The Heart of the Matter

by Lindsay Armstrong

  'Fine. I'll give you Rob.'

  Rob put the phone down five minutes later with a frown and his mouth set in grim lines.

  'Is ... it's serious,' Clarissa said.

  'Yes. Ill have to go back.'

  'Not tonight, Rob ...'

  'No, but first thing in the morning. I'll do what I can on the phone in the meantime...' He stopped and looked at her rather penetratingly. 'Sorry your surprise had to end up like this.' He put out a hand and took her chin in his fingers. 'What were you just about to say to me?'

  Her eyes widened and she opened her mouth, then closed it. 'Nothing important,' she said instead. 'It will keep.'

  'I'd rather it didn't.'

  Clarissa stared up at him, knowing that look in his blue eyes only too well. 'I...' she licked her lips, 'I was only going to say that I know I... that you were right about me even up until... well, only a few weeks ago, probably. But I do realise now that I can cope and that I can put it all behind me. Do you ... do you believe me?'

  His very blue eyes narrowed consideringly and his fingers moved on her chin, then he dropped his hand suddenly but didn't answer.

  'You said just now—you said yourself,' she hesitated, 'that I must be coming right. At least, I think that's what you meant.'

  A nerve moved in his jaw. 'What do you want to do about it, Clarry?' His words were curiously clipped.

  'Nothing ... not anything ... particular,' she replied unfluently. 'Not tonight, anyway. I know

  But the phone rang again and Rob swore and picked it up, then curtly told whoever was on the other end to hang on.

  Clarissa stared at the receiver in his hand and swallowed, then she looked up at his face, which was still slightly pale but scored now with harsh lines. And she couldn't help herself, she reached up and touched his cheek, 'Just don't worry about me, I guess that's all I'm trying to say. You've got more than enough to worry about now, Rob,' she said lightly. 'Look, I'll go and pack for you so that you can go first thing in the morning.'

  ‘Clarry...’

  'No, Rob,' she smiled up at him, 'that's all, I promise. Forget about it. You'd better answer that.' And she walked away.

  But she cried herself to sleep, because she was such a coward. Although in the morning she was up bright and early and by a tremendous effort of will, able to present a perfectly normal, not-a-care-in-the-world image.

  Rob still said to her by way of parting and with a lurking smile in his eyes, 'Don't do anything I wouldn't, Clarissa Jane.'

  'No, Rob.'

  'I'll be at the Regent, by the way, same suite. As for you, Sophie Randall, take care of your mum.'

  Sophie threw her arms around his neck, and as usual, shed a few tears as the car disappeared down

  the driveway. But this time her mother cried with her, nor were Clarissa's tears as easily stopped as Sophie's —not those in her heart, anyway.

  For the rest of the morning Clarissa was gripped by a restlessness that would not be stilled, and loneliness such as she had never known.

  So although she wasn't expecting anyone and didn't recognise the large limousine that sailed up the drive after lunch like a liner, anything to take her mind off herself seemed like welcome relief.

  But when she saw who emerged from it, her mouth fell open and her heart started to race, and Mrs. Jacobs, who happened to be helping her re-pot some plants on the verandah, dropped her trowel and an earthenware pot that splintered into shards. She also exclaimed, 'My God ...'

  But the other person to emerge from the limousine came up the steps first with his hand outstretched and said, 'Well, little lady, you must be Clarissa Jane. How do you do? I've brought you a visitor.'

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  'Mum' breathed Clarissa, and started down the steps.

  'C-Clarissa,' Narelle said shakily, her face pale and anguished, 'don't turn me away, please.’

  'Now she's not going to do that, Narelle,' the man said soothingly with a decided American accent. He turned back to Clarissa and smiled at her, and with a jolt, Clarissa realised that this was her stepfather, and that he was tall and broad and muscular, that he had rather humorous brown eyes set in an ugly, tanned face, and very big hands ... at least, at first impression he was ugly, then there seemed to be something irresistibly genuine about him.

  ‘I ... no, of course ... oh, Mum!' Clarissa said shakily. 'I have missed you!'

