by Di Morrissey
She found herself thinking about the ritual in the longhouse after the evening meal when everyone sat quietly on mats, mothers singing or talking softly to children, men smoking their pipes staring into the flames of the little fire while discussing the events of the day, and women and girls weaving by lantern and firelight. By the time the jungle night creatures stirred and began foraging, the Iban were asleep. At the same hour in Australia, Julie was just getting home from work, wondering what she had in the freezer that she could heat up quickly for supper, before she sat down at her computer to look at her emails.
Having to come home by train one evening, Julie thought of the sundowners she’d shared on the verandah at Utopia as the chick blinds were raised to let in the cool night breeze and delicious smells wafted from the kitchen. Meals with her cousins were relaxed gatherings of friends and family, waited on discreetly by old family retainers, and served from silver and china dating from Eugene and Charlotte’s day. The guests were always interesting and worldly, and the conversation stimulating.
She thought of Christopher, how well he’d fitted in, and yet he had been unobtrusive. His company, laughter and friendship had crept up on her. She wished that she’d paid more attention to him right from the start. Now she missed him and longed to spend more time with him.
Julie tried to work out how she could get back to Penang. She’d used up all her holidays and her job commitments were heavy as she’d taken on two new clients. But a welcome diversion came when her father rang and asked her over for tea.
‘Dinner, I mean. I’ve made a rather good chicken soup. There’s a letter here you might want to sneak a peak at. It’s addressed to your mother but if we call her, she’ll say to go ahead and read it, I’m sure.’
Julie caught her breath. ‘Bette. It’s from Cairns?’
‘Yes. Just a card by the feel of it.’
As soon as Julie arrived at her parents’ home, she picked up the pale blue envelope, turned it over and slit it open with her father’s letter opener. Inside was a blue card with a few lines written on it in deep blue ink.
Dear Caroline,
Well, what a surprise! I am very pleased to hear from you after all these years. I recall you very well as a small child and am happy to know you now have a daughter of your own.
I would be delighted to meet or speak with you when time permits. I still dabble in my art and I am finishing off some watercolours for an exhibition, but after this month I will have some free time. I look forward to hearing from you.
Warmly, your Aunt Bette
‘Gosh, she’s still painting. Dabbling. How sweet,’ said Julie.
‘Well, there’s no rush to go to Cairns,’ said her father. ‘She sounds quite active and together.’
‘I wonder if she’s still painting flowers,’ said Julie. ‘I have a book of lovely watercolours of Penang my friend Chris gave me.’
‘That’s something you can ask her. About her art, to get the conversation going,’ said Paul Reagan. ‘I’m relieved, I must say, for your mother’s sake to get this note. Bette sounds friendly and coherent. Did you tell me that she was nearly ninety? I suppose your mother will adjust to the impending birth, sort out the bypass and then turn her attention to Bette as her next project.’
Julie gave her father a hug. ‘Mum does have her projects, doesn’t she? What about you, Dad? When are you going to retire and “dabble” in something?’
‘I wouldn’t know what to do with myself, Jules.’
‘You could travel. Take Mum to Malaysia.’
‘After all that you’ve told us, that’ll be on the cards at some stage, for sure,’ he smiled.
Julie felt a smile break out. ‘I’d love to go back.’
‘Would that be a keen interest in more research, a holi day, sightseeing or dinner with a certain handsome RAAF officer?’ asked her father.
Julie laughed. ‘Can’t pull the wool over your eyes, you ol’ smartie, Dad. Well, hopefully, all of the above.’
‘You’d better call your mother. She’ll be hanging out to find out what’s in the letter.’
When Caroline returned home, they agreed over the phone that Caroline should reply to Bette’s note straight away. The next Saturday afternoon, Julie went over to her parents’ assuming she’d stay for dinner. She wanted to hear all the news about Adam and Heather from her mother who’d taken heaps of photos of their new house. But when Julie arrived, she was dismayed to see David Cooper standing on the front verandah talking with Caroline. She waved to her father as he pottered in the front garden and then went up the front steps. Before she could greet Caroline, David rushed to embrace her, and kissed her cheek.
