The Affair

by Bunty Avieson

  He broached the subject with Frederick at the first opportunity. James was working on cellar door sales and tastings right next to his father’s office at the vineyard but it had taken nearly a week to find his father alone, away from other workers, his brother, his mother, the telephone and the relentless stream of daily problems. Finally, he had his father’s undivided attention.

  James had been all keyed up and excited, the words bubbling out of his mouth. Frederick had gone on reading his wine magazine, grunting about the latest wine ratings, barely bothering to look up. Frederick mistrusted investing in anything he couldn’t plant his feet on. He didn’t see it as the golden opportunity that James did nor was he the least bit impressed by the celebrity of the other investors. He wasn’t interested in being in a syndicate with judges and prime ministers and royals. What for? He didn’t know them. And they could go broke just as easily as anyone else, he had told James. James felt deflated and dismissed.

  He had looked at his father in near despair. Frederick would never understand. He didn’t think big enough. For two days after the Lloyd’s discussion, James had quietly fumed. He resented what he saw as the small-minded way his father ran the business and it started to irritate him how easily his brother and his father worked together. They were like peas in a pod. Apart from being so physically similar, they seemed to know exactly what the other was thinking. Being around them in the vineyard was like hearing only half a conversation as they didn’t seem to need words to communicate. James found it hard to keep up. Dinner times were spent with the two of them talking business, Patty agreeing and James keeping his rebellious thoughts to himself.

  James carried around two images of himself. On the one hand he saw himself as a hard-working, contributing member of a successful wine family, a former Olympian and a globalist who had seen some of the world and exuded a certain level of sophistication. When his confidence was high and he was happy, that was the person he believed he was. He felt like that around Nina. At other times, when his confidence was low or he was intimidated by people or surroundings, he saw himself as lightweight, a mere adjunct to the family business, a failed Olympian who hadn’t brought home a gold medal and the son of nothing more than a small-time, hokey farmer.

  James’s memories of the summer of 1987 were painful. He didn’t like the way that he had behaved and he couldn’t think about that time with any sort of clarity. There was an overlay of tumultuous emotion that obscured any sense of reason.

  Felix had been surprised to see him standing on the doorstep of his city apartment with his suitcase but had welcomed him anyway. James had told Felix he couldn’t join Lloyd’s because his father was too much of a dullard and country bumpkin. James remembered every self-superior word he had uttered.

  ‘I need to get as far away from that place as I can,’ he had said.

  Felix had been happy for James to stay at his apartment but he was leaving for London in a few days. On the spot James decided to go with him. By the time their plane left, James had decided that it was fate and he was meant to go to the sort of places that Lloyd’s could take him. He shouldn’t allow his father to hold him back.

  Tucked into his backpack when he boarded the plane was a letter of credit from his bank in Phillip St, Sydney, secured against his third share of the family business, which he had inherited when he turned 21. That single sheet of paper showed that James had assets of $250,000. It had been so simple. Now all he needed to do was to give that to a bank in England to secure a letter of credit from them and he would be in – a Lloyd’s name by the end of the month.

  James was quite sure his actions wouldn’t have an impact on his father or the business. He didn’t waste any energy worrying that he was going directly against his father’s wishes. He told himself that his father lacked the foresight and vision that James possessed.

  Pride certainly did come before a fall. He had been so puffed up. Now came the fall. It was going to be colossal, commensurate with the appalling degree of pride he had exhibited. Sitting in Felix’s office remembering his feelings that night, the gloating and the arrogance, James was filled with self-loathing.

  *

  Nina bundled the shopping bags into the boot of the car. A heavy pall of despondency had settled over her as she moved about the supermarket aisles. Toilet cleaner. A replacement for the mop head. Bleach for James’s shirts. Nothing glamorous about any of it. She had resented every item, seething against James as she picked them off her list, one by one. She piled it all into the boot, feeling the heavy thud of depression in her chest.

  She slammed the boot hard. What was she going to do for the day? She had hoped the weekly shopping would take longer.

