In a sudden, nightmarish cut, the wolf’s head rears up with bared fangs and a blood-freezing roar. The girl screams, an ear-splitting scream that slices through the drone of the sinister chant. In agonising slow motion the wolf pulls her down on top of him. A close-up of the girl’s terrified eyes. They are Kim’s eyes, without question. My heart is racing. The children’s chant rises to a deafening pitch. He pushes her under him and leans down. As the wolf’s head touches Kim’s face, it becomes that of a dashingly handsome young man – Marlon. Marlon kisses her.
It is a prolonged, adult kiss that sends shockwaves through me.
And now it is no longer Kim on screen but a young woman, the stunning girl I remember seeing once before in the fight on the lurching platform. She is naked. The image has switched at some point, without my being aware of it, and a sweet, lilting harp melody has replaced the chant. I saw her again last night, I realise, through the binoculars – it is Marek’s fiancée. A love scene ensues between her and Marlon. If it were not so explicit it would almost qualify as lyrical. I’ve read that some sex in films these days is the real thing. Were they acting? The screen goes black.
I know this shock, although I had suppressed its full, evil force. I know it because I have felt it once before, when Matthew’s activities finally came to light, when a deputation of girls finally came to me and I could no longer close my ears to the whispers and the rumours. Those girls were courageous enough not to be evasive. There was no subtext to ignore. I could not refuse to act.
But by then the damage had been done. Irreparable damage to several lives. Principally, of course, to the bright, promising thirteen-year-old who was such a prodigiously talented student.
The delegation came too late to save her. Mr Rhode was dismissed from the school and charged with drug offences and sexual assault of minors. The girl hanged herself.
They say if you confront the full force of your transgressions you may gain some form of redemption in return. But I have found no catharsis in writing this down.
I watch the film through again, to be certain of what I have seen. How many options do I have? How many options do I need?
Only one. One of each, and it is the same one.
Monday morning, eleven o’clock. Sunlight and – hosanna in the highest – no rain. Teddy and I stroll across for coffee with Frank as if nothing has happened. The front door is closed today, however. There is a bell that I have not seen before. I press it.
I know Frank is inside because the car is here. He goes for walks, but never this early. I give the bell another long, insistent press. And after a couple more minutes he materialises. Rumpled, in a dressing gown, a stripy seersucker number, only knee-high. Bare feet. No pyjamas, I see.
Andie hurtles out, a mini-projectile, greeting us as if she’d never imagined she would see us again. Andie. I hadn’t quite factored her in. No problem, I will adjust.
Frank is concealing his surprise. ‘Thea. Hey.’ A creditable attempt, masking an undercurrent of something or other. A cocktail of discomfiture is my guess. I don’t think he expected this. Probably feared the party had queered his pitch irrevocably. Instead of which, lo and behold, here I am, offering an olive branch.
There is no foreboding in his eyes, or not that I can see.
‘I trust coffee’s on offer as usual,’ I say. ‘It was so cold last night, wasn’t it? I had a fire. Very cosy. First of the year.’
He ushers me inside, throwing an arm around my waist, which I do not shake off. Tells me they haven’t tried out their fireplace yet. Oh, it will draw very well, I assure him – I made sure of that.
Let’s get this baby going, he says to the coffee machine with a show of enthusiasm. He apologises for the mess. He and Kim did a lot of clearing up after the party, the Wombat especially, but the kitchen’s still a bit of a pigsty. It’s incredible, right, the amount of damage a bunch of able-bodied dudes can do in twenty-four hours? Came from good homes too. Well, most of them did. He grins. He is uneasy, I can tell. I have an urgent need to reassure him.
People’s capacity for destruction beggars belief, I agree. So, I could assume it was a good party? They’d all worked on the movie, I imagined. Yeah, they had, actually. It was a blast, kind of a wrap party, music-wise.
We sip our coffee looking out on the gum trees. I think of Kim, and take special account of the texture and the taste. I am living in the moment. My sensation level is high.
