by Margaret Way
“See it as Christopher learning new things, Dad. He’s only a little boy, but he’s a good judge of a person’s character. Children see very clearly.”
“Especially the latest in helicopters,” Marsdon grunted. “It sounds very much to me as though you and Costello have an agenda of your own. How did it happen in such a very short time? I mean, he’s only just back in your life. You fainted when you saw him, you were so distressed. Are you really over your husband? What will the Prescotts think if you two get together?”
Charlotte’s clear voice hardened. “The only Prescott you have any time for, Dad, is Gordon Prescott. Don’t pretend you respected Martyn.”
Her father shifted uncomfortably. “I truly believe the only reason he was unfaithful to you, Charlie, was because you didn’t love him as he wished.”
“Dad, you could be right.” Her expression was a mix of self-disgust and sorrow. “I have to tell you I never loved Martyn. It was all a big cover-up. I was pregnant when I married him.”
Her father gave vent to another deep sigh. “Yes, well… All the more reason for you to have tried very hard to make a go of it.”
“I did try, Dad. Not easy pretending you love someone when you don’t.”
Vivian Marsdon sat with a mournful expression carved into his handsome face. “Your mother didn’t beat about the bush with me. She took off.”
“It was Riverbend—the river, Dad.” She tried to console him.
“Yet we still see Mattie walking by the river, don’t we?” He lifted his head to give her the saddest smile. “The river doesn’t torture us. In mysterious ways it comforts us. Mattie is close by. Our Chrissie feels Mattie’s presence. I never thought much about a soul until we lost Mattie. But now I’m certain we do have one. Never thought much about God. Unlike your mother, I now know there is one. Mattie’s spirit is here. And it’s not a sad one. Wherever he is, Mattie is happy. Remember that strange woman who came to stay outside the village some years back? Always dressed like the old idea of a gypsy? She stopped me once to ask the name of the other child who was with little Christopher and me.”
“I remember your account of the incident vividly. The woman claimed she saw a blond boy, on the frail side, aged about fourteen, walking along with you.”
“That’s right.” Vivian Marsdon covered his face with his hand. “It shocked me at the time, but then I realised someone must have told her about Mattie in the village.”
“That could have happened, Dad, but I don’t think it did. She’d only just arrived. Besides, it would have been very cruel to approach you in that way, and you saw no sign of her being anything like that. She kept herself to herself while she was living in that old cottage that had belonged to a relative, and the very last thing people did was bring up our family tragedy. Everyone knew the grief and suffering it had brought down on our heads. Who knows? Maybe she did have a genuine gift. I’m open-minded about such things. You are too. We all see Mattie. He’s not a trillion miles away. Some part of him is still here, in the place where he lost his mortal life.”
“Your mother couldn’t bear the thought,” Vivian Marsdon said. ‘But it comforts me to think that woman might have been saying it the way she saw it.”
“Me too.” Charlotte reached out for her father’s hand.
“You’re a good girl, Charlie. My girl.” He took his handkerchief from his pocket, then strenuously blew his nose. “So, you’re going to Sydney for the weekend?”
“I am.”
“Have you told Chrissie?”
“Not before I’d spoken to you.”
Vivian sank further into his armchair. “I have the feeling he won’t have any objection. There could be another helicopter ride in store for him.”
Charlotte waited until she had dropped off Peter and his little monster of a sister at their front gate. Peter stood and waved. Angela, as was her custom, ran inside without any acknowledgement of the ride. Then she waited until Peter too was safely inside his front gate. They watched him walking up the short drive.
“Gosh, she’s an awful kid!” Christopher made a funny whooping noise. “The rudest kid I know.” He was amazed by Angela’s behaviour. “Do you suppose she’s going to spend her whole life in a bad mood? Peter tells his mother how rude she is, but even Mrs Stafford doesn’t seem able to get Angie to say thank you.”
