Dark Oasis

by Dulcie M. Stone

  “Look for yourself. This isn’t some sort of tantrum.”

  “I would think her husband’s presence would be essential at these times.”

  Flo’s candid eyes met his. “You’d be thinking wrong, Doctor.”

  “How so?”

  Stroking Gail’s limp hand, Flo refused to answer.

  “We’re wasting time.” He reached for his bag. “I’ll call in …”

  “Don’t leave.” She led him away from the bed. “I hate doing this.”

  He waited.

  “You need to hear this,” she admitted. “When she’s like that, if Jake tries to pull her out of it, or even speaks, she starts to …”

  “Go on …”

  “Well – it’s not exactly crying.”

  The exasperated doctor glared.

  “I’m sorry. This isn’t … God! I hate doing this! She … whimpers.

  Like a tiny baby. For ages.”

  “And if he’s not with her?”

  “I sit with her. Give her time, and she comes out. No baby stuff.”

  “I don’t understand. If Jake triggers the crying, why did you bring him back this morning? What’s so different this time?”

  “She’s gone deeper. Something’s really set her off. Usually, it lasts a half hour. An hour max. It’s been over three hours. Maybe longer. I wouldn’t know. I didn’t see her last night.”

  “What about Jake?”

  “Last night?” Flo was deceptively honest. “He came in after her. She could have been asleep. He didn’t say.”

  Returning to the patient, he again held one limp wrist, assessed pulse, heart, blood pressure and eventually asked, “Would you like to make us a cup of tea?”

  “Sure. No problem.” Flo left the room.

  He pulled a chair to the bedside. “Mrs Campbell?”

  The doona did not move.

  “I think you heard all that. So I’ll start talking. Flo’s making tea.

  Jake’s at work. There’s no one to listen.”

  He sensed the lightest of sighs.

  “Fine. I’ll lock the door. Just so we can be sure.” Turning the key with a pronounced click, he promised. “There’ll be no interruptions.”

  From the bed there was no movement.

  Gently, tentatively, he placed one hand on the doona.

  “I had a long talk with Dad last night. After I got home. He told me Jessica was not premature. He signed a false date on the birth certificate. Jake persuaded him it was for the best. It was, in those days. You know that, you went along with it. Dad saw no harm.”

  Under his hand, the cover flinched.

  “At the time, things being as they were, he saw no harm in it. He did what he’s always done. He helped out when he saw someone in trouble. In his mind, he was a part-time social worker. In those days, I guess that’s what your country G.P. was. That’s his excuse.”

  He waited for a response, but the silence remained uninterrupted and the body stiffly uncommunicative. If she’d ever been unconscious, she most certainly was not now.

  “You have to admit his actions made it possible for Jessica to have an extraordinarily happy life. You can be proud of her. You’ve had a happy life too, by many standards. Here with your kids, your family. Safe. Can you imagine the alternative? Of course you can. That’s why you …” A sharp tap on the door interrupted him. “That’ll be our tea. I’ll lock the door again. I promise.”

  Balancing the tray on one hand, Flo opened the door. “How is she?”

  “We’re doing fine.” He took the tray from Flo’s reluctant hands. “I’ll call when I need you.”

  “Are you sure you don’t need me?”

  “I’ll call when I do.”

  The sharp click of the key re-locking the door, and the clatter of cups and saucers, disturbed the steady hum of the air conditioning. The patient did not move.

  He poured tea for two, sat back in his chair, and slowly drained his cup. The freshly baked scones he did not touch.

  “I do understand,” he softly mused. “You are suspicious. Why did Jake call me in? He didn’t spell it out. In fact, he persuaded your house-keeper to make the call. His intentions are evident. It’s how he works, I would think. His intention has to be that I will clear up last night’s misunderstanding.”

  Still no response.

  “I am here for you, Gail,” he went on. “Not your husband. You need to trust me.”

  He sympathised. Why should she trust him? He’d given her no reason to. She’d be convinced he’d report to Jake. She’d been in a state of severe shock. She’d come out of it. How to win her trust?