Frank is sitting on the same sofa, his legs crossed. I keep my eyes averted from his skimpy dressing gown. I am uncertain whether he has anything on underneath. Marlon’s hunky physique is still in my mind. Compared with his, Frank’s body is really quite scrawny.
‘It’s such a pleasant morning,’ I muse, watching the play of the thin autumnal sunbeams on the leaves. ‘But it’s going to change later. Storms predicted. I think we’ve had the last gasp of summer.’ I can’t resist a sly dig. ‘No more sunbaking in your birthday suit, I fear.’ A flicker. He is not sure how to respond.
And how is Ellie going, down in Melbourne? I enquire genially. I am full of goodwill and the milk of human kindness. Relieved, he gives me a run-down. A few more medical technicalities I don’t want to hear. But I am interested in one piece of information. It is highly likely Ellice will have to spend the last part of her pregnancy under observation in hospital. Maybe as much as the last trimester, having what they call bed rest. This information is pleasing to me.
‘More quality time with the Wombat,’ Frank avers. This is not the moment to disillusion him. He proceeds to rub salt in one of my wounds by adding, ‘You were right to say she needed more attention, Thea. I took that to heart and we’re chilling, like you suggested. She’s more at ease with me. Loosening up a lot.’
Now is my chance, perhaps the only chance I will get. I seize it, with both hands.
I assume a pensive expression. ‘I’m glad to hear you say that, Frank. And I think there’s something that must be done.’
He looks at me, eyebrows raised. Wary, anticipating a broadside. Put them on guard and then confound their expectations, I always found, when you want something from them.
‘There shouldn’t be secrets between us, is what I’m thinking,’ I confide, leaning towards him a little. ‘But most importantly, between you and Kim. Don’t you agree?’
He nods, still cautious. ‘I’m an open book, Thea. You know that.’ A little smile, tailored, it seeks to convey, especially for me. His charm seems contrived now, his wiles blatant. Being Frank, though, I think he is also faintly titillated.
‘So, I’m thinking I should take you somewhere, while we have the chance.’
‘Take me somewhere, Thea?’ He gives me a deadpan look.
‘I think I should let you into the secret. Show you what I showed Kim.’
‘You mean, on that walk she clammed up about? The big mystery? Huh.’ He is intrigued. He mulls over this. ‘What about the Wombat? The way she was, it sounded like something happened, like she’d had some kind of,’ he looks at me, ‘some kind of an – initiation. She mightn’t be cool with me being in on it.’ He is keen to parade his sensitivity and regain some points.
‘You’re quite right. We won’t tell Kim,’ I say truthfully. ‘It’s best that we don’t. Your initiation will be just between the two of us.’ And the two dogs, I think. But they will not tell anyone.
I see he still has a sliver of doubt.
‘It’s rather important for you to have seen this. Not just Kim, Frank. When we get there, you will understand why, believe me.’
He hesitates. I give him a winning smile. ‘And it’s a lovely walk,’ I say.
A flash of pale thigh as he uncrosses his legs. I look away. Kim would have seen this inadequate dressing gown, I am thinking, on a regular basis. I put down my empty mug. ‘Maybe we should go now, what do you think? I’m not sure the weather’s going to hold for too long.’
He capitulates with a shrug and gets up. ‘Well, okay then. I’ll go and fling on some gear.’
>
I remind him to get Andie’s lead. Forgetting Andie’s lead would put a spanner in the works. Then I concentrate on the task at hand. On holding my nerve.
Frank returns in the familiar uniform of form-fitting jeans, with a long-sleeved check shirt over his T-shirt. Pats me on the shoulder. ‘I’m all yours, Thea,’ he says.
We exchange a few words as we push our way through the scrub. The walk has put him in a romantic frame of mind, as it happens. He reminisces about the day he and Ellice came upon the house. That was a find, he says. Changed their lives.