“Hopefully it’s just a phase.” Charlotte patted her son’s small hand. The shape of it was Rohan’s. “I’ve something to ask you,” she said, keeping her eyes on the road. Safety was all-important. Martyn had been such a careless driver, even when he’d had her and their precious child on board. “Rohan has asked me to be his partner at a big charity function in Sydney this coming Saturday night.”
“Really?” Christopher’s radiant blue eyes grew huge. “Gee, he’s a fast worker,” he said, with real admiration.
“If you don’t want me to go, I won’t.” Charlotte meant it.
Christopher laughed. “Don’t be silly. I think it’s great! I really like Rohan. I want him to be our friend. He’s so clever. He’d make a great teacher. He knows tons of things. More than Grandpa, I think. I’d never say that to Gramps, though. Rohan knows all about vineyards and olive groves too. He has lots of plans for Riverbend. He told me I could be in on all of them. Honestly, Mum, I can’t think of anyone better than Rohan to go out with. It’s sad, the way you’re always stuck at home. You looked so beautiful the other night. Rohan thought so too.”
“Did he tell you?” She felt the heat in her cheeks.
“Sure he told me. He told me all about when you were kids. You were the greatest friends. He told me really, really nice things about you and Uncle Mattie.”
She bit her lip. “And about your—father? About Daddy?”
“No, not about Daddy,” Christopher admitted. “But Rohan is so easy to talk to I nearly told him I didn’t think Daddy liked me.”
“What?” Charlotte felt her every nerve in her body stretch to breaking point. “I didn’t say anything,” Christopher swiftly reassured her, suddenly looking upset. “But Daddy didn’t like me much, did he? Not like Grandpa loves me. Nothing like you love me. You love me to bits!”
“You can bet on that!” Charlotte spoke with great fervour. “But Daddy did love you, Chrissie,” she said, deeply distressed.
“No, Mum.” He shook his head. “I don’t want you to tell a big fat lie to make me feel better. None of them seemed to care about me. Maybe Grandfather Prescott did. He was always nice. But Grandma Prescott and Nicole—they sure weren’t very nice to me. Especially Nicole. I reckon Angela will grow up to be a person just like Nicole. Then there’s Grandma Marsdon. She doesn’t want to see me. Maybe she thinks you shouldn’t have had me in the first place?”
“Christopher, my darling boy! You’ve been thinking all these things?” She was shocked and appalled. Her son was only seven years old, but already he was weighing up things in his head like an adult.
“Don’t worry about it, Mummy.” His expression turned protective. “I don’t actually care about them any more. Some of the kids tease me about how you and I live with Grandpa. They say things like, ‘Why doesn’t your mum get married again?’ That sort of thing. It annoys me a bit, but it makes Pete really angry. He’s my friend.”
Charlotte’s heart gave a great lunge. “You’ve never told me any of this before. I thought you told me everything?” She felt very sad.
“I didn’t tell you because I knew it would upset you. But Rohan’s great!” Enthusiasm was renewed. “I’m wishing and wishing you two hit it off.”
So without even trying Rohan had found a powerful ally.
In his son.
Charlotte found as much excitement in the helicopter ride as Christopher would. It was fantastic to see the beautiful rural landscape become a cityscape unfolding beneath them. With the helicopter’s wraparound glass the visibility was everything one could wish for, and the Harbour looked magnificent on that special Saturday morning
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sp; It was impossible for her not to feel a surge of pride at the first sight of their beautiful capital city and the iconic “Coathanger”—which was what Sydneysiders called the Sydney Harbour Bridge. The world’s largest steel arched bridge, it linked the Sydney CBD and the South and North Shores, with their famous beaches. And down there, jutting out into the sparkling blue waters of Bennelong Point, was one of the great wonders of the modern world: the Sydney Opera House, its famous roof evocative of a ship at full sail.
It couldn’t have been more appropriate for the Harbour City, Charlotte thought, though the distinguishing “sails” had cost a great fortune and a whole lot of heartache. But there it was today, in all its splendour. Probably the nation’s most recognisable image.