‘Wonderful to see you, Julie! I’ve been hearing all about you finding your aunt! How amazing!’
‘Thanks to you, David,’ said Caroline. ‘Come and have some tea, Jules.’
‘Welcome home, Mum. Glad you enjoyed Adelaide.’ Julie kissed her mother.
‘Seems we all have a lot of catching up to do,’ said David. ‘I’m looking forward to hearing about how things developed after you left Sarawak,’ he said to Julie.
Julie took the cup her mother passed her and sat down. ‘Oh, the Elliott boys were great but their friend Christopher really made the breakthrough in finding Bette.’
‘Jules, we wouldn’t have even begun all this if David hadn’t contacted us,’ Caroline reminded her.
‘Oh, I realise that,’ said Julie quickly. ‘You gave us our first clue.’
‘So tell me all about it,’ said David settling into his chair.
‘I’m sure Mum has filled you in,’ said Julie quickly. ‘Anyway, we haven’t talked to Bette yet. I hope your research with the Iban went well.’
‘It’s a never-ending process, really. I’ll be going back in a few months. Do you think you will?’ he asked.
‘She’d like to,’ began Caroline, but Julie broke into the conversation, fearful that her mother was going to say more about Christopher.
‘I’ve run out of holidays, but we’ll see. I have a lot to do at work at the moment. So, tell me, is there any progress with the bypass?’ she asked.
‘David is trying to find out more about the original bypass plans that the lawyer dug up,’ said her mother.
‘They sound interesting,’ said David. ‘But we have to find out more about them to see why those plans were rejected and if that information’s useful to us.’
‘So this is just a social visit? There’s no dramatic news,’ said Julie. ‘Good to know you’re still helping the cause, David. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m just going to see Dad about some cuttings for my garden pots.’
Julie stayed in the garden, keeping her father company, until her mother called to tell her that David was leaving. She pulled off her gardening gloves and went to the bottom of the steps. ‘Good to see you, again, David. Sorry I’ve been so busy with Dad.’
‘That’s all right. By the way, I have a lot of photos of our trip. Some good ones of you!’
‘Terrific. Could you email them to me? I’m sure Mum and Dad would love to see them,’ said Julie quickly.
‘I’ll be anxious to hear what Bette is like,’ continued David, advancing closer. ‘I wonder what she thinks about the continuing loss of orangutan habitat.’
Julie nodded and waved her muddy gardening gloves at him. ‘I’m not sure that she’s keeping up with all that sort of thing now. She is nearly ninety. Have to go and wash up. Good to see you.’ She skipped past him up the steps and, avoiding her mother, went indoors.
‘You didn’t have to be so rude, so brusque to David,’ said Caroline as soon as he had gone.
‘Mum, he annoys me. He’s just too pushy. Can’t he see I have no interest in him?’
‘You can’t blame a fellow for trying,’ said her father.
‘And if it hadn’t been for David, we wouldn’t have known about Bette and he’s been very helpful with the bypass campaign,’ added her mother.
‘I know, but think of him as your
friend rather than mine,’ said Julie.
‘Well, I hope he continues to help us,’ said Caroline pointedly.
‘I’d say that David has a thick skin,’ said Paul, grinning at Julie.
Two weeks later Caroline called Julie to tell her that Bette had made contact again.
‘Bette’s written another short note. She says that she’s still busy painting for her exhibition. Can you believe it? She must have steady hands and good eyesight.’
‘Let’s hope it’s hereditary,’ said Julie. ‘Does she say anything about meeting us?’
‘Only that she’s glad we’ve made contact. I don’t think she realises how interested we are in her,’ said Caroline.
‘Let’s just take things gently. You know, we could just go up to Cairns unannounced. When’s her exhibition?’
‘She doesn’t say. When have you got time to go north? Do you have any clients up in Cairns you could visit?’ asked Caroline.
‘Not really. I’ve been more focused on Melbourne.’
