Chapter Five
It was an Indian summer day, probably the last before autumn seriously descended upon Sydney. In the rear garden of number fifty-two, the leaves on some deciduous trees — the maples, the liquidambars and the crepe myrtles — were changing from green to patchy yellow, before turning rusty gold and reddish brown. Michaela and Jo Levy sat on the flagstoned terrace laughing at the antics of Joshua, Kirra and Fern as they splashed around in the heated pool.
‘Sure you’re well enough to come back to work on Monday?’
‘Absolutely.’ Michaela’s response was positive. ‘Besides, I’m bored brainless here, and work’s piling up in my department.’
Jo shook her head wonderingly. ‘You know, I still find it hard to believe it really happened — a mugger in the basement. Who would have thought it? And —’ she paused to throw Michaela a sly look, ‘Leith Danvers coming to your rescue the way he did. Boris said he was so furious that if he’d caught the mugger, he could have killed him.’
Michaela sat up straight at her friend’s statement. ‘Really!’ Sections of that night were a blur, but she did remember him yelling abuse down the phone at someone, probably Boris. ‘I thought he was angry about the slapdash security.’
‘Uh huh. That, too. Boris will have to lift his game, so the rumour’s going around. For a man he’s such a gossip. He said that Leith was very concerned about you, and wasn’t it nice of him to send those flowers?’
‘How did you know about that?’ Michaela demanded, her cheeks suddenly warming.
‘Boris!’ Jo stopped talking for a moment to watch the children. The girls were ganging up on Joshua, splashing and trying to dunk him. ‘Okay, kids, behave or you’re out of the pool,’ she called authoritatively. Her gaze turned to Michaela and she thought for a moment before saying, ‘You know, it’s a bit obvious that Leith’s keen. Whenever the two of you are in the same room, there’s this kind of electricity between you. What he did, then sending the flowers, is proof, surely, that he’s interested.’
‘Nonsense.’ Michaela scoffed at the idea, but the further darkening of her cheeks betrayed her. ‘In similar circumstances he’d have come to anyone’s aid.’
‘Maybe, but would he have sent Tania Wildman or me flowers? No,’ Jo said with the wisdom of being fourteen years Michaela’s senior. ‘He’s interested, all right, and just waiting for you to give him a sign that the interest is returned.’
‘Then he’ll wait a long time.’ Michaela’s reply was cool in spite of her flurried heartbeat. Personally, she believed that Leith had sent the flowers more to impress Caroline that he was a nice guy than to impress her, though she refrained from telling Jo that. She didn’t want Leith Danvers to be interested in her that way. She didn’t. It complicated things.
Besides, romancing and being romanced was the last thing on her mind since Caroline had announced her intention to join Ashworths. She’d be starting next week, too, before their mother retired. Caroline was intelligent and keen to learn and she didn’t doubt her sister’s ability to pick up the threads of the retail trade in double-quick time and begin to climb the promotions ladder. Damn it, why couldn’t Caroline have found work aligned to music-teaching, organising or even conducting? Life would be simpler, and the future more pleasant for everyone if she had.
‘Methinks the lady protesteth too much,’ Jo quipped with a laugh. ‘You know, Michaela, you’ve never really fallen in love with any of the few men you’ve had relationships with. I’m predicting that when you do, you’ll fall so hard you won’t know what hit you.’
Michaela shrugged — she could do that now and it didn’t hurt. ‘We’ll see …’
They watched the children scramble out of the pool, find their towels and dry themselves. Then they descended like a small, ravaging horde on the table where Daphne had just placed liquid refreshments, fruit and other goodies.
‘Joshua, don’t stuff the entire piece of cake in your mouth in one go,’ Jo reprimanded with a motherly shake of her head. She glanced at Michaela and said quietly, ‘Why is it that they can behave perfectly at home, but when they’re out it’s like they haven’t been taught any table manners?’
‘Being kids, I guess,’ Michaela answered, her tone vague. Her thoughts still centred around what Jo had said about Leith Danvers. Was he interested? Really. She tried to dampen the frisson of excitement that raced through her at the mental image of her and Leith dating, getting to know each other, kissing. An instant rush of heat warmed her already warm body. Don’t, she told her raging senses. She wouldn’t think about Leith in that light. To do so was … counterproductive!