Their pilot Tim Holland, a very experienced and highly respected pilot, was retained by Rohan for personal and company use. On Rohan’s instructions he took them on a short joyride to increase Charlotte’s pleasure. Yachts were out aplenty. The Harbour bloomed with a profusion of white sails. Below them a crowd swam and frolicked in the legendary Bondi surf. Others lay out on the golden sand, sunbaking. Charlotte hoped they were slathered in sunblock. Sydney was Australia’s oldest, largest and most culturally diverse city. It was also the most exciting, with an unmatchable buzz. She could feel her spirits, for so long down, soaring.
Rohan used his state-of-the-art headset with its voice-activated microphone to speak with her and their pilot, Tim. The headsets enabled them to easily communicate.
“American Airmen during the Second World War flew a couple of Kittyhawks under the Bridge. Not to be outdone, the following year a flight of RAAF Wirraways did their own fly-under. These days tourists and locals love climbing it. I’ve made the Bridge Climb three times. By day, at twilight, and by night.”
“It can’t be for the faint-hearted?”
“Well, there are safety precautions, of course. One has to give a blood-alcohol reading, for a start. Then there’s the Climb Simulator, to get an idea of what one might experience. But the view is worth it a million times over. It’s absolutely breathtaking.”
“Like now!” she replied. “Christopher would find this the most marvellous adventure.”
“He’ll see it.” Rohan spoke matter-of-factly. He might have issues with her, but he had bonded with his son on sight. Such was the power of blood.
A company limo was standing by to take them the short distance to her city hotel, beautifully positioned between the Opera House and the Harbour Bridge. She had insisted on checking into a hotel, even though she knew she would be spending the night with Rohan at his Harbourside apartment. That was their agreement. But she had promised Christopher she would ring him from her hotel when she arrived, and tell him of all the excitement of the helicopter flight. Plus there was the fact she wanted to offer at least token resistance to Rohan’s command of events.
He accompanied her to her luxurious room, looking around him as if to assure himself everything was up to scratch. “You know as well as I do, Rohan, this hotel has a reputation for excellence,” she protested mildly. “But I suppose as you’ve paid for it you’re entitled to check out the mod-cons.”
“Thank you for thinking of that, Charlotte,” he returned suavely. “I have a little trip planned for us this afternoon after lunch.”
“It can’t top the flight. That was wonderful. I’m going to ring Chrissie in a minute. He’s the main man in my life.”
“He’s now the main man in my life as well. What I have in mind, my beautiful Charlotte, is to take you on a visit to my mother.”
She was taken by complete surprise.
“Remember, I do have one?” he said, sardonically. “One of these days I might even go in search of my father.”
She slumped onto the bed, staring up at him. “Have you found out who he is? Your mother told you?”
“Miraculously, yes. A huge step for mankind. She hadn’t told a soul—including the grandmother who reared her—but…”
“But, what?”
He lowered his lean length into an armchair, facing her. “I’m surprised you haven’t guessed, Charlotte. You were always so intuitive. I was in rather a mess when I found out you’d married Martyn. But that was nothing to finding out you’d borne him a child. My mother was very worried about me. She decided at long last she was going to tell me what had happened to her when she was very young.”
“Are you going to share it with me?”
Tension snapped and hummed as if overhead electricity wires were strung across the room.
“Why not? My father is Italian. Who would have thought it? I had always assumed he was Australian. But my birth father was born and lived in Rome. He and a few of his well-heeled student friends were tripping around the world, enjoying a university vacation. The Opera House, apparently, was a must-see for him. He was an architectural student, and the Opera House is a magnet for architects as well as millions of people from around the world. It was Jorn Utzon’s tour de force, after all. He met my mother while the two of them were wandering around the plateau. He was taking photographs for his own records. They got to talking. That was the start of it! He was something of a polyglot, which no doubt helped. Apparently he spoke fluent English, French—and Italian, of course. My mother thought him the most fascinating human being she had ever met in her life. She fell for him hook, line and sinker. Whether he was just taking advantage of a pretty girl in a foreign country, I don’t know. She says not. But she knew their romance couldn’t last. Too much against it. He was from another country and a totally different background, obviously wealthy.”
