James looked at the doctor with unabashed pleasure, like he was discovering a long-lost friend. ‘Nina,’ he said, grinning. ‘This is Felix’s client. Our investor. He is that Dr Jones.’
Nina nodded, looking fully at the doctor. His gaze was locked on James. There was something about the expression in his eyes that Nina found unnerving.
The doctor was enjoying James’s delight but there was an edge to his manner that scared her. He was controlled, confident and yet …
She wasn’t sure why her hands were suddenly clammy with sweat, when the room was so cool and dry.
The doctor was revelling in the moment. When his accountant, Felix Butterworth, had come to him and said he had a business proposition, a winery, owned by the little-known Wilde family, he had delighted in the irony. He had known the Wilde family. Or he had known one of them. James Wilde. The big school sports hero. There were two boys whose names were seared on his memory. James Wilde and the other champion of under-16 football, Malcolm Watson. It was always those two boys who chose the teams and they always left till last the skinny kid who couldn’t catch a ball. They didn’t care about his abject humiliation. Dr Jones, then a blushing fourteen-year-old in baggy shorts, would pray that this time he would be chosen. He never was. He was the last one left, dumped onto whichever team was unlucky enough in the draw to get him.
I was beneath you. I was one of the little people who existed to serve you. You’re the guy who gets the fame, the glory and the girl. You were the winner. And I was the loser. But you didn’t really win, did you? Your life is a sham, propped up by my silence. I own you. I’m the silent partner in your life.
‘It is such a pleasure, Dr Jones,’ said James.
The doctor accepted the compliment as his due, letting it warm him, enjoying the feeling of having James Wilde grateful to him.
‘We were at school together, you know,’ continued the doctor.
Nina started to stiffen. She had a nasty feeling about this man.
James stared harder at the doctor. ‘I’m sorry, I don’t remember.’
‘No matter, no matter,’ said the doctor. He turned to face Nina.
‘It is so nice to meet you both. The Wildes of the famous Wilde Wines family. But Dr Jones sounds so formal when we have so much in common. We are partners.’ He paused for the merest fraction of a second, then continued, ‘Please call me Leo.’
Nina felt the world stop. It was as if the blood ceased to move around her body. The air stopped circulating in her lungs. Understanding and recognition came in a bright and blinding flash. She was aware only of Leo, he filled her vision, his gaze locked onto hers. It was unrelenting, boring into her, bitter, accusing, challenging, triumphant.
James was oblivious to the change of mood in the room. He kept talking, wanting to share with the doctor some of the business success that his injection of money had afforded them over the years. He was unaware that both Nina and the doctor had stopped listening to him.
‘… Thanks to your investment over the past ten years we have been able to not only clear our debts, but vastly improve our business. We are exporting to two overseas markets and looking at some fresh possibilities opening up in China …’
Nina stared at Leo with a mixture of shock and disbelief. James and everything in the room faded away. He looked so different. It wasn’t just age. His whole face had changed. Only the blue eyes seemed faintly familiar, as they bored into her. But their expression was not of anyone she knew, or felt she had ever known. They held no joy or mischief. The doctor’s eyes were dead and looking into them chilled her to the core.
Oh Leo, what happened to you?
She was completely motionless as the pain came, sharp and sudden, ripping along her nerveways. Its intensity shocked her. She hadn’t expected it. She had sealed off those emotions a long time ago. Or so she had thought. But seeing him, realising this strange-mannered, balding man with the bitter smile was Leo, it all came rushing back in a torrent of passion, tenderness, longing and guilt.
Nina was no longer standing with her husband in the vast light-filled room of a blood specialist. At that moment she was sitting in a tree, barefoot and breathless. She could feel the hard wood of the branch under her thighs, through her cotton shorts. The air was wet, sultry and close. Large raindrops splashed onto the leaves, ricocheting into a hundred smaller droplets, down through the canopy to land on her bare skin. And Leo was gently, delicately nibbling her lower lip. Such exquisite sensations. She remembered feeling as if every muscle, every cell had melted into warm, liquid honey.
