Whispers Through the Pines

by Lynne Wilding

  ‘Oh?’ Simon’s head jerked up. ‘Holidays?’ When Marcus nodded yes, he frowned. ‘But…you’ll still see Jessica, won’t you? I mean, she needs the contact, the supervision.’

  ‘Naturally,’ Marcus confirmed. ‘Rory and Kate will be here for less than a week. I’ll work in my visits to Jessica around them.’ He stopped for a moment and thought, ‘In fact, it might be beneficial for her if she joined us on a couple of outings. Perhaps a picnic and the beach. Might help to take her out of herself.’ He looked at Simon, ‘If you have no objections…?’

  ‘No, no, by all means do,’ Simon agreed airily.

  After Marcus had left, Simon and Sue were able to voice their real opinions of Marcus’s preliminary diagnosis of Jessica’s problems.

  ‘He’s barking up the wrong tree, isn’t he?’ Simon asked Sue.

  ‘I think so. Marcus is a dear man, we both agree on that, but with his penchant for Norfolk Island history, and being an Islander, I believe he’s allowing that to colour his judgement of what’s ailing your wife. Spirits taking her over!’ she snorted. ‘I mean, no one with a half-decent intellect could go along with that.’

  ‘Mmm, you may be right. Still, here’s the difficulty for me: how long do I allow him to follow this line of thinking before calling a stop to it? Jessica seems to be declining more every couple of days. Maybe I should have Nikko fly over to see her…’

  ‘Wait, Simon. You promised to give Marcus more time. In fairness to him you must. Give him until his children return to New Zealand. If he’s still following the same line of thought, then call in your friend from WA or perhaps a psychiatrist from Brisbane.’ She took a piece of paper out of her skirt pocket and handed it to him. ‘This doctor, John Brinkley is, reputedly, one of the best.’

  ‘Thanks, Sue.’ He smiled at her. ‘You know, you’re making it easier for me to deal with this…this awkward situation with Jessica.’ He sighed. ‘God knows, I’d rather the board of directors didn’t learn about her…problem, it would be embarrassing.’

  She smiled back, inordinately pleased by his compliment because it confirmed a growing dependence on her. ‘I consider it part of my job, Simon, that’s all. And the board won’t know, I promise you that.’ Simon was concerned over his job, or was it over appearances? Interesting, she thought. Had she found another chink in his armour, one that she could use to her advantage later on?

  ‘Come on, Dad, the water’s not cold,’ Rory yelled at his father.

  Marcus was making a great show of putting one foot several centimetres into the water, then pulling it out again, pretending that it was freezing. Watching the play-acting, Jessica noted, almost at a subconscious level, that Marcus had a fine physique. Wide shoulders and a thick, slightly hairy chest, narrow hips to which his swimmers clung, and thighs bulked with muscle from his rugby days. Suddenly embarrassed by the way she was assessing him, and how that assessment made her heat up all over, she averted her gaze to search for Rory.

  Rory was already waist-deep in the ocean of Emily Bay, Norfolk’s favourite and safest swimming beach. The teenager gave up on his father, turned his back and stroked out past the pontoon. The sea was relatively calm because of the coral reef which broke the waves up on the way into shore. He swam until he joined several other swimmers who’d ventured out almost to the point of the half-moon-shaped bay.

  Jessica grinned as Marcus then rushed into the water and made for the other swimmers. She looked around for Kate and saw her down on her haunches talking to two small children who were building a sandcastle back beyond the waterline. Kate was a charming girl, gentle, and she looked a lot like Marcus, while Rory was full of typical teenage male exuberance and was constantly on the go, either physically or mentally. And strangely, instead of the teenagers exhausting her, which Simon said they might, she found their company stimulating.

  Today was her second outing with Marcus and his children. It had been a little strange at first, seeing him in a different role, as a father. He was a good dad. He teased them, mostly about the music they liked, and played with them and listened to them when they were telling him something they thought important. She admitted to feeling a little sad for him, too, because he saw so little of them due to the marriage separation. His wife had filed for divorce, Marcus had told her the first time they’d ventured out together on a familiarisation tour of the island with the kids.

