The Last Rose of Summer

by Di Morrissey

  Odette stood still and said nothing, simply staring at her, a small knot of fear forming in her stomach.

  The woman appeared not to see her anymore and continued talking to herself. Then she glanced towards Odette, and stopped mid-sentence, staring in shock.

  Odette shivered, wondering what the woman was staring at that had made such an impact. She glanced behind her but there was nothing there.

  The old lady took a stumbling step towards Odette, her expression fixed on some point behind her, her mouth opening and closing as she tried to speak.

  Darkness had almost fallen and at that moment the first raindrops of the thunderstorm began to fall. A rumble of thunder sounded like a warning.

  An instinct told Odette to say and do nothing. Finally the woman managed to speak, and a torrent of confused monologue spilled forth. ‘You said you loved me, said you’d look after me and then you went away and she came and you went away. He wanted to send me back and they took me away. Away from my home and said I couldn’t live here anymore.’

  She was wringing her hands in despair, tears rolling down her withered cheeks, but the plea was that of a child. The rain began to stream in a heavy downpour but she took no notice. She kept talking, an incoherent ramble, directed at some unseen subject in the rose garden. Odette shivered and again had the strange sensation of not being alone. She took a step forward, murmuring soft placatory words. The woman ignored her, still fluttering her hands, the meaningless words and phrases tripping over each other, her attention riveted to one spot.

  Gently Odette touched her arm. ‘Please . . . it’s all right . . .’

  The woman reacted violently, shaking her hand away, then turned to face Odette. Her eyes were glazed, but they began to refocus and she stopped speaking. She now centred her attention on Odette as if seeing her for the first time. ‘Who are you?’

  ‘I’m Odette. Who are you?’

  The woman drew herself up, regaining some vestige of pride.

  ‘I, I am Mrs Dashford. Mary Dashford.’

  The realisation hit Odette like a physical blow.

  ‘Mary! You’re Mary. Oh my God!’

  ‘Yes. I am Mary. And this is my home. They tried to take it away from me, oh how they tried! But they didn’t win. It’s mine. I vowed I’d come back. Take it away from her and Father. He was the one who sent me away. Now I’m going to destroy his precious dream. It will all be gone. It’s his punishment. For sending me away.’

  Her wild ravings began once more; one moment there was hatred and bitterness spilling forth, the next it was a pathetic whimper as she addressed the unseen figure behind Odette.

  ‘You understand don’t you, you do understand don’t you, Mother?’ She reached out and took stumbling steps past Odette. The imperious old woman now replaced by a hurt and bewildered child.

  Odette’s heart went out to her as she recalled the story of the orphan adopted by Robert and Catherine recounted in the diaries. All these years, this poor pathetic woman had suffered and schemed to return to what must have been the only home she’d known.

  The hurt and bitterness which had poisoned Mary for so long now spilled out of her while above the storm raged in tandem — roaring thunder, cracks of lightning and torrential rain.

  The old lady stumbled on through the rose garden, calling to her mother, oblivious to Odette’s presence.

  Odette shook her head. It was so clear now: Mary had plotted all her life to reclaim Zanana and by destroying it she would get back at Robert and Kate whom she obviously blamed for all the sadness that had befallen her. How she must have wangled her way into the Dashfords’ firm and family and devoted a lifetime to deviously acquiring the power to control Zanana.

  Odette’s mind was spinning. Mary Dashford was obviously the spider at the centre of the Beveridge Investments web. But how could she prove this? There hadn’t been any files concerning Zanana kept when Dashfords’ firm was sold following Hector’s death.

  Odette hadn’t moved. The crazy, sad, confused old woman was moving away from her, weaving through the rose garden towards the path that went to the river as if she was being led.

  Her babble had ceased and she seemed to be moving more surely, despite the fact she was soaking wet and the garden was almost dark.

  As she disappeared from view, life and energy came back to Odette. She glanced up at the powerhouse exploding in the sky and suddenly above the wild noise she heard Zac’s gentle voice. ‘I keep getting images of the Indian House . . . the Indian House . . . the Indian House . . .’