It was a poignant memory, a distant echo of overwhelming emotion, overlaid with other, stronger, conflicting emotions that came later and had torn her in every direction. She was suddenly aware that her legs had turned to jelly. Worried that they would not hold her weight, she moved back to the chair opposite Leo’s desk. She sank into it gratefully. Her blood pressure plummeted and she felt faint.
‘We will always be very grateful to you,’ she said weakly. She spoke softly and meaningfully, her voice ending on a whisper.
In the same instant Nina was remembering, so was he. But it wasn’t bittersweet memories of making love in the tree that were filling his mind. It was heat, scorching white heat. Flames licking up his thighs. Eyes burned dry. His throat raw from the smoke. He had called out to her. And she had scooped up Tiger and run away.
James’s voice became a low hum, blending with the sound of the air-conditioning. ‘… England now imports more Australian wine than French wine and our percentage of that gross has increased to …’
Seeing her now, Leo felt again an echo of that white seething anger. He had known for over a week that this meeting was coming. The medical questionnaire listing the most personal of details, and yet revealing nothing, had been processed at various points, passing through the office system to land in his in-tray. When he had read the name Nina Wilde, nee Lambert, mother of Luke Wilde, wife of James Wilde, he had been sitting at his desk and was struck dumb with the shock of seeing her name, after all these years. Nina, pretty Nina. The woman who had gently unwrapped his heart then killed it as surely as if she had set fire to it herself. She was married to James Wilde, that sporting stud from school, who had humiliated Leo all those years ago.
After Leo had composed himself he had rung Felix to check that he was right, the patient was the same James Wilde whose family owned Wilde Wines.
‘Is his wife called Nina?’ asked Leo, trying to quell the tremble in his voice.
‘Yes, that’s him. Don’t you remember him from school?’ Felix had replied. ‘He was an Olympic skier.’
Leo remembered him very well, but he stayed silent. He felt he had come full circle. The papers sitting under his clasped hands were a time bomb, just waiting for him to set them off. He held the secrets of Nina and James’s past in that cheap plastic folder. He had performed the tests. He had received the results. And when he discovered that Luke didn’t have the same genetic identifiers as James, he had pulled out an old diary and worked out the dates over the summer of 1991. It had meant reopening so many painful wounds.
Then he had his own genetic code read. He sat at this desk, his heart in his mouth, knowing, without even opening the envelope, what the results would be. He was Luke’s father. Luke Wilde, ten years old, blood type O, with Antigen Η present and a typically homozygous ii reaction. Leo knew his son’s genetic blueprint. And yet he knew nothing about him. Did he like pizza? Did he inherit his interest in science? Did he look like anyone in Leo’s family? Did he like boats? The Wilde file didn’t even contain a photo.
Once the shock passed, the questions had burned inside him. How could she not tell him he had a son? It tore at Leo, stabbed into his heart. How could she not tell him? After all she had done to him, all she had taken from him, how could she? How could she be so cruel? Leo had screamed this question into the empty night, tortured and racked with pain. It was a molten ball in the pit of his stomach.
He had lived throu
gh the past week in a state of nervous anticipation, every moment filled with memories. He was thinking of her when he woke in the mornings. As his mind cleared away the last wispy images of sleep, she was there. Not always a visual image. Usually it was far more pervasive than that. It was a hint of her spirit, her energy, as if she had just left the room. He had been unable to rid himself of her and it had nearly driven him mad.
He had been able to think of nothing but this meeting. He felt that fate had just dealt him the ultimate vengeance hand. It was within his grasp to inflict maximum pain on these two people, the two people he hated most in the world.
He searched Nina’s face. She was shocked to see him. She had sunk back into the winged armchair, her face shielded from James.
James, still standing, was continuing to share his excitement over the wonderful growth the winery had enjoyed over the past ten years.
