The truth was that Adam had not yet finalised his plans for the land next door to the Palace, even though the way was now clear to do whatever he wished. If business continued to increase as smartly as it had in the last two years, he was tempted to add another wing to the hotel to take advantage of the cliff-top views. This would mean demolishing the cottage and its garden altogether.
In the meantime, he had put a door in the hedge, replanted the garden of natives with colourful beds of azalea, rhododendron, cherry blossom and camellia, and installed a small gazebo, several arbours, a rockery and a decorative fountain. This ornamental garden made the perfect retreat for guests to saunter in or enjoy a light lunch at the cottage itself, which had been refurbished as a kiosk.
‘I know how much you want to leave the past alone,’ said Adelina, ‘but I ask that you hear me out for a moment. The truth is I am afraid, Adam.’
Adam frowned and made a dismissive noise in the back of his throat.
‘No, please listen to me, darling. And don’t be angry. I know how unreasonable I have been in the past and I am sorry for that, I truly am. I take full responsibility for everything that has happened. That is why I am the one who will be punished. For making you do bad things. Unjust things.’
‘For heaven’s sake, Adelina! This is not still about that ridiculous séance . . .’
‘Forget the séance,’ Adelina said. ‘This is beyond any of that. This is about making amends. It is about redemption. How we will be judged. How I will be judged.’
‘Adelina, I beg you, please don’t—’ Adam sighed and stopped mid-sentence. After a moment or two, he put down his glass with great deliberation and looked at his wife. This was his punishment: to have to listen to poor Adelina’s ramblings. He must take his medicine like a man. The unexpected silence was filled only by the sawing rhythms of the crickets in the blue shadows of the garden. At last he spoke.
‘So tell me. What exactly do you want me to write about to the Woods?’
She studied his face for a long time before she replied. She had rehearsed several approaches to this conversation and then decided to abandon them all in favour of the most direct: a quick blow instead of a thousand needling thrusts.
‘I think we should give them back their cottage.’
Adam sat bolt upright, his eyes opened wide. What next came out of her husband’s mouth was the cruellest sound Adelina had ever heard: a short sharp bark of bitter laughter. If he had slapped Adelina in the face, it would have been kinder. She whimpered at the blow. When Adam saw the effect of his outburst he swallowed his bitter rage and apologised. ‘I am sorry, my dear, I did not mean to . . . but this – this sudden reversal of everything you have asked . . .’ He took a deep breath. ‘It is complete madness!’
Adelina tried to hold in her tears but her resolve crumbled. She was just a weak woman after all. Sobs were torn from her throat; sobs of grief and self-hatred. ‘No, no, Adam, you have it all wrong. It was madness what I asked of you before. I was out of my mind with grief for Robbie. And anger. Against you, against Freya. For losing my little boy. I wanted to punish Freya and her daughter for what they’d done. But I see it clearly now – I must bear blame for that too.’
Adelina stood up, impelled by a sudden clarity of insight that she had to articulate before it vanished. ‘What I did all those years ago, what I agreed to – that was the madness!’ she shouted. ‘Ripping a newborn babe, still wet from the womb, out of the arms of his natural mother. Yearning so insanely for that infant’s love that I would deny his real mother that same love. Baptising that child as ours, a lie before God and humanity – and, worst of all, a lie to him who bore our name. All done knowingly against every law that is moral and natural and sacred, hoping that God would not punish us for our monstrous deceit and cruelty! Sweet God in Heaven, what were we thinking, Adam?’
Adam was struck dumb.
Adelina’s tears came unchecked now and her voice did not quail as she pressed on. The sun’s last fire was reflected in her eyes as the long shadows began to swallow up the garden and house. ‘We were the ones who acted wrongly, Adam. We committed the sin and we must make amends. It is not too late. Please, I beg you, write to the Woods and give them back what is rightly theirs. We must seek their forgiveness or we have no future. This is our last chance.’
Adam looked at her mutely. He was almost a silhouette now against the darkening sky, his face impossible to read in the dying light.
