by Judy Nunn
Penelope looked briefly in Franklin's direction and he jumped in quickly before she could answer. ‘I think that's an excellent idea, darling.’ He turned to Never-Never. ‘How about tomorrow?’
‘Fine by me.’
Late the following morning Penelope returned from her two-hour drive with Never-Never in his battered utility. Franklin hadn't seen her so alive in six months.
‘Have you seen the termite mounds, Franklin?’ she asked. He had, but she didn't wait for an answer. ‘They're ten foot high. And there's so many of them! They look like the columns of a ruined temple. And the wedge-tailed eagles! They're huge. Never-Never says they can lift a calf off the ground. And they climb up in the sky without even moving their wings. So high until you can't see them any more. Never-Never says they drift up on the thermal drafts.’
Franklin had seen the wedge-tailed eagles too. But they were just birds to him. It would never have occurred to him to show Penelope the termite mounds or to study the eagles with her. And yet it was that simple. The change in her was miraculous. He was a little put out that it had been Never-Never who had made the breakthrough but he was grateful nonetheless. He certainly refused to blame himself for not having hit upon the solution. Who could possibly have guessed that Penelope, of all people, would find interest in the outback?
The following day, shortly after dark, Never-Never took Penelope roo-spotting. ‘You shine a light on them,’ he explained, ‘and it hypnotises them.’
Sure enough, the kangaroos stood poised on their hind legs and stared back at the light Never-Never shone on them from the rear of the utility. Apart from an occasional quiver of the nose and twitch of the ears, they were frozen in time.
Never-Never told her that was the way they shot the animals. ‘Always at night,’ he said. ‘When they're under the light you can take your time setting your sights.’
When Penelope expressed her horror, he patiently explained that it was necessary to cull them from time to time. ‘If you let the ‘roos take over, there'd be no grazing for the cattle,’ he said.
‘Do you ride, Mrs Ross?’ he asked on the drive back.
‘You mean horses?’ And she felt a bit foolish when he merely nodded. ‘No,’ she said.
‘Pity. There's yabbies in the creek a couple of miles from the station but you can't get in there by car.’
Penelope didn't know what a yabbie was. He explained that it was a freshwater crustacean, fun to catch and good to eat.
‘Then you must show me how to catch them,’ she said. ‘But first you'll have to teach me how to ride.’ And she laughed.
Never-Never opened the utility door for her when they got back to the homestead. ‘Good night, Mrs Ross,’ he said.
‘Call me Penelope,’ she insisted. ‘Please.’ He nodded a little self-consciously. ‘And please may I call you Kevin? Never-Never is such a ridiculous name.
‘Sure, he shrugged. ‘Doesn't make any difference to me. But secretly he was pleased. Very pleased. Kevin Never-Never Everard was falling hopelessly in love with Penelope.
It wasn't long before Penelope's appetite returned and she lost her gaunt, haunted look. In fact, Franklin decided, he had never seen her so carefree and lacking in inhibitions. He leaned on the fence of the home paddock, with little Terence sitting on the top railing between his arms, watching as Never-Never and Jacky gave Penelope her first riding lesson. He wondered, briefly, whether he should feel jealous. Ridiculous. Never-Never was getting a crush on Penelope - so what; most men did. He was nothing but a novelty to her.
Franklin was right. Kevin Everard was merely someone with whom Penelope felt relaxed. She was fully aware of the effect she was having on him but there was little she could do about that. And, in the meantime, she was deeply grateful for the distraction he and Mandinulla were proving to be.
Penelope had recovered from the actual loss of her baby far sooner than her doctor and Franklin had realised. Her extended melancholy had been more for the loss of herself. Whatever had happened to Penelope Jane Greenway, star? Her dreams had been lost along the way and Penelope was deeply depressed at the prospect of what lay before her. A wife to one man and a mother to another. It wasn't what she'd planned at all. Where was the power and the glory and the glamour? She blamed Franklin for it. Franklin and his demand for sons.
