The Last Rose of Summer

by Di Morrissey

  As if aware of the scrutiny, she came over to where Kate was sitting in the shady courtyard and asked if she was enjoying herself.

  ‘Very much. I haven’t played croquet before. I like it.’

  ‘You’re very good for a beginner. Some of the more daring of us are going swimming in the pool later. We’re picking teams for some games, are you joining in?’

  Kate shook her head. ‘No thanks. I’d prefer to watch.’

  ‘Very well, Miss Maclntyre, maybe we’ll call on your services to help referee.’

  She excused herself and moved away but Kate sensed a lingering wave of disapproval and a definite hint of superiority.

  To her joy, Kate began receiving short but warm notes from Ben, telling of his studies and work with horticulture experts currently extending a section of the Botanic Gardens in Melbourne. The letters were as friendly and down to earth as Ben always was. They cheered Kate and she announced to Hock Lee that she was ready to go home to Zanana. It no longer seemed as lonely as it did when she first got news that Ben had left.

  Hock Lee raised a quizzical eyebrow. ‘So, you’re ready to go back to being just as you were three months ago?’

  ‘Not quite. I can now go back happily. I have seen the other side of the river and I prefer life at Zanana. And I want you to stop pestering me about getting married.’

  He grinned at her. ‘You’re not planning on staying a spinster, I hope.’

  ‘Of course not! Hock Lee, I’m not yet twenty-one! I may become a career girl. Many are, you know.’

  ‘You have a job. Running Zanana.’

  ‘That’s true.’ Kate became serious. ‘I have some ideas for the future. It can’t stay a convalescent home forever. The men are moving on.’

  ‘Some seem to have taken up permanent residence.’

  ‘Yes,’ Kate sighed. ‘But they have nowhere to go. No close families, no jobs. But they pull their weight in other ways, Hock Lee.’

  ‘Yes, of course. So what are these plans?’

  ‘Oh, a little vague just yet. I feel Zanana should still be run as some community or charity cause . . .’

  ‘What if you marry? Don’t you want to live there as your parents did? You will have your inheritance when you turn twenty-one and can afford to live in style.’

  ‘I understood the money was for the upkeep of the estate, and anyway, I don’t want to live in the grand manner. I realise more than ever it’s not my style. I’m a simple country girl.’

  Hock Lee smiled at the beautiful young woman before him. A country heart maybe, but the past few months had done much to mature her and give depth to her character. ‘Well then, it’s back to Zanana.’

  Hock Lee slowed his Hudson Super-Six as he turned through Zanana’s gates and drove along the avenue of fat palms and boxwood trees.

  Kate flung out her arms in an embracing gesture. ‘Home! Home at last!’

  There was a veritable parade to meet her at the entrance to the house. Several ex-servicemen in wheelchairs trundled across the lawns where they’d been sitting under shady trees, two of the maids, a nursing aide, Sid and Nettie Johnson, a beaming Wally Simpson and a tearful Gladys Butterworth all lined up to welcome her.

  Mrs Butterworth and Kate hugged each other as Wally and Hock Lee began unloading leather suitcases and the Folkestone travelling trunk from the car.

  ‘You do look the sophisticated lady, Kate,’ enthused Mrs Butterworth as she eyed the cream crêpe de Chine blouse and perky scarlet hat, and the lavender wool suit cut off at the calf showing trim legs and black-heeled shoes with rhinestone buckles.

  ‘No, it’s just the same old me. I don’t know what I’m going to do with all these smart clothes Hock Lee insisted on getting for me.’ She smiled and linked her arm through Wally’s. ‘Now, tell me all the news. How are the roses? Do we have any new animals?’

  There was a lot of laughter and chatter as they took morning tea on the long verandah, overlooking the immaculately terraced lawns and gardens. Beyond the fringe of trees hiding the swimming pool and grotto, shone the silvery expanse of the river.

  Mrs Butterworth gazed fondly at Kate as she munched a scone and kicked off her shoes. She hadn’t changed. Maybe she’d gained some extra poise and confidence, but certainly none of the snobbery or class consciousness had rubbed off from the smart social set she’d been mixing with. Mrs Butterworth sighed inwardly with relief.