‘We’re going to play tennis now,’ Fern told her aunt and Jo.
‘There’re only the three of you,’ Jo said.
‘That’s okay, we’ll take it in turns to play cut throat.’
‘There are racquets in the cabana, but don’t take the black Slazenger, that’s mine,’ Michaela advised, her tone firm. Having had time to think her way into a new topic, once the children were out of earshot, she turned to Jo and said, ‘Don’t talk about me and Leith, there is no me and Leith. In fact, look in your own direction. Neil’s panting for you, that’s obvious, but have you noticed Daniel, how he looks at you when he thinks no-one is watching?’ Her tone implied that she’d only just thought of it, but she had been aware of Daniel’s subtle interest for months. She had said nothing because of Jo’s relationship with Andrew Haywood.
Jo’s expressive features went into shock. ‘You’re crazy. Daniel! I’ve always thought he was a bit suspect, you know,’ she explained, ‘maybe gay. He’s never married, he’s only seen occasionally at functions with a woman on his arm, and always a different one. I-I think your interpretation of Daniel’s interest is way off. As well, he’s heaps older, fifty-one, I think.’
‘You’re thirty-eight. That’s not such a huge difference.’ She watched Jo shake her head in disbelief. ‘And he isn’t gay. Haven’t you heard the story of what happened to Daniel in his youth? His tragic love affair?’
‘No.’
Michaela moved her chair in, making herself more comfortable. ‘Mum told me when I was in my teens. When Daniel was younger, as many Jews do, he took leave from the company and went to work in Israel for three months on a kibbutz, somewhere near the Israeli-Palestinian border. He fell in love with a Jewish soldier named Yolanta. She and her Romanian parents had migrated to Palestine after World War II. They planned to marry when she finished her time in the army. Only three weeks away from being discharged, she was shot by a Palestinian sniper.’ Michaela paused to let that information sink in. ‘Mum says that Daniel never got over Yolanta. That’s why he hasn’t married.’
‘Poor Daniel, I didn’t know.’ There was a wealth of compassion in Jo’s voice.
Michaela knew that Jo and her brother Aidan had been born in Haifa, and then her Jewish-Australian parents, Ruth and Ben Levy, both doctors, had returned to practise medicine in Sydney in the early 1950s. ‘It was more than twenty-five years ago. Daniel, as we know, is a very private man, with deep feelings. Time has, most likely, healed the wound of his lost love but, if you ask me, he’s looking in your direction more than he should be. Still, you’re not interested because you’ve got Andrew.’
‘Not any more.’ Jo shook her head. ‘We said goodbye, a permanent goodbye, two nights ago. I haven’t been happy with the way he behaves towards the children, especially Joshua.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Josh is a sensitive little boy. He misses his father, but is more hurt by the fact that his dad now has another son and can’t be bothered with him. Damn David Epstein and his selfishness!’ She was clearly angry about that. ‘I couldn’t make Andrew understand how that hurts Josh. Andrew thinks he should be a rough-and-tumble boy — in the same kind of mould Andrew most likely was as a youngster. In the end, though I like Andrew a lot, I have to think about my son and how things would pan out if Andrew became his stepfather. I don’t think it would work because of h
is attitude, and I’m not prepared to risk another marital disaster.’
‘I’m sorry, love. I thought you and Andrew were right for each other.’ Michaela’s tone was sympathetic. ‘But it’s best to find out before you get in too deep, I suppose.’
Standing at the breakfast room’s plate-glass window, Laura surveyed the garden and the two women sitting on the patio talking. Their friendship had amazed her for years because of the age difference between the two yet, with their similar colouring, height and body shapes, they could easily have been taken for sisters. She had a deep affection for her friend Ruth’s daughter, Jo. She, Ruth and Mary Ellen Beckwith had been friends since childhood and had shared many experiences together. She had watched Jo grow up, become a successful model, get married and later divorced. Jo had worked for Ashworths for five years and was doing a good job in advertising because of her creative talent, which was being encouraged by Daniel and others in the firm.