The spicy scents of the bush, the colours of the wildflowers and the scudding clouds are particularly pleasurable to me today. I wonder if they seem that way to Frank. We are treated to a fly-past of yellow-tailed black cockatoos. Later I draw his attention to a pair of spectacular king parrots. They are putting on quite a display for us this morning, I remark. And I point out some reticent autumn flowers that can be missed by the untrained eye. I want him to pay attention, to take the trouble to savour this experience while it lasts.
And when we arrive at the sandstone rock I am pleased to see he is suitably impressed. He is very taken by its shapely sinuousness. He wants to linger. It’s a surprise, I agree – you’d never imagine it was here, would you? I tell him how Teddy and I came across it, many years ago. How Kim found it.
It is a remarkable formation, it’s true, but this is not where we are heading. We should move on, Frank, I say. I’m concerned about the weather.
I am lying, the weather is on my side. It has clouded over and there is a light breath of mist. Mist is often the prelude to fog.
Teddy thinks we are going to the cave. I call him back. We skirt the perimeter of the rock and press on. Frank is walking close behind me, holding Andie’s lead. She is definitely pulling less, I tell him. She is a very responsive puppy and Kim is a natural trainer. Maybe that’s what she’ll do, he says. Work with animals.
No, Kim will be a writer, I say. All the signs are there. Sometimes children find their vocation early – or it finds them. He laughs and says he doesn’t think of her as a child. I do not pursue the subject. This was the trouble all along, I reflect, this is where you went wrong. You and Matthew. Some children find their vocation early, only to lose themselves. This will not happen to Kim. I shall not let it.
So, is she formally adopted yet? I inquire casually. Not yet, it seems; anything in this area is a grindingly slow process. I consider the news with interest. I have been aware lately of the need to redraft my will. Apart from providing for Teddy, I have not felt this need before.
We forge downhill, following the icy path of the creek. It is a thin stream, as it usually is after the summer, and the route is easier to negotiate than it is in the muddy winter months. I am so familiar with it now that I forget, sometimes, how steep it is in parts. Frank, though, is regarding me in some amazement, revising his mental picture. No wonder you’re so fit, Thea, he says. This is quite a workout. Are we there yet?
And we emerge where the ground levels out between towering cliffs. Ahead is the grand arch, the semicircle with the view of rippling gorges and valleys beyond. It’s interesting, the way the two halves don’t quite meet in the middle, I say to Frank. It always reminds me of the iconic paintings and photos of the Sydney Harbour Bridge when it was being built, with the incomplete spans leaning towards each other like two outstretched arms.
‘But the two arms would have met once, of course,’ observes Frank. ‘Over time, the pinnacle’s eroded away.’
As he makes that chance remark, that simple, obvious comment, something clicks into place. I utter an involuntary exclamation. Frank asks if I’m okay. He thinks I’ve hurt myself. I’m quite all right, I assure him. It’s just that I suddenly understood something that’s had me baffled for years.
‘There’s this little sketch I’ve been looking after,’ I say. ‘It’s unique, but I never knew quite what it was. When you said that the arch had once been complete – an inspired observation, by the way – I realised in a flash that the drawing is a shorthand for it. Only it was sketched long, long ago when the rock arch was still intact. It shows the vault as it was, a frame for the view beyond. The successive folds of valleys and mountains.’
I draw breath. ‘You see, Frank, I’d never known whether the artist actually came here. I suspected it, and I felt in my bones that she did. Now I am certain of it. She stood here. She knew this place.’
Frank looks at me oddly. He thinks I am rambling. And indeed I am rambling. It is, and rather inappropriately when I think about it, a briefly happy, burbling ramble. I am quite lightheaded over this.
I cannot wait to tell Kim my discovery. She will be miffed, temporarily; she wanted to be the one to solve the mystery. However, I shall not tell her today, because I never came here today. I won’t tell her, perhaps, for some time. I should wait for the dust to settle, as it were, before I return to this sacred place with her.
But I digress. This is where, at all costs, I must not come unstuck.