Now, here at Mandinulla, under the adoring eyes of Never-Never, Penelope had rediscovered her feminine powers. Of course, she still had control over Franklin. As soon as they returned to Sydney she would insist he produce another picture for her. And this time the budget would be limitless and they would have the pick of the writers, directors and actors. Penelope relaxed and allowed a little of Penny Green to emerge every now and then. She knew how well Franklin responded when she appeared ingenuous. Besides, having made her plans, she could afford to relax and enjoy herself.
Little Terry laughed as the horse shied and Penelope nearly lost her seat.
‘Easy, easy, easy.’ Jacky, who was holding the bridle, stroked the horse's neck and the animal calmed down instantly. Jacky always had that effect on horses, Never-Never told her.
Penelope called over to Terry, who was still chortling, ‘That's enough out of you, mister.’ It was bravado to cover her nerves. She'd never been thrown from a horse before and the prospect frightened her.
Never-Never realised it. ‘If you're out riding on the property and you fall,’ he instructed, ‘relax and go with it. Don't tense up or you might break something ... ’ Wonderful, Penny thought. ‘Whatever you do,’ he continued, ‘hang on to the reins.’
‘Why? Aren't I supposed to let go of them and cover my head or something?’ She'd read that somewhere.
Jacky and Never-Never looked at each other. ‘Not out here you're not,’ Never-Never said.
‘Why?’
‘Because out here it's a helluva long walk back,’ Jacky grinned.
It was the end of November before they returned to Sydney. They'd spent a whole two months at Mandinulla and it was all the time Franklin could afford away from his other concerns.
Penelope was happy to return. Mandinulla had served its purpose. She was fully recovered. She could ride a horse passably well, she had explored the outback, she had caught and boiled and eaten yabbies and now it was time to get on with her life. She made Franklin promise that they would return to Mandinulla again for a family holiday and Franklin was more than willing to oblige. His Penelope was back again, strong, vibrant and beautiful, and he would do anything to keep her happy.
Once they had made plans to return, Penelope was excited at the prospect of being home in time for Terry's third birthday. She would throw a party for him and for Zofia's children. And then it would be Christmas and she would host a big dinner at The Colony House. For Zofia and Solly and Gustave and all of their friends. Not that she had many friends – they were more Franklin's really — but she enjoyed being hostess and soaking up the admiration afforded her beauty. It was strange, she mused, that the only two true friends she had made were Zofia and Never-Never.
‘Goodbye, Kevin,’ she said and she hugged him warmly. Never-Never was self-conscious of the embrace and he broke away as quickly as he could. He preferred to worship from afar. ‘Thank you for everything.’
Never-Never muttered something, shook hands with Franklin and tousled Terry's hair. Then he stood back, Jacky at his side, and waved farewell as the car took off in a swirl of dust.
On December 8, 1941, Penelope's social plans were completely overturned.
It was Monday morning and she and Franklin were seated in the corner of the main lounge by the bay windows sipping their coffee. One of the housemaids presented them with the early edition newspapers. There were several Colony House guests also taking coffee but the maid delivered the newspapers to the guests in their rooms upstairs before looking after those within view of Franklin. It was the customary practice. Franklin hadn't ordered it but it pleased him nonetheless. It set him apart from the guests and he liked to keep that littl
e bit of distance.
‘My God!’ He smacked his teacup down onto its saucer with such force that Penelope looked up sharply. One didn't treat Royal Doulton like that.
‘My God!’ he repeated, ‘look at this!’ His voice was loud and several of the guests looked in his direction. It wasn't customary for Franklin Ross to create a disturbance. There was obviously something alarming in the newspaper. They were dying to know what it was but propriety forbade enquiry – it might be something personal after all. They didn't have to wait long to find out.
‘Japan has bombed Pearl Harbour,’ Franklin announced to all and sundry as he dumped the newspaper in front of Penelope.