  She sighed. Didn’t she know all about that? She had spent years—sometimes she thought of it as a lifetime—arguing the fors and againsts for divorced parents who schemed and even lied to get every concession they could from their ex-partner. She had sympathy for Marcus and hoped that he, too, wouldn’t be too badly screwed in the divorce settlement, for she could tell that he wasn’t a wealthy man. Comfortable, maybe, with his professorship at the university, but certainly not in the top ten per cent of salary earners. Not that the financial lack seemed to worry him. Money wasn’t particularly important to Marcus, she realised. Not like it was to Simon.

  At times she wondered why her husband had quit his lucrative practice in Perth, or at least put it on hold for six months, to bring her here. She supposed it showed the level of his concern for her mental wellbeing, and was grateful, even though, lately, he was impatient and annoyed by what was happening. With an effort, she tried to push back the rogue thought that cropped into her head. Would Simon have been so accommodating if she hadn’t promised him the money she’d inherited, now almost two million dollars, as part of what he needed to fund the geriatrics complex he intended to start building in the new millenium? With a start, she brushed the disloyal thought aside. Simon wasn’t like that, she assured herself. He really cared for her, not her money. Hadn’t he stood by her when she had needed him? Yes. Wasn’t he continuing to do so? There was a mental pause. Yes, of course he was.

  She watched a woman walk along the beach with a little boy who carried a bucket and spade. The child was as brown as a berry and had dark curly hair, but for some reason he reminded her of Damian. Her son would have been about the same age had he lived.

  Tears welled and she shut her eyes tight. My little boy. My darling little boy. A tightness rushed through her body, bringing with it the pain that was so familar. My son. She missed him so much. Longed just to see him, longed to touch him, longed for the impossible.

  She sensed a movement next to her and, in quick succession, several droplets of water dropped onto her legs.

  ‘You look much too comfortable.’

  Jessica opened her eyes to see Marcus’ smiling face close to her own. Two tears slid down her cheeks. She saw him frown.

  ‘What’s wrong, Jessica?’

  She shook her head and swallowed hard, trying to ignore the concern in his voice. ‘Nothing. I’m all right.’

  He leant over her and placed a hand on her arm. ‘You’re not all right. What is it?’

  She took in a deep breath. ‘Just memories. Sometimes they surface,’ she gave him a wan smile, ‘at the most awkward times.’

  ‘Aahh, Damian,’ he said softly, understanding. ‘It’s okay to remember. It is important that you do. I’m sure Nikko told you that.’

  ‘He did,’ she agreed. ‘I’ve been good lately. I guess all the other problems, the things happening to me, have allowed me to keep those precious memories contained.’

  ‘What you need is a little diversion.’ His eyebrows lifted dramatically, then settled. ‘A swim.’

  ‘No thanks, I’m happy watching you frolic around in the water like a teenager.’

  ‘Do I detect a note of derision in your voice, ma’am?’ He grabbed her hands and pulled her to her feet. ‘Swim, the water’s great. It’s warm.’

  She gave him a droll look, ‘I bet it isn’t.’

  ‘Well, it’s a little bit warm,’ he modified his lie. ‘Come on. See, Kate’s in the water with Rory.’

  She shook her head negatively again.

  Marcus ignored her. He simply picked her up in his arms and carried her to the water’s edge,
despite her protests.

  ‘Put me down!’

  ‘Yes, ma’am.’ He lowered her a few centimetres into the sea.

  She squealed. ‘You wretch. Is this some weird kind of shock therapy for me?’

  He grinned wickedly. ‘What a good idea! I should have thought of it myself.’ What he was thinking was how wonderful it was to hold her in his arms. Their bare skin touching, part of her body squirming against him. He groaned. God, he was only human. Their faces were so close…a couple more centimetres and he could kiss those lips for real, instead of in his dreams. And how he wanted to. Ached all over to.

  He waded deeper and then eased her down, unable to break his gaze from seeing what happened when the water soaked her costume and moulded it to her. Then, as a need for self-preservation overcame him, he let her go. An incoming wave bumped their bodies together and, as she glanced up at him, their eyes locked.

