by Kaye Dobbie
Sam poured boiling water onto the coffee. Like Lincoln Nash, she was an instant girl. ‘If you’d told me you were coming to visit then I could have—’
‘Could have what? Gone all out to impress me? I didn’t want that. And I didn’t want you to stress.’
‘Oh, and you don’t think this is stressing me?’
‘Why should it? After this morning, I wouldn’t have thought you cared a jot for what I thought.’
Damn! She’d said it, and she’d been trying so hard not to.
Sam looked at her sharply, opened her mouth, and then closed it again. She seemed to be trying to behave. It would be nice, Hope thought, if they could spend the evening together without the conversation stammering to a halt or turning into a blazing row.
She understood her niece was angry about the show, and she had a temper, she’d proved that. Faith was a more of a sulker, if she remembered correctly, while Joe had a typical Cantani temperament. Slow to ignite, but when it did … She had never forgotten that argument in the milk bar years ago. Pete and Joe, toe to toe, their faces white with rage. Hope might have laughed if it hadn’t been so frightening.
It had been about her.
She’s just a kid, Joe had said to Pete, and Pete had replied, You’re worried about what Faith will say, that’s all you care about. From there it had escalated, the two boys going head to head, their voices so loud Hope was sure the whole town could hear. Mrs Cantani certainly heard. She came hurrying from the back of the shop and began slapping at them as if they were little boys again.
The air had simmered between them for days, like the heat from an open oven, until they finally came to some sort of truce.
She cleared her throat, once again resigning the past to where it belonged.
‘Where were you just now?’ she asked airily. ‘Surely you don’t work in that pretty dress?’
‘I was seeing a client,’ Sam said, and then she took a breath. ‘Actually, I should be celebrating. I’ve just landed my biggest client ever, or at least I think I have. I don’t want to get ahead of myself, but he seemed to like me, and … It’s Jason Miller, have you heard of him?’
‘Should I have?’
‘No, I suppose not. He’s a chef, he owns a restaurant in Melbourne, and now he’s setting up here in Golden Gully. He and his partner have bought an old place they’re going to renovate, and they want me to create the garden.’
Hope sat down and crossed her legs. ‘Tell me all about it.’ She smiled encouragingly.
For an instant, seeing the eager expression on Sam’s face, she thought she was going to do just that. But then she seemed to change her mind. ‘Isn’t that a line from your last movie?’ she asked sarcastically.
Hope chuckled. ‘Could be. I didn’t mean it like that though. I’m genuinely interested.’
‘Maybe another time.’ The words had a finality to them as Sam served up the coffee from the other side of the bench, effectively creating a barrier between them.
Hope sipped. ‘He was nice, wasn’t he?’ she tried again. ‘Lincoln Nash, I mean. I was glad. The cottage should have someone living in it who appreciates it.’
Sam didn’t answer her and the silence grew. The kelpie seemed to feel the awkwardness and came to put his paws on Sam’s leg, and she smiled and bent to pat him.
Hope longed to launch into questions about Faith and her continued absence, but the words jammed in her throat like a pile-up on a freeway, and she heard herself saying instead, ‘Perhaps we should have that celebration now. Do you want to go out to dinner? My treat.’
Sam gave her a droll look. ‘There aren’t many Michelin Star restaurants around here. Even the pizza man doesn’t deliver this far out.’
‘Well, that’s okay.’ Hope got to her feet and went to look in the fridge. ‘I’ll cook while you open the wine.’
‘If you like.’ Sam sounded doubtful.
Hope tried not to feel cast down by the state of the refrigerator. There were eggs and some spring onions and tomatoes, and a piece of cheese that looked in reasonable condition, if you sliced off the mouldy corner. Milk and butter. Yes, she could make omelettes. She had always been a good plain cook—her mother had seen to that. Faith had more of a flair, and that was why she’d made such a success of her dessert idea. Lily had never had much time to cook, although when she did, she liked to bake biscuits and cakes. She wondered about Sam, and who had taught her. Joe’s family perhaps, or maybe her niece had never had to learn. There would always be someone willing to push an overloaded plate in front of her. If Hope remembered rightly, it was trying to stop the Cantanis from feeding one that was the issue.