‘Maybe we should phone her,’ said Caroline.
‘Why not? Say that we would like to come up for her exhibition, if we can.’
‘Bette sounded lovely when I rang her,’ Caroline told Julie. ‘We didn’t chat for long, but she told me that she lives alone, although a woman comes in each day to help with domestic things. The exhibition opens in three weeks time, to coincide with the long weekend. We could fly to Cairns for that weekend and it would be even better if you could manage to get an extra day off.’
‘That’s a fantastic idea. I’m sure I’ll be able to arrange an extra day. It will be lovely up there this time of year. See if Dad can get time off and come up, too,’ said Julie. ‘Gosh, it’s going to be interesting meeting an elderly Aunt Bette, when I’ve been reading about a headstrong adventurous young woman studying orangutans and living with the Iban in the jungle!’
Julie got a kick out of travelling to Cairns with Caroline and Paul. She couldn’t remember the last time just the three of them had been on a trip together.
‘What does Adam think of us taking off on this little family excursion?’ Julie asked her parents, sitting across from her on the plane.
‘To tell you the truth, darling, he doesn’t care. I don’t think he’s looked at any of your photos of Malaysia. He’s just wrapped up in the baby and finishing the house,’ said Caroline.
‘I was feeling a bit out of the loop, too,’ said Paul. ‘But having read Bette’s book about the Iban and the pamphlet about the orangutans, you get the sense that she’s a very intelligent woman.’
They checked into a two-bedroom suite in a small European-style hotel.
‘All very Tuscan, isn’t it. Nice pool area, and the suite is huge,’ said Caroline.
‘A few too many Greek statues for me,’ commented Paul. ‘But the urns of flowers are nice.’
‘And we’re very central,’ said Julie. ‘Let’s go for a walk and see what’s around.’
‘Not me. I’m going to sit out here with a beer and relax,’ said her father, settling himself on a lounge chair on the balcony. ‘I might go to the pool later.’
Julie and Caroline browsed through shops, ate a salad at an outdoor café, walked along the esplanade, chose a bistro they would go to for dinner and walked back to their hotel.
‘I’m trying to remind myself that we’re on a mission,’ Julie said, linking her arm through Caroline’s.
‘Can’t you just relax? At least for the rest of today and tonight,’ said Caroline.
‘Right. I just don’t know what to expect with Aunt Bette,’ said Julie.
When they arrived back at their hotel, Paul showed them the free local magazine he’d found on the coffee table in their suite. ‘Here’s an advertisement for her exhibition!’ It showed a picture of some of Bette’s paintings.
‘Wow, look at those! They’re exquisite,’ said Caroline.
‘Is there a photo of her?’ asked Julie peering over her mother’s shoulder. ‘Those flowers are gorgeous. You feel you can pick them off the page.’
‘No photo of her but she definitely has a particular style. I thought we were going to the exhibition to see Bette, now I want to see her paintings, as well!’
‘Did she suggest that you come to the opening?’ asked Paul.
‘Yes, she did. Just to say hello. I don’t think she realises we want to sit down and drag her life story out of her,’ said Caroline.
‘Must you?’ asked Paul. ‘Isn’t finding each other enough? Surely things will come out in due course.’
‘You don’t know women,’ said Caroline.
‘Oh, Dad, we’ll be subtle, and gentle,’ said Julie. ‘We’re not going to attack her!’
The art gallery was buzzing when Julie and her parents arrived.
‘This place is very trendy,’ said Julie.
‘Look at those flowers,’ said Caroline, pausing beside huge banks of tropical flowers and stands of orchids. ‘There are orchids everywhere. It’s quite spectacular.’
A pretty girl came towards them, holding a tray of glasses filled with champagne. They each took a glass and looked around the gallery, which was already filling with smartly dressed guests. They were ushered to a table spread with name tags, where there were ones for Julie and Caroline. Another was quickly written out for Paul.
People were still arriving when Julie nudged Caroline. ‘That must be her.’ She nodded towards an older lady sitting in a wheelchair and chatting to a small group of people at the far end of the room. ‘Let’s meander around the gallery and look at the pictures first,’ suggested Julie.