  The following day Kate, comfortably dressed in a cotton skirt and simple blouse, visited Sid and Nettie Johnson. Nettie asked lots of questions about what she’d been doing and the places she’d been, sighing over a train trip to Melbourne. ‘And is Melbourne grand? What did you see?’ she asked.

  ‘The Henley-on-the-Yarra Regatta was lovely. It made me think of our river. And the Melbourne Cup Races of course, though our roses are far superior to those at Flemington. I saw a Bizet opera presented by the Lyster Company from America at the Princess Theatre, and toured the Exhibition Building. I even went to the zoo and rode on an elephant. I also went to the Botanic Gardens.’

  Sid beamed. ‘Have you heard Ben is there now? We’re mighty proud of him. He’s turned that flair of his for plants and things into a right going concern. In his last letter he said he was setting out a corner of the Botanic Gardens. Just fancy that, it will be there forever. A real tribute to him, I reckon.’

  Nettie shook her head. ‘He was always a shy quiet boy who loved nature and animals and flowers, but who’d have believed he had this in him?’

  ‘Is he coming home soon?’ Kate asked casually.

  Nettie laughed. ‘That boy. We’ll never know. He’ll just turn up. Like he did after the war. Just walked in the door one morning and threw down his kitbag.’

  Kate nodded, remembering the morning well.

  After the big official welcome home to the returning soldiers at the Kincaid railway station, the Johnsons were heartbroken that Ben was not among the first returnees. The demobilisation of the troops had become erratic and the soldiers dribbled along in bunches after the first excited mass arrivals.

  Kate had been in the rose garden, snipping creamy pink Grace Darling tea roses and putting them in a basket, when she felt, rather than heard, someone approach. Turning, she looked directly into the sunlight and, momentarily blinded, wondered if she was imagining the figure coming towards her. Silhouetted against the bright light was the unmistakable shape of a soldier with the turned-up slouch hat and a kitbag slung over one shoulder. The figure was shrouded in light like a religious painting of an angel, and for one wild moment Kate thought it was her dad coming home to them.

  She dropped the shears and took a step forward, then stopped. The form became recognisable, her heart began to beat a little faster and a smile seemed to grow from her toes to the roots of her hair, sending a tingling glow throughout her body.

  ‘Ben,’ she whispered. With a joyous laugh she ran towards him.

  For Ben, too, Kate looked like some ethereal vision. Her slim shapely figure was outlined by the wind blowing her muslin dress against her body, her long gold hair tumbling down her back in waves. Awkwardly he dropped his kitbag as her happy laugh floated to him.

  ‘Ben! Ben!’ She paused as she reached him and suddenly they were standing facing each other, motionless. To both their surprise it was Kate who jumped the invisible barrier between them, flinging her arms about him and hugging him tightly.

  ‘What a surprise! We didn’t know you were coming today.’

  A huge grin split his wan face and he was reluctant to let go of the soft warm body in his arms. Kate stepped back and tilted her head, her eyes laughing up at him as pure and clear and blue as he remembered. He picked up his bag and walked beside her, fighting an urge to take her hand.

  ‘I just wanted to look at the rose garden first. I thought about it a lot while I was . . . over there. We all did.’

  Kate nodded sadly, thinking of her father, Harold. They stood together in silence for a moment, both staring at the cherub fountain spla
shing amidst the waterlilies on the pond, the sundial and the wall of roses banked behind.

  ‘I’m glad you’re back safe, Ben,’ said Kate softly.

  Ben nodded. ‘I’d better go down to the house then. Coming with me?’

  ‘No. You see your mum and dad alone. Come up to the house later for a cup of tea. Mum will be thrilled to know you’re back.’

  The little barrier clicked back into place. Kate went back to picking her roses as Ben trudged down to the Johnsons’ cottage.

  Had it been almost three years ago?

  Kate was brought back to the present as Nettie offered her more tea. ‘No, thank you. I must be going. I’m still settling in and unpacking.’

  ‘Glad to be back, I bet,’ said Sid.

  ‘I am. I am.’ Kate put her cup on the sideboard and waved to them. ‘See you later then.’

  They watched her move across the lawns. ‘She hasn’t changed,’ smiled Sid.