He was thinking. Adelina was right. They had wronged Freya and her family. He, Adam Fox, had wronged Freya, more than Adelina would ever know. With one call to his solicitor he could restore the cottage to the Woods. He could possibly even make representations on behalf of Freddie to have him brought home. He had the power to seek favours, bend rules. He could arrange such things.
But life is not a fairytale. What Adelina did not understand was that he had arranged things in the past – cruel, underhand things – in large part to protect her and to save their marriage. Did his wife not know herself at all? She would be consumed with despair all over again if Freya or her daughter came back into their lives.
It was all very well to feel guilt about the past but Adam had learned that the past cannot be changed. It was what he too had wanted so fervently that spring morning he had gone to Freya’s garden all those years ago. And Freya had made it clear there was no turning back the clock.
‘It is too late, Adelina. Too late for you and me,’ he said. His voice trembled with deep emotion.
Adelina felt her soul swoon and her whole world begin to come adrift. ‘Please, Adam, please,’ she whispered in the darkness, echoing her own son’s cry. She was begging her husband to save her life.
But Adam turned and disappeared into the house without another word.
It was a windy afternoon in mid-July. Bright arpeggios of birdsong could barely be heard over the churning surf that surged up out of the valley, rocking the great gums and soughing in the long grasses at the cliff edge. Overhead, king parrots chinked as they barrelled headlong into the wind like bolts of flame, each with their scarlet head and breast and brilliant flashes of aqua under dark-green wings. Explosive gusts shook the arthritic branches of a nearby banksia. Here, a wattle bird held on grimly to dip her beak into its bristling flowers, bobbing about like a rack of fat orange candles upright among the serrated glossy-green leaves.
Adelina could count on the fingers of one hand the number of times she had ventured along this track in the entire time the Palace had existed. The bush held no fascination for her and offered nothing in the way of spiritual nourishment. Knowing how much these flowers and plants had appealed to Freya – Adam still kept several of her botanical drawings in his office – only reinforced Adelina’s determined indifference to their beauty. Even now, she wondered why she had come to this fateful spot which she had sworn never to lay eyes on. This cursed place.
Sensation Point. A timber and wire-mesh fence skirted the largest gum and continued for about ten yards along the narrow path on either side. It had been erected within weeks of Robbie’s fatal fall, as had a marble plaque bolted into the cliff face. ‘In Memory of Robert James Fox, beloved son of Adam and Adelina, who was taken up to the embrace of God on 14th January, 1914’. A lie immortalised in marble.
The plaque was not there at this very moment. As instructed by Mr Fox, Gregory, who had replaced Freddie as head storeman, had removed it to give it a thorough clean. Rainwater had pooled inside the bolt holes and caused tears of rust to stain the memorial marble. The heavy slab now lay on the terrace near Gregory’s shed awaiting his tender mercies.
Adelina looked at the blank rectangle on the sandstone behind her. She wondered if Adam would have preferred to leave it like this. ‘I will not tolerate this maudlin obsession any longer. Let that be an end to it!’ Adam had a gift for ‘moving on’, as people liked to say about suffering. ‘Time to move on!’ they insisted. ‘Life must go on!’
Adam was preoccupied with the future. In tw
o days he would preside over the grand opening of his new art gallery at the western end of the Palace. He had shown Adelina the architectural blueprints and artist impressions late last year. It was a worthy temple for his fine-art collection: high barrel-vaulted ceilings, elegant Art Nouveau chandeliers, maroon walls with a frieze of stylised waratahs, and plush golden drapes with silken ropes and canopies over arched windows. With his usual flair for publicity, Adam promised something dramatic for the launch of this new addition to the Palace: the unveiling of a major new acquisition for his collection. In the meantime, Adam and Adelina had not spoken in the two weeks since her outburst at their home. She barely saw him; Adam was so busy with preparations for the gallery opening, he worked until late in his office, even taking his meals there.