  For a second or two he saw surprise, then awareness and then something else in her blue depths. Was it a sudden awakening to feelings that had previously lain dormant? Perhaps. No, he wasn’t brave enough to fathom what was mirrored in her eyes. Not yet.

  ‘Come on,’ he grinned, ‘race you to the pontoon.’ He knew what they needed at that moment. Distance from each other to diffuse the sudden intensity that had arced between them. Later, much later, he would try to analyse what it might mean.

  Simon stood in the centre of the back verandah, staring malevolently at the four faces in the painting, faces he had come to hate with a passion, even though only two of them had been fully fleshed out. Sipping at the Napoleon brandy he was partial to as he waited for Jessica to bring their coffees, he’d already noted that she’d got sunburnt at the beach with the Hunters, but that she seemed, for the moment, to be her normal self.

  His mouth shifted into a tight line. Normal. Shit, he wondered if she would ever be normal again? In a moment of analysis, he debated what was happening to them. They had survived Damian’s death without falling apart—at least he had, but this new trauma was threatening to bring their marriage undone. He could feel it happening and he felt powerless to stop the downhill slide. They were drifting away from each other, and the tension created by Jessica’s peculiar situation was widening the gulf between them. At least that’s how he saw it, though he doubted that Jessica, loyal person that she was, would agree. Her legal experiences had made her almost paranoid about trying to keep marriages viable.

  His gaze narrowed thoughtfully as he looked out the window at the darkening meadow. It would be damned inconvenient to his future plans if this problem caused them to split. He was the one with the ambition, the dream which would make them millionaires many times over. His geriatrics complex was a winner, he was sure of it, but she had the money. Besides, he did love her, as much as he loved her lucrative share portfolio. His smile was a touch cynical as he reinforced the thought. Of course he loved his wife.

  ‘Simon, your coffee.’

  He turned and took it from her with a smile of thanks. ‘Why don’t we sit in the living room?’

  ‘It’s nice on the verandah,’ she countered as she sat in one of the two easy chairs. ‘The meadow’s a picture, isn’t it? I’ll miss this view when we leave here.’

  ‘Oh, I shouldn’t think you’d miss it too much. We can sell the house in Mandurah and buy another with a beautiful view back in Perth.’

  ‘I suppose that might be for the best.’ There were too many memories in the home they’d shared with Damian, she silently conceded.

  ‘I’d appreciate the view more if I didn’t have to look at that damned painting,’ Simon suddenly erupted. ‘I can’t stand those faces staring at me. It’s bloody unnerving.’

  Her eyebrows lifted. He was in a mood. Not that that was unusual these days. She was beginning to forget how even-tempered he used to be. Once. There had been a time, many times, when she could recall how easygoing he’d been when problems or situations had arisen in their marriage. His calmness in the face of near disaster had amused her. She could not claim to be amused now, though, for he had changed so much.

  Jessica studied the painting, in particular the faces. ‘I know what you mean. There’s such cruelty and evil in those two faces. I still don’t believe I painted them.’ She thought about mentioning Sarah’s sketching talents, then thought better of it. Whenever she said Sarah’s name, she could almost see his blood pressure go up.

  ‘I’m finding it hard to believe any part of what’s happened to you. It’s all so damned…peculiar.’

  ‘Marcus says there’s a reason behind the painting, and I think he’s right.’

  ‘For God’s sake, why don’t we just get rid of the damned thing? Maybe if we do, everything else, the dreams, the chills, will stop. Let’s burn it.’ He rubbed his hands together with glee. ‘I’m in the mood for a funerary pyre.’

  She contained her amazement at his sudden burst of enthusiasm. Simon was serious, he really believed that if they destroyed the painting, everything would be as it had been. ‘I can’t do that. Sarah says…she needs me.’

  ‘Sarah says,’ he parroted. ‘Christ, do you know how weird that sounds? You’re making out that you believe Sarah is real. She isn’t, Jessica. Sarah is a character in a dream, that’s all.’ Putting the brandy glass down, he leant over her and took her by the shoulders. He gave her a none-too-gentle shake. ‘Get a grip before this thing gets out of hand. Jess, I’m imploring you, let me burn that painting. It’ll be like burning all your problems. Trust me.’

