by JH Fletcher
The sand was wet with the slip and surge of the sea. Ruth walked fast, hair wind-blown, head thrown back, long legs nimbly avoiding the probing fingers of foam. Once she ran, laughing, as a gust of wind caught her. Her feet splashed through the edges of the waves. From a distance she might have passed for twenty-five. Her mother’s grace made Roberta feel cumbersome. Once again she felt the familiar mixture of love and exasperation. This woman was in her seventies. She should be sitting with her feet up, allowing age to take her with dignity, not capering like a child along the beach. But Ruth listened to the dictates of age as little as she did to her daughter.
They reached the headland and turned to walk back.
‘There was something else I wanted to ask you,’ Ruth said cautiously. ‘I wondered if you could lend me some money.’
‘What do you want it for?’
‘To buy some land. The owner’s got himself into difficulties so he wants out. It’s going dirt cheap.’
‘How much are we talking about?’
‘About thirty thousand.’
‘You can’t buy much land for thirty thousand.’
‘That would be the deposit.’
‘So we’re actually talking about three hundred?’
‘We wouldn’t need the rest. We’ll have three months to come up with the balance and by then I should have sold it.’
‘Should.’
‘That’s why I’m asking. I can manage the deposit myself. I need a safety net in case there’s a delay and I have to come up with the rest for a day or two. It almost certainly won’t be necessary.’
‘You plan to sell at a profit, presumably.’
‘A very good profit.’
‘How can you be sure?’
‘I know someone who wants to buy it.’
‘Then why don’t they buy it from the present owner?’
‘Because that’s not the way it’s going to happen.’
They walked for a few minutes in silence. Ruth’s eyes watched the sand thoughtfully: no leaping and cavorting now.
‘I might be able to help you.’
Roberta’s heart leapt. ‘Thank —’
‘On one condition.’
Damn.
She laughed casually. ‘What condition is that?’
‘That when we get back to the house you come clean about the whole deal.’ Ruth’s grey eyes were as sharp as nails in the frame of wind-tangled hair. ‘There’s something here you’re not telling me.’
‘It’s simple enough —’ Try as she might, Roberta could not prevent exasperation seeping into her voice.
Ruth put up her hand. ‘Back at the house. I want to enjoy the rest of my walk.’
If Roberta had to explain she would sooner have done it straight away but Ruth refused to listen. Even when they were indoors she still had things to do.
‘I’m a creature of habit. Sign of age, I suppose. I always like a cup of tea when I get back from a walk.’
At last they were settled, Ruth with her cup of tea, Roberta with a coffee.
‘Now. Tell me what all this is about.’
‘The government’s planning a big complex on the coast south of Adelaide …’
Roberta told her everything. Ruth did not interrupt but her eyes grew colder and more remote as the explanation continued.
At last Roberta was done. ‘Now you know as much about it as I do.’
Ruth thought for a while, eyes downcast, then sighed. ‘You’re saying you have a chance to make money by abusing your position in the government and want me to finance you while you do it.’
‘That’s a harsh way of putting it,’ Roberta protested.
‘It’s the truth.’
‘The man is broke. He has to sell. He needs the cash now, not in six months’ time. By the time Parliament has approved construction of the complex it’ll be too late. The banks will have sold him up.’
‘Of course I don’t understand these things,’ said Ruth who understood them very well, it seemed, ‘but is it absolutely necessary to get parliamentary approval for something like this? You’re the minister. Don’t you have what they call executive powers?’
‘With an election coming the Premier thought we should do it by the book.’
‘I suppose there’ll be more publicity that way,’ Ruth said.
‘We need all the help we can get, that’s for sure.’
‘While you feather your nest.’
Roberta flushed. ‘There’s nothing dishonest in what I’m proposing.’
‘Depends how you define honesty.’ Ruth thought some more. ‘It stinks,’ she decided. ‘I’ll have no part of it.’
