Dreamscapes

by Tamara McKinley

  ‘It’ll be all right,’ she kept muttering as she laid the table and lit the candles. ‘Peter loves me. He’ll understand, and help me to find her.’

  They sat close to one another in the candle-lit room, and talked softly of their day as they ate the steak and fried potatoes Catriona had so carefully cooked and fretted over. The wine was white and crisp and cold, the crystal glasses glittering and sparking in the light from the candles. As she poured the coffee her engagement ring flashed and the deep lustre of her wedding ring shone warmly against her skin. The time had come.

  ‘Peter?’ she began.

  ‘Mmm?’ He was cutting a slice of cheese.

  ‘Peter, there’s something I’ve got to tell you.’

  He put down the knife and wiped his mouth on a linen napkin. ‘Sounds terribly serious, my little Kitty Keary,’ he said with a twinkle in his eye. ‘Come on then, what have you done? Overspent on the housekeeping again, bought a new frock?’

  ‘It’s a bit more serious than that, my darling, and I want you to listen very carefully.’ She took a sip of wine to calm her nerves and, with her eyes downcast, began to tell him about Kane and her lost child.

  Peter remained silent all through the story, moving only to pick up his glass of wine and sip from it.

  Encouraged, Catriona rushed through the rest of her tale. ‘Now we’re married,’ she finished breathlessly. ‘I can find my baby and bring her home. We can bring her up together. We can be a proper family.’ She finally lifted her gaze to his face and froze.

  Peter Keary’s eyes were like cold beach pebbles. His mouth was a thin line beneath the neat moustache and his face was ashen. He regarded her for a moment, holding her in his gaze as surely as a fly trapped in a spider web. ‘Why didn’t you tell me this before?’ His voice was low, any emotion he might be feeling was tightly reined.

  ‘There never seemed to be the right time,’ she replied. ‘I know I should have, but what with coaching and rehearsals and all the wedding preparations there just didn’t seem to be a moment to ourselves.’ She was babbling now, growing ever more nervous beneath his glare. She felt a chill of foreboding sweep over her and she reached out to touch him, in the hope she could somehow communicate her anguish and need for his understanding.

  He moved his arm as if her hand might contaminate him and pushed away from the table. ‘You lied to me, Catriona.’

  ‘Not lied,’ she replied swiftly. ‘Just not told you before now.’

  ‘It amounts to the same thing,’ he replied with an icy reserve. ‘You have deceived me, Catriona. You allowed me to believe you were innocent when we married. And yet you have the gall to sit there and tell me this disgusting tale and expect me to forgive you.’

  Catriona blushed to the roots of her dark hair in shame. ‘I’m not asking for forgiveness,’ she said fiercely. ‘Just for your understanding.’

  He stood and leaned towards her. ‘No, Catriona. What you’re asking is for me to overlook your shady past and take in your bastard.’

  Stung by this injustice she felt her temper rise. ‘I was a kid,’ she snapped. ‘I didn’t want Kane to do what he did, but I didn’t have a choice. As for the baby, she’s innocent and I won’t have you call her a bastard.’

  ‘Why not? It’s what she is.’ He picked up a cigar from the humidor and carefully snipped off the end.

  Catriona knew she had to keep her temper. Things said in the heat of the moment could never be taken back. Yet his coldness frightened her. This Peter, who stood so calmly before her as he lit his cigar, was a stranger. He reminded her too much of Kane, and the thought made her feel sick.

  She pushed her chair back from the table and stood to face him. ‘Please,’ she begged. ‘If you love me, then please, please try and understand how hard it was for me to confide in you.’ She grabbed his arm. ‘But I had to, don’t you see? She’s out there somewhere and I have to get her back.’

  He shook himself free of her grasp. ‘You’re in danger of losing your mind, Catriona,’ he said flatly. ‘For no sane woman would want to keep the progeny of such a perversion, let alone expect her husband to condone it.’ He poured a large brandy into a crystal balloon glass, and tossed it down. ‘There will be no more talk of this,’ he said finally. ‘I forbid you ever to mention it again.’

  ‘You can’t mean that,’ she said, the tears welling in her eyes, a lump growing in her throat.