  She saw the fanatical look in his eyes, and a shiver went through her. If Simon destroyed the painting, it might destroy the link with Sarah, or it might make her problems worse. She couldn’t risk that, not even to placate him.

  ‘No.’ She saw him move towards the painting. ‘No, Simon. I mean it. I don’t pretend that I understand what’s happening to me, but I’m beginning to see that it’s happening for a reason. The painting is part of it all, and you’re not to touch it.’

  Simon pivoted about to look at her. He stared and stared, and then ran his fingers through his hair in a distracted fashion, as he muttered in a low tone, ‘I can’t believe I’m hearing this…Perhaps you are going crazy, after all.’ Then he strode angrily out of the room.

  Tears filled Jessica’s eyes and slowly dribbled down her cheeks. What a mean thing to say! So, finally, the truth of what he really thought about her was beginning to come out. He did think she was mentally unhinged, despite his previous mouthings to the opposite. The old Simon, the sensitive, caring husband she remembered, would never have said such a hurtful thing.

  She wanted the old Simon back but, she thought he was lost to her forever. She sighed as she pushed her coffee cup away. It now tasted bitter.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  ‘I hate to be a trouble, Nan,’ Jessica said as she dropped her overnight bag on the floor near the bed.

  ‘You’re no trouble at all,’ Nan professed as she fussed about the small bedroom, smoothing the doona, plumping up the pillows. ‘Simon will only be in Sydney for two nights at that health conference, but he’s right, you shouldn’t stay at the cottage alone. Besides,’ she glanced in Jessica’s direction, ‘don’t we get along well together? And,’ she empathised, ‘you’re as sadly in need of another pottery lesson as I am of a helper. It’s hard to work with Rory and Kate around, they come in and disrupt my concentration.’

  Jessica smiled. Nan Duncan had a knack for putting people at their ease.

  ‘Yes, I do need another lesson. My first one had a rather disastruous end to it,’ she remembered. That was the first time she had seen Sarah, and cut her hand.

  ‘And you get along well with Rory and Kate, don’t you? They’ll be going home tomorrow.’

  ‘I’ve enjoyed meeting them, they’re good kids,’ she chuckled as she qualified, ‘for teenagers. My sister’s two, well, they’re moody, to say the least.’

  ‘We don’t accept moodiness as an excuse for being difficult at Hunter’s Glen. My folks wou
ldn’t put up with it, neither would I with my own, so I’m not going to take it from Marcus’ two.’

  ‘Take what?’ enquired a male voice.

  Jessica turned to see Marcus standing in the doorway with an arm around Kate. ‘We were talking about teenagers and moods,’ she explained.

  What she couldn’t explain to herself was what happened inside her when she looked at him now. She felt happy. Safe, and yes, there was more, but she purposely blocked analysis of that reaction. Didn’t she have enough problems to deal with at present without finding herself sexually attracted to the man who was helping her deal with her assumed psychological ‘difficulties’? Yes!

  Jessica’s gaze roved about the room, and she felt confident that she would have no strange dreams, or hear disembodied voices while at Hunter’s Glen. Somehow, and for no logical reason, she believed that Marcus, by his presence alone, would keep her safe. God Jessica, she ordered herself, get your mind back on track. She tried to tune in to what Marcus was saying.

  ‘Oh, that. My theory is, keep teenagers so busy they don’t have time to get into a mood. Isn’t that right, Kate?’

  ‘The keeping busy part is,’ Kate replied drily as she gave her father’s arm a light punch before scooting out of reach. ‘Come on, Dad, you promised me a ride on your motorbike before dinner.’

  Marcus grinned at Jessica. ‘Darn kids.’

  He turned away from her before he might reveal just how pleased he was to see her in what had once been Nan’s childhood bedroom. Jessica looked at home there, in her shorts and midriff top, among the clutter Nan had gathered over the years. The iron frame single bed with its patchwork quilt, the countless family photos on one wall, the muted wallpaper that, sadly, needed to be replaced. And the old cedar highboy and a walnut lowboy which had done several generations of sterling service. He thought, too, about her sleeping under the same roof as him; for two nights she’d only be a couple of doors away. So close, but in other ways, so far away.