  Of course. Mary must have stored files, papers, whatever she had, in there. Odette recalled that when she and Eden had peered through the window, there had been boxes stacked in there. She turned and ran through the storm towards the Indian House.

  The door was unlocked. Mary must have been planning to return but had been interrupted by Odette. Odette stood in the darkness of the mystical little palace, the familiar aroma of sandalwood engulfing her.

  With the next flash of lightning outside the coloured glass window she spotted the brass table. A candle in an old-fashioned holder stood in its centre. Odette groped her way towards it, hoping there would be matches close by. There were. Trying to hurry, she lit the stub of the candle and looked about. The boxes were still there. She began rummaging through them.

  The first box held musty old clothes, lace and fur collars, crushed hats and jewellery boxes with costume and paste necklaces and brooches. The next box was filled with books, newspapers, and several desk diaries. Odette flipped through them but they had sparse entries, appointments mostly. The next box had folders and files, account books and ledgers. She skimmed through them but it appeared to be legitimate and uninteresting material. Disappointed, she upended the box. Her heart leaped — at the bottom were a series of folders labelled Zanana.

  Opening these, she found they were empty. Odette bit her lip. Somewhere there were papers concerning Mary’s machinations to acquire Zanana. She looked about her. There were no other boxes, but Odette knew what she wanted was in there somewhere. She picked up the small candle and began searching methodically, praying Mary wouldn’t come back and find her. The woman had lost her grip on reality and Odette sensed that if confronted she could be dangerous.

  Zac’s warning flashed into her mind — she was in danger from a child! Mary! Now it made sense. She searched the obvious places but there was little furniture and little space in which one could hide anything.

  Odette stared at the vast canopied bed. Slowly she walked to it, ran her fingers up its carved posts. Still holding the candle, she stood on the wooden platform of the base and began studying the jewelled inlay. She ran her hands over every bit, probing and feeling for some hidden compartment or possible hiding place. She ran her hands back and forth but found nothing.

  Filled with frustration, Odette was about to get down when a clap of thunder crashed directly above, making her jump in alarm. She stumbled, losing her balance and, as she fell, she heard and felt a board in the bed give way.

  The candle was sputtering but in its wavering light Odette caught her breath. One of the boards had slid back beneath the next to reveal a narrow space — a hidden compartment within the bed. Odette could see in it the white reflection of papers.

  With shaking hands and thumping heart, Odette reached in and drew out a bundle of tightly rolled papers secured with a rubber band. Her excitement growing, she opened them up and began riffling through them. A cursory glance was enough. Here was the documented evidence of Mary’s long-planned plot — legal letters, title deeds, contracts, company papers. It was detailed and confusing and would take legal minds some time to sift through it. There were several personal folders, one marked St Bridgets Orphanage — Mary O’Hara.

  Odette didn’t wait any longer. Swiftly she rerolled the papers and stuffed them inside her shirt. Then, hugging her jacket across her chest, she stepped out into the stormy night.

  Cautiously she made her way down to the mangroves where
she had tied the dinghy. There was no sign of Mary.

  Water slopped about in the bottom of the dinghy, but it was safe enough to row back up the river. She pushed off, and slipped the oars into the water and began pulling away from the bank.

  The rain began to ease and memories of a stormy night on the river when her parents, Ralph and Sheila, had drowned, came back to her. Odette, however, felt the sadness of her childhood begin to slip away. The years of loneliness, the pain of the past, were washed away in the now caressing rain.

  Poor Mary. The hurts and often erroneous judgements suffered as children gnaw into adulthood, buried but never forgotten until one day you allow yourself to be free of them. Odette was free. Mary had always been a prisoner of her own will and misconceptions. She had spurned the love offered by the Butterworths and possibly others who had come into her life.

  Sadly, Odette realised, while she faced a new beginning — for Mary it was too late.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Sydney 1972

  Odette stirred in her sleep, rolled over and slipped to the floor in a tangle of blanket and sheet. Sleeping on the lounge did not make for a comfortable rest.