Just like that. Roberta’s fighting instincts flared. ‘Has anyone told you how charming you can be,’ she asked, ‘when you really put your mind to it?’
‘I think very highly of you,’ Ruth told her. ‘Higher than you do yourself, apparently. You’re too valuable to get mixed up in something as shabby as this.’
What a knack she had, thought Roberta, to compliment and insult at the same time.
‘There’s nothing shabby about it.’
‘You use privileged information to buy land at a low price, then sell it to your own government at a much higher price and cream off the profit. I’d have said you couldn’t get much shabbier than that.’
Inwardly Roberta writhed but would not let her mother see how her words had struck home. ‘That is a matter of opinion.’
‘Indeed it is. It’s my opinion.’
‘So you’re not willing to help me. That’s what you’re saying?’
Ruth’s eyes were implacable. ‘Not in this.’
Something made Roberta say, ‘You won’t cover me for a short-term loan that I almost certainly won’t need. Yet you’ll kick in hundreds of thousands to keep Boyd afloat.’
‘How do you know about that?’
‘I phoned to see if you were there and he said you’d told Sally you’d bail them out. Two hundred thousand, he said.’
‘Then you also know that’s completely different.’
‘Not from where I’m sitting.’ Roberta laughed harshly. ‘Except that he’s Boyd, of course, and I’m me.’
‘You’re surely not saying I favour him?’ Ruth stared.
‘Mother, of course you favour him. You always have.’
‘That is completely untrue.’
‘Looks like it, doesn’t it? I ask you to cover me for a few weeks, something completely legal, absolutely secure, you almost certainly will never even have to find the money, and you carry on as though I’d suggested cutting someone’s throat. Yet when Boyd makes an investment that the biggest fool on earth would have known was a bad risk you’re only too happy to bail him out. Hundreds of thousands of dollars you’ll almost certainly never see again.’ Roberta was out of control as rage and hurt took over. ‘You’ve always favoured him. Why, you even refused to divorce Dougie after he walked out on you even though it meant you couldn’t marry Daddy. Something you could have organised quite easily if you’d wanted to. That shows what you thought of him. And me. Did you ever think what it feels like to be brought up a bastard when your own mother has the power to do something about it and won’t? You’re a writer. You’re supposed to understand these things. Do you have the slightest idea of the torture I went through, knowing I was illegitimate?’
There. The word had been said. Illegitimate …
Dear God, Ruth thought. She had known that Roberta had resented it at the time but it had never occurred to her that the wound might still fester. How could she have been so blind?
‘It was because I loved your father so much … And you. My poor girl,’ she cried. ‘Don’t you see? It was a sign of how much we loved each other, not how little. Neither of us cared about the formalities.’
Yet that was untrue. It was she who had not wanted marriage, had been scared of it. Not of the commitment — that she had made already and for life — but she’d had a superstitious dread that formalising the relationship might somehow damage it. Dor
rie had never married Lukas yet they had been happy until Jamie’s disappearance had destroyed them. She had never married Ted, either. No harm done in either case. So Ruth had delayed in her turn, thinking no harm.
And now this.
‘I never knew it meant so much to you,’ she said, ‘but if I decide to put money into Mindowie it won’t be because of Boyd. Mindowie is mine. It’s been in the family a hundred years. It was my home. If I can save it I shall. Surely you don’t grudge me that?’
Roberta was unwilling to be appeased.
‘I wanted you to stay with me when you came back from the Whitsundays. No, you said, you had to get straight home. And then you spent three days with Boyd. Three days! How did you expect me to feel when I found out about that?’
There seemed no end to her distress. ‘Oh dear. It was wrong of me, I suppose. But you make it sound as though I was being dishonest. It was nothing like that. I was tired. I needed to rest.’
‘And of course you can’t rest with me.’