‘When do you think Joe will be coming over?’ Hope asked, taking the ingredients from the fridge and placing them on the counter.
Sam’s face darkened. ‘I don’t know if he is. If that’s why you’re here then you’re wasting your time.’
The angry words were a little shocking. Hope took a moment to consider them. ‘Samantha, what is it? I know you must be worried about your mother, but—’
‘Was there ever anything between you and my dad?’ The words burst out of her, as if she could no longer hold them in.
‘Y—your dad?’ So that was it. Sam had got the entirely wrong end of the stick. She met her niece’s blue eyes, trying not to be offended by the furious resentment being directed at her.
‘No.’ She shook her head for emphasis. ‘Definitely not. Joe has loved Faith forever. No one else stood a chance.’
‘So, you tried!’
‘No!’ Hope gave an exasperated sigh. ‘I was never interested, and neither was he. Was that why you walked out on us at the cottage? Did you think …?’ She tried not to smile, but Sam must have caught the gleam in her eyes, because her own narrowed.
‘You could say whatever you wanted to and I’d believe you. You’re an actress after all.’
Hope glanced at the bottle and wished she could pour a large glass. Intense conversations like this were always easier when combined with alcohol.
‘I can’t force you to believe me, Samantha,’ she said seriously, ‘but I can assure you I’m telling the truth. Faith running away to Queensland has nothing to do with Joe and me.’
Silence.
‘Do you have an omelette pan?’ she asked, becoming a little desperate.
‘I have a pan. To your left, bottom shelf.’ The resentful note was still there, but at least she answered.
As well as a pan, Hope found a bowl and the utensils she needed. She began to break eggs.
Sam didn’t offer to help. She stood watching her, as if she was trying to work out what was going on.
‘Wine?’ Hope suggested, looking up.
Sam unwrapped the bottle and, after rattling around in a drawer, found a cork screw. She removed the cork with a satisfyingly pop, and set what looked like a nice bottle of red in front of Hope while she found glasses.
‘I’m going to change and sort out the animals before I eat,’ her niece announced. ‘You go ahead if you’re hungry.’
Hope nodded, pretending to be busy reading the label until she was alone.
What the hell am I doing here?
Sam hated her, Joe blamed her for Faith’s disappearance, and she felt as if she was walking on eggshells most of the time.
She poured a glass of wine and took a sip. It would be all right, she tried to convince herself. Even Lena’s comment could be made to look innocent, if necessary, but she doubted Prue had heard anyway. She was imagining the worst and she must stop.
By the time Sam returned, dressed in her old jeans and a faded shirt, a hat pulled down over her hair, and smelling of sweat and the farmyard, Hope had everything ready on the work surface. Sam poured herself a long glass of water from the tap, drinking it down before pouring another.
‘All done?’ Hope asked her with a smile.
Sam came closer, the glass of water still in her hand, and cast her eye over the ingredients Hope had set out. She gave a breathless la
ugh. ‘Mum does that,’ she said. ‘Lines everything up. Sometimes I think she even arranges them in alphabetical order. At least that’s what Dad tells her.’
Her smooth brow wrinkled into a frown. ‘Hope, what you said before … I believe you. At least I think I do. It’s just … There’s too much going on that I don’t understand. I’m sure Dad knows why Mum has gone off, but he won’t say. Do you …?’
Hope gave her a sympathetic look. ‘I wish I did, but no. I’ve been away a long time, Samantha. I’m in the same boat as you.’
‘Oh.’
‘So,’ she said, shaking off any lingering unease, eager to change the subject. ‘What is this big job you’ve just landed?’
Sam began to talk about Jason Miller and his plans for the restaurant, and Hope half listened while she heated up the pan and began to cook. The kelpie—Mitch was his name—had returned to sit at her feet, watching proceedings with an interested eye. Unlike some other dogs she’d known, he didn’t seem overly territorial, or maybe he considered Hope his business, too, after their lengthy conversation on the verandah.