The Palace itself had never been busier either. Every morning the driveway was a colourful congestion of motor cars: Packards, Vauxhalls, Rolls-Royces and usually some Australian Six tourers from either Mr Bartlett or Mr Rolfe’s hire car company dropping off passengers for a quick gawk at the hotel before heading out to Little Hartley and Jenolan Caves. Mr Longford and Miss Lyell continued to film around the hotel, attracting crowds of curious onlookers and creating even more confusion, despite the best efforts of the runner Simon to cordon off the film crew.
Less than ten minutes’ walk from the Palace, Sensation Point seemed a universe away from all this feverish human activity. As the winds from the valley tore at bush and bird alike and arcane shadows flickered across the mute rocks, Adelina thought how odd it was that such contrasting worlds sat side by side. Down here at Sensation Point, the primitive, impenetrable strangeness of the bush, with its timeless cycles of life and death, presented a face of supreme indifference to the fervid, petty human dramas taking place up at the Palace.
Adelina knew that people like Freya felt enlarged by their encounters with nature. Adelina could not understand this at all. Standing here, looking across the windswept valley that had taken her son, she felt diminished.
The bush frightened Adelina. The hot-blooded scurrying and fluttering of small animals, the brief glory and rapid withering of its bush flowers, the savage, immutable crags of ancient sandstone, all these whispered in Adelina’s ear: You are merely dust blown on the wind, flesh eaten by the worms, bones whitening in the dirt. You spring up like the grass and are cut down.
Adam had sacked Mrs Wells the day before, giving her to the end of the week to pack her bags and go. Someone had told him about the housekeeper giving Adelina the spirit photos and spreading rumours of a ‘ghost child’ in the hotel. Never before in the history of the Palace had the staff witnessed a scene to match this one. The angry voices from the general manager’s office could be heard all the way across the lobby to the west wing and the casino. Fox remonstrated at the top of his voice while a distraught Mr Hawthorne tried to mediate.
It was an ugly scene and one that rattled the hotel staff to their core. Whatever their opinion of Mrs Wells, everyone knew she had served the Palace for over eighteen years. And now she was gone. Just like that. Unable to face Mrs Fox directly, the housekeeper left her a note which had been delivered to Adelina that morning.
Dear Mrs Fox,
Please excuse my presumption in writing to you in this intimate fashion. As you will have learned by now, your husband has decided to terminate my employment exactly as he said he would for my ‘meddling’ in his ‘ family matters’. He gave me fair warning and I disobeyed him. So be it. I have served him loyally for many years and will not now say a word against a man whose finer qualities I have always admired.
I have decided to leave immediately and have my belongings sent on to my brother’s house in Geelong, where I will be living until I gain another position. It is not good for the hotel or the morale of the staff for me to linger any longer.
I hope you understand that it is because I did not wish to distress you by making a scene at the hotel that I am writing you this short note rather than addressing you personally before I departed. In other circumstances I would have made the most of such a farewell as I have valued our friendship with, I hope you will excuse my frankness, a great deal of genuine respect and affection on my part.
I just wanted to reassure you that I regret none of what has happened in connection with this situation and am glad to have played some small part in looking after your spiritual welfare. I sincerely hope you find some measure of peace and happiness in the future. You richly deserve it. Miss Glanville-Smith can be contacted on the number below if you feel the need of her services.
With affection,
Daphne Emily Wells
Adelina was astonished. Adam had not even given her a chance to defend Mrs Wells.
And now Adelina was all alone.
Dr Liebermeister was no ally. He worked for her husband. She had grown used to his clinical manner and aloof formality. He administered to her body with intimate knowledge and unassailable expertise but nothing resembling empathy or warmth. She conceded that his intentions were honourable even if his treatments – as far as her mind was concerned – were ultimately ineffectual. For some years, the continuous baths had managed to pull Adelina back from the abyss of depression, at least for short periods. But that safety net had become increasingly unpredictable. Adelina had at last faced the truth that her worst demons were probably beyond Dr Liebermeister’s curative powers to banish.