Better tie Andie’s lead to this tree, I tell Frank. We need to go over there under the curve of the arch, so I can show you the full impact. The creek becomes a waterfall. You will never see a more spectacular vista in your life, Frank. I can promise you that.
He is cheery, eager to oblige. I check on the knot. Teddy leads the way forward. I look back at Andie, tugging, desperate to follow us. I order Teddy to go back. To stay, and sit with her.
She came back alone, I shall say later, shaking my head. Young puppy, damp, exhausted, no lead. The lead must have got caught up on branches. Puppy wriggles out of collar and takes off. Any number of scenarios. No way of knowing which way they went, I’m afraid. I didn’t see them leave.
‘You’re right. This view is bloody incredible. I had no idea,’ Frank enthuses as we approach the edge of the escarpment and the unfurling, primeval vastness. The silence holds us in its grip.
‘Feel it,’ I tell him. ‘Let it envelop you.’
And already the mist is rolling in along the valley floor. It has obscured the ocean of rippling leaves. Frank is standing next to me, not wanting to appear wimpish. But as I step forward boldly he puts out a shocked arm to stop me. ‘Hey, hang on, Thea.’
‘It’s all right,’ I say. ‘I’m used to this.’
He drops his arm. ‘I don’t have your head for heights,’ he says. But he shuffles a little closer to the edge.
I am on the rim of the precipice. My fix floods over me in a rush. I am exultant. This is my warrior moment, Oscar, if only you were here to witness it.
It doesn’t need a shove. It needs only a small, firm tap. But the last thing I want, in the future, is to be unsure of my role. I have learnt to become proactive in my old age, and I am glorying in my newfound nerve.
So I exert a little force. Not too much. Not enough to send myself tumbling after him. He tries to clutch me, something I had not foreseen. I waver, and recover my balance. He utters a sound, but it is muffled by the swirling fog.
I cannot see his diving figure. But I know what will happen to him. The green sea will part for him and swallow him up. The heaving waves of leaves will close over his head.
The surface of the valley floor will be pristine again. Untouched and shimmering, as it has been for millennia.
Teddy is on his feet. He has taken a few steps towards me and stopped. He looks into my eyes with an unfathomable expression, and licks my hand.
When we get home I leave the dogs in the garden and put Andie’s lead in a plastic bag. I drive to the village and drop the bag in a rubbish bin.
People do wander into the bush, as Sandy is aware. When you’ve lived here for as long as we both have, you know that. Sometimes they disappear and they’re never found again. They get lost, the cloud comes down and they panic. It’s rare, it’s not common, but it does happen. The bush just swallows them up.
Acknowledgements
Many people gave me unstinting help, both personal and professional –
as well as the constant encouragement a writer depends on – during the writing of this book. I should especially like to single out Ann Blaber, Anne Chisholm, Sara Colquhoun, John Duigan, Penny Gay, Nammi Le, Robert Milliken, Drusilla Modjeska, Caroline Moorehead, Kathy van Praag and Lizzie Spender.
At the business end, my editors at Random House – Meredith Curnow, Brandon VanOver, Roberta Ivers and Catherine Hill – have been as exemplary as before in transforming business into pleasure.
Thank you all.
Also by Virginia Duigan
The Biographer
He was there to uncover the past …
She wanted it left a secret
When Greer Gordon met Mischa Svoboda, a driven Czech-
born refugee painter, he was unknown. His debut show at the
small art gallery where she worked created a sensation, and their
explosive love affair caused Greer to abandon her husband and
career and embark on a nomadic life with Mischa.
Twenty-five years later, Tony, a young art critic who is
researching a biography of Mischa, arrives in the small Italian
hilltop community where Greer and Mischa now live. Greer
is consumed by anxiety, fearing the biographer may have
unearthed the secret she had always intended to write out of
her life story. A gripping cat-and-mouse game plays out, and
with it the growing suspicion that Tony may be manipulating a
dramatic outcome on which to build his career.
Virginia Duigan’s intimate and enthralling portrait of the
relationship between an artist and his lover will have readers
The Precipice Page 27