  ‘Not Kate. Though I thought she might come back engaged.’

  ‘I thought she and Ben were sweet on each other for a bit there.’

  ‘Why, Sid, they’re almost like family . . . kissing cousins, so to speak. But you can’t think our Ben would marry the mistress of Zanana. It wouldn’t be proper.’

  ‘Well . . . yes, I guess you’re right,’ mumbled Sid. His wife handed him the big china teapot.

  ‘Here, go throw the tea leaves on the tomatoes.’

  Kate settled back into her room and life at Zanana while Ben continued to board in a small guesthouse in Prahran. Each thought the other content and realising their dreams. Each was wrong.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Peace Valley 1966

  Odette rolled the clothes piled on the bed and stowed them in the canvas dilly bag, pushing walking shoes, sand shoes and sandals down the side. A fat blank notebook and a couple of pens, a bag of toiletries, and a squashy hat went in on top, and she zipped it up triumphantly.

  ‘All packed.’

  ‘Packed? You just started a couple of minutes ago.’ Elaine came to the door holding a mug of tea and a cigarette. ‘So, the star reporter is taking a holiday. Where does she go? Paris? Rome? Denver? No, northeastern New South Wales. If you want to hide out, why not Tuscany?’

  Odette laughed. ‘There isn’t anywhere in the world like Peace Valley, really, Elaine. It could be a wonderful tourist retreat but that’s the last thing we want. Tourists tripping through the rainforest.’

  ‘You’re not going for the scenery. You’re going after a man.’

  ‘True. I cannot tell a lie. But don’t tell him.’

  ‘So how long have you known this Zac person?’

  ‘Oh, on and off for years. He’s a bit of an elusive butterfly.’

  ‘The worst kind, Odette. Take the sure things. The predictable steady types. The Zacs of this world break your heart and fly away.’

  ‘He’s already done that,’ said Odette softly. ‘No, Zac is different. He’s special.’

  Elaine rolled her eyes and dragged on her cigarette. ‘You going to try and pin him down?’

  ‘For my butterfly collection?’ grinned Odette. ‘No, that’s not possible. With Zac you savour and treasure what you can when you can.’ How could she explain that all the moments she had ever spent with Zac were hoarded and stored away like a bagful of glittery little crystals.

  ‘Well, make the most of your three weeks.’

  Odette hitched her bag onto her shoulder. ‘I intend to.’

  Since discovering Zac and Peace Valley Odette had thought of little else. Her feature story on the ‘new age tribe’ as people kept referring to them, and the photos of the breathtakingly beautiful Peace Valley had created a stir and the Gazette was flooded with inquiries as to where it was. No one knew, and Odette wasn’t telling.

  But like so many of the people who read her article, Odette began to question her own life. Just where was she going? What did she want? She had no answers, but she was drawn to Peace Valley even without the presence of Zac. Somehow they were inextricably mingled. It was fitting that Zac had, for the moment anyway, come to rest in this magical place.

  She’d asked for holiday leave and, when she discovered she had time up her sleeve, she realised she hadn’t taken a proper holiday since coming to Sydney. She’d gone back to Amberville to placate Aunt Harriet for a few days and when she’d been overseas she’d tacked a few extra free days onto the end of her assignment. But a real holiday with no plans and no pressure to see or do things . . . what a novel idea. Odette realised, too, she was somewhat burned out. Mentally and physically. Yes, she could find a million good reasons for spending time in Peace Valley. But there was only one that counted — Zac.

  Odette left Sydney by train in a raging rainstorm that howled and streamed around the windlashed platforms of Central Station. Outside her window the suburban backyards and industrial backstreets of Redfern and Newtown looked cold and ugly and sad through the curtain of water. But inside the carriage it was cosy and Odette snuggled down in her seat and opened up the paperback copy of The Telltale Heart.

  Later she slept and went to the dining car, deciding to indulge in what would probably be her last junk food for several weeks. The reheated meat pie, mashed potato, green pea mush and gravy splashed with tomato sauce tasted wonderful. She washed it down with hot tea and felt not the slightest pang of guilt. She knew the food at Peace Valley was healthy, nutritious, wholesome and occasionally different, but for now, on a rainy day travelling north, cocooned in the capsule of the Daylight Express, a meat pie was essential. To complete the experience, Odette bought a Violet Crumble Bar and went back to her seat to crunch her way through honeycomb and chocolate as she turned the pages of her novel.

