The Last Rose of Summer

by Di Morrissey

  Kate told Ben of her conversation with Hock Lee. ‘He wants to arrange for me to mix in society in the city. I won’t do it,’ she declared firmly.

  But she was surprised when Ben agreed with Hock Lee’s suggestion. ‘You should, too, Kate. You should have your photograph in the ladies’ magazines at swish parties and fancy dos — you know the sort of thing,’ he smiled.

  ‘And what about you? Maybe you should be out in the big wide world, socialising and seeing people your own age too,’ retorted Kate.

  Ben didn’t reply and they changed the subject, both welcoming the sudden appearance of Sid, asking Ben to see to some yard work.

  Kate fled to the rose garden feeling hurt and confused. Why didn’t anyone understand her feelings? Why did she feel so happy one moment and have such an ache and sense of questioning the next? Why did the years ahead seem like some misty strange path stretching into a land of shadows and worries? Sometimes she wanted her life to stay exactly as it was, other times she was filled with a longing for something more substantial that she could cling to, that would enfold her and keep her world safe, secure and sunny. At these times she thought of Ben’s strong arms about her, the sweet taste of his lips, the fresh grassy smell of his hair.

  All Kate knew was that she loved Zanana and she loved Ben. They were inseparable.

  She was miffed by Ben’s encouragement that she go along with Hock Lee’s plans for a social season in Sydney. The more she thought about it, the more a wilful stubborn streak of independence crept into her heart, and she finally announced to Hock Lee and Mrs Butterworth that they could go ahead and arrange whatever they wanted.

  ‘But that doesn’t mean I’m going to enjoy it all,’ she said with a toss of her head and a lift of her chin.

  Mrs Butterworth smiled at Hock Lee as Kate sailed from the room. ‘You fix up for her to be part of the social season. She’ll have fun and enjoy herself, I feel sure.’

  Hock Lee went to town in more ways than one to launch his beautiful goddaughter into the Sydney social scene. The twenties were promising to be a decade devoted to frivolity, fun and fast living. But befitting this shy young woman who was about to inherit one of the country’s great estates, he managed her unveiling with restraint and class.

  Kate was given several options of places to live during her two months in Sydney, but she chose to stay in the guest rooms at Hock Lee’s Mosman mansion. His two sisters still lived at home and Kate felt far happier in familiar surroundings.

  She was duly installed in a pastel celadon bedroom with its own deeper green sitting room and bathroom. Heavy Chinese antique furniture gleamed from assiduous polishing and on top of the bureau sat a Ming dynasty hand-painted bowl. Simply framed paintings of scenes of old China hung on a wall. Kate gazed at the delicate sweep of minimal strokes depicting snowy mountain peaks through frail leaves, a land far removed from the stunning harbour and blue, blue sky outside her big bay windows.

  Hock Lee arranged for Kate to acquire a new wardrobe of the latest fashions — day dresses, suits, and lavish elegant evening wear. She spent days visiting the Sydney department stores of Marcus Clarke, Farmers, Mark Foys and David Jones. When they went to Melbourne for the Cup Races, she was whisked into Georges, the Myer Emporium and Buckley and Nunns. Other clothes were exquisitely tailored by two seamstresses from fabrics imported by Hock Lee’s emporium. He also insisted that she buy several Henderson hats and had a milliner copy some of the latest Paris styles.

  Kate found herself immersed in a world of balls, parties, dinners and tea dances; of tennis, picnics, yachting, concerts and stage shows. It seemed to Kate she had been swept into a hive of self-satisfied bees who dipped, buzzed, swarmed and flitted from one flower to the next. For a while it was fun, great fun, but then it seemed to become terribly repetitive. The same people in more extravagant or more titillating ensembles, said the same things to the shifting circle of smiling, smirking faces; danced about each other flirting, teasing, and always laughing. Their lives seemed an endless frivolity with no serious thought for the day, let alone tomorrow or the years ahead.

  Kate gazed at herself in the mirrored door of the lowboy, her vision blurred by the wisp of veil from her ribboned hat perched atop her upswept fair hair. Who was this elegant woman and where was she going today?