  ‘I do,’ he said filmly. ‘I have a reputation to uphold, and I will not have my good name dragged in the mud.’ His expression was grim as he looked at her. ‘It won’t do your career any good either,’ he said. ‘And after all the time and money I’ve put into getting you where you are today, I’m damned if I’ll let you destroy it.’

  Kitty stood there and looked at him. There wasn’t a glimmer of compassion in his face. His stance was square, his demeanour impenetrable, his very presence a barrier to all her hopes and dreams. ‘You don’t love me at all, do you?’ she breathed as the awful truth slowly dawned. ‘You saw me as your protégée and to protect your investment you married me to keep me to yourself.’

  ‘Very astute, my dear. But I hardly think there’s any need to get hysterical over what, until now, has been a very pleasant business arrangement.’

  Catriona threw down the table napkin and glared at him, her voice rising with each word. ‘How dare you call our marriage a business arrangement. I married you because I loved you, not because I thought you’d make me famous.’

  He remained silent, moving only to put the cigar to his lips and puff smoke into the hot evening stillness.

  Catriona was trembling. The passion and the pain ripped through her as she saw behind the urbane mask of the man she’d married and realised he was concerned only for his business and his reputation. She counted for nothing. ‘Why, Peter?’ she asked. ‘Why the pretence, the awful charade? You didn’t have to make me fall in love with you – we could have worked together, remained friends.’

  His gaze was still impersonal as he looked back at her. ‘I saw a young, very beautiful girl with an amazing voice and realised this was my chance to really make a name for myself. Of course, I had to ensure you weren’t poached by another agent and the only way I could do that was to marry you.’

  ‘You bastard,’ she hissed. ‘You’re as deceitful and manipulative as Kane.’

  He slammed the glass on the sideboard and stood there for a moment, his back to her, his fists clenching and unclenching at his sides. ‘You will never refer to me in that way again,’ he said coldly. He swung round, his hands flexing at his sides, his face bleached of colour.

  Catriona grabbed the back of a chair. She was trembling so much she could barely stand. Did he mean to hit her? Had she pushed him too far?

  ‘You will never speak that man’s name again in my house, and will certainly never compare me to him. I’ve spent a great deal of money on you, waited for three years until your mother gave me permission to marry you. You will show me respect and obedience, Catriona. I demand it.’

  She shook her head. ‘I’ll do no such thing,’ she retorted. ‘How can I when you show no respect for me or my feelings? I told you about my baby because I thought you were a big enough man to understand how important she is to me.’ She laughed, a harsh bark of sound that had the bite of scorn overriding a bitter humour. ‘I can’t believe how stupid I’ve been, and as for obeying you – forget it, Peter.’

  ‘Then you leave me no alternative,’ he said with a lack of any emotion. ‘You may stay in this house, but you will sleep in another room and take all your meals there. You will keep out of my sight when I am at home, and I will not speak to you again until you have come to your senses and apologised.’

  Catriona was almost vibrating with rage. She clenched her fists, willing herself to remain calm. ‘Hell will freeze over before I ever share your bed again,’ she snapped. ‘As for apologising, forget it. I want a divorce.’

  ‘Never,’ he replied. ‘Divorce is out of the question and will c
ause a scandal.’

  ‘I don’t care,’ she stormed. ‘I refuse to live under these conditions. If you won’t give me a divorce, then I’ll get one for myself.’ She lifted the skirt of her evening gown and fled from the room.

  Chapter Eleven

  Catriona heard him slam the door and raced to the window. She watched him drive off, the car going too fast around the corner. Turning away, she hastily pulled the cases down from the wardrobe. The tiny knitted baby clothes were still lying in the bottom, wrapped in tissue and mothballs. She had been unable to leave them behind – unable to give them away – for it would have been like abandoning her child all over again.

  She sniffed back the tears. They wouldn’t help, and she didn’t know how long she had before Peter returned. Stuffing her clothes into the cases, she gathered up the rest of her belongings and threw them in too. She would leave the jewellery he’d bought her, the silk negligées and gossamer wraps he’d liked to see her wear. The thought of him touching her made her go cold. How could she not have seen? How could she not have realised her marriage was a sham? He’d been so clever, so deceitful, she could never forgive him.