  She started to manoeuvre the little car into the traffic. Joining the throngs on the road was like being swallowed by a big, moving crocodile. Nina tightened her hands on the wheel, steeled herself and, when she spotted a gap, threw herself in with the rest. Then she could relax, confident she had little else to do. The traffic would take her past Rushcutters Bay to the turn-off for home.

  It was turning into a glorious day with the merest hint of a fresh easterly breeze. Nina wound down her window and inhaled the salty air. On the radio an old Mungo Jerry song was playing. It made Nina smile. She had grown up on the edge of the windswept prairies, surrounded by snow for a large part of the year, listening to this music. For the first time in her life the song made sense.

  In the summertime, when the weather is fine, you can jump right up and touch the sky …

  At the foot of the hill Rushcutters Bay was laid out before her, its boats heading out for a day on the harbour from the busy marina of the Cruising Yacht Club. It was the same pretty bay she looked onto from the apartment windows, but seen from an entirely different angle. Instead of little toy boats, parked in orderly rows along the marina, many of the yachts were massive, she realised. And beautiful. They came in all shapes and sizes. Some were small and streamlined, obviously built for speed. Others were the size of a four-storey building. Millions of dollars in fibreglass and brass, floating peacefully in the sun. One had a helicopter perched on its deck.

  The park was awash with colour as people frolicked under the massive fig trees. All across the grass they were doing their thing – reading newspapers, playing football, holding hands, watching babies take their first few tentative steps to the picnic rug or dozing mindlessly as flies buzzed around them.

  In spite of herself, Nina felt her mood lift. What a beautiful day. A day you would never see again, as her father would say. He used to say that at least once every weekend, pushing her and Larry out onto the back porch with their coats and telling them to make the most of it, regardless of the weather. So here she was with this beautiful day to enjoy. How could she feel miserable? What a waste. What an insult to God.

  Suddenly Nina knew exactly what she wanted to do. She wanted to get in amongst it. She wanted to lie on her stomach on the grass reading the newspaper. She wanted to toss off her shoes and wriggle her toes. She wanted to laugh with the small boy unsteady on his feet and smile knowingly with his parents. She wanted the football to land near her newspaper so she could throw it back to those strapping young men in the short shorts.

  A car pulled out of its parking spot and Nina swiftly took its place before any other car had a breath of a chance. When she reached the edge of the lawn, she took off her sandals and enjoyed the feel of the spiky cool grass beneath her feet. She walked slowly across the park, skirting around a cricket match and picking her way through groups of people, some alone, some clumped together. In the centre of Rushcutters Park was a kiosk with a few plastic tables and chairs.

  Most people bought their toasted foccacia and coffee at the kiosk and took them to their chosen pocket of grass. A gentle slope provided many vantage points to watch the boats coming and going on the harbour. Nina gave her order to the young woman behind the counter and looked around the park, wondering where she would sit. The woman handed across her foccacia and coffee an
d a paper serviette. She smiled at Nina, a simple, friendly smile. ‘Enjoy,’ she said before she took the next order, but the spontaneous friendliness was enough. It made Nina feel good. She picked up a discarded newspaper from a plastic table, tucked it under her arm and headed for one of the magnificent fig trees that made the park such a popular spot. Half-a-dozen people were already taking shade under the tree’s sprawling canopy.

  Nina nestled herself between two massive roots that protruded through the dirt and settled back against the trunk. She appreciated its rough solidity through the thin fabric of her shirt. A cool breeze came off the water. The leaves above her shimmied and twirled, making a gentle, dappled light. There was so much to watch and enjoy as life buzzed around her. The loneliness, her anger at James, all of it was forgotten as the last of the tension in her body dissolved.

  *

  Leo had spotted Nina just as she was crossing the grass. She was a graceful figure, lithe and dainty, moving with sensual elegance. She wasn’t tall or imposing but she had a presence. It was in the way she carried herself. With her long legs and her short skirt she attracted the attention of most male eyes. Only the men that were more interested in each other didn’t look up and follow her progress as she threaded her way through the different groups of people to the kiosk.