  Pulling the hat from her head, Kate sat heavily on the edge of the bed, kicked off her shoes and wiggled her toes in her pale lilac stockings. For a moment she couldn’t remember just where she was off to — ah yes, a charity picnic to watch the sculling races between the top public schools, followed by luncheon at Lady Bradstow’s residence at Point Piper. Kate was being escorted by the Governor’s handsome young aide-de-camp, lordy, what was his name? Ah yes, Bradley Fortescue-Stephens.

  So many weeks of so many outings. Kate sighed. What on earth was she doing all this for? Admittedly some of it had been delightful and it had been fascinating to glimpse into the homes and lives of the wealthy and the titled. But to her mind, no house or garden was as beautiful as Zanana. She found she had no interest in being a permanent part of this dizzy world, though she couldn’t believe they lived like this all year. However, from her polite chatting with the other young women and their mothers, she realised that most of their year was devoted to the main social season and annual social highlights.

  ‘It must be hard for you, dear,’ sympathised Lady Elizabeth Worthington, one of the social-scene giants, at Lady Bradstow’s home. ‘Coming out in society is such a difficult business if one is to do it properly, and without your mother to help, you really are at a disadvantage. Mr Hock Lee has no doubt been quite useful but he is not exactly part of the scene, is he?’ She gushed on, ‘I mean, it really needs a woman’s touch; but I must say you are immensely popular and so pretty, I am sure you will do well’.

  A string quartet started playing another Mozart piece. Lady Bradstow was famous for her Mozart luncheons during the social season. Such class, everyone said.

  Kate sat quietly with her hands clasped in her lap, but she hardly heard the music. ‘Do very well?’ she thought. ‘I am doing well. I was doing well before I came to the city for all this carry-on. And when it comes to a woman’s touch, my Mum has probably done as much for me as any mother could — in things that really matter.’

  She suddenly tried to place the portly, perpetually aproned Mrs Butterworth in the Point Piper living room and instead of it seeming ludicrous, the fantasy was like a flash of enlightenment. Mrs Butterworth was way above the shallow and superficial lives of these people. She had behind her a lifetime of devotion, service, loyalty and love — not only to Kate, but to Zanana and all that it stood for.

  A ripple of applause signalled the end of the recital. Kate once again became aware of the demands of the occasion. The polite thank you and goodbye barely concealed her urgent need to get out of the vacuous atmosphere.

  But she couldn’t escape without having to put up with yet more idle chat from one young man who had shared the entertainment. As she waited at the porch for the taxi cab to arrive, he raved on about the afternoon. ‘So civilised, don’t you think? Absolutely splendid way to pass an afternoon.’

  The taxi arrived. He politely opened the door for her. ‘I say, are you going to tennis tomorrow at the Barlow-Jones’?’

  ‘Yes. I have accepted an invitation. I’m rather keen on tennis. I play it a lot with . . . oh, it doesn’t matter. I’ll see you tomorrow no doubt.’

  ‘Too right! Cheers!’

  As the car swung up the gravelled driveway Kate thought of the one-armed soldiers she played tennis with at Zanana, and wondered what the young man would have thought had she told him about her partners. On the way home she found herself thinking quite objectively about the men of the social set that now dominated her life.

  The city men talked about their professions in terms of who they knew and advancement and prospects, not in terms of fulfilment, or generosity or making some gesture towards the betterment of society. They were self-servi
ng and ambitious in fields such as banking, law and politics or held some rank in one of the armed services or public service. But there was a selfishness about their attitudes that made Kate uncomfortable.

  At first the flattery of the young men pleased her. But she soon discovered that flattery was a cheap currency in this society, lavishly dispensed and lightly accepted; all part of a game which no one was taking seriously. It began to annoy Kate.

  And something else irked her. There was a determination by almost everyone to deny their Australian background. The opinions and attitudes reflected in conversation had more often than not been imported with the fashions. Extraordinary effort was made to be and sound very British. Cricket against the English seemed to be the only subject that permitted one to be Australian. Kate didn’t understand or appreciate cricket — which was one of the few things she found she shared with the other young women. Not surprisingly the men generally avoided talking cricket in the presence of the women.