Nina looked like she had melted into the fabric of the chair. Leo watched her. He was looking for something. Shame. Guilt. Apology. Some emotion that might reflect his own pain. The recognition and shock was evident in her little pixie face. Her hands were clasped tightly together as if to comfort herself. All colour had drained from her face. Leo felt a fissure open, a small crack in the hardened steel inside.
Nina’s eyes pleaded silently across the desk. They were luminous and full of suffering. Leo was paralysed by their intensity. It was there. That something he was looking for was there in their depths. It reached out to him, communicated to him in a way that words never could. He felt the fissure inside him open a little wider.
She seemed so small and fragile sitting in the winged armchair. There was a quality about being in her presence that he had forgotten. The unique essence that made Nina so special. It swirled about her. It was in the way she held her head, the softness in her eyes, her gentleness, her tenderness. His bitterness was rendered impotent in the face of it. Pretty, bubbly, funny Nina. She wasn’t laughing now, but still she carried that energy with her. He remembered it and he knew, with a poignant stab, that he could never willingly hurt her.
James talked himself to a standstill, suddenly aware that he had lost both Nina and the doctor. He sighed. He thought he had done it again – bored everybody with his talk of business. He tried to bring the conversation back on track, to include them.
‘Well, doctor,’ he said. ‘We would love to have you as our guest next week. It is the end of harvest and we always have a bit of a celebration. There are wine tastings, food, a jazz band, rides for the children. You are welcome to bring your family.’
Leo continued to stare at Nina. ‘I don’t have a family,’ he said.
He noted the flash of pain in her eyes. It didn’t give him the satisfaction he expected. Instead he found he wanted to reach across the table and take her hands in his.
‘Please come,’ she said softly.
James continued talking, telling of the wonderful things Leo would find at the winery, how welcome Patty would make him. Leo heard all of it, dimly, as a couple of different scenarios played through his mind.
All the time he couldn’t take his eyes off Nina.
Leo tried to picture Luke. He imagined a short faceless figure in baggy shorts with sandy hair and a baseball cap worn backwards. He was calling out ‘Uncle Leo, Uncle Leo, come and look at this …’ His childish voice bubbled with excitement, as if he had just found something through a microscope and he wanted to show it off. Leo saw James standing nearby looking at him with the same expression he wore now, a mixture of admiration and gratitude. He was thanking Leo and introducing him to an amorphous cheering crowd as the man ‘who saved me’. It all seemed so wholesome and welcoming.
As the picture came more sharply into focus, Leo saw Nina. The expression in her eyes was just as it was now, soft and luminous, full of love and tenderness. But she was standing next to his imaginary James and it was he who was gently stroking the underside of her arm, the tender skin near her elbow, imparting his love and strength and claiming an established intimacy that made Leo’s heart ache.
The image slowly dissolved. He smiled at Nina. It took some effort of will, but he managed. For the first time Nina saw a hint of the Leo she remembered. The smile held the faintest trace of his old, mischievous self. His hands relaxed on top of the medical files.
‘Thank you. That’s very kind of you. But I don’t think so. I would prefer to stay where I am, in the background, as your silent partner.’
Nina’s eyes were wistful.
Our silent partner. How fitting.
There was so much she wanted to say. And there was so much Leo wanted to hear. They stared mutely at each other.
James, standing behind Nina, gave a little cough. Nina knew it was a communication meant for her. Unless there was some new topic for them to discuss, it was time for them to go. The appointment was finished.
Still she stared at Leo.
He felt himself grow warm under her gaze. Something sweet and precious, beyond words, passed between them. It took just a moment, then it was as if the light dimmed in Nina’s eyes. Leo watched, entranced, as she gathered herself together, composed her face and rejoined her husband.
She and James walked together to the door.
Nina hesitated. She couldn’t just leave like this. She had loved Leo in a way that had shocked and delighted her and she needed him to know that. But she knew also that she could never see him again. James was right behind her. She could feel his breath on the top of her back, where the zip finished, exposing her bare skin. She struggled with her conflicting emotions.
