Whispers Through the Pines

by Lynne Wilding

  ‘All right. We can talk, but not here, not now. We both need some space, time to think about what we really want. We’ll go out for dinner tonight. Neutral ground usually works best. I’ll book a table at Annabelle’s.’

  Simon frowned, obviously not happy about that but, seeing the expression in her eyes, he capitulated. ‘If that’s what you want, Jess. Okay.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘I’m going to be late, I’d better go.’

  He made to kiss her on the cheek, but she backed away. ‘Don’t, please.’ The thought of him touching or kissing her made her feel ill, especially knowing whom he’d been with.

  She watched him walk to the front door, his shoulders hunched over, and the question popped into her head. Was she to blame? Had she let him down? She had certainly been preoccupied, and there’d been the breakdown over Damian’s death. What kind of a wife had she been to him, for months? Not a loving, caring or wanting wife. But Simon had been different, too. For months. More than months, long before Damian had died. Initially she had put it down to the pressure of work; he was doing too much, he’d become too involved with his project, so much so that it had become an obsession. That’s when the distancing between them had begun. So, were they both equally to blame? And was blame the right word?

  Jessica flopped onto the sofa and put her head in her hands. She had a lot of thinking to do…

  Marcus sat with his eyes glued to the computer, reading his e-mail. Cynthia Stewart, Captain Edmund Stewart’s wife, had left a diary, and his good mate, Benny Lane in Sydney, had tracked it down and forwarded two pages of excerpts by e-mail, which explained and confirmed some of what he already knew.

  2nd November, 1853

  It’s been five days since Sarah disappeared. Little Meggie is in such a state. She won’t eat, and even Doctor Bruce is beginning to worry about her. Edmund tells me there is no news, and that the soldiers looking for her have found nothing. How can a person disappear without a trace? Edmund says I must be brave and prepare myself for the worst.

  5th November, 1853

  Meggie has started to come around, thank God. This morning Maude tells me she took a little porridge and half a cup of milk.

  The child looks so wan, and we are at a loss to know how to cheer the poor mite up. She misses her mother so much, as we all do. Sarah is a resourceful person. I must believe, even though the soldiers have concluded a fruitless search that, somehow, she has contrived to survive and will walk through the kitchen door one day soon.

  8th November, 1853

  Edmund told me that the whereabouts of Waugh, soon after Sarah’s disappearance had been investigated. Evidently Waugh had been admitted to the soldiers’ infirmary with a wound to the arm, suffered at the timber camp two days before Sarah disappeared.

  Today he remains in his hospital bed fighting an infection.

  15th November, 1853

  Edmund admitted today that, while he has no proof, he suspects foul play is involved in Sarah’s disappearance.

  Questioning soldiers in the barracks has been to no avail. If anyone knows, no one will say a word for fear of reprisals.

  4th December, 1853

  It has happened again. Another miscarriage. I am beside myself with grief, for this is the fifth. Edmund and the doctor feel it was brought about by concern for Sarah and dear Meggie. Doctor Bruce has stated quite strongly that we should not try again, for my constitution will not bear another miscarriage. Edmund bears his disapppointment with manful courage.

  18th December, 1853

  Edmund and I talked with sincerity and at great length today as we took tea on the verandah. He has a splendid idea. We are going to adopt Meggie. He is fond of her, and I love the child dearly. Somehow I feel that Sarah, wherever she may be, would be pleased.

  25th June, 1854

  Today our solicitor formalised our adoption of Sarah’s child. Sarah’s disappearance seems so long ago, and it is a relief to return to Sydney Town. Meggie, who will be known as Margaret Bridget Stewart, has become a happy child again and, fortunately, being of a tender age, she will have little memory of the sadness that led to her adoption.

  Little Meggie O’Riley had become Margaret Stewart! Marcus eased back in the chair, pushed the print button and reread the hard copy of Billy’s transcript. The romantic in him felt relieved that Sarah’s child had been cared for, and he knew that Jessica would feel that way, too.