  'Darling,' Narelle said tearfully, a little later, 'I have to explain, still. Will you let me do that? I won't rest easy until I do, and Wenden knows that. That's why, last night when we quite accidentally saw you on television, he said afterwards, I think she might be ready to understand now. That's why he bullied me into coming—I really wouldn't have had the courage to do it on my own. That's why he's charmed Mrs. Jacobs into arranging a tour of the property for him, while I do. Will you,' her lips trembled, 'will you let me, Clarissa?'

  'Mum ...'

  'It ... it can only be what you want to hear,' her mother said. 'Rob never even liked me, let alone anything else. Nor had anything ever happened between us, I swear, until that night. Apart from,' she stopped and sighed, 'some flirting on my part which started out like a game, really. I mean, by the time he was twenty, it was obvious he would wreak havoc with women. But all he ever accorded me was an ever-growing cold, silent disgust which I deserved, but if you can imagine what kind of a goad that was! I was also ... I think when you get to your thirties you start to worry about growing old and unattractive, and your father and I... oh, Clarissa, we were such opposites!'

  Clarissa acknowledged this silently.

  'Then, when Bernard died,' Narelle went on, 'I suddenly found myself in the position of virtually having nothing. And I hadn't seen Rob for ages, believe me, until your eighteenth birthday party. Well, I don't suppose I have to tell you what it was like. But for me it was a revelation—here was a man amongst men, here was Rob as I'd known—without ever knowing about Robert T. as he would be one day. Mature, powerful, everything a woman could wish for. I... I persuaded myself that I was in love with him, that I even had a prior claim on him, that it could work, especially in this day and age. That our age difference needn't matter. I told myself that that cold silence of earlier years had probably been shyness and ... and confusion because of Bernard and Ian...’

  'Go on,' whispered Clarissa.

  'So I... I thought the best thing I could do was cut my ties with Mirrabilla, something I didn't appear to have much choice about anyway, provide for you as well as I could and—start again. Then,' Narelle's voice shook, 'he married you. I couldn't believe it at first. But as soon as I had to, I started to rationalise it. I told myself that he'd been in love with me all those

  years, long before I had taken it seriously, and this was his revenge for—for the way I'd toyed with him and teased him and ...' She stopped and looked at Clarissa despairingly.

  'Oh, Mum,' Clarissa sighed, ‘don’t...’

  ‘I must. Clarissa, I could blame it on—well, mid-life crisis is a good enough term, I suppose, and it certainly wasn't easy for me. But it was more than that. I'd become so used to thinking only of myself—I had no idea what I'd become. But that night when you overheard what you did and saw what you did, I have to tell you that it was one of the most humiliating experiences of my life, and I now have a few to choose from. And not only because of you, but because of the way Rob kissed me ... It wasn't out of suppressed desire, it was an act of... as if he was saying—there, you've been panting for this long enough

  Clarissa made a distressed sound.

  Narelle said, 'I don't suppose Rob's shown you that side of him, because he loves you, but most men possess it. It's the ultimate male form of,' she shrugged, 'contempt for a woman. And I finally began to see how worthy of it I was.'

  'Because of me?'

  Narelle closed her eyes briefly. 'That's what started it. Even if I never showed it much, I loved you, Clarissa. I just had no idea how much, or what a lousy mother I'd been, until... until we revived you
and you looked at me out of your father's eyes, and I knew what I'd done.

  'Wenden,' she went on after a time, during which Clarissa had slid her hand impulsively into hers, 'completed the process. After Rob had repeatedly refused to let me see you again, I went a little berserk, I guess. I took up the old social whirl, I really threw myself into it, believe it or not. I met Wenden at a party—he has investments in Australia and comes here often—and I found I kept on meeting him. Then one day I got drunk and he rescued me from ... circumstances I wouldn't like to describe to you, and he sobered me up and told me to my face that I was a worthless, drunken lush, an incredibly vain middle-aged bitch with no prospects other than a career of enticing young men into my toils, and, he suspected, a closet full of unbearable memories. I... I broke down and told him everything. He said, well, you can't turn back the clock, but if you can't learn from your mistakes you might as well give up. Then he mentioned that he happened to love me in spite of all my faults and would I care to marry him. So I did, because I couldn't think of anything else to do. Then one day I woke up and discovered that I'd fallen in love for the first time in my life.'