Her gaze settled on Michaela. Her daughter’s close shave with the mugger had had a salutary effect on her. She had been almost beside herself with rage to think that someone had dared to create havoc inside her store — and upon her own flesh and blood. As a result, Boris Jakelic and his security team had felt the lash of her tongue. Neil McRae had been told in no uncertain terms to stop penny-pinching and make sure that the basement and, in fact, every floor of the building was secure and well lit at night.
She ran her fingers through her fine, silver hair in a mannerism similar to Caroline’s as she thought about how she had reacted and what that had done to her, health-wise: it had exhausted her. That reaction and Caroline’s tentative ultimatum had been what was needed to forge her decision about working. It was time to go. She had seen her specialist, Rupert, who was pleased. So was Joel and, to some extent, she too was relieved that the decision had been made.
Already her mind was alight with plans to keep herself occupied, but at a more relaxed pace than when she ran Ashworths. She would take that cruise she had talked about with Joel. Maybe her friend, Kitty, would come with her. Her glance took in the two women on the patio again. They’d been joined by Joel. His appearance made her think of all her children. Michaela, full of life and energy and ambition, whose nature reminded her so much of her Jack. Caroline, whose passion for music had been cut short by a potentially serious arthritic problem. She had come to terms with that and was moving on.
Laura stopped for a moment to wonder if her eldest daughter knew just how much general talent she had. Caroline was a natural mediator and a problem-solver, attributes that would be appreciated at Ashworths when matters got heated, especially between Michaela and Neil. But possibly she didn’t know that; she wasn’t the type to dwell on herself. Becoming involved with Ashworths would rectify any lack of self-assurance. Daniel Blumner would explore and hone her talents to the limits, so that Caroline would make a good fist of whatever he gave her to do.
Her gaze moved to Joel. He’d been working on his old Corvette. His jeans and hands were spattered with grease and he waved them about when he spoke, bearing evidence to the fact. She smiled as she silently said his name again: Joel. Her dear, considerate, mixed-up son. She knew that he continued to blame himself for Jack’s death. Laura shook her head sadly as she reflected. Some people said he was like her brother, Frank, who had been a trial to her since childhood. She vehemently rejected that comparison. If Joel was like anyone in the family, he had many of her mother’s traits. He was gentle, caring and, if anything, too kind-hearted.
Something, a flicker of pain, passed across Laura’s brown eyes. One day she hoped her son would come to terms with his father’s death, accept it for the accident it had been, as she had. However, she was wise enough to know that such acceptance could only come from him. No matter how often they talked — and over the years they had done so extensively — the guilt remained, buried deep inside him, and this often made him behave irresponsibly and carelessly.
Caroline came into the breakfast room and joined her mother at the window.
‘I’m going to have to tear Fern away from her new friends,’ Caroline explained, her tone regretful. ‘She wanted to join my Tai Kwon Do class, the beginner’s section, and the lesson starts in less than an hour.’
‘It’s good that the three of them get along so well,’ Laura said. She craned her neck to see the children playing on the tennis court.
‘After classes we’re going to have dinner together. Fern’s friends have told her about a little informal café down at Double Bay. She wants to check it out. Would you tell Daphne not to worry about us for dinner?’
‘Will do, love. I’m going out myself.’
Laura watched Caroline head out across the patio towards the tennis court; then she glanced at the clock on the breakfast room wall. What was keeping Jeffrey Markham, she wondered? He’d promised to take her to lunch at that expensive restaurant at the quay, Bilson’s. They’d been friends for years and she was looking forward to a nice long talk with Jeffrey.
‘Laura, Mr Markham’s here,’ Daphne announced from the doorway.
‘About time,’ Laura said under her breath, then to Daphne: ‘Be a dear and pick up my purse for me. I left it in the living room.’
The sleekly polished black BMW slinked up the crushed gravel drive and parked to the left of the front steps. An early morning hush hung over the garden as Nick Beaumont got out of the car and looked around. He loved Laura’s home and, with his construction background, could appreciate the time, attention to detail and considerable dollars that had gone into making the property one of the most attractive in Vaucluse.