‘They’re lucky to have found you,’ she said, meaning it.
‘You think?’
Hope laughed softly. ‘What’s the worst that can happen? They like you and want you to draw up some plans, and even if they change their minds they’ll remember you. They’ll talk about you. Someone else will come along.’
She served the omelette and they sat down to eat. It wasn’t one of her best, but she thought it was a reasonable effort in the circumstances.
The silence closed over them, although now it was more of a companionable one. Eventually she heard herself saying, ‘Do you see much of Joe’s family these days?’ She held her glass in both hands and breathed in the heady scent of fermented grapes.
‘Off and on. You know Nonna died a few years back? Since then we’ve all drifted a little. She was keeping everyone together. There was always the big turnout every Christmas. Now there doesn’t seem to be any point and it’s all too hard.’
‘I remember.’ Mrs Cantani had ruled her family with a rod of iron and Hope could recall several run-ins with her, including the argument in the cafe. The old woman seemed to have the ability to read minds, and she’d suspected something was going on between Pete and Hope, and done her best to put a spoke in it.
The Taylor girls were bad news, or that was the word around town once Faith left home and went to work at the Angel.
More than that, Hope remembered Mrs Cantani had disapproved of Faith even before she left, refusing to countenance any relationship between her and Joe. Then, once she’d gone, it was as if Faith had broken Joe’s heart and was never to be forgiven. According to Mrs C anyway.
And as for Pete … Hope still felt a wave of heat wash over her as she recalled the afternoon she’d knocked on the door.
‘I won’t have you drag his name through the mud,’ Pete’s mother had said, her blue eyes as hard as ice, her mouth tightly pursed. Mrs Cantani had been carrying on a one-woman vendetta against anyone she thought might tarnish her eldest son’s reputation. In her eyes he was perfect.
‘I don’t know if Dad is coming over,’ said Sam, interrupting her thoughts, and answering an earlier question. ‘He might wait until tomorrow. When are you going back? I could ring him?’
Hope set down her glass. ‘That’s kind of you. Would you? I feel like I need to talk to him.’ She glanced at Sam’s suspicious face. ‘Maybe he’ll tell me where Faith is.’
He wouldn’t, and even if he did she doubted she’d tell Sam, but she needed to talk to Joe about Pete, and if lying was the only way she could persuade her niece to contact him, then so be it. All in a good cause, she told herself, and pushed away the doubts.
Sam went to the telephone, which was just outside the kitchen door. Hope could only hear the murmur of her voice. The wine was relaxing her and she closed her eyes.
‘He says he’ll try but he has things to do.’
Hope opened her eyes and thought her niece didn’t look happy.
‘I don’t understand any of this. Mum and Dad … I mean they’re the couple every other couple wants to be. They always seem so happy. Of course they have fights, who doesn’t, and Mum can be hard to please … But they always make up, always. In fact, when I was a kid it was sometimes a bit embarrassing.’
Hope thought about that. ‘So, this just came out of the blue?’
‘That’s what I’ve been saying, Hope.’ Sam rolled her eyes. ‘She was looking forward to you coming and talking about the filming, and then she was gone.’
‘She told me about an old photo printed in the newspaper.’
Sam smiled. ‘Oh yeah. All of us together. Mum looked so young.’ Her face clouded. ‘I have a copy here somewhere.’ But she made no move to get up and find it.
‘It was something to do with the Angel.’ Hope spoke before she could stop herself, and then wondered if she should have stayed silent. Too much wine was clouding her thinking and Joe wouldn’t be happy with her, but damn it, the girl wasn’t a child anymore. ‘At least that was what she said the night she rang me.’
‘The Angel,’ Sam murmured to herself. ‘This can’t be a coincidence.’ Then, sitting up straighter, she explained. ‘A few weeks ago, I was around at their house and they were talking. I didn’t mean to listen, but … Dad said something about the Angel, and Mum said that was over and done with, in the past, and to leave it there. It’s a nightclub, isn’t it?’
