‘Salute! To the future generation.’ She gave a giggle.
The night was warm and resonated with the throb of insect life. The intimacy of the darkness and a couple of slugs of wine relaxed him a little. He was reminded of another night. A wild suburban party – Mount Isa? She was an attractive dark-haired girl, her name long forgotten – if he had ever taken the time to know it – and they had a drunken tryst among the shrubbery of the back lawn. In the dark Rosanna could be anyone. She could be that girl.
‘I envy you your travels,’ she said suddenly, unpacking the picnic. She’d brought a candle, which she propped up in a jar and lit. ‘That’s where I want to go, to the Outback. I’d like to join a nomadic tribe and wander the desert endlessly.’
‘You’ve already been halfway around the world.’ He took another swig of wine and watched the tiny flame paint dancing shadows on the trees.
‘Well, you can imagine how much fun I had with my mother on the ship going over. She would have stayed safely in the cabin until we docked in Genova if she’d had her way.’ She broke off some bread and cheese and handed it to him absentmindedly. ‘Mamma is not one of life’s great adventurers. She was never happy here – twenty years and she cried every single day.’ Rosanna unpacked some cold meat and salami. She got up and washed the lettuce and tomatoes in the river.
‘Isabelle never told me exactly why you came back.’
‘There were lots of things I loved there: different people, food – different everything. But in another way it was as claustrophobic as Duffy’s Creek – worse even. I discovered that there are small-minded people everywhere, but plenty of people around here do actually mind their own business. Or at least they don’t think it is their God-given right to know your business. There was a tremendous fuss about me coming back here. They got the priests round to try and talk some sense into me. Mamma cried for a week. It was only Isabelle being pregnant that finally swayed her, so then I was off as fast as I could go.’
‘So she told you and not me!’ snapped Jack, outraged. ‘I’m her bloody husband!’
Rosanna sat down beside him and took the bottle. She took a quick gulp and handed it back. ‘You don’t know Isabelle very well, do you?’
‘Clearly not,’ he said coldly.
‘Respectability and conformity are of paramount importance to her. She probably would have been happier living her life in Genova, following some primal plan laid down for her over the centuries. It’s just the way she is. I wouldn’t read too much into it.’
‘And what about this? What should I read into this?’
Rosanna lay back on the rug. ‘I don’t know, Jack. Let’s just be a man and a woman, on a rug under the moonlight. Let’s not delve too deeply into it.’ She started to laugh. ‘Isn’t this the silliest thing?’ she said, almost helpless with laughter. She saw he was not amused and tried to be serious. ‘Oh, Jack, I know you don’t want to sleep with me. It’s not a very nice feeling, you know. A girl likes to feel she is at least desirable. I’m not so bad, am I?’
Jack lay down beside her. She turned her face to his and he could see the moon reflected in her eyes. Tentatively he placed his lips on hers. They were soft and giving, her breath sweet with wine. He felt himself pulled towards her like a tide to the moon and he buried his face in the warmth of her neck and throat. Rosanna gave a shriek of laughter as they rolled across the rug – her mouth on his mouth, her hands in his hair, her body wrapped around his.
For Jack it felt like a long slow dive into the deep. He was breathless with fear. Afterwards he had the strangest sensation of looking down from a great height at the two of them lying naked side by side on the rug. He could see their clothes strewn across the grass, a flare of moonlight as it slid on the river, the curve of the black shadows cast by the rocks. He thought he must have dreamt that moment. Later he realised that everything was just as he had seen it.
They slept that night rolled together in the rug and swam in the river in the silvery dawn light. They walked home as the sun rose over the hills. Jack slept for an hour or two. When he woke Isabelle was home. She cooked breakfast and they sat around the table together and talked of movies and movie stars, a favourite subject of hers. She and Rosanna seemed as close as ever but somehow it felt different. It was as though by making love to Rosanna he had closed the loop. They had become a threesome. Or perhaps it was simply Isabelle’s genius for pretending nothing had changed. He was relieved she couldn’t see how much had changed. He needed time to think.
Rosanna hugged them both when they left. His body recognised hers and he resisted an almost overwhelming desire to bury his face in her hair, to inhale her fragrance one last time.