  He heard the front door opening and, a minute later, Nan and Jessica walked down the hallway into the kitchen. He picked up the copy of what Billy Lane had sent him and joined them.

  ‘There,’ he handed the sheets of paper to Jessica, ‘you’ll be pleased about the final outcome with Meggie. Evidently she was taken care of.’ He looked at Nan. ‘Adopted by the Stewarts.’

  Nan blinked as if he had uttered some great revelation. ‘Stewart. You’re sure it was Stewart?’ she asked, spelling the surname for him.

  Marcus frowned. ‘Yes. Why? What is it?’

  Nan bestowed a look of disgust on her sibling. ‘You’re supposed to be the family historian, but you’re always too busy to check into our family history. Don’t you see the link?’ She shook her head in amazement. ‘I tell you, things are starting to get scary around here.’

  Jessica and Marcus looked at each other, then at Nan.

  ‘For God’s sake, what are you going on about?’ he queried, a little crossly. Intrigue wasn’t usually Nan’s forte, but he could see she had something on her mind, and that the name Stewart had caused it.

  ‘Get the family bible and I’ll show you.’

  Marcus left the room and soon came back with a well-worn bible under one arm.

  ‘Good. Now open the bible to the family history pages. Look up the name of the woman who married our great-great-grandfather, Bede Hunter,’ she said, rather smugly.

  Marcus’ finger traced the names, and then he looked at her. A stunned expression came over his face.

  ‘What is it, Marcus?’ Jessica asked.

  Wordlessly he turned the bible around so she could read what had been written over a hundred years ago.

  The ink, though faded by time, could be read clearly enough. ‘Margaret Bridget Stewart of Newcastle wed Bede William Hunter on March 21st, 1874.’ The significance of the name, Sarah’s daughter’s name, had the same effect on Jessica that it had had on Marcus. ‘Perhaps it’s just a coincidence,’ she said slowly.

  ‘Hah,’ Nan scoffed, ‘I doubt it. That means that we,’ she pointed to Marcus and then herself, ‘are related to Sarah. What an amazing turn of events!’

  Marcus looked at Nan. ‘Let’s do some more checking first, but yes, it could be true. I’ll have Billy check into what happened to the Stewarts.’ He glanced towards Nan. ‘I’d forgotten Margaret’s maiden name. How come you remembered?’

  Nan had to confess, ‘Well, when Kate and Rory were here, one day I showed Kate the family bible. Kids are always curious about their roots. The family history starts with the birth of Margaret and Bede’s first child, eleven months after they eloped. I guess it was still fresh in my mind.’

  ‘How extraordinary,’ Jessica murmured. This amazing revelation, for it was just that, took her out of the mood she’d been in as she had driven to Hunter’s Glen. She and Simon had patched things up over dinner, for the sake of the marriage, but it was a poor truce at best, and she, if not Simon, recognised that. This morning she had given up trying to paint because her concentration was too poor. Her and Simon, their marriage, their relationship. Where was it going? What had happened to the goals they had once shared? Could it be salvaged? Did she want, in her heart of hearts, to salvage a relationship that she now considered irrevocably tainted? And was the only thing keeping them together the shared memories of happier days, rather than a belief that they still had affection and common goals and dreams to accomplish together?

  Together was the operative word. She had ticked off a list of questions and answers in her head that only succeeded in confusing her more. Did she want Sim
on physically? Not really. Would she miss him if he weren’t around? Yes and no. But then she’d miss her most comfortable pair of Doc Martens if she lost them, too…Were they sharing a life and a marriage, or were they headed in different directions and just tagging along together now because it was convenient and comfortable? Yes. Would she fall apart emotionally if he walked out of her life tomorrow? That was a hard question, which took considerable soul-searching before she came up with what she considered an honest answer: no.

  This morning she had come to the realisation that, unknown or unplanned, or even perhaps, because of what had happened on Norfolk, she was evolving. Jessica Pearce today was a different person from the Jessica she had been several months ago. A strange metamorphosis, from wife, mother, successful barrister, was taking place, changing her into another person with new needs, wants and goals different from those she had once had.

