by Helen Brown
Her attention drifted sideways to the young couple next to them. She couldn’t remember how it felt to be that much in love.
The waiter placed a basket of bread and a dish of olive oil on their table.
‘I was just wondering . . .’ Jake continued. ‘I mean, don’t you miss our old life?’
‘What parts of it?’ She was tempted to ask if he was referring to the cheating, the rejection—or both.
‘Oh I dunno . . . a Broadway show whenever we felt like it, the galleries and the Lincoln Centre . . .’
Something inside her chest softened. Jake still knew exactly where her buttons were located and how to push them. She noticed with approval that his temples were fading back to their natural grey.
‘And our favourite restaurant,’ he said, slipping into nostalgia like a warm bath. ‘You know, the one Anthony Bourdain set up?’
‘Les Halles.’
‘Yeah, that’s it. And we have great friends.’
The bread was too good to resist. She took a slice and tore it apart. It was still warm from the oven. ‘You mean had,’ she said.
Jake refused to rise to the bait. ‘You know, I’ve learnt a lot coming out here,’ he said, dunking his bread thoughtfully.
‘Such as?’
Jake dabbed his lips with a napkin and leaned towards her. ‘There’s nothing like shared history.’
That was her old line. She resisted the urge to giggle. ‘So Belle dumped you.’
Jake sprang backwards and raised his hands in denial. ‘I swear!’
‘Come on. She dumped you.’
The waiter lowered a plate of sweet-smelling duck in front of her.
‘I ended it,’ Jake said, flattening his napkin in his lap. ‘And d’you want to know why?’
The waiter leant forward so as not to miss a word.
‘I never realised what a good marriage we had,’ he said, as the waiter released a confetti of black pepper over his steak.
Corkscrews of steam rose from her plate. She waited for the waiter to leave. ‘Jake, we’re divorced.’
He rested his knife on the side of his plate. ‘There’s not a day goes by I don’t regret what happened, Lisa.’
‘But you left me!’
‘You know how sexually aggressive these younger women are,’ he said, glancing sideways. ‘She chased me.’
Lisa swallowed a gulp of prosecco. ‘You want us to get back together?’ The lines across his forehead had deepened lately. He’d given up on the boyish grin. The new, deflated Jake wasn’t without allure.
‘We can’t just wipe out twenty-three years of marriage,’ he said, fixing her with eyes like melted chocolate.
Lisa took a mouthful of duck. The flavour was edged with spice.
‘My life’s a mess without you,’ he went on. I can’t sleep. I can hardly breathe.’
‘That’s the dust in the air out here.’
He winced as if she’d stabbed him with a needle. ‘Don’t you miss me?’ he asked after a pause.
She glanced around for the waiter. He was safely out of earshot. Somewhere in the background, Diana Krall crooned about having someone under her skin. It was true she did miss Jake, well, aspects of him. He wasn’t a bad man. Besides, he was the only person on earth who claimed to need her. To be needed was something, especially, as Maxine would say, at her age.
‘You know I’ve always loved you,’ he said, cradling her fingers.
Her back straightened against the wall. ‘In the having or desiring way?’ she asked. She waited for him to accuse her of being acidic, but he ignored her tone.
‘Both ways, Lisa,’ he said reaching into the breast pocket of his jacket and retrieving a wad of paper. ‘Two first-class tickets to New York,’ he said, unfolding the airline printout and flattening it on the table. ‘Leaving Friday.’
She was stunned into silence. The trees in Central Park would be turning red and gold about now. Ice skaters would be twirling under the statue at the Rockefeller Centre. The first snowfall would be only weeks away. ‘But the kids . . .’
‘They’re getting on with their own lives. We can come back and visit as often as you like.’
‘And my animals?’
‘We could find a pet-friendly apartment.’
He had to be serious if he was offering to live with a cat and a cockatoo. ‘What about Trumperton Manor?’
‘C’mon, Lisa. You’ve had a hell of a time with that old dump.’
He was right. The house had pushed her to her limits. She’d have to call Beverley and put it on the market soon.
‘I’ll take a year off before I start looking for another job,’ he added. ‘We’ll take that cruise around Norway you’ve always talked about.’