As he closed the car door, Nick’s ears picked up a melody; it was accentuated by the silence. Someone was playing a piano. He didn’t have to guess who it was, the style was quickly recognisable: Caroline. He paused to listen, trying to place the piece she was playing. It sounded like one of Liszt’s Hungarian rhapsodies, but he couldn’t be sure. He wasn’t really into classical music, though he’d always respected her love of it. In the early years of their relationship, he’d heard her play all seven rhapsodies and more, but he knew she favoured Mozart and Chopin. For several minutes he let the music wash over him and was moved, as always, by her talent. His untrained ears failed to detect the fumbling notes, the occasional mis hits. To him it was simply enjoyable music. After a few minutes he came out of his reverie and went to the front door. He was soon admitted by Daphne.
‘Fern’s just sat down to breakfast, Mr Beaumont, she won’t be long. Would you care to join her in the breakfast room?’
Seizing the opportunity to be alone with Caro, Nick shook his head. ‘Thanks, Daphne. I’ll wait in the music room.’ Knowing which room it was, he opened the door silently, and closed it behind him.
The grand piano faced towards the window, which meant that Caro couldn’t see him. The early morning stiffness in her fingers made her stumble over several notes, but she continued to play, determined to finish the piece; she knew every note, every chord off by heart. She made herself practise twice each day, though to do so was sometimes painful. But the exercise eventually resulted in a beneficial effect on her fingers, with the aching and swelling, which mostly affected her left hand, subsiding enough for her to be comfortable. As the rhapsody reached its crescendo, she became lost in the magic of Liszt’s composition and ignored the mis-hit keys, the fractionally slower timing, until she’d played the last note.
The appreciative round of clapping from behind surprised her. She swivelled around quickly. ‘Nick!’
‘Morning,’ he grinned at her. ‘Still sounds great, Caro.’
Caro. His pet name for her. She wished he wouldn’t call her that but, if she asked him not to, she suspected that he would take a perverse pleasure in continuing to make a point of doing so. ‘Thanks but, frankly, you’re no music critic.’ She stood up and put the lid of the piano down, then turned to face him, the same edge of tension inside her. Even after so many years, it plagued her when he was close.
Unfazed by her frankness, his grin widened disarmingly as he walked towards her. ‘You’re right there, I’m no expert. Still, half the people who went to hear you play weren’t music critics either. They wanted to be stirred by beautiful music. You still do that, you know — play beautifully.’
‘It’s kind of you to say so, and it is almost good enough for the concert circuit, but “almost good enough” isn’t good enough for me. My playing has to be perfect.’ She couldn’t expect him to understand, few people did.
‘You always were your own toughest critic.’
Nick was now so close he could have reached forward and touched her. He wanted to. A raw ache began somewhere inside his chest and spread until it enveloped his body, mingling with the all-too-familiar regret for what could have been and wasn’t, and for the ten years they’d wasted apart, because of his stupidity. The man he was today couldn’t believe he had once been such a short-sighted fool, blinded by jealousy, by wanting to keep her to himself, by being impatient, instead of just loving her and accepting that she loved him in return. He’d killed that — killed her love — and had learned the hard way that to love someone completely, you had to allow them to be free.
He wasn’t going to give up, though. Optimism and need wouldn’t let him. Deep down and in spite of her coolness towards him, he believed that Caro still had feelings for him, sublimated by a veneer of resentment and hurt. It was up to him to nurture that embryonic feeling until it blossomed into love again. Hell, he wasn’t kidding himself that it would be easy. His ex-wife wasn’t the starry-eyed, naive young woman who’d fallen in love with him so long ago. She had toughened up emotionally and, from her wary expression, he knew that winning her trust again was going to be the most difficult project he’d ever undertaken.
‘Fern should be ready soon.’
‘She’s having breakfast.’ He tried to think of some common ground, a topic to defuse the antagonism she felt towards him, though she tried to keep it under wraps. ‘So, how have you settled back in?’
52 Waratah Avenue Page 8