  It was very unsettling yet, curiously, stimulating. One would have thought that, on the brink of a marriage break-up, she should be in the depths of despair, but she wasn’t. Oh, she was sad about it, but optimistic, too, as if perhaps, as Marcus had said occasionally, life goes in circles or cycles and, when one ends, another begins. Was that happening to her now? she wondered. The beginning of a new cycle, a cycle she would start alone?

  ‘Yes, it’s all interesting,’ Marcus agreed, his tone vague because he was looking at Jessica. He sensed something different about her, a tension perhaps, just below the surface, as if she had something on her mind. ‘Have you called in to regale us with the latest episode in the Sarah mystery?’

  She shook her head. ‘No, Sarah’s been unusually quiet. Perhaps she wore herself out during that hypnotism session.’ Her sideways glance took in both Nan and Marcus. ‘I felt the need for some company, hope you don’t mind.’ She would have to be careful around Marcus. He was astute enough to sense her mood swings, and though he might, technically, be her psychologist, she didn’t feel comfortable talking about her marriage problems with him. Not yet.

  ‘Mind? we don’t mind at all,’ Nan said threading her arm through Jessica’s. She grinned widely. ‘Let me lead you to the pottery studio, my dear.’

  After Jessica had gone home, Marcus spent several hours on the computer and finished downloading more information from his friend, Billy Lane. As Nan came in from the studio, he turned the computer off and said, ‘I’ve decided not to go back to university. I want to stay here until the mystery of what Sarah wants reaches its conclusion.’

  ‘The uni won’t be happy about that, surely?’

  ‘I talked to the chancellor a while ago and he’s not pleased. Still, it’s my decision, so they have to wear it. I’ll apply for long-service leave, I’ve got nearly three months owing to me. And I’ve asked Amanda Townley, in the history department, to fill in for me for the first semester. She’s agreed to, so the chancellor is reasonably content with that.’

  ‘Well, I’m sure Jessica will appreciate your being around. You two get on well together, don’t you?’ she finished with a knowing smile.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Oh, it’s obvious to anyone who knows you well, Marcus. You like her a lot. In fact, I’d say it’s more than like.’ She looked him squarely in the eye. ‘Am I right?’

  ‘You always were a busybody, Nan. Mind your own business.’ His answer was testy, to say the least.

  ‘Aahh, I thought so.’ Her tone was smug.

  Marcus decided not to respond to that remark. This was a discussion he could not win to his satisfaction, anyway. A strategic retreat was in order. He picked up the paperwork he’d downloaded and stood up. ‘I’m going down to the cemetery for a while.’

  ‘Fine. Dinner’ll be at six-thirty, as usual,’ she said, unfazed by his curtness, as she turned on her heel and went into the kitchen.

  Marcus stood still for several minutes, staring thoughtfully at the kitchen doorway. He shouldn’t have spoken so sharply, he realised too late. His sister had only been teasing in that down-to-earth way she had. But for the moment he wasn’t ready to share how he felt about Jessica Pearce, not with anyone. The secret was his, or so he thought, and would remain so until he was ready to divulge it.

  ‘Of course I understand, darling,’ Sue whispered into Simon’s ear as she cuddled into him in the front seat of his car. ‘You have a great deal at stake, your project. We must protect that at all costs.’ What did she care if he still lived under the same roof as Jessica. She was getting better at twisting him to her bidding whenever they were together. Tell a man what he wanted to hear, and sound enthusiastic about it, let him fondle and paw you as he wished, and you were more than halfway to winning him, she thought cynically. That was one of the few things her mother had been right about.

  Relief spread over Simon’s features, and he relaxed back in the seat. He had worried that she would be impatient, but he should have known better—his Sue was too compassionate for that. ‘I’m glad you see it my way,’ he said. ‘It won’t be forever, just until I get my hands on her share portfolio to use as collateral for the project. Until then I’ll tow the line and pretend to be the model husband.’ He thought for a moment then added, ‘We’ll have to be discreet. Very discreet.’