They took their time, studying each of the paintings, which were all intensely passionate. Vibrant flowers bloomed amid fungi and patterned bark. Sinister shapes of strange creature-like plants lurked in dark foliage among vines and damp, lichen-covered rotting tree trunks.
‘You feel as though you could walk right into the paintings,’ said Julie in some awe.
‘They’re astonishing,’ agreed Caroline.
‘I’m glad you think so,’ said a voice behind them.
They turned.
The woman who had spoken held out her hand. ‘I’m Cyndi George, the gallery director. We’re very proud of this exhibition. Would you like to meet the artist?’
Before either Caroline or Julie could speak, she gestured to the woman beside her. ‘Please, may I introduce you to Mrs Tsang, or Bette Oldham – as she is known professionally?’
Mother and daughter stared at Bette and struggled to speak. For Caroline there were only hazy memories of this woman from long ago. For Julie there were the conversations she had had, the stories that had captivated her. Now, it was almost like seeing a ghost. But in Bette’s smile, her direct gaze and her firm handshake, Julie glimpsed the strong and intriguing young woman she’d come to know through anecdote, and the gift of her pen and her brush.
The pause was long enough for Cyndi George to look quickly at them and consider what she should say next as this silence was unusual. Gallery guests were usually prompt to gush at the presiding painter.
‘And your names are?’ She looked enquiringly at Caroline and Julie, who hadn’t taken their eyes off the tall, straight figure standing before them.
Bette was striking looking, her beauty transformed from the unformed clay of youth to the beauty of old age, radiating a sense of satisfaction with herself, though it was not through ego. Her presence seemed to say, Here I am, a woman who has followed her own path. A woman who has no regrets, no recriminations and no unfinished business.
It was Bette who broke the silence. ‘I know who you are.’
A smile softened her features as she took Caroline’s hand. ‘What a beautiful woman you are. I always hoped I’d see you again. You were such a sweet child.’ She turned to Julie. ‘And you are Julie? Yes, I can certainly see the family resemblance.’ She leaned forward and brushed her lips against Julie’s cheek before turning to embrace Caroline.
This woman was not the frail
woman in a wheelchair they’d anticipated. Bette had short cropped grey hair streaked with dramatic white strands that looked modern even though the style was inspired by the twenties. She wore tailored dark slacks and a shirt softened by a burst of lilac ruffles at her throat. On her shirt was pinned a large diamond and gold brooch of a tiger with ruby eyes. Beautiful rings on her fingers. Despite her narrow frame and slight build she wore the jewellery stylishly. The ebony walking stick with a silver head that she leaned on slightly was the only hint of any frailty.
Cyndi looked at the trio in surprise. ‘You’re all old friends then?’
‘Yes, in a way.’ Caroline smiled, her eyes filled with tears. In the rush of different emotions she couldn’t help but wish that Margaret was here, too. No matter what had happened in the past between the sisters, she would have liked her mother to have been around to share in their lives once more. ‘I do remember you, Aunt Bette.’
‘You’re relations! How wonderful,’ said Cyndi. ‘I’ll leave you for a few minutes. But, Bette, we do have to move on with the proceedings. There’s a chair beside the podium for you, if you think that you’ll need it.’
‘Thank you, Cyndi. Just give me the signal.’ She smiled at Caroline. ‘Speeches, you understand how things are. And I don’t hang around after the formalities. I can only cope with so much these days.’
‘Of course, Aunt Bette. I’m so pleased to see you again. This is my husband, Paul, and, as you’ve realised, my daughter, Julie. We’re sorry to intrude on such an important occasion. This exhibition must have taken a long time to put together,’ said Caroline.
‘It was a while, I suppose. I finally had to rent a studio to get all my mess out of the living room,’ said Bette. ‘Besides I needed good light, and the studio was perfect.’
‘Do you paint from specimens or photographs?’ asked Julie, wondering at the detail of each flower and also its surrounds.