Lisa pictured mountains rising from a fiord, and a steward folding down the sheets on a king-sized bed and placing a chocolate on her pillow.
‘I’ll never let you down again,’ he said, raising her hand and pressing it earnestly to his lips. ‘I worship you, darling. Let’s stop off in Fiji and get married again.’
A shadow reached across the table. The waiter should’ve been trained to be more discreet about eavesdropping on people’s private conversations.
‘Everything’s fine, thanks,’ Jake muttered with a wave.
Except it wasn’t the waiter standing over them to ask how their meals were. It was Scott. Freshly showered in a pale, open-necked shirt, he stared down at them. He was white as shaving cream.
Lisa’s mouth dropped open. Scott turned on his heels. Crashing past tables like some distraught fairytale giant, he lumbered out onto the street.
Lisa disentangled her hand from Jake’s. She stood up and pushed her way past startled diners to the restaurant door. Warm night air stroked her cheeks as she stood at the entrance and scanned the street.
An engine sputtered to life. Scott’s ute pulled out from a parking space. She waved her arms and shouted. The ute’s tail-lights glowed like a pair of dragon’s eyes as Scott roared off into the dark.
Chapter 40
A heatwave sailed in from the desert that night. Lisa tried to sleep, but her body felt heavy and sticky like Play-doh. She thrashed her sheets onto the floor.
Roasting inside his new fur coat, Mojo watched over her from the end of the bed. Sometime after midnight, she felt him thump on the floor and creep away. She checked her phone. Nothing from Scott.
Not long after, she heard an unmistakable tapping on her bedroom door. Jake. She toyed with the idea of letting him in, but it would be the same old routine—unless Belle had taught him some new tricks. A vision of the first-class air tickets to New York hovered over the bed like a delectable pastry. Maybe, with counselling, she’d learn to trust him again. They could talk about it in the morning. She screwed her earplugs in deeper and rolled over.
Soon after dawn, she slipped into her kimono and flung the balcony doors open. A hot breeze licked over her. She slammed the doors and pulled the curtains, before bundling up the sheets and smoothing fresh, cool ones onto the bed.
Downstairs, a note from Portia sat under a glass on the kitchen table. ‘Gone 2 Melbourne with Zack. He’s got aircon xxxx.’
Kiwi flapped on her perch and squawked to be let outside. The cockatoo sailed out the door to the orchard as if it was perfectly normal to take to the skies in 40-degree heat. Meanwhile, Mojo lay as stiff and lifeless as a museum specimen on the flagstones.
Lisa’s throat was dry, and her eyes felt like poached eggs after the pan had boiled dry. Yet the day had barely started. She filled a glass of water.
‘You’re looking lovely,’ Jake said, suddenly appearing at her elbow.
She sensed him leaning towards her and on his toes for a kiss. She raised the glass to her lips. It was the perfect barrier.
Freshly shaved, Jake smelt of moss and was wearing a black T-shirt with ‘STAY CLASSY’ across the front. ‘Look what I found,’ he said, turning their old photo album in his hand.
Jake made plunger coffee for them both an
d carried it on a tray out to the veranda. The sofa was still lying on its side like a dead animal. He sat on the top of the steps and beckoned her to join him. Side by side they pored over the album, chuckling at the sight of their younger selves radiating desire under the Fijian sun. His thigh pressed against hers, almost imperceptibly to begin with. When the pressure became more insistent, she eased away from him. Then he rested his hand on her lap as they cooed over Ted’s baby photos. She lifted his hand and gently placed it on his knee as they ooed over Portia in a pram.
‘I meant what I said last night,’ Jake said, closing the book and leaning towards her lips. ‘Lisa, will you remarry me?’
They were interrupted by the thrumming of tyres on the driveway.
‘Jeeezuz!’ he groaned.
A lime-green Golf trundled to a halt in front of them. Maxine emerged wearing a red paisley caftan and a broad-brimmed hat to match.
‘Look what the wind blew in!’ Lisa said.
‘Isn’t this heat awful?’ Maxine said, tearing off her sunglasses and striding up the steps. ‘I’ve been watching your temperatures. Always two degrees hotter out here.’ She stopped on the second step and stiffened. ‘What’s he doing here?’
Animosity hovered like gun smoke between the two.