‘You know,’ she said, turning slowly back to face Leo, ‘our son Lucas is very interested in science. He wants to be a doctor when he grows up. If he does, I hope he will be as kind and generous as you have been.’
Something hard and tight inside Leo finally gave way. The fissure cracked wide open and he felt it throughout his body.
Nina could see the change in the way Leo held himself; his whole demeanour was transformed. The hard line of his jaw softened as he stopped clenching his teeth. He relaxed his shoulders and neck muscles.
They smiled gently at each other while James opened the door.
Leo watched her leave, knowing it was the last time he would ever see her.
When the door clicked shut, Leo picked up the plastic files beneath his hands, then swivelled his chair to face the magnificent view.
He sat very still, exploring the way he felt, savouring its taste and texture. He was lighter, freer. But also he was sad. Melancholic. It wasn’t unpleasant, he decided.
As he watched, a huge luxury ocean liner entered the harbour, dwarfing the ferries and sailing boats it passed. Each of its four decks was crowded with holidaymakers waving banners and flags.
Perhaps he should give his old mate Nick a call, he thought. See if he needed extra crew for that fancy new boat of his. It was years since Leo had been out on the water. Suddenly he wanted to feel the gentle rhythm of a swaying timber deck beneath his feet and a stiff, salty breeze on his face.
Leo opened the Wilde files and removed the half dozen loose sheets. He carried them across the room and fed them through the document shredder, watching each one re-emerge as dozens of long white fingers, snaking into the bin.
Acknowledgements
Heartfelt thanks to my wonderful agent Selwa Anthony; my enthusiastic publisher Cate Paterson; three friends who were full of good advice, Anna Davison, Linda Smith and Mellisa Gillies; London journalists Diane Blackwell and Geoff Garvey; those fascinating men from Lloyd’s of London, Nick Doak and Mark Whitfield, who were so generous with their time and knowledge; Amelia Chow, Melitis Kwong, Jin Yeo, Luc Dierckx and Wayne Tisdale for their hospitality and many kindnesses in Canada; Sydney yachties Louisa Geddes and Andrew Copley for their sailing expertise; Will and Fiona Ryan of Ryan Wines for their explanations of the wine industry (and many a fabulous chardonnay); my sister Christine Ronaldson for her medical advice; and to my Italian friend, Mauro de March, your na
me is an inspiration!
Author’s Note
Insurance giant Lloyd’s of London is one of the financial world’s most salubrious institutions, its name synonymous with wealth, privilege and security. It operates by way of syndicates which in the late eighties were made up of 32,000 individuals from around the world who underwrote Lloyd’s various insurance activities, from insuring ships to a rock star’s lips.
The entry requirements for syndicates were simple: you needed to be well connected enough to be invited and have assets of A$565,000 (£250,000), held as cash, shares, property or bonds. Each ‘name’ personally visited the impressive headquarters in London to be vetted by a high-level Lloyd’s committee and have explained to them the cause of ‘unlimited liability’.
For 24 years in a row the names had received returns of between 5 and 10 per cent annually on assets already utilised elsewhere and it became known as ‘easy money’ for those privileged enough to be invited to join. However, in the late eighties and early nineties an unprecedented series of disasters, including the sinking of the Piper Alpha oil rig, the Exxon Valdez spill, asbestos claims and numerous typhoons, meant that Lloyd’s needed to find A$16 billion for payouts. An estimated 40 per cent of Australian names were called on to pay between $50,000 and $300,000 initially (and later some people up to $500,000) to cover Lloyd’s liabilities.
Australia had about 600 Lloyd’s names including federal politicians, business leaders, judges, Queen’s Counsels and many gentleman farmers. In New Zealand 101 names were pursued for A$40 million. In Britain more than 60 Conservative Members of Parliament were Lloyd’s names as well as business leaders and minor royalty.
Many did not understand what they had signed up for and suffered heavy losses. Some individuals were forced to liquidate assets and family businesses, or were declared bankrupt.
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