  Dryly, as if remarking the weather, he said, “You know you can’t see Rick.”

  The bed cover eased slowly back.

  He remained quite still. She needed time. How deep was the shock? How resilient was she? How much truth could she tolerate? How much deceit did she need? Thin ice.

  She raised her head. “Rick’s alive.”

  Steadily, he said, “Your husband has directed otherwise.”

  For a moment her eyes held his.

  Thin ice.

  “So I can’t see him.”

  He relaxed. The moment of possible retreat had passed.

  Sitting up, she propped against the pillows.

  Doctor Walker Junior began to comprehend what could well be Jake Campbell’s motive for keeping her at his side. Dishevelled, without make-up and wearing a plain cotton nightgown, she was still an unusually beautiful woman

  “I can’t see Rick.” Though trembling, she spoke without emotion.

  “So my husband owns you, too?”

  “Actually, he doesn’t.”

  “Where is he?”

  “Rick? I really don’t know where he is.”

  “You would tell me if you did.” Sarcasm sharpened her voice.

  “I resent that!”

  “I don’t see why.” She turned away. “Leave me alone.”

  “I’m sorry about last night. I shouldn’t have …”

  “Your father should have! He could have helped me. He helped them.”

  “It was for the best of reasons! Times were different.”

  “Where’s Rick!”

  “I don’t know. I’ll try to find out. Give me time. Trust me …”

  “Get out!”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  There was only one place to go.

  “I’ll be at the farm.”

  “But it’s picking!” Flo objected.

  “It’s okay. I phoned Amy. Don’t tell Jake if he phones.”

  “Fat chance! She’ll have phoned him by now.”

  “You’re right.” She’d made the request from habit, a habit no longer essential. “Tell him if you want to. Keep sweet with him, Flo.”

  “Come off it, Gail. I can keep your secrets. This one never had a chance in hell.”

  True, she could trust Flo more than most others. “You don’t have to tell Jess.”

  Backing the Mercedes out into the searing midday, she exited the river road, negotiated the sluggish city traffic, turned onto the main southern highway and half an hour later entered the Barclay turn-off. Although progress had widened and upgraded the highway the once prosperous township of Barclay, as all the desert villages, had deteriorated.

  Along the broad main street the dismal windows of vacant shops were depressing. A woman pushed a desultory pram into the jaded corner store. A pair of loafers slept outside the decaying pub, a rickety ute rattled to a standstill in front of the faded displays of the hardware store. The dilapidated state of the corner store, the hardware store and the hotel, each indispensable if the town was to survive, confirmed that Barclay was in its death throes.

  Driving through it, she turned off the highway and out along the narrow strip of road that led to the block. So many years since she’d been here. Throughout family births, marriages, celebrations and deaths, she’d refused to come back. She’d seen Amy and Gus and Ryan only when they’d come into Bellevill
e. Despite their pleas, even their orders, she’d held out. On this paramount issue, she’d stood up to them. Whatever the truth of their union, Rick had been her life, her salvation. He’d died, and so had the trusting child she once was. But Rick was not dead. He lived.

  As the heavy car skimmed the unmade track, tiny pebbles flew from the wheels in small eddies of fine dust. Lined with purple jacarandas, it was as it had always been. The years seemed not to have changed even the smallest ripple. Though the trees were taller and the flowers more dense, the track remained unmade and narrow and wore the memory of his feet as they’d walked their evening walks. Her eyes misted. She pulled to one side, turned off the motor. Memory demanded time.

  Through the car windows, as far as she could see, were purple trees, still as the blue sky and heartbreakingly beautiful.

  ‘This minute, right now, should go on forever.’ It was how she’d felt, then, that day. He’d been standing in the sun. He’d …

  Why had it not gone on forever? What had gone wrong? How?

  Where was he?

  They’d taught her well. She resolved to tread carefully, cunningly. She’d outwit them and she would find him.