  Her own bedroom was smothered in piles of papers, diaries, photos, newspaper clippings, copies of Hacienda’s plans and those of Eden Davenport’s garden concept. A Save Zanana banner hung on one wall and on her bed were posters and leaflets.

  She kept all documentation at home, terrified it might go astray in the crowded office. She was also putting in long hours carefully marking up the diaries for a series of stories about life at Zanana as documented by Mrs Butterworth, a witness to the estate’s most spectacular years as well as its decline. It was the sort of material readers of the Gazette would love. And it also contained some startling revelations.

  Dressed only in a cotton T-shirt and a pair of white socks, Odette draped the blanket around her shoulders and sleepily headed for the kitchen to make a pot of tea.

  Elaine appeared and raised an eyebrow. ‘Another night on the lounge, huh?’

  ‘Yeah. But I’m coming to the end of it. The rally is Saturday and we have enough ammunition to blast the council out of the water before their meeting on Monday night. You’re coming to the rally, of course?’

  ‘I wouldn’t miss this shindig for quids! I hear they’re expecting a huge crowd — over a thousand. To be honest, I bet a lot are going along just to see Zac.’

  ‘I suppose Zac is a big drawcard, but hopefully the whole event will achieve its aim and convince the council not to vote for Hacienda.’

  ‘Having their designer switch sides isn’t going to help Hacienda’s cause. Why did they go to so much trouble and cost?’

  Odette stretched. ‘God knows what nasty plans they really have for the estate, but clearly they brought Eden in to use his name and concept to give their rezoning application some gloss, to win some respect. I guess they write off his fee as part of the investment involved in getting their hands on Zanana. It’s worth millions now.’

  Elaine shook her head. ‘Just goes to show you can’t take anyone’s word at face value. Eden must feel a bit exploited now.’

  ‘I think he does. He was very gracious about it when I broke the news. He didn’t get defensive at all. Though I’m sure he was pretty shocked and angry. He has rather mixed feelings about Zanana, but the bottom line is that he cares about the place and thought he’d come up with a solution that saved the best of the estate and also gave it an injection of money.’

  ‘You’ve certainly changed your opinion about Mr Davenport.’

  Odette shrugged. ‘I confess I despised the man when I first met him, which was unfair — it wasn’t the person I disliked so much as what I thought he stood for and intended to do to Zanana. It’s also hard to dislike someone who was a special friend of my childhood and who shared some magical moments with me.’

  ‘And you had no idea who he was?’

  ‘Would you? Come on, Elaine, I was eleven, he was thirteen and we used our nicknames.’

  Elaine sighed. ‘How sweet. And now Zanana has brought you back together. Romantic isn’t it?’ she gushed. ‘When are you seeing him again?’

  ‘Saturday night after the rally. I’ve asked him round to dinner. I have something rather private to discuss with him.’

  Elaine held up her hand. ‘Say no more. I will make myself scarce. Are you cooking?’

  ‘No. I’ll be too busy and too tired after the rally. I’ve ordered Italian from Luigi’s round the corner. I’ll just throw a salad together. He’s bringing some wine.’

  ‘Candles and soft music?’

  ‘Elaine, this will not be a romantic dinner for two. It’s more Zanana business.’

  ‘How disappointing. You could do worse than jump into the sack with Mr Davenport. Next to Zac I’d say he’d be my hot second choice!’ She gave a lewd wink and burst out laughing.

  ‘Elaine, I’m shocked!’ exclaimed Odette in mock horror. ‘But are you sure you have plans for Saturday night? We’ll be through by eleven, I guess.’

  ‘I’m meeting a girlfriend. We’re having a meal at Edgecliff then going to the Rose Bay Wintergarden to see a French film. So I’ll be late.’

  When Odette had phoned and invited Eden to dinner after the rally, she had tried to make it clear that it concerned Zanana and was not a romantic overture.

  ‘I thought you would have planned a big celebration with all the committee,’ he said.

  ‘Flora Bramble has asked everyone back to her place for a celebratory afternoon tea following the rally. You’re invited, of course. No, I thought we could have a quiet dinner later.’

  ‘I’m looking forward to it, Odette. See you at the rally.’