She looked down at it. ‘PEARL HARBOUR ATTACKED; the headlines screamed, ‘US DECLARES WAR ON JAPAN.’
Early the following year, when America joined forces with the Allies, many said that the war was over, that it was only a matter of time. But the new fear for Australia lay with Japan. The enemy was no longer far distant Europe, the enemy was now on their front doorstep and people were frightened.
Penelope, however, still didn't seem to grasp the full impact of the war. It had always meant little to her, apart from the fact that it was making her husband very rich. When she approached Franklin with the suggestion that he relaunch her career, she couldn't understand his dismissive attitude.
‘Don't be ridiculous, my darling, there's a war on.’ Surely she couldn't be serious, he thought.
But she was. And she, in turn, couldn't understand why he wasn't amenable to her idea. She had fulfilled his requirements, hadn't she? She had given him a son – God knows she'd tried to give him two – and she had put her career on hold for nearly four years. What's more, since their return from Mandinulla, they'd been as happy as they'd been during their first year of marriage. They made love regularly – except during her fertile times, of course; she made sure of that – and she'd even taken to faking her orgasms again to give him pleasure. She couldn't understand why he was being so disagreeable.
‘The studio isn't even making feature films at the moment,’ he said, exasperated by her insistence. ‘We're making war documentaries and newsreels and we're barely breaking even. Any profit we make is donated to the war effort.’
‘Why?’ Penelope was dumbfounded. Franklin never allowed a business to run at a loss.
‘For God's sake, woman, if I’m going to make money out of men going off to fight, I must in all conscience do something to support their cause.’
Penelope was shattered. Why had he ever led her to believe he would further her career? That had been his promise to her. How could he have forgotten?
To Franklin her disappointment was simply a piqued vanity. As far as he was concerned, her desire for a career had been merely a youthful whim. He tried to cajole her out of it. ‘My darling, what's most important: making films or having our family? I’m thirty-seven years old; you'll be thirty this year. We're not getting any younger.’
Penelope cringed. Franklin was never subtle. As it was, he was trying his hardest not to say ‘Give me sons’. He probably didn't dare after her outburst nearly a year ago, she thought with resentment, but that's exactly what he meant.
It took Penelope several sleepless nights to completely replan her life. So much for having Franklin under her control, she thought. He was adamant; she knew there would be no budging him. Very well, she finally decided, if she couldn't be a star on the screen, she would be a star in her own life. She would have power and glory and glamour and Franklin would pay for it all. Much as she loathed the prospect of another pregnancy she realised that the price she had to pay for what she wanted was to give him his second son.
Cuddling up beside him on the sofa whilst he read his journals one night, she said, ‘Franklin, may we talk?’
‘What is it, Penelope?’ he asked warily. ‘Do you want something?’ She'd been sullen for days, so he was pleased that she was once more her alluring, affectionate self, but he hoped she wasn't about to reopen the argument.
‘Yes I do,’ she admitted and then added hastily, ‘but it's nothing to do with the studios. I understand that we must contribute to the war effort.’
He put an arm around her and gave her his full attention.
‘I want a home of my own.’
‘But you love The Colony House,’ he said, surprised.
‘Yes.’
‘So why do you want to live somewhere else?’
‘I don't.’ Penelope didn't believe in beating about the bush. Not when she held all the aces. ‘I want The Colony House for my own. I want it to be our home.’
Franklin drew back and stared at her in amazement. ‘But The Colony House has become an institution. We have regular guests. We hold business meetings and social functions for people from all over the world.’
‘We could still do that, my darling, but it would be at our personal invitation.’ She meant at her own personal invitation. She continued before he could interrupt. ‘We need a family home, Franklin. There are too many strangers constantly around and when the second child comes ... ’ She hesitated. It was her ace.
‘You're not... ’ She gave an imperceptible nod. ‘Oh Penelope, my dear.’ Overwhelmed, Franklin hugged her but she broke free of his embrace.