‘No, I can’t,’ Ruth said simply. ‘You’re too energetic. You always have to be doing things. You’re a strong person. You get things done and that’s wonderful. There is so much in this world that needs to be done. But there are times when a person needs peace, not strength. Can’t you understand that?’
Roberta’s distress was too profound for her to understand anything. ‘It’s not nice knowing you’re unwanted but I’ve tried to make the best of it. I’ve taken care not to impose on you. I’ve made my own way in the world. Can you believe it, I was even stupid enough to hope you might be proud of me. Now, for the first time in my life, I ask for help and you turn me down. Twice. I should have known better.’ She was on her feet, gathering handbag, sunglasses, heading for the door. ‘A hundred percent record, mother! You should be proud of that.’
The torrent of Roberta’s bitterness threatened to overwhelm them both. Ruth was on her feet, too. She had no idea how she was going to comfort her daughter, knew only that she could not allow them to part like this. In such a maelstrom of emotion explanations were impossible; she had to try a different approach.
‘Stop it at once!’ Voice loud enough to be heard on the beach. ‘I’ll not have it!’
It shocked them both. More important, it cut Roberta off in full flood. Shaken, they stared at each other.
‘My dear …’
Reason had no place. Ruth followed her instincts, walking quickly forward with arms outstretched. Roberta hesitated but just in time the tide of emotion turned. The next instant they were hugging each other, each in tears, saying nothing. Which, for the moment, was best.
‘Come and sit down,’ Ruth said after a while.
Roberta resisted her. ‘I’d better be getting back.’
‘Just for a minute.’
They sat side by side on the sofa.
Ruth spoke softly, soothingly, using words to bandage hurt. ‘Surely you know how much I love you? How proud I am of you? You and Boyd are my life. You’re as unlike each other as your fathers were but you’re both mine. You must never think I have preferences. It’s not true. I loved your father more than life itself. That was why I didn’t want to do the article you wanted. It seemed to me that we would be using him, trying to get some political mileage out of him, and I couldn’t bear that. That was why I said no, not because I didn’t want to help you but because his memory is so important to me. As for the money …’ She sighed; it would be so much easier to submit. ‘If it was just a question of the cash you’d be welcome to it. I wouldn’t even care if you lost it because it would be yours to lose. I would have given it to you, not lent it. You’ll get half of it all eventually, in any case.’
‘Then why —’
‘Because what you want to do is wrong. Dishonest, if you like.’
Bitterness flashed. ‘You think I’m dishonest and still claim you love me?’
‘My dear, I would love you on the gallows.’
Roberta’s smile flickered wanly through her tears. ‘I doubt it’ll come to that.’
They stayed together quietly for half an hour, holding hands, saying little, exhausted by the tempest of feeling that had swept over them. Being together was what mattered. It would enable the healing process to begin if anything could.
‘I really must go,’ Roberta said at length.
They washed their faces, walked together to Roberta’s car. Roberta got in and closed the door. The sunlight fell on her face and suddenly, a trick of the light, it was as though Roberta’s father were looking up at Ruth through the car window.
She said, ‘Remember I love you. Always and forever.’
‘Whatever tricks I get up to?’
‘Never doubt it.’
Ruth stood and watched as the car pulled away. When it was out of sight she turned and walked back into the house.
NINE
Ruth slept badly and woke to wind and driving rain, which suited her mood.
She lay in bed too long, dragged herself out eventually, showered and dressed. A lost soul, she wandered through the house. Roberta’s visit had kicked all the stuffing out of her and she felt flat, flat. She made herself some breakfast, forced herself to eat it, washed up the dishes and put them away. She made her bed, went through the motions of tidying up, stared out at the rain. She had no books she wanted to read. No plans for the next novel. She couldn’t even face the pile of letters. The day yawned before her like an open pit.
‘I wonder how many books I’ve got left in me?’ she asked the empty house. It was a question she often asked herself when she was feeling low. At such times it seemed a ludicrous way for a grown woman to have spent her life, concocting stories out of air. Stop being sorry for yourself, she ordered. Homer did it. Lady Murasaki did it. They didn’t think it was ludicrous. Why should you?