‘Just extending my stay a little,’ Jake said.
Lisa invited Maxine into Alexander’s room while Jake scurried away to make another plunger of coffee.
‘That has to be the most exhausting funeral I’ve ever been to,’ Maxine sighed, staring into her compact mirror and shaping her mouth into a scarlet wound.
‘Aunt Caroline would have approved.’
Maxine lowered herself into an armchair while Jake appeared with coffee and biscuits. ‘Guess you’ll be going ahead with the spa pool and everything now,’ she said.
Jake took a mug and perched on the ottoman under the window.
‘Pigs would sprout feathers,’ Lisa said, taking a wistful chomp of a Tim Tam.
Maxine straightened in her chair. ‘Didn’t you tell her?’ she hissed at Jake.
Jake shifted uncomfortably.
‘About what?’ Lisa asked.
‘Our session at the lawyer’s office,’ Maxine said, flashing a lightning bolt of rage at Jake. ‘His lordship here pushed his way in. I tried to stop him but he convinced the lawyer he was representing you and the kids.’
Jake crossed his ankles and shrugged. ‘I only did it because you were rushing back to Castlemaine with your pants on fire,’ he said to Lisa.
Maxine bristled like an echidna.
‘Tell her!’
Jake took a handkerchief from his trouser pocket and wiped his neck. ‘Turns out your Aunt Caroline was loaded,’ he said.
An image of Aunt Caroline wrapping Christmas presents in last year’s paper sprang to Lisa’s mind. ‘But she collected rubber bands,’ she said.
‘Go on,’ Maxine said, dangerously close to pouncing on Jake and throttling him.
Jake cleared his throat. ‘Apparently some old earl was very “fond” of her back in the thirties,’ he said. ‘He left her a fortune.’
Lisa licked the chocolate off her thumb. ‘Good on her. She was a master of secrets. Or, in this case, a mistress . . .’
‘Really, Lisa, you can be so naïve!’ Maxine slammed her mug on the table. ‘Aunt Caroline never spent the dosh. She kept it in her post office savings account. And now she’s left it to us.’
‘You and me . . .?’ Lisa asked carefully, in case the ‘us’ meant just Maxine and Gordon.
‘We’re wealthy now,’ Maxine said. ‘You and I can do what we bloody like.’
Lisa sank into a long silence.
‘And while we’re here, you can tell her your other news,’ Maxine said finally, fixing Jake with a lethal glare.
Jake arranged his hands in the prayer position and sandwiched them between his knees. ‘I’ve been meaning to tell you my investments—I mean our investments—in the Tongan quinoa industry went down the toilet. On top of everything else, well . . .’
‘Tell her!’ Maxine snapped.
Jake shifted his weight on his buttocks. ‘I had to file for bankruptcy.’
Maxine pursed her lips with satisfaction. ‘I sat next to that little floozy of his the night before the wedding,’ Maxine said. ‘She told me everything.’
Lisa felt giddy with shock. Jake had his faults, but he’d always been sensible with money. ‘You lost everything?’ she asked him.
He nodded and stared down at his lap.
Why had he bought first-class tickets when he was on the bones of his backside? The pieces began to turn and click together like glass inside a kaleidoscope. ‘So the only reason you were so keen for us to get back together was because Aunt Caroline left me a pile of dough?’
He stood up, brushed his trousers down and headed for the door. But his exit was blocked by a mass of vegetation. An enormous bush of red bottlebrush and orange eucalyptus flowers filled the door frame.
Visible below the outrageous bouquet was a pair of well-worn work boots, size 13.
Chapter 41
Lisa glanced up from her computer. Her study no longer smelt of paint. With its dark-green walls lined with books and Polynesian masks, it felt like home. The photo of Alexander with his Castlemaine wife and baby gazed down on her. Since she’d had the image enlarged and repaired, the affection between the couple beamed across the decades. Aunty May was thrilled with the copies Lisa had given her.
Writing Three Sisters: Anne had been a breeze, but the last chapter was proving problematic. Anne was in love with Harold, the good-hearted farmer whose son was confined to a wheelchair. Harold had even mentioned the ‘m’ word. But after all she’d been through, Anne couldn’t face the thought of getting married. Or even, as Harold put it, ‘shacking up for a bit’. Anne suggested it might be more romantic if they maintained the status quo, living separately and staying over at each other’s houses now and then. Harold was about to agree when Lisa heard a voice calling from down in the garden.