‘I'm not positive yet; I have to see the doctor next week, and then it'll be a little while before we get the results of the tests but, yes, I think I am.’
Penelope wasn't pregnant and she knew it, but it was only a small white lie ... It was just a matter of time.
‘Don't be too disappointed, my darling, it's just a matter of time,’ she assured him a fortnight later when she told him the pregnancy had been a false alarm.
Franklin was profoundly disappointed but he agreed with her that they needed a home of their own. He'd already set the wheels in motion. If Penelope wanted The Colony House, then she must have The Colony House. He bought out his partnership with Gustave and Solly and, three months later, started restoring the mansion to its former glory as a private home.
But, as luck would have it, Penelope found that she couldn't conceive. It was the perfect irony after years of avoidance. The doctors and specialists she consulted came to the conclusion that the fever she'd experienced prior to the birth of her stillborn child had been due to a pelvic infection. As a result, one of her fallopian tubes was swollen and chronically infected and was hindering the healthy tube from functioning normally.
It didn't occur to Franklin to enquire about the ‘false pregnancy’. He believed Penelope when she said ‘these things happen, my dear’. Women's problems were women's problems, after all, and he was only too relieved when Penelope, who loathed hospitals with a passion, agreed to surgery. The doctors assured him that the operation was not a complicated one and, once the infected tube was removed, there was no reason why Penelope should not conceive.
The operation was performed and was successful. But, by 1944, when Penelope found herself still unable to fall pregnant, she began to think that fate was on her side and perhaps it wasn't necessary to fulfil her obligation after all. She was thirty-two years old, at the height of her beauty, mistress of the Colony House and now a member of the international social set.
The Colony House and the name of Ross had always assured Penelope of a certain social standing but her acceptance by the reigning queens of the international set had taken two years of hard work. Finally, her invitations were being reciprocated. A chalet in St Moritz, a villa in Alicante, a mansion in Acapulco – even at the height of the war, the rich retained their playgrounds. It was understood that it was impossible for Penelope to accept most offers due to the vast distances involved but, token or not, the invitations were there. She had made the list.
Penelope agonised over which invitations she would accept. Although Franklin wasn't too keen, he could hardly refuse her. He was extremely proud of the poise and style with which she graced the social side of his businesses. He was aware of how much his colleagues admired her and he felt it was only fit
ting that she should be rewarded.
If they could only have another son, everything would be perfect for Franklin. Penelope's unrealistic career notions were a thing of the past and she had proved herself the perfect partner, just as he'd known she would.
In March, Penelope accepted an invitation to Alicante for the whole of July. They would escape the winter and laze on a Spanish beach for a month while Franklin did business in London. Terry was at a perfect age to accompany them with his nanny. All was set in motion and she was very much looking forward to her exotic holiday.
In April, she discovered she was pregnant. Franklin's joy knew no bounds and Penelope could have wept. Damn! It would take her another two years to get back on the invitation list.
There were no complications during Penelope's confinement or labour and, on the evening of January 17, 1945, Franklin and Solly drank cognac and smoked cigars until dawn to celebrate the birth of James Franklin Charles Ross.
Three months later, Sydney went mad, like the rest of the world. The streets thronged with people and streamers and tears and joy. The war in Europe was over.
Not long after VE Day, Penelope's doctor informed Franklin that his wife had carcinoma of the ovaries. She required an operation immediately.
‘An oophorectomy, Mr Ross, in which we remove the ovaries. It's not a dangerous operation,’ the doctor assured him. ‘And you'll have her home again within the fortnight. But I'm afraid it will mean no more children.’
Franklin contained his bitter disappointment. With his help, Penelope made a speedy recovery from the operation.
The doctor appeared pleased with her progress. The carcinoma had been fully arrested, he said. But what he was really pleased about was the vast sum of money Penelope had transferred to his bank account.
There had been no cancer, just as there would be no more children. Penelope had paid her price. Now she would collect her payment as matriarch of the Ross dynasty.