  Restarting the motor, she left the purple lane, circled the broad lawn at the back of the low weather-board house, and pulled up in front of the enormous garage.

  Rick’s cottage, once barely visible through the trees, had disappeared. “Everyone’s at work.” Amy came from the kitchen. The passing years had treated her kindly. Though her hair was almost white, her tanned skin was smooth as silk, her back straight and proud, and her eyes still youthfully alert. Despite heavy physical labour and the anxieties of family care, Amy had successfully contrived to preserve the deceptive picture of pampered elegance.

  The richly expensive clunk of the Mercedes door, to which she’d become so casually accustomed, evoked memory of their first meeting. She must not remember. Memory weakened.

  Too late. Amy, clever Amy, didn’t miss the moment. “I remember when you first drove in a Mercedes.”

  “Of course you do.”

  They walked across the thick lawn to the fernery.

  “The fernery’s getting a bit much for me.” Superficially polite as always, Amy surveyed the depleted pot plants and the browning ferns. “The men don’t help. They still sit in here for their after-work beer, even though it’s not what it used to be.”

  “It’s still beautiful.” Careful …

  “Though they are right. It does use an inordinate amount of water. I’ve had to cut down on that too.”

  Beyond the fernery and the wide back verandah, the canvas blinds were closed. The draft of cooler air from the conjunction of the fernery and the south-east wall of the main house fanned her hot face.

  Following Amy, she entered the air-conditioned lounge room.

  “We spend most of our time in here these days,” Amy explained. “Why don’t you take a seat?”

  Her eyes went immediately to the familiar photos. Additions were framed photos of children – Jess, Alison, Angus, others she didn’t know. The deep chairs, thick carpets, and fine velvet curtains were all new and the walls had been freshly wall-papered. Times might be changing and the township dying, but the Campbells were doing very well.

  “Do you remember your first visit?” Amy asked, “It seems like yesterday. Though so much has happened.”

  She sank into one of the blue-grey leather armchairs. “You’ve had the room redone. It’s very attractive.”

  “It’s a while since you were here, Gail.”

  Steady … “The chairs smell very new. I love the new styles coming out now. The change suits the house.”

  “So much has changed. Though not all for the better, I’m afraid. We really should sell out. Gus won’t consider it. The house means so much to him. As for the block. The work is so demanding. His health’s not what it was, of course …”

  “Jess told me.”

  “It’s difficult,” Amy conceded. “Ryan’s … well … Jess would have told you about Ryan too, wouldn’t she.”

  No answer seemed wise.

  “Do you know Jake’s proposing a rezoning scheme? It will allow us to stay in our own home. The land will be divided into housing allotments. The Regional Council is currently considering it. I do so hope it’s approved. It will make such a difference.”

  Jake’s proposing. The Council’s approval was inevitable. And Amy knew it. Play the game …

  “So,” Amy smiled. “This is it for us. So many years. So many. Truth to tell, I couldn’t bear to leave here either. I have to say I grew to appreciate it. As you did. You appreciate what we have here, too. Don’t you, Gail.”

  She was talking about Mercedes cars and luxurious houses and beautiful jewellery and the absence of financial need. Appreciation had been too easy. Too easy to keep coming back, to play the game they dictated. Especially when they’d so cunningly manipulated her grief. As Amy was trying to manipulate her now.

  Amy’s monologue was in full flight when she snapped. “Amy!

  Stop it!”

  The quick eyes were surprised, then quickly masked.

  “I’ve come for a reason. Tell me – where’s Rick?”

  Though patently shaken, Amy did not answer.

  Outside was the roar of the tractor, the barking of the dogs, and Gus’s oaths. Memories.

  He was looking back, out over the vineyard. Tall and slim, tanned muscles rippling in the golden light, he wore khaki shorts, a sleeveless shirt, broad-brimmed hat and heavy work boots.

  He removed the hat, slowly stubbed the cigarette he’d been smoking and ground it into the dust at his feet. Every movement was measured – and very very slow. He seemed to shudder, then to stiffen.