  Leo was chatting with Nick, his sailing partner, at the edge of the grass. They had met for breakfast to relive the previous night’s satisfying victory and then spent a few hours checking the boat and making minor repairs. They were just winding up. Nick was about to get into his car and Leo would walk across the park to his apartment.

  Nick spotted Nina first. Just 24, good-looking and full of testosterone, Nick had two interests in life – sailing and women. The merest hint of the female form in his peripheral vision acted as a trigger.

  ‘Whoa, check her out,’ he declared, interrupting Leo in mid-conversation.

  Leo glanced in the direction Nick was looking and saw what had caught his friend’s eye: Nina making her way from the kiosk, shoes held casually in one hand, juggling a paper bag and coffee cup in the other. Leo recognised her immediately. The girl from the taxi the previous evening. She seemed to bounce ever so lightly on the balls of her feet, gliding across the grass.

  Nick gave a low whistle. ‘I’d give her one, and then one more.’

  Leo felt his hackles rise. ‘Hey, lay off. I know her.’ Leo was as surprised as Nick at the words that came out of his mouth and the sharp tone he heard himself using.

  Nick shrugged. Two young women in shorts were unloading hampers of food from the boot of their car. In an instant he was over helping them, leaving Leo alone to watch Nina settle herself against a tree.

  *

  Nina licked the last of the melted butter from her fingers, then screwed up the paper bag and relaxed into the tree trunk. All about her people laughed and played and enjoyed the day. She looked at all the high-rise apartments circling the park. She fancied they were like giant filing cabinets that had spilled their contents out onto the grass. She let her thoughts wander, disconnected images passed through her mind and were gone, leaving no trace. The sun warmed her bare legs. A butterfly fluttered for a moment in front of her face. She tried to follow its path but even that was too much effort. She let her eyes blur and enjoyed instead the movement of colour in front of her vision.

  It was into that lazy, hazy, mellow world Nina was enjoying that Leo stepped. There he was, suddenly standing in front of her, smiling in his cheerful, open way, his eyes laughing as if at some private joke. His head was tilted to one side, his baseball cap askew. He wore oversized baggy shorts and a jaunty air. He looked cheeky, like he had just done something very naughty but wasn’t going to tell.

  ‘Hello again,’ he said.

  Nina’s immediate reaction was to laugh. ‘Hello again,’ echoed Nina.

  ‘What are you doing under my favourite tree?’ asked Leo.

  ‘Your favourite tree?’

  Leo nodded solemnly. ‘This tree and I have had a long and fruitful relationship. We are known around these parts as something of a couple.’

  Nina felt herself responding. This man is mad, she thought. Quite, quite mad. ‘I’m so sorry. I had no idea. I didn’t mean to come between the two of you.’

  ‘May I?’ Leo gestured with his coffee to a spot beside her.

  ‘But of course,’ replied Nina. ‘Is it all right with you if I stay?’

  Leo appeared to think for a moment, then nodded. Nina moved across to make room for him. It was entirely unnecessary. They were in a park with acres of grass. The nearest person was at least four metres away. But somehow it felt appropriate. Leo waited till she had resettled herself then took the spot she had vacated.

  ‘I often come by after a morning on the boat and sit right here watching the world go by for a bit before heading home. I like this exact tree because it offers the best view of both the marina and the races. Well, you need binoculars to see the races from here.’ He looked so naughty that, even though what he said sounded innocent enough, Nina wasn’t sure whether he was teasing or not.

  ‘You have a boat at the marina?’

  Leo nodded.

  ‘Which one is it?’

  He looked across at the mass of boats.

  ‘It’s about fifth from the end along there,’ he said, pointing. ‘The timber sloop with one mast.’

  Nina tried to follow his directions.

  ‘She’s the wooden one surrounded by a row of fibreglass ones. Bessie. A real beauty.’

  Coming from inland Canada, Nina knew next to nothing about yachts. The closest she had come to being on one was catching the ferry across the harbour to Manly shortly after she arrived in Sydney. It had been a fun, if slightly nerve-racking experience, feeling the timber sway and vibrate beneath her feet.

  Her mouth formed a perfectly shaped O.