  'I'm so glad,' said Clarissa with tears in her eyes.

  'I suppose,' Narelle went on blinking too, 'you're wondering why I needed to tell you all this. It's obvious you and Rob have sorted it out between yourselves. I saw that last night—you looked so lovely and poised and happy. But I've been haunted ever since, and always will be a little, by that terrible look in your eyes and

  'Mum ... Mum,' Clarissa said softly, 'it's over now. And there's someone I'd like you to meet. She was taking her nap, but I hear sounds!'

  'Well,' observed Mrs. Jacobs as the limousine disappeared down the drive, i must say I liked him, and I think he's just what your mother needs. What will you tell Mr. Randall? Do you think they knew he wouldn't be here?'

  'No. I think they'd have come anyway, Mrs. Jacobs. I think Wenden C. Whittaker has large and not unfounded confidence in his ability to work miracles. That's what Mum said, and I agree with her. I liked him very much too.'

  'You didn't answer my question,' Mrs. Jacobs said softly. 'My other one.'

  Clarissa took a breath. 'My mother thinks ... everything is all right between me and Rob. She just assumed that from seeing me on that television programme. I didn't tell her that it's not, because I'd already stopped blaming her for ... oh, Mrs. Jacobs, I'm in trouble!'

  'Miss Clarissa,' Mrs. Jacobs said unsteadily, calling her that for the first time for years, 'do you think I don't know that? Do you think I haven't seen you waking up like a flower to loving him and not knowing what to do about it? Why do you think I've been so grumpy lately?'

  'You ... you have,' Clarissa agreed tremulously. 'Is it because you think I'm a fool not to let him know?'

  'No. It's because I know you're afraid to get hurt again, and I've wanted to help but couldn't. See, no one can, really. Not your mother, not me, although,' Mrs. Jacobs added just a little drily, 'she might have looked just a bit closer. But that's her, and leopards don't change their spots

  'She has changed a lot,' Clarissa pointed out.

  'I know, and I give her credit for it.' Mrs. Jacobs grimaced. 'Anyway, I always liked to think I did more for you than she did. So don't take any notice of me, Miss Clarissa...’

  'Oh, Mrs. Jacobs!' Clarissa put her arms around her and hugged her. 'Do you know, I don't know what I would have done without you.'

  Mrs. Jacobs hugged her back fiercely and briefly. 'Or him,' she said.

  ‘Yes...’

  'Then you must know he'd never do anything to hurt you!'

  'Yes, but that's the problem...’

  'Now look here,' Mrs. Jacobs said sternly, 'just ask yourself why he wouldn't ever do anything to hurt you. And keep asking yourself that question all the way to Sydney, tomorrow, first thing.'

  Clarissa stared at her. 'But... but,' she stammered, 'he's so busy. He's got all this to worry about, this strike ...'

  'And you can keep making excuses for the rest of your life, Mrs. Randall!'

  'Oh, don't call me that!'

  'But that's what you are, after all.'

  'I ... all right. You're right,' said Clarissa, and kissed Mrs. Jacobs impulsively.

  'Kiss Sophie too?' a little voice piped up.

  'Oh, of course!' Clarissa picked her up. 'How many?'

  'Ten times ten and another ten!' Sophie said, but was quite content with ten.

  Sydney or the bush? Clarissa thought the next morning, rather humorlessly considering her state of controlled nerves, as Clover drove her to Albury where she took a flight to Sydney.

  In fact Sydney was basking in late winter sunshine when she arrived. She took a taxi from the airport to the Regent, and at Reception was just about to ask for a key to the suite when she stopped and, instead, booked a room. Then she was immediately fearful that she would be recognized and would be causing some

  speculation, but the girl behind the counter checked her computer and said that yes, they did have a room for her, and if the name Randall meant anything to her, she showed no sign of it.

  Once in the room several floors below the suite, Clarissa sank down on to the bed and asked herself if this was a further delaying tactic or what.

  Well, he won't be there now anyway, and I'd rather ... surprise him, she told herself. She reached for the phone and asked to be connected with Mr. Robert Randall. The reply came swiftly that Mr. Randall was not in and not expected back until seven.