  With her cases packed and the housekeeping money in her purse she tied the sheet music in a bundle with her books and photographs. She closed the front door behind her and shoved the key through the letter-box before hailing a passing taxi cab. At least living in the city meant that transport wouldn’t be a problem.

  The driver helped load her luggage, but his cheerful chatter began to grate and he eventually fell silent as he drove through the back streets of Sydney. It was as if her mood had been more eloquent than words. They arrived at their destination and she waited for him to unload her things, paid him off and turned to face the house.

  Doris opened the door immediately. ‘Hello, dearie. What’s all this?’ The pleasant face was wreathed in lines that no amount of make-up could hide.

  ‘Where’s Mam?’ She heaved the cases inside and stacked the rest of her things on top before struggling out of her coat.

  Doris eyed the suitcases, the expensive evening gown and Catriona’s stormy expression. ‘She’s out the back making us a cuppa.’ She hesitated and touched Catriona’s arm. ‘She ain’t well at all, luv,’ she whispered conspiratorially. ‘Reckon it’s ’er chest playing up again.’

  Catriona nodded. Mam hadn’t really been well since they’d left Atherton, and it wasn’t just her chest that caused her worry, it was the state of her mind. She followed Doris down the hallway into the tiny kitchen at the back of the house.

  Velda turned with the teapot in her hand and almost dropped it when she saw her daughter standing there in her evening gown. ‘What are you doing here?’ she demanded.

  ‘I need somewhere to stay,’ replied Catriona. ‘I thought I could share with you for a while until I get my own place.’

  Velda’s mouth was a thin line of disapproval. ‘Trouble already? I did warn you, Catriona. He’s a much older, sophisticated man. He won’t put up with tantrums.’

  Catriona was all too aware of Doris standing in the doorway, face alight with curiosity. ‘Can we go somewhere to talk, Mam?’ she said quietly.

  ‘You can say what you want in front of Doris,’ she replied as she swiftly ran a cloth over the sink and the top of the great white cooker.

  Catriona doubted very much if Velda wanted their dirty laundry washed in public, even if it was only Doris. ‘I’ll be up in your room, Mam,’ she said between clenched teeth. ‘We can talk there.’

  Velda gave a great sigh, and handed the pot to Doris who was looking extremely put out at not being included in the conversation. She slowly followed Catriona up to her solitary bedroom and closed the door before collapsing, out of breath, on the bed. The house was quiet, the lodgers out as it was Saturday night. ‘What happened?’ she asked as she leaned against the pillows.

  Catriona stood at the window where she’d stood so many times before. She gazed out at the lights of the city. ‘I told him about the baby,’ she said finally.

  Velda gasped and sat up. ‘You stupid, stupid girl,’ she snapped. ‘Have you not got the sense you’ve been born with?’

  ‘It seems not,’ she replied flatly. She went on to tell her the whole sordid little story and when she’d finished she was once again close to tears.

  ‘You go back there and beg that man on your knees for forgiveness,’ shouted Velda. ‘He’s done everything for you – everything.’

  Catriona spun around to face her. She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. ‘How can you side with him after what he’s done? He deliberately set out to marry me, to keep me for himself; he even had the brass neck to admit he’d never loved me. But he showed his true colours tonight and I’ll never go back to him. Never.’

  Velda was off the bed and standing before her. Her hand flashed out and hit Catriona’s face, leaving the marks of her fingers against the pale skin. ‘That’s for your stupidity,’ she snapped. She hit her again. ‘And that’s for letting Kane’s bastard ruin your life and everything we’ve worked for over the years.’

  Catriona touched the angry marks on her face. She was so shocked by her mother’s reaction she could barely think straight, let alone speak.

  ‘You’re an ungrateful girl, Catriona,’ she said, her breath coming in jagged gasps as she fought the tightness in her chest. ‘Selfish. As if I’m not ill enough without all this.’ Velda collapsed back onto the bed.

  Catriona stared at her for a long moment and then left the room. Her high-heeled shoes clattered down the linoleum on the stairs and she almost knocked Doris over in her haste to leave.