  Leo laughed. ‘Obviously you’re not a yachtie.’

  Nina shook her head. ‘And I’m guessing you’re not an Italian count, heir to half of Italy.’

  Leo feigned shock. ‘You didn’t believe that?’

  ‘Not for a minute.’

  Leo gasped.

  ‘Okay, maybe for a minute … or two,’ she said. ‘Your Italian accent was quite good, and the hand-waving, very Latin. But I believe the phrase Mon Dieu is French.’

  ‘Did I say Mon Dieu?’

  Nina nodded. ‘Uh huh.’

  Leo threw his hands in the air. He was so harmless and appealing in his baggy shorts and baseball cap.

  Here we go again, thought Nina to herself. ‘But I shall always think of you as the fourteenth Count Mauro de March, heir to an Italian coffee empire.’

  She felt spontaneous joy bubble up inside her. Leo gazed at her big, round brown eyes flashing with humour and intelligence. They stared at each other for one long moment. Neither spoke. Something gentle and sweet passed between them. It was like there was a subtle shift in the air vibrating around them. They were acutely aware of each other.

  And so it began. Under the shade of a sprawling fig tree with a pair of noisy currawong birds quarrelling in its branches and ants crawling unnoticed over their bare feet, Nina and Leo fell in love. Years later, whenever Nina allowed herself to remember that time, she thought of it as slipping rather than falling. It had been so easy and natural, like meeting up with an old friend after too long apart and picking up where they left off. It seemed there was an aura of synchronicity and inevitability about it.

  Time ceased to be relevant, but for the next two hours they chatted, laughed, watched and listened. They were completely intrigued by each other. At times Nina sat leaning against the tree trunk, her legs stuck out in front of her, with Leo cross-legged, his hand on his chin and his face earnest. At other times Nina knelt while Leo lay stretched out beside her, waving his hands about to emphasise a point.

  Their conversation was open and wide-ranging. They didn’t dwell on the personal, yet they shared some of their most intimate feelings. Nina re
ferred only once to James, though not as her husband, then moved on, revealing nothing of her unhappiness, but sharing her self-consciousness and sense of alienation living in this foreign country. It touched a chord deep within Leo. He understood. He talked of his own school days when he was humiliated constantly by the sports-loving boys. He was the class geek, happy in the science lab, miserable on the football field. He sounded bitter. Leo revealed that he chose sailing because it was a sport he could excel at and it went some way towards healing the scars of his youthful humiliation. He had never admitted that to anyone before and he looked at Nina shyly as he spoke. He talked of his studies and his parents who had died within six months of each other when he was just eighteen, leaving him wealthy and in shock.

  They talked of themselves and of the world as they saw it. Important things, trivial things, things that they were excited to discover, things that made them both feel angry or made them both laugh.

  Leo told Nina about how, when he was eight, he used to catch flies then keep them in little prisons he made out of corks, hollowing out a cave in the middle and using his mother’s sewing pins to create prison bars. He would proudly present them to his next-door neighbour, ten-year-old Kimmie Butler. Together they would tie a single hair around the fly’s head and let it out, flying the flies as if they were on a leash.

  Nina described Chooky, the chicken she had hatched as part of a school project. Chooky refused to believe it was a chicken. It would not stay in the chicken coop but insisted on living indoors with the family. For the first year of its life it had the run of the house, sleeping on Nina’s bed and watching TV from the arm of her father’s chair. Then one day it had mysteriously disappeared. Only recently Nina’s mother had admitted that Chooky had ended up in the family’s Sunday night casserole.

  There was nothing untoward in their time together, nothing for Nina to feel guilty about. They were just like two old friends catching up. Yet Nina did not even know his real name. Nor did he know hers. But Nina did know, as she walked back across the grass to her car, that she would see him again. She didn’t know when or how it might happen, and it didn’t matter. It was as if her world had just expanded and he fitted in somewhere within its new parameters. She didn’t explore the feeling, or question it, she just enjoyed it. She had made a new friend. Everything was as it should be. While just that morning the world had seemed a dark and unfriendly place, now everything felt okay again.