  Zanana fascinated them — or at least its size and wealth did. There was far less interest in the rehabilitation scheme that meant so much to Kate, and had been her life for several years.

  ‘You actually like working in the wards with those chaps?’ asked the incredulous young man who was her partner at the lawn tennis Sunday afternoon in Vaucluse. Curtis Lonigan was a junior executive from a big department store where he was being groomed for a director’s role by his major shareholding father. ‘I mean they must be rather boring fellows now after years in hospital. Anyway, you really should employ people to do that sort of work . . . nurses.’

  ‘We have nurses, but I spend most of my time doing rather personal things for the men . . . like just listening to them, having a chat over a cuppa . . . things like that. They treat me just like family,’ Kate explained, trying to keep her temper in control. ‘And no, they are not boring,’ she added firmly.

  ‘Well, what do you talk about with them?’

  Kate suddenly found herself tongue-tied. ‘Well . . .’ she paused. ‘Well, maybe what it was like milking cows on a farm down south before he went to war and had a hand shot off.’

  ‘Good Lord!’ exclaimed Curtis. It was his turn to seem lost for words. All he came out with was, ‘How odd’.

  ‘You find that odd, do you? Well I don’t.’

  ‘Look, I didn’t mean to upset you. But it really is rather odd doing that when you could be having much more fun. Come on, Florence Nightingale, we’re on. Let’s give James and Courtney a hiding,’ and Curtis Lonigan, director in the making, bounded onto the tennis court.

  Kate played appallingly.

  For the entire match she found herself thinking of Zanana and Ben. She was unable to stop comparing the men in tennis whites with Ben. He understood why she cared so much about the soldiers, he shared her love for Zanana and the land, he could make her smile and laugh without resorting to superficial wordplay and malicious gossip. He was dependable and trustworthy. Kate felt that she could never trust or depend on the likes of Curtis Lonigan.

  They lost six love. Curtis was furious and over tea and cucumber sandwiches decided to terminate his interest in her. Kate too made a decision and left the tennis party early.

  She went through the next few days fulfilling commitments, but as each new invitation, personal note and phone call came in, she politely refused every one.

  ‘Aren’t you feeling well, my dear?’ asked Hock Lee when he learned that Kate had dropped out of the social scene and instead chose to wander about the gardens or take the steep path down to Mosman Bay to make pencil sketches of the boats on the water.

  ‘I’m fine, Hock Lee. And I have had a wonderful time. I can’t thank you enough for all you’ve done, but I’ll be going home soon.’

  Hock Lee put an arm around her shoulders, interrupting her little speech. ‘Stop. You make it sound like the end. You’ve done what had to be done. I can imagine it’s all been a bit of a whirl. Rest quietly for a few days. Why don’t we take the train to Katoomba in the Blue Mountains for a few days — you haven’t been there yet — and then you’ll be refreshed. There are still many people to meet, you know.’

  ‘Hock Lee! Enough!’ cried Kate in dismay. ‘I don’t want to meet any more people, go to any more functions or see anything else.’ She took a deep breath and tried to speak calmly. ‘These past weeks have been exciting and interesting, a real eye-opener for someone like me. And if the idea was for me to experience life and the world away from Zanana, then I have done that. If the idea was that I should find this life more rewarding than the relative solitude of Zanana, then the experiment has failed. And if the idea was for me to meet some eligible bachelor and get engaged, then that too has failed.’

  ‘Has it achieved anything?’ asked Hock Lee softly.

  ‘Oh indeed yes. I realise I am meant for a simple and quiet life. At Zanana. I prefer nature to society. I do not need to be going places and doing things, and I don’t need a large circle of friends. I like my own company. But most of all I like the company of Ben Johnson. He is a special person and I want to spend the rest of my life with him.’

  ‘Does Ben know this?’

  ‘No, he doesn’t. But he will come round when he realises what I truly want.’

  Hock Lee was thoughtful. ‘Hmm, I see. Kate, Ben is no longer at Zanana. Gladys and I were going to tell you later.’

  Kate stared at her godfather in shocked amazement. ‘What do you mean? He’s all right, isn’t he?’

  ‘Oh yes. But he too felt he needed to do what you are doing — go out and see what is on the other side of the river and beyond the walls of Zanana.’