Mojo grumbled and rolled off her lap. Lisa stood and opened the window. Across the valley, the sun was sinking into the hills. Clouds were blushing red. The angular silhouette of the pergola rose against the sky. Its rust-coloured frame was taller, more modern than it had appeared on the plans. The sight of Scott’s panther-like body still made her breath catch at the back of her throat. Holding a hose in one hand, he waved up at her. ‘Come on down! It’s nearly full.’
It had been his idea to divide the pool in two sections. When hot wind ripped in from the desert, the cool deep plunge pool would be a godsend. On chilly nights, when the sky became a jewel box of stars, the smaller, heated spa would be irresistible.
Lisa watched Scott toss the hose aside and tear off his shirt. He launched into the plunge pool, creating a fountain of diamonds.
Mojo galloped ahead as she hurried to her room then eyed her curiously as she pulled on her swimming costume and draped a self-conscious towel over her thighs.
As she made her way downstairs the cat charged outside and galloped along the paths. He skidded to a halt when he reached the edge of the pool. Sitting on his haunches, he dipped a tentative paw in the water and shuddered.
She dropped her towel on the tiles and lowered herself into the cool water. It was deeper than it looked. Scott dived under and tugged her leg. She squealed and kicked him off.
‘It’ll take a couple of hours for the spa to heat up,’ he said, shaking droplets off his hair. ‘We could try it later on, when it’s dark . . .’ In a couple of over-arm strokes he was at her side. His shoulder muscles glistened. ‘Two weeks,’ he said.
‘What?’
‘That’s what I gave you when you moved here.’
She drew a breath and sank through the silky depths till her toes touched the concrete floor. She filled her mouth with water, pushed herself to the surface and squirted his face.
‘Honestly!’ he laughed. ‘How was a stuck-up New York writer lady going to
survive out here?’
‘Stuck up?!’
‘C’mon. You were poncy as hell . . . pergola, pergola.’
‘Thanks a lot.’
She heaved herself up onto the edge of the pool and reached for her towel. Droplets sparkled on her arms. Across the valley, trees glowed gold with autumn. Scott rose effortlessly out of the water, pulled her to her feet and wrapped her in his arms.
The night after the funeral she’d been ready to dump him. She’d been too engrossed in her own agenda to imagine what might be happening at Scott’s place. Around the time Lisa was slipping into her lucky dress, Todd had tried to walk without help and took a nasty tumble. Scott had driven him to Accident and Emergency. He’d tried to call Lisa, but his phone was out of juice.
Any offence she’d taken had evaporated. If Scott was to be part of her life, Todd would be included without question. The young man was a regular visitor to the manor, where he was a huge hit with Mojo and Kiwi. Lisa was fond of him, too. His campaign to walk again was surprising the medical profession. He’d actually managed to take a few steps alone.
Seeing more of Todd involved arranging pick-ups and drop-offs with Beverley. While she and Lisa would never be soulmates, Lisa had learned to respect Beverley’s chutzpah, along with her pink boots and rhinestones.
As Lisa and Scott strolled hand in hand towards the house, a pair of white wings sailed off the upstairs balcony and swished steadily towards them.
‘Incoming!’ Scott warned, releasing her hand and rearranging his towel over his neck. As the bird approached, she extended her grey claws towards Scott’s shoulders. The landing would’ve been perfect if she hadn’t nearly toppled down his back.
‘C’mon you!’ Lisa said, scooping Mojo up to nuzzle his soft face.
The cat squirmed out of her grasp and dropped to the ground. Some things never changed.
Kiwi teetered like a drunk while Scott bent and ran his hand over Mojo’s back. The ginger lion cat arched with pleasure.
With its crisp white shutters and shining windows, Trumperton Manor was hardly recognisable from the first time she’d seen it. Now the stables and servants’ quarters were gone, it was released from its painful history and ready to begin a new phase. A new sign had sprouted from the flowerbed beside the front steps. Carefully carved and painted by Scott, it read ‘Tumbledown Manor’.