Over the next few weeks Rosanna was in Jack’s thoughts more often than he liked. He found himself in an ongoing conversation with her. He told her things about himself – things he had never thought about before – things that would interest her. He longed to hear her voice, to feel the texture of her skin.
‘I had a letter from Rosa today,’ said Isabelle from the other side of the bed. He was glad it was dark and she couldn’t read his face.
‘Yes?’ he tried to sound noncommittal.
‘She checked her dates and she wants you to meet her in either one week’s time or three weeks’ time. She’ll take the train up to Henderson and book into the Grand Hotel there. She said you should send a telegram and confirm which date. You should sign it Isabelle.’ She was silent for a while, then added, ‘You need to take my wedding ring with you.’
Jack tried to hide his anticipation all week. He left on the Saturday morning, farewelling Isabelle with a kiss on the cheek as though he were going to work. Visions of Rosanna danced before his eyes and his stomach churned as he drove down the highway.
They met at the station. She wore a white shirt with a little green scarf around her throat and a full skirt the colour of ripe corn. His first thought was how beautiful she was – the polished gold of her skin, the dancing light in her eyes. She was exquisite. Without even looking around him he could sense other men looking at her. Admiring her. She gave him a playful kiss. He put his arm around her and slipped the ring from his pocket.
‘With this ring I thee …’
‘Don’t say it, Jack. Here, give to me, I’ll put it on.’
He took her overnight bag from her and they walked arm in arm to the hotel, where they booked in under the name of Mr and Mrs Bennett.
The hotel had once been grand but now it was just a pub with rooms. Their room too had once been grand with its gold brocade wallpaper, Victorian light fittings and crimson-and-gold patterned carpet, now faded and threadbare. It was clean and had a view of a back lane with weeds and bins.
As soon as the door was closed Jack pulled Rosanna to him and kissed her. Rosanna laughed but did not push him away. ‘Hold up, Jack, you’re starting to take your work too seriously. The night is young and I’m hungry. Or is it the other way round?’
It was early evening and the sky still light. The bar had closed and the dining room was rank with stale beer and tobacco. They bought two packets of fish and chips wrapped in newspaper, tearing the ends open as they walked down to the harbour. The wind had dropped and the only sounds were the slap of the water against the wharf, the occasional groan of a boat creaking against the pier and the squawk of a gull. They sat on the edge of the wharf and ate, steam rising from the torn packets, and talked idly about the stretch of water before them and what lay beyond that and how far that might be. Jack couldn’t remember when a moment had ever felt so perfect.
Two women and a man, obviously dressed for a party, came wandering along the jetty. One of the women came over to them.
‘Excuse me, have you seen a group of people going out to that yacht?’ She pointed to a yacht in the harbour festooned with lights. Jack could hear disjointed refrains of music drift towards them on the breath of the breeze.
Rosanna and Jack said they hadn’t but, to Jack’s annoyance, the other two party-goers drifted
over to them as well. The girl who had spoken was blonde and pretty, with a high ponytail and a froth of petticoats showing under a red-and-white polka-dot dress. The man wore a suit and the other woman a dark sheath cocktail frock. The girl with the ponytail was convinced that they had missed their ride and would now miss the party.
‘Perhaps we could just borrow one of the boats and row you out?’ suggested Rosanna, standing up. ‘It’s not that far.’
‘Borrow a boat?’ said Jack. ‘I think we’d need to ask someone.’ He looked around. It was almost dark, the water shimmered silver and tiny waves licked at the sand. The beach was deserted.
‘Come on, Jack. Don’t be so stuffy. It’ll be fun.’ Rosanna put her hands under his armpits and made a great play of trying to pull him to his feet. The women and the man laughed. Jack scowled but privately conceded that the fastest way to get rid of them might well be to row them out to their party. Reluctantly, he got to his feet and followed the group down to the beach.
A dinghy was propped up against the sea wall, its oars tucked inside. Jack suggested they push it into the water off the beach and then lead it by its rope alongside the jetty so they could all climb aboard off the steps and not get wet.