  'There, you see,' she muttered to herself as she put the phone down. 'It just means that I've got the afternoon to get ready.'

  She picked up the phone again and made an appointment in the beauty salon for later, ordered lunch and after it, lay down on the bed. But she didn't sleep. She found herself thinking instead of Western Samoa and her honeymoon.

  Some hours later, she stared Out over the lights of Sydney, and tried to gather courage. She was wearing a blue silk dress, which Rob had once said he liked, her hair had been done and shone and rippled, her makeup was minimal but perfect — and her hands were snaking.

  She turned and stared at herself in the mirror and the image that stared back at her was poised and groomed but also young and slender, and very grave.

  But I can't help being young, she thought. Nor can I help being nervous—yet I can't go on for the rest of my life hiding behind it. No.

  The suite was three floors up, and the possibility that Rob would be dining out was one Clarissa had taken

  into consideration. If he was, she would have to come back later, because it seemed curiously important to retain the element of surprise—and she suddenly realised why. It could be a yardstick to measure his reaction by.

  She stepped out of the lift and automatically turned right, her footsteps deadened in the thick carpet. She knew from habit that the suite was three doors down from the lift, but she had only passed the first door when Rob's door opened and a dark-haired woman came out. Clarissa took a few more silent steps then stopped dead.

  It was Evonne, standing outside Rob's door with her hand behind her, still on the handle. Then she dropped her hand and brought it up to her face as she leant back against the door.

  It was Evonne who stood like that for a moment so still with her head back so that her pale, lovely throat was exposed. It was Evonne who moved presently and wearily, to brush a hand over her hair, then smooth the skirt of her elegant turquoise suit and check the buttons of her navy-blue blouse ... Evonne, presenting an unconscious picture of sensuality and totally unaware that Clarissa stood only feet away, rooted to the spot.

  Then she straightened and turned fully towards Clarissa—and gasped. A dark tide of colour flooded her throat and her cheeks and her lips stayed parted in horror.

  Clarissa blinked, and like a kaleidoscope once again fragmented incidents, words, looks—all whirled in her mind, to settle finally into an unmistakable pattern. But what was worse, perhaps, was the knowledge that that once vaguely held suspic
ion about Evonne and Rob had been so ... cleverly? ... yes,

  cleverly lulled. Because they certainly hadn't been blatant.

  Could I be forgiven for being fooled? she wondered as she stood in the middle of the passage still rooted to the spot. Or was I only blind and incredibly naive? But I'm certainly not blind now. Even I can read guilt like Evonne's ...

  She swallowed and suddenly came to life, turning swiftly and stumbling back towards the lift.

  'Clarissa !' Evonne was beside her, saying her name desperately, but Clarissa ignored her and stepped into the lift which was still waiting on the floor. Evonne got in too.

  'Please, let me explain,' she said breathlessly. 'You don't understand ... Don't look like that!'

  ‘I do, I do,' Clarissa whispered.

  ‘No. You can't possibly. Where—what'

  Evonne said disjointedly as the lift stopped three floors down and Clarissa stepped out. 'Where are you going? Are you staying here?'

  'Unfortunately, yes.' Clarissa slid her key into the lock. 'Evonne,' she turned to the other girl, 'there's nothing we can say to each other. Don't you understand? It's better left—but just one thing. I don't want Rob to know I was here, that's all.'

  'Clarissa, you've got to let me explain,' Evonne begged, and her throat worked as she tried to go on. it's not what ... it's

  'But you love him,' Clarissa broke in with sudden intensity, I saw... I'm not blind any more. And once I saw, I understood so much more. Why you looked so pale the night he came home sick—a hundred little things. It's really happened for you this time, hasn't it?'

  She shivered inwardly and thought dazedly that it was Robert Randall standing across the room from her, someone she hardly knew, tall, good-looking, remote—and angry. Because I've found out? she wondered dully. But he couldn't have expected to keep me in the dark forever ...

  'No . . .' Clarissa turned away abruptly. Evonne took a tortured breath. 'All right, yes, God help me,' she

  said anguishedly. ‘But...' 'E-Evonne,' Clarissa broke in raggedly, 'for what it's worth, I