Adelina had received Mrs Wells’ letter just before her therapy session at the spa. Her treatment finished at four o’clock and she began walking back to her room. Little did she suspect that the cruel legacy of this day was far from over. One final blow remained to complete Adelina’s isolation and seal her fate.
As she passed through the lobby she had a clear view through the picture windows where the curtains had been pulled back on this overcast wintry day to reveal a silver-white sky of endless clouds. She saw her husband out on the terrace with the film crew. The actors were taking a short break while Higgins reset his camera and Longford and Lyell conferred.
Adam was talking to a young woman. She was dressed in an unflattering Edwardian maid’s costume: a short-sleeved, high-waisted black dress, white lacy cap and stiff white apron, thick black stockings and ugly, sensible shoes. She was still wearing her thick unnatural film make-up in shades of white and grey.
Nevertheless, it was plain to see that the girl was a great beauty: high cheekbones, perfect teeth, full lips, sky-blue eyes and glossy shoulder-length hair. Adam smoked a cigarette, sitting with his back to the view while the young woman leaned her elbows on the marble balustrade, looking up at him. Their body language – the intimate way they tilted towards each other, their eyes locked in an unbroken gaze – was easy to read.
They were in love.
Destiny is a cruel mistress. There it was: the final proof that Adelina could not escape her punishment. She was once again ‘the white witch’ as she had been all those years ago: the queen of ice, the living corpse, invisible, forgotten, unloved, beyond redemption. She was not even worthy now of Adam’s deceit and secrecy as she had been in the past. His new infidelity was on display for all at the Palace to see – including her.
Adelina was left in no doubt that she no longer mattered to her husband.
The gum tree above her groaned in the wind and its boughs rubbed against each other, creaking in protest. These were the sights and sounds that Robbie must have heard just before he died, thought Adelina. Was he frightened as he fell? Did he think of her or his father? Did he die quickly or did he linger in pain? She had turned these unanswered questions over and over in her mind.
She walked back along the fence line and stood at the edge of the track, close to the low overhang of rock on the bend. The shadows of the trees stretched out now like fallen giants and the silver cloud-choked sky blushed pink and blue.
But the beauty of the coming sunset was lost on Adelina. Though the fur-lined hood of her cloak was tied securely, the wind slapped her face and punched her ears, buffeting her
body so violently she had to brace her knees to keep it from pushing her backwards. She was so thin that Adelina imagined the wind snapping her fragile joints like twigs.
‘A sad old chook ready for the chop,’ her grandad would have said. She shuffled closer to the chalky edge and leaned towards the valley. She could feel the pull of vertigo like a magnet willing her forward. She wished she had the courage to let go.
One, two steps. Just go.
For Adelina knew for certain now that the woman she could never really forgive was herself.
CHAPTER 19
* * *
Adam
Meadow Springs, July 1921
Laura looked up with tears in her eyes. Adam was astonished at the force of her feeling. Her irises sparkled for a brief moment from the droplets that trembled on her lashes before they spilled over and streaked down each cheek.
‘Is it really his?’ she asked, her voice hoarse with emotion.
‘Yes. It really is.’
In the freshly painted interior of the Palace’s new gallery, Adam and Laura stood before the focal point of his entire collection, hung in an alcove all to itself: The Valley, the last-known oil painting of Wolfgang von Gettner. It was a panorama of the same valley that could be seen from the Palace’s windows and the cottage garden next door, Adam explained, and a fitting climax to the long and distinguished career of a great artist.
‘It is remarkable, isn’t it?’ said Adam, with something akin to lust lighting up his face as he contemplated the masterpiece. ‘Subtle and grand. Intimate and epic.’
‘It is beautiful,’ whispered Laura. Her face was suffused with a blend of ecstasy and sadness. She was no doubt moved by the sublimity of the painting itself, but also touched by the story Adam had told her of its creation by a neglected master at the end of his artistic life.
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