The two girls flung down their handbags with excitement and helped push the dinghy down to the water. Jack took off his shoes and rolled up his trousers and coaxed it along the shoreline. The party followed, making helpful suggestions but keeping their feet dry.
‘Does your husband know about boats?’ the girl with the ponytail asked Rosanna.
‘What my husband doesn’t know about boats, my dear, isn’t worth knowing,’ said Rosanna firmly.
There was an air of celebration as they all stepped into the boat; the girls gave little squeals as it rocked slightly. Jack stepped in last and took the oars.
‘We are rude,’ said Ponytail. ‘I’m Sal, this is my friend Nina, and Harry, my brother.’
‘Rosanna and Jack,’ replied Rosanna. Now in a playful mood, everyone made a show of shaking hands with everyone else even if they already knew them.
As they drew closer to the yacht the music carried across the water towards them. Sal began to sing along in a warbling voice. ‘When I find my truuue looove … Golly, we’ll crank up the music when we get there.’ She pulled a small, half-empty bottle of brandy from her handbag and passed it around. Jack shook his head and kept on rowing. Rosanna had a swig. ‘I better have one for Jack too,’ she said and took another, longer, draught.
They drew in beside the yacht and Rosanna tied the dinghy to the boarding ladder. Sal got out first and climbed aboard. ‘Oh, thanks for waiting!’ she called out to someone on board. ‘We had to kidnap some people and steal a boat to get here.’ Several faces peered over the side at them as Nina and Harry climbed up.
‘Please do come on board for one teeny-weeny little drink,’ said Sal, leaning over the side.
‘Maybe just a little one,’ said Rosanna without hesitation, and stepped onto the ladder.
‘I’ll wait here,’ said Jack, trying not to show how annoyed he was.
‘Don’t be a spoilsport, Jack,’ was all she said and she was gone.
He waited in the boat, seething, as he heard Rosanna’s laughter rise above the music and float over the water. An hour passed. Jack let the dinghy float out to the length of the rope and sat in the darkness watching the party on deck. He could see Rosanna in the crowd dancing with a man in a black shirt. As they spun around he saw the man’s hand was low on her spine. He was holding her close enough to make Jack’s ears buzz with angry static. Jack stood up in the dinghy and shouted Rosanna’s name. She turned slightly as though she thought she heard something over the music. She spoke into the man’s ear, withdrew from his embrace and stepped back from the cluster of dancers. Jack was just about to sit down and row closer to the yacht when he saw the man had also left the dancers. He took Rosanna’s hands in his and talked earnestly to her. Rosanna threw back her head and laughed. The man put his arms around her waist. Jack’s whole head started to buzz and something in his chest ached. He wanted to get on that yacht and break every bone in that man’s body. He saw Rosanna put her arms around the man’s neck and give him a long, slow kiss on the lips. Jack’s ears roared with rage. He thought he was going to vomit and retched over the side of the dinghy.
‘Jack! Where are you?’ Rosanna was halfway down the ladder. Jack stood in the dinghy, helpless.
The man stood at the top of the ladder. ‘Leave me a shoe, at least, my princess. I shall scour the countryside and find you!’ he called, clutching his heart in mock despair.
Jack pulled on the rope until the dinghy met the yacht and Rosanna climbed in, flopping down opposite him.
‘What fun! You should have come up instead of sulking in the dark.’
Jack rowed in a black fury. ‘What kind of whore are you?’
‘Oh, Jack. I liked him, that’s all. He was sweet. I’m not your girlfriend, you know. This might be the last time we have together, then it’s over. You know that.’
‘Do I? Do I?’ His throat was so tight with anger it was a strain to speak. He wished the boat would sink right there and then and the pain he was feeling would end. He thought of tipping it over, of jumping overboard or throwing Rosanna overboard. In the end he just rowed ashore, abandoned the dinghy and stalked up the beach.
He walked a little ahead of her all the way back to the hotel and lay on the bed in the dark, fuming and feeling like a fool at the same time. Rosanna went off down the hall to the bathroom, singing. She returned damp and smelling of roses. Taking off her robe, she lay down beside him continuing to hum softly to herself, as though oblivious to his mood. Jack took her by the shoulders and kissed her hard.