  The rain was left behind with the city and central coast townships, and they burst into sunshine, grey-green paddocks sprinkled with bleached fallen gum trees, rivers and rolling hills. Odette closed her book, her mind shut down in contemplative enjoyment of the countryside as they rolled steadily north.

  It was twilight when she stepped down from the train and saw, striding towards her, the tall lean figure of Zac. His curling hair blew around his shoulders and she could see the whiteness of his teeth as his great smile split his handsome face. He carried a posy of small white flowers which he waved at her.

  Her heart hiccuped in a burst of joy as she ran to him and he swung her around in a glad hug.

  He thrust the flowers at her, picked up her bag, took her hand and they left the small and quaint country station where the white weatherboard building was hung with bird’s-nest ferns and pots of cheerful yellow marigolds and tumbling nasturtiums.

  ‘Peace,’ sighed Odette as Zac’s vehicle began to wend its way down the mountain. ‘They sure got the name right for this valley.’

  The day was going to sleep, the sun sinking behind the jagged peaks of the ranges, the warm lights from the houses in the valley shining through trees like glow-worms. There was a drifting smell of woodsmoke mingling with the night-blooming flowers, trees rustling faintly as they settled their leafy branches glistening with the first dew. Odette felt she was entering some safe and friendly embrace.

  Zac pointed skywards to where the last of the daylight lingered. ‘Find the evening star and make a wish.’

  ‘I won’t tell you or it won’t come true,’ she answered, closing her eyes and clasping her hands together.

  The World War II American army jeep, left-hand drive and no top, swung off the road, bumped across a patch of grassy paddock to the wooden pole house where Zac lived. He parked the jeep under the house.

  ‘Safe from rain, but not the possums. I’ve often driven off in the morning and found a sleepy possum curled up under the seat,’ he laughed.

  Lamps were burning along the verandah and inside the cottage a small fire crackled in the open fireplace, casting a soft glow around the main room that was kitchen, dining and sitting room. A small bedroom and bathroom led off one end and a wide iron-roofed verandah ran around the outsi
de of the house.

  ‘Zac, this is lovely.’

  He smiled. ‘Simple, homey, functional.’

  ‘Rustically beautiful,’ she added as Zac lit candles. Odette carried her bag into the bedroom where a Japanese futon was rolled out on a small wooden platform, a mosquito net looped above it. Zac appeared softly behind her and wrapped his arms about her.

  ‘It’s very comfortable.’ He nuzzled her hair. ‘Do you want to eat now, or later?’

  Odette clung to him, burying her face in his shoulder, then pulled away and walked towards the fire. ‘I don’t mind.’ She dropped onto the small sofa, suddenly feeling shy.

  Zac sat beside her. ‘What is it?’

  ‘Nothing. Nothing at all. I just can’t believe I’m here. Like this.’ She gave a cautious smile. ‘I’ve never stayed with a man before.’

  Zac rubbed her hands between his. ‘You’ve brought too much luggage with you.’

  ‘I have not! One small bag!’

  ‘I meant that other stuff you carry around; guilt, saying and doing the appropriate thing, making an impression, trying to please people. Just be yourself, Odette. Be selfish. Do what makes you feel good.’

  ‘I don’t think I know what makes me feel . . . good. I do feel sort of shy and a bit nervous. I know I’m not being natural. Give me a little while to adjust. Maybe the train trip isn’t enough. Maybe you should bring people through some special door or tunnel before they get here — like Alice in Wonderland! Maybe a glass of wine would be a nice idea. I brought you up a bottle of very good claret.’

  ‘Not yet. Not necessary. I have a better idea.’

  Odette wasn’t ready to make love. All the longing and remembering had diminished now that Zac was with her. His strength and powerful masculinity overwhelmed her and, although she hated to admit it, she felt strange.

  However, Zac did not start to make love to her. Instead he smoothed her hair. ‘Watch the fire for a little while. Put another log on.’