The rain rattled like machine-gun fire against the window.
How do you know what they thought? she asked herself.
She opened her CD cabinet and searched through the labels but it was no use. She was in no mood for music, either.
Maybe I should do that article for Roberta after all, she thought. Surely I can do it in such a way that it won’t cheapen his memory? But didn’t fancy it.
If you’re bored you can go on a cruise, she thought, but could imagine nothing worse. What she really needed was congenial company, someone of her own age to share memories with, but most of her friends were dead or vanished beyond recall.
God in heaven, she thought, exasperated with herself, anyone would think you’re a fossil. You’re seventy-three, not a hundred and seventy-three. That’s no age at all, these days.
The important thing was to dominate the mood, not allow it to dominate her. I need air, she decided. Rain or no rain.
She struggled into boots and waterproofs, went out into the downpour. She walked along the beach, let the cold air work its miracle, came back to hear the telephone ringing.
‘Ruth?’
Hannah Browne, her editor.
‘Hi.’
Hannah had perceptions like radar. ‘You sound down.’
‘I’m fine. I’ve just come back from a walk on the beach. It’s pouring with rain here.’
Hannah’s tinny laugh brayed down the wires. ‘Whatever turns you on, sweetie …’ Her voice became brisk; with Hannah Browne business was never far away. ‘I see you’ve been making a name for yourself in the Whitsundays.’
‘That was nothing.’
‘Not the way the media sees it.’
‘They wouldn’t, would they? Not with Kylie Flanagan involved.’
‘The important thing is for us to take advantage of it while we can. What do people admire most in others?’
Ruth had no idea. ‘Looks? Riches?’
‘Bravery, sweetie. All the world loves a hero.’
‘I wasn’t brave. Stupid, more like.’
‘People think you’re a hero. That’s what counts. We’re working on the idea of a coffee table book on heroes. Famous people out
of history. Best quality paper and illustrations, a real class production. We want you to write the commentary.’
‘It doesn’t sound much in my line.’
‘It’s tailor-made for you. This business in the Whitsundays isn’t the first time you’ve done something out of the ordinary, is it?’
‘I haven’t the slightest idea what —’
‘Your first book. What was it called?’
‘Out Of The Depths.’
‘That’s right. Burma in the Second World War! What was that about if it wasn’t heroism? And you lived through it yourself, didn’t you?’
‘All I did was try and stay in one piece. I was terrified out of my wits.’
‘But it sets a pattern, don’t you see? That’s what we could call it — Patterns Of Heroism. It would be perfect for you, you must see that. To say nothing of what it would do for sales of your other books. We might even bring out a new edition of Out Of The Depths to go with it.’
Hannah’s enthusiasm had always been hard to resist. And the timing was right, almost uncannily so: not an hour earlier Ruth had been bemoaning the fact that she had nothing to do. ‘I could think about it, I suppose.’
‘I’d better fly down and see you. Talk it over, show you the material we’ve got.’
Ruth felt more battered by her editor’s enthusiasm than she had by the wind and rain along the beach. ‘When do you want to come?’
‘I’m in meetings all day tomorrow but I want to give this priority. What about Sunday?’
‘Come to lunch,’ Ruth suggested. ‘If you catch the early flight you’ll be here in plenty of time. You can stay overnight. We’ll walk on the beach together.’ Knew there was no likelihood of that; Hannah was never happy away from the pressure cooker of Sydney.
She put the phone down, went and made herself some coffee.
A coffee table book of heroes, she thought. That would be something new. She had said it wasn’t in her line; now she was intrigued. A new venture was always a challenge.
The phone rang a second time.
And I was thinking I had nothing to do …
‘Hullo?’
A man’s voice said, ‘I would have thought you were too old for fun and games.’