‘Yes, it was a nightclub in Melbourne. She never spoke about it to me, but I did hear from someone else … Joe’s brother. He thought it was a cool thing for Faith to do. She worked there in nineteen sixty-nine, before she came home and married your father. She was only seventeen, but she lied about her age, took a job as a waitress in the bar. The Angel … well, it had an unsavoury reputation.’
Sam looked as if she was going to say something else and then she changed her mind. ‘Is it still there?’ she said instead.
‘Actually yes. Yesterday when I was in Melbourne, I just happened to be passing, and I asked the cab driver to stop. Horribly run down.’ She pulled a face. ‘There was a homeless man sitting on the pavement outside and I got into a conversation with him.’
Sam laughed. ‘I cannot picture that.’
‘I often talk to the homeless,’ Hope lied. ‘They’re so honest it’s refreshing. Anyway, I asked him about Faith, I thought it couldn’t hurt … just in case.’
Sam sat forward, suddenly eager. ‘What did he say, this homeless guy?’
‘Not much. I think he did remember her though. He said he used to work there around the same time. He wouldn’t give me much, but he did mention someone called Jared Shaw who was the manager. He’s still alive, evidently, and living in a retirement home.’
‘Maybe we should go and see him. What did Mum say to you when she rang? Tell me everything.’
Hope tried not to smile at her niece’s peremptory tone of voice. She sounded so much like Faith. After a pause to search her memory, she repeated the conversation word for word. ‘If it hadn’t been the middle of the night I might have asked her to explain herself, but then she hung up so quickly.’
‘I just wish she’d call me again,’ Sam whispered. ‘I was horrible to her and now I keep thinking … What if she doesn’t come home?’
Hope realised with a jolt that Sam was crying. Reaching out, she gathered Sam into her arms, something she couldn’t remember doing since her niece was a baby.
‘I know, I know,’ she murmured, rocking her, aware of the strangeness of the situation. ‘I wish I could turn back time, too.’
Sam gave a watery chuckle. ‘Oh God, yes.’ And then she snuggled closer, saying something unfathomable about a hardware store.
‘Everything will work out, you’ll see.’ Hope spoke reassuringly, and then wondered who she was talking to—Samantha or herself.
FAITH
August 1969, St Kilda
The police raid quietened thing
s down at the Angel. On the night immediately afterwards, Faith was sent home early because the place was empty. Word had got out that it was not safe to be seen there, not if you had something to hide, and most of the regular patrons did.
Kitty had been subdued, too.
When Faith arrived home on a cloud of happiness, after spending the night—or was it the early morning?—with Ray, she found Kitty huddled on her bed. Her face was pale and sullen as she smoked one cigarette after another.
The look she gave Faith was such a blend of anger, misery and defiance that Faith bit back her flood of questions. Her friendship with her cousin was important to her and she didn’t want to lose it. She was grateful to Kitty, but somehow their relationship had tilted off its original axis—she no longer idolised the older girl. She was concerned for her, and if anything happened to her and she could have done something about it, she’d never forgive herself. But there were other issues at stake here, issues she was still wrestling with.
‘Are you all right?’ she asked, setting aside her bag and leaning against the doorjamb. She wanted to go and open the window, but she thought if she did that Kitty, touchy as she was, might jump up and leave.
‘They didn’t charge me,’ Kitty replied. ‘I haven’t done anything wrong,’ she added with a long stare. ‘They arrested Lenny for possession of drugs.’
‘Oh. Poor Lenny,’ she said, thinking he deserved it. ‘What about Jared?’
‘What about him?’ Kitty snapped.
Faith hesitated and then shrugged. ‘I’m going to make a cuppa. Do you want one?’
It seemed that she did. Downstairs, Faith took her time, spooning in the tea and then filling the old china pot with hot water. She added two sugars to Kitty’s mug, thinking she might be in shock, and then two to her own. For a moment her thoughts strayed to Ray, but she pushed them firmly away. There would be time to daydream later.
She had a feeling Kitty was never going to blame Jared for any of this mess. She was in love with him and he could do no wrong. No point in trying to blacken him in her cousin’s eyes, but Faith was worried. If Detective Inspector Avery was correct, then Kitty was mixed up with some very bad people.