“Yet she took enormous risks?”
“A lot of us make mistakes when we’re young, Charlotte,” he said dryly. “I don’t have to tell you that. He swore he would write to her, but he never did. Once he was home again among his own people his holiday romance would soon have faded away. Happens all the time.” He gave a cynical shrug.
“But you know his name?”
There was a slight flare to his nostrils. He looked every inch a man of high mettle. “I do. He’s most likely married, with grown-up children. He wouldn’t be all that happy to discover he’d left an illegitimate son in far-off Australia. It would upset the apple cart. No, Charlotte, I’m the product of a short, sweet encounter. Maybe he remembers my mother now and again. She must have been very pretty. She still is.”
“I believe it!” Very pretty, with lovely Celtic colouring that hadn’t got a look-in with Christopher. “You’re upset, Rohan?”
“Am I not supposed to be?” he challenged. “You’re so good at analysing people, Charlotte.”
“I’m good at analysing you,” she returned with some spirit. “Don’t be bitter.”
“My dear Charlotte, I’m managing my bitterness. You know, in some ways you and my mother are alike. Both of you have lived your lives withholding vital information. Both of you took it upon yourselves to decide the outcome of your pregnancies. My mother told no one. You decided to go with a great lie.”
She flushed at the hardness of the gaze. “So you’re going to take it out on me for ever?”
“No. Let’s forget about it.” He rose lithely to his feet. “Worse things have happened at sea. I have a couple of things I need to attend to. I’ll pick you up in an hour. Remember me to my son, won’t you? Tell him I’ll organise another trip for him. His friend Peter too, if he likes. Mattie always thought of me whenever there was a trip on offer.”
“Mattie worshipped you.”
He sighed deeply. “Matthew should have been allowed to run wild when we were kids, but your mother insisted on cooping him up. I find that truly sad.”
Neither of them spoke for a moment, both lost in the past. Charlotte was the first to recover. “I must tell you something that now appears not all that amazing. Christopher says he wants to be an architect when he grows up. He’s seen the Opera House many times. We’ve been out on the Harbour. He thinks the sails are like the rising waves of the Pacific. He used to draw them ov
er and over, lamenting he could never get them right. Dad’s been happy to buy books for him. He’s told him all about the brilliant young Danish architect who had no computer to work with, no internet, just a drawing board. Christopher is very good at art. His skills are way beyond his peers, according to his art teacher.”
“Good grief!” Rohan looked surprised. “I can draw myself. You’ll remember that? But these days we have all the technology we need to hand. I never thought of becoming an architect, even if we’d had the money. But Christopher!”
“I guess blood will out,” she said quietly.
“Then we have to see he realises his dream.” Rohan turned brisk. “We’ll have lunch, then we’ll go and see my mother. I bought her a very nice apartment at Point Piper.” He named one of the most sought-after areas to live in Sydney. “It has everything going for it. The best north-facing Harbour views, easy access to the city, exclusive shops and restaurants, ocean beaches nearby.”
She caught him up at the door, laying a detaining hand on his arm. “Does she know about Christopher?” Her green eyes were huge with concern.
“Don’t panic,” he said quietly. “She would if she ever laid eyes on him. But no, Charlotte, I’m not cruel. My mother knows I’ve bought Riverbend. She knows I went after you, seeing as I don’t seem capable of staying away,” he said with a degree of self-contempt. “And I’ve told her we’re back together again.”
“What did she say to that?” Her expression grew more anxious.
His strong arms encircled her waist as he drew her to him. He dropped a light kiss on her mouth—not soft, but subtle—lingering over it as though there were no better way for the two of them to communicate. “What makes me happy makes my mother happy,” he said when he lifted his head.
“But she knows how much I hurt you. She must know that I…” Her voice faltered, gave out.