  He did not move.

  Fear transfixed her.

  Traumatically, she knew: ‘This moment, this second, is fundamental. Do not touch it. Do not influence it. DO NOT FORGET IT.’

  He is alive. He could walk in here, as before, at any minute.

  She asked again, “Where’s Rick?”

  Amy capitulated, but indirectly. “They bulldozed the cottage.”

  She’d won the first round. She could successfully play this out.

  “Was there a particular reason?”

  “It outwore its usefulness. Gus needed the extra acreage. Why do you ask?”

  “I thought Ryan would take it over.”

  “It didn’t bother him. He’s happy enough to live in the house. When he’s at home, of course.”

  “Ryan’s marriage didn’t last long.”

  “You know Ryan.”

  Why was Amy detouring to Ryan? “Sure. I know Ryan.”

  “I have to agree it was hard for his wife,” Amy pontificated. “Poor girl. She just couldn’t cope.”

  “It’s endemic, isn’t it.”

  “What? Wives who can’t cope?”

  “Actually,” she taunted, “I was thinking of alcoholism, among other things.”

  The smooth tan skin paled. “Other things? You have something in mind?”

  “I wasn’t being specific.” She was deliberately offensive. “The whole place is corrupt. Do you think it’s the climate? Or is it …?”

  “Gail – what is this about? Are there problems between you and Jake?”

  Amazing! She’d asked about Rick, she knew he was alive. Yet Amy was still acting as though nothing had been said. If she tried to call a halt, to demand an answer, it was clear she’d never get it.

  She feigned co-operation. “Do you think I’m here about Jake?”

  “I really don’t know why you’re here, Gail. If Jake’s said something, or done something, you have to know he rarely makes mistakes. He’s very careful.” A strange response.

  She agreed. “Jake’s always careful.”

  “The family is very proud of him. He’s done well by us. All of us.”

  “Except Ryan,” she challenged. “He’s done no more for Ryan than he did for Rick.”

  Across the expa
nse of the shaded room their eyes met; enemies. A threatened matriarch, Amy was defending family.

  The mantle clock tolled the uncomfortable minutes. From outside, still, came the roar of the tractor, the barking of the dogs, and Gus’s oaths. From the adjacent kitchen a black cat – Fred’s descendant? – padded across the carpet and sprang into Amy’s rigid lap

  Again she waited; she’d make her move.

  Finally, after carefully setting the cat on the floor, Amy stood up. “I can’t help you, Gail. I can’t even begin to understand why you should think I would.”

  “For the simple reason you have no choice.”

  “Why would you think that?”

  “What are you afraid of?”

  Amy started for the door. “I am busy. It is picking. I really must …”

  “Or is Jake afraid of you? Or …?” Sudden insight inspired. “It’s both of you!”

  “Jake has been a source of strength for all of us.”

  “I’ve been wondering …” Disdaining the open door and the blunt invitation to leave, she re-settled into the soft leather. “I never did understand how it was that Jake suddenly got to manage everything. How did he do that? How did he manage to get his hands on the capital to start out on his own business?”

  “You do know,” Amy remained at her post. “Of course you know.”

  “If I knew, I wouldn’t be asking.”

  “I find that impossible to believe. If it’s the truth, don’t fret about it. It’s complicated. It’s seen you live in luxury. You and your children.”

  “But they’re not all Jake’s children,” she goaded. “Is Jess one of the complications?”

  Amy held her ground. “Jake had the business head, the people skills. The family would have been remiss not to have used those assets to our advantage.”

  “You signed it all over to Jake!”

  “Oh my dear! You surely don’t think we’re so naïve. Of course we didn’t. Jake’s been a watch-dog over financial affairs directly associated with the property. He’s been …”

  “Rick didn’t approve, did he? He didn’t trust Jake. He tried to warn Gus. I remember.”

  “When Rick died.”

  “Bull-shit!”

  Amy stiffened. “You will please leave.”

  She’d blown it. She had to try again. “I’m sorry.”