  ‘Discretion’s my middle name,’ she joked, teasing him with her hands and her eyes. ‘On this island we can have complete privacy, believe me. After six years here, I know the place inside and out.’

  He kissed her with barely contained passion. ‘Then what are we waiting for?’

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Jessica took a morose pleasure in gathering all the medication Simon had put her on into a bag then throwing the lot in the rubbish bin. Simon wouldn’t be pleased, for he reckoned she still needed to keep her emotions on an even keel, but that was virtually impossible with what was happening around her.

  More than a week had passed since she had learned of Simon’s infidelity with Sue Levinski. Day after day, they went through the motions of being polite. He’d kiss her hello and goodbye on the cheek. She would cook their evening meal, over which they talked about trivialities, about every other subject than that of their teetering marriage. Honest all-cards-on-the-tables discussion was not encouraged by either of them. It was a farce and she knew it. She thought that Simon knew it too but, for reasons known only to him, he refused to admit it to himself.

  It will get better, she kept telling herself, almost like some prayerful mantra. Once she forgave him. But, through many hours of mental deliberations, she knew it was more than just forgiving him about having sex with Sue. That had been the crunch point which had made her sit down and really think about their life together. Think about how their relationship had degenerated to the degree that love had become something else: tolerance, duty and familiarity without affection. She had tried to tell herself that their lives were strained at present, because Simon’s indiscretion was so recent. Yes, that was it. Time would dull the pain. She had to be patient. She had to believe that things would all work out. Oh God, what a list of platitudes! She could clearly recall mouthing them and more to her clients back in Perth.

  Standing in the middle of the verandah, Jessica tried to concentrate on painting by mixing cerulean blue with white on her palette. She’d somehow managed, despite the dramas in her life—Sarah, Simon and Marcus, (oh, yes, she was honest enough to admit that Marcus Hunter had become an important part of her life, too)—to finish five half-decent paintings. Nan was impressed and had told her she should take them to the gallery in Taylors Road to see if they’d show them. Maybe she would, when things settled down.

  Hearing a knock on the front door, she put her palette down, wiped her hands on a damp cloth, and went to see who was there.

  Her blue eyes widened with shock as a smiling, self-confident Sue Levinski regarded her.

  ‘We should talk,’ Sue said calmly and made to walk into the living room.

  ‘I don’t believe we have anything to talk about,’ Jessica replied stiffly, holding the door only half
open, so Sue couldn’t push her way in.

  ‘You’re being mean to Simon and I can’t allow you to be,’ Sue went on as if she hadn’t heard Jessica’s earlier remark. ‘The man made a mistake, for God’s sake. Are you going to crucify him forever?’

  ‘How my husband and I behave in our marriage is none of your business, Ms Levinski. Now, if you don’t go, perhaps I should call Simon and tell him to come and get you.’

  Sue’s dark eyes narrowed as she stared at Jessica, and then she bit her lip nervously. ‘Don’t do that. He doesn’t know I’m here. He…he wouldn’t like me coming to see you.’

  ‘I don’t like you coming here, either,’ Jessica’s tone was icy, her features frozen with dislike. ‘You wormed your way into Simon’s good books. You took advantage of him. You’re an emotional vulture, Sue.’

  ‘I…I want to do what’s right,’ Sue almost simpered. ‘I don’t want to come between you and Simon. It, Simon and I, it was…a big mistake.’

  Would the traumatised Jessica buy her penitent pose, she wondered? She thought she was doing a rather good acting job, considering she didn’t mean a word of what she said. Simon was the one worried by Jessica’s continuing unforgiving stance, but only because he needed her portfolio of lucrative shares, not because he was still in love with her. He loved her now, she knew he did. But what did the man expect? His wife to be all over him when he’d come straight from the arms of another woman? Men were such fools!