‘Hey,’ she whispered in his ear. ‘That’s more like it.’
During his drive home the car seemed as reluctant as he was. It stuttered and started and after he stopped for a cup of tea at a roadside teashop it refused to start again. He felt like kicking the living daylights out of it, but got out the crank and expended his anger on turning the handle. He wasn’t relieved to hear the engine turn over. He didn’t want to be stuck in that godforsaken place but he was looking for anything to delay his trip home. He prayed that Rosanna wasn’t pregnant. He prayed that it wasn’t the last time he would be lost in the wilds of that foreign, beautiful terrain called Rosanna.
Heading home was heading in the wrong direction. Everything was clear to him now. The farm was home. Rosanna was home. Everything had changed. He didn’t know how he would face Isabelle. He could hardly even remember what he had felt for her. She seemed distant, somehow; like someone he hadn’t seen for years, not a part of his world.
All the way home his mind slipped from memories of that last night to fantasies of other nights and days with Rosanna until he couldn’t tell them apart. He talked to her. He reasoned with her. She agreed with everything he said.
Isabelle greeted him as casually as if he had just been out for a walk. He declared himself tired and went to bed, not waking until morning.
Life slipped back into the old routine and Jack participated without engaging. His mind was like a crazy playground with swings of exhilaration and long slides that grounded him with a jolt. One moment he was exultant in love, content to be apart from Rosanna, the next he was torn with doubt, imagining her with someone else, becoming convinced the man in the black shirt was with her that very moment and feeling quite insane with jealousy. He talked himself down, thought he saw her in the street, heard her laughter, smelt her perfume on his shirt, tasted her skin, wept in his sleep.
The hardest part was yet to come. Arriving home from work a few weeks later, he found Isabelle standing at the back door with a letter in her hand. He tried to read her expression so he could prepare himself.
‘It’s from Rosanna,’ said Isabelle, as she watched him take off his boots.
‘Yes,’ he said gruffly and brushed past her into the house. He could tell she was offended even withou
t looking at her.
‘She’s pregnant. It’s early days but … yes …’ She drifted off.
‘Good – well, that’s that out of the way.’ He sat down in his armchair and flicked open the newspaper. ‘What’s for dinner?’
Isabelle was surprisingly firm about the arrangements. Jack had thought that Rosanna would come to them but Isabelle thought that absurd when they only had the one bedroom. She would have to go and care for Rosanna as soon as she started to show. They had it all planned. Rosanna would stay at home and Isabelle would go out to do the shopping. She would wear a cushion.
‘A cushion? You two are barking mad!’ exploded Jack. He banged his cutlery down and pushed his chair from the table, leaving his meal unfinished. ‘And where are you planning to give birth to this cushion?’
Isabelle pursed her lips. ‘Not in Duffy’s Creek, obviously. We’ll have to take her up to the hospital at Tindall where they don’t know us. She’ll pretend to be me.’
‘Honestly! You two need your bloody heads read. Do I have any say in this cloak-and-dagger plan? The voice of reason? Go on, now tell me you’re both Russian spies.’
‘Don’t be silly, Jack. This is serious. What would people think if they knew Rosanna was pregnant?’
‘And what have you told your mother?’
‘Well, I can’t lie to her, obviously.’
‘I’m glad all these things are so obvious to you.’
‘She knows I lost the baby.’
‘And?’
‘Rosanna will write and tell her that we have another baby on the way. That I’m not feeling well —’
‘So, let me get this straight. Rosanna gets to have a baby for you and lie to your mother about it.’
‘It’s not a lie —’
‘Isabelle – the whole bloody thing is a lie! We’re all in it up to our necks!’
‘There’s no need to shout, Jack. Rosanna doesn’t care; she’s says it’s none of Mamma’s business.’
Speechless, Jack leant back in his chair and slowly shook his head to demonstrate the full extent of his disbelief. Isabelle sat silently, her head bowed slightly and hands clasped together as if in a tight-lipped prayer.
The Olive Sisters Page 17