  ‘Whoa there, girl. You aren’t going anywheres like that.’ She put a plump arm around Catriona’s waist and steered her into the sitting room. ‘Come on, luv. Have a cuppa and calm down.’

  ‘Can I stay here, Doris?’

  The bright blonde hair remained perfectly in place as Doris shook her head. ‘Sorry, luv. I’m full up.’ She offered Catriona a cigarette which was refused and lit one for herself ‘But I got a mate lives down near the ’arbour. She’s got a lovely little unit for rent. You could go there.’

  Catriona could barely breathe for the heavy cloud of smoke coming from Doris’s cigarette. Fearful of what it might be doing to her lungs and vocal chords, she quickly wrote down the address. ‘Could you phone your friend and tell her I’ll be there tonight?’ she asked. ‘And then phone for a taxi?’ She saw Doris hesitate. ‘I’ll pay for the calls,’ she said quickly as she pulled a ten bob note out of her purse.

  Within an hour Catriona was standing in the middle of a small, first-floor apartment that looked out over the harbour. The rent was reasonable and it was clean. The furniture and decor left a great deal to be desired, but she’d lived with worse. She felt strangely liberated, for this would be the first time she would live alone. Yet the events of the night still had a surreal reality about them and she was finding it hard even to think about the consequences.

  She walked slowly through the bedroom, the tiny kitchen and bathroom and back into the lounge. There was a narrow balcony hanging outside the lounge windows and she stepped out and looked at the view. There were boats going back and forth and the Sydney ferry was just entering the harbour. The lights of the buildings were still shining out into the night sky, despite there being a war on. But of course they were so far away from Europe it probably wouldn’t matter anyway. They would be quite safe here on the other side of the world.

  *

  She left the apartment early the next morning and went to see a solicitor. His advice had been delivered in a flat monotone. Women could not initiate divorce unless there was indisputable proof that their husbands had been unfaithful, and her reputation would indeed be ruined should he divorce her on the grounds of her heinous deceit.

  Catriona picked up her handbag and left his office. Bugger her reputation, and bugger Peter. She would get the divorce and to hell with everyone. She marched down the street at such an angry pace she arri
ved at the theatre without remembering how she’d got there. Storming into her dressing room, she unlocked the small box in the bottom of the dressing-table and took out the contract. She held it for a moment, remembering how thrilled she’d been when she had first signed it, then tore it into tiny pieces. They fell on the floor like confetti – a reminder of her lovely wedding – and she burst into tears.

  The dresser tapped on the door and came in. Brian Grisham was an effeminate man of indeterminate age, with a penchant for lurid waistcoats and tinted hair, who’d worked in theatres since he was a boy. He’d shortened his name to Brin, because he thought it sounded less butch. ‘Oh, my Lord,’ he exclaimed as he knelt in front of her. ‘What’s all this?’ He put a hand on her arm. ‘Come on, darling,’ he soothed. ‘Tell Aunty Brin all about it.’

  ‘My marriage is over,’ she sobbed. ‘Peter Keary is a complete and utter bastard.’

  ‘That’s men for you,’ he said with a flick of his head. ‘Brutes – all of them.’

  She smiled through her tears. Brin was as good and kind as any girlfriend and twice as understanding. ‘I’ve torn up my contract,’ she confessed.

  He looked at the paper scattered across the floor and raised a fiercely plucked eyebrow. ‘Oh, dear,’ he sighed. ‘That wasn’t terribly clever, my darling. He’ll sue the pants off you.’

  ‘I don’t care,’ she said as she wiped away the tears.

  ‘You can’t work without an agent,’ he reproached her softly. ‘What are you going to do?’

  ‘Find another one,’ she retorted as she picked up the hairbrush and began to attack her long hair.

  Brin took the brush from her and with soft, sweeping strokes began to soothe her. ‘That won’t be easy,’ he said finally. ‘Agents stick together; upset one, you upset them all.’ He continued to brush her hair. ‘I have a friend who might help,’ he muttered after some thought. ‘She’s like you, independent, couldn’t care less about gossip, and knows what brutes men can be.’ He put down the brush and standing behind her, looked at their reflection in the mirror. ‘Clemmie can be a bit butch, but she’s got a heart of gold, and I’m sure she’ll help.’