senator, Elizabeth thought, amid confusion and her growing alarm. Of course. It was the first time she had heard him called that.
‘You didn’t bring him,’ Stefan repeated.
‘No,’ he agreed, ‘I didn’t bring him.’
‘I expected this.’ He clenched his fists, and for an anxious moment Elizabeth thought he might hit her father. If William sensed it, he remained composed and carefully polite.
‘You’re entitled to be upset, Stefan. You both are. If you insist, after we’ve talked, I’ll go into Tanunda and send a telegraph. He’ll be on a train tomorrow — accompanied by a trained nurse, and I’ll arrange that you both are driven to Adelaide to meet him on arrival.’ He shrugged. ‘But first can we sit down and have a glass of wine together? I don’t believe we’ve ever done that, have we?’ William Patterson said to his son-in-law.
The driver left them hurriedly, and turned the horse out with hay and water. A right bit of a to-do, he thought to himself, as Sigrid brought him a drink and a plate of sandwiches.
‘Bit of a row, eh? They were expecting the kid?’
‘Mr Patterson, he promise. All week, we say Heinrich comes.
His room is clean, his small brother is excited. Elizabeth and Stefan … they must be very upset.’
‘Some heavy talking going on over there,’ the driver said, as they looked towards the verandah, ‘but I reckon the Senator’s doing most of it.’
At the table where they sat, trying to be civilised, trying to contain their sense of outrage, William was being eloquent about the wine and how impressed he was with all the improvements to the vineyard. Since leaving Adelaide he had acquired what knowledge he could about wine-growing and asked Stefan a number of questions about the grapes, and methods of fermentation. They were knowledgeable and serious questions which showed he had clearly studied the subject and which, not wanting to appear churlish, Stefan felt obliged to answer. Elizabeth watched with disbelief at the way he was trying to blunt their anger with his practised charm. He was waxing expansively, until she could stand it no longer.
‘Papa, will you please stop this, and talk to us. And don’t ask about what, because you know. We’re waiting for you to explain.’
‘I’m not sure if I can explain. But I’ll try.’
He took another quick sip of his wine. They both watched him intently, and she realised with surprise that he was nervous. It was not a state she associated with her father.
‘I’m going to tell you things no one else knows.’ He spoke hesitantly, without a trace of his normal vigour. ‘I have to say first of all, that you and I, Lizzie, although we never meant to, ruined your mother’s life. Although, that’s not quite true or fair to you. I ruined it. I went off and made a lot of money, and left you in a tiny slum cottage in Glebe, and Edith supported you by taking in washing and mending. You probably don’t remember, but I was away for a year — and she kept you alive.’
He took another sip of wine. Elizabeth noticed his hands were shaking.
‘I made the money by taking risks — not exactly honestly, if you want the truth, and soon we had a big home, and servants, and rich new friends. Your mother hated it. She could never adapt and was unhappy all the time. It was my ambition for success that did that.’
Elizabeth tried to remember. All she could recall was a tiny house, and then what seemed like a palace, and looking at it, then taking her father’s hand and walking inside.
‘You went to Miss Arthur’s Academy,’ he said, ‘and learned how to be a young lady — and your mother was never at ease with you after you became one. Then, later on, you fell in love and ran away. I’ve no doubt you were happy — except for the time in Hahndorf — but you broke our hearts. Especially your mother’s — because by then I’d lost all interest in our marriage. So she had no one.’
He went to take another sip of wine, but put the glass down without it reaching his mouth.
‘Twice she tried to kill herself. I was told that she was terrified of me. God help me, that’s what I’d done to her. And then you came to see us; you brought your children into our lives, especially your eldest son — and you know what happened.’
‘Yes,’ Elizabeth said, but it was just a whisper. Suddenly her mother’s life was exposed like a bleeding wound.
He turned his gaze on Stefan.
‘I admit it — I love the boy, too. But Edith …’ He paused and swallowed. ‘She bought him a dog the day before I was due to bring him home to you. I should have been firm. Sent the puppy back. Told her Heinrich must accompany me. Perhaps I’m weak, but I couldn’t do it. In front of our daughter, I have to tell you I’ve never loved my wife — but I feel guilty and ashamed of the way I treated her. The one person in the world she loves is your son.’ Again he paused, for what seemed a long time. ‘So I’m in your hand
s.’
‘But what,’ Stefan tried to control his anger, ‘in God’s name do you want? What are you asking?’
‘To let him stay with us,’ William said. ‘Even for a short while.’
‘No.’
William went on as if he had not spoken. ‘Let me educate him — the way you couldn’t afford to. I want to give him the kind of education you both had. You did, after all, have the best.’ He concentrated on Stefan. ‘You’ve done wonderfully well here, and I congratulate you. No doubt you’ll want him to take it over one day. But perhaps he’ll want a different kind of life. He may want to go into business, or do medicine — or law. Without an education you give him no choice.’
He rose from the table, and looked at them both.
‘I’d send him home. Each school holiday, I’d send him back to you. I’m not trying to take your son — I’m asking you to share him with a woman who has been unhappy most of her life, for which I’m entirely to blame.’ He took a document from his pocket, and placed it on the table between them. ‘I’m no good at begging. I have no right to ask this, and you’re entitled to tell me to go to hell. To be honest, I couldn’t blame you if you did. So talk it over. But whatever you decide,’ he indicated the document, ‘that now belongs to you.’
He walked off and left them alone. ‘This is unfair,’ Stefan said bitterly.
They felt emotionally drained. Elizabeth opened the envelope he had left, and took out the document. She read it while he watched.
‘What is it?’
‘A bribe.’ She threw it angrily on the table. ‘He relinquishes his deed in the vineyard, and puts it in our joint names.’
Stefan picked up the legal agreement, and read it. To him it had a far deeper meaning. The land he had worked so hard for almost three years was now jointly his. There would be no repayments. No longer the insecurity of being little more than a scarcely tolerated tenant.
A Bitter Harvest Page 18