  ‘Don’t be late.’ Anxiously she asked, ‘You’re still willing to get up there on the platform and denounce Hacienda?’

  ‘I’m not looking forward to it, but, yes, I’ll do it.’ His voice hardened slightly, and Odette could visualise the set of his normally smiling mouth, and the green and yellow lights in his eyes glinting with anger. ‘I don’t like being taken advantage of or having my professional skills abused.’

  Before she hung up, Odette added, ‘Thanks for doing this. I know it’s not easy to speak out in public but I think you’ll be glad you did.’

  Odette awakened during the night the following Friday hearing heavy rain, and her heart sank. They had arranged a covered stage outside Zanana, but rain would keep many away from the open-air rally. Zac had told her to simply will away the thought of rain. ‘Just imagine exactly the day you want, and it will be,’ he’d told her. Odette pulled the pillow over her head and tried to get back to sleep. She was back in her own bed, having filed and stored all the material relating to Zanana.

  Saturday morning dawned fine and sunny, the world looked freshly washed and blue clean. The brilliant azure canvas of the sky was smeared with airy brush strokes of high white cloud.

  Mid-morning Odette joined Flora Bramble at the rally base in the small park across the road from the main entrance to Zanana. The stage was now festooned with banners, sound technicians were wiring up the public address system, and volunteers had set up a refreshment tent.

  Boxes of red paper roses and balloons were ready for distribution to the crowd, as well as large bundles of pamphlets written by Odette, outlining the history of Zanana and summarising the reasons why the estate should be saved.

  ‘It’s all looking well organised. Now we just need the people,’ said Odette, glancing at her watch.

  ‘They’ll be here. Everyone is doing their Saturday-morning shopping. We advertised 2 pm so it’s still early. Let’s hope all the speakers turn up. And Zac of course. The press seem most interested in him,’ replied Mrs Bramble.

  ‘He’s the drawcard, but once the media hear what we have to say, I think we’ll get the coverage we want,’ said Odette confidently. ‘I just hope the man from Hacienda and the councillors turn up.’

  ‘They must know they won’t get a warm reception. Though
I’ll be interested to hear what they have to say.’

  ‘Put them on before I speak and then we’ll see how they respond. Anyway, seeing that you have everything under control here I’ll nip home and change and see you back here about one o’clock.’

  Odette arrived home and opened the door to find Elaine boggle-eyed with barely controlled excitement. She hurried to Odette as she stepped inside the front door.

  ‘He’s here. In the sitting room,’ hissed Elaine rolling her eyes and fluttering her hand against her heart. ‘Zac. In person. He’s so gorgeous.’

  Odette laughed and walked into the sitting room to find him reclining on the sofa, idly reading a magazine.

  ‘So, are you ready to do your number?’ she asked.

  ‘Of course. I thought we could go together. Moral support. Though I know all will be well. Are you all right? I’ve been thinking about you.’

  ‘And I you. It’s uncanny the way you just materialise when I think about you hard enough.’ She said it lightly but it was strange, there was an undeniable connection between them.

  Odette gave Zac a briefing on the rally plans and he listened attentively. Then Elaine appeared with some cans of beer. ‘Just a little lubrication for the singer and the speaker. Nothing excessive, mind you,’ she grinned.

  ‘Great,’ said Odette reaching for a can. ‘I’ll take mine to the shower if you don’t mind. Entertain Zac for a few minutes, will you, Elaine,’ she added with a wicked wink at her flatmate as she bounced out of the living room.

  Odette chose a simple shirtwaist cotton dress in a tiny delicate Victorian floral print. She brushed her mass of red gold curls, pushing one side back with a tortoiseshell comb. A touch of coral lipstick and grey eyeshadow heightened her aquamarine eyes. Smiling, she hurried back into the sitting room, then stopped in astonishment in the doorway.

  Eden and Zac were sitting side by side on the sofa sharing a beer as if they’d been friends for years. Eden put down his can of beer and rose to his feet with a lopsided grin. ‘I thought you might like a bit of moral support too. But I see Zac had the same idea.’