  ‘Why didn’t he tell me?’

  ‘He asked me to tell you. This is not to be the end of your friendship. He hopes you are enjoying yourself and he will write to you and let you know how he is getting on.’

  Tears began to roll down Kate’s cheeks and she angrily brushed them away. ‘I thought he was . . . fond of me.’

  Hock Lee gathered Kate in his arms once more, rocking her gently. ‘Kate dearest, believe he is very fond of you, which is why he had to leave.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ sniffed Kate. ‘And where has he gone?’

  ‘To Melbourne. He’s working and studying with some well-known botanist trained by Guilfoyle who did the Botanic Gardens there. Ben seems serious about landscaping and horticulture. He has a natural gift but no formal training.’

  Kate bit her lip. ‘Yes, we talked about his ideas to create surroundings that make people feel close to nature.’ Kate turned away. ‘I hope he’s happy. It’s just a bit of a surprise. He never hinted to me that he might go away.’

  ‘It doesn’t mean he thinks any the less of you, Kate, but he has to find his own feet and make his way in the world. He couldn’t stay on at Zanana in your shadow.’

  ‘I wonder if he’ll ever come back — to stay, I mean.’

  ‘His parents are there; Ben is linked to Zanana almost as closely as you are.’

  ‘It won’t be the same though.’ Kate was sad. Why hadn’t Ben said anything to her; why had he waited till now to strike out on his own? Had he just been playing with her and now that he was out in the world, would his childhood friend be forgotten? Their kisses, his hand smoothing away a stray tendril of her hair, the secret smiles, the whispered dreams — did they mean anything to him?

  Over the next few hours her sadness began to change, manifesting in a steely resolve to go her own way too. ‘I don’t need Ben Johnson to make my life complete. I can manage very well on my own.’

  To the surprise of Hock Lee, Kate flung herself into a final round of balls and garden parties, enduring a series of formal farewell ‘calls’ on the grandes dames and attending yet more dinners where the marriageable young ladies were discreetly paraded like prize sheep.

  Kate found some of these quite entertaining, but not for reasons anticipated by the hosts. The opulent bad taste of their homes and decor, the screeching laughter of some of the women, the raucous whisk
y-soaked braying of the men and twittering of their daughters, amused her. For all their wealth and trappings, most of these people were the stock of squatters and merchants who had profited because they were first into the new land.

  Kate couldn’t face the idea of going back to Zanana without Ben. So she lingered in the city, writing each day to Mrs Butterworth, who was thrilled with news of all her activities, vicariously living every moment, rereading every detail of where she went, who she saw, what they wore and said. Kate obliged good-naturedly, masking her real disappointment with both the Sydney scene and the emptiness that awaited her at Zanana.

  During the season she had frequently seen the Dashford family. She found Mr and Mrs Charles Dashford cold and haughty and wondered why her father had chosen Charles Dashford as his solicitor. Naturally Charles Dashford never made reference to their confrontation at the board meeting that approved turning Zanana into a war veterans’ convalescent home. The fact it had proved to be so successful and a role model for others in the country, seemed to rankle rather than please Dashford.

  As for Hector, since her spurning of his proposal and later advances, he blatantly ignored her wherever possible. If their paths crossed at social functions he was civil but cool. Each time she saw him he was escorting a different bright young thing, for Hector was considered highly eligible. He was a leading young figure in the legal world, considered a clever if brash lawyer with the distinct benefit of a father with a very tidy fortune. But Kate noticed when she and Hock Lee attended formal family occasions at the Dashfords’ Vaucluse residence, Hector spent most of his time in the company of his father’s personal assistant. Kate recalled their meeting at her summer symphony when Hector had proposed. At the time she’d wished he would pursue someone more suitable, such as his father’s clever and well-groomed secretary. It was apparent that there was now a very close friendship between them.

  At a poolside luncheon and croquet match at the Dashfords’ home Kate studied this woman who had captured Hector’s attention. She was very well-mannered and polite, and never put a foot wrong socially. Yet there was something calculating about her that disturbed Kate as she watched the severely but expensively dressed woman circulating among the guests.