Willow Tree Bend

by Kaye Dobbie

  ‘What is that thing?’ I asked, pointing.

  Derek looked over and grinned. ‘I know, I’ve been wondering too. I had to ring up the local historical society and talk to someone who sounded about a hundred.’

  ‘But they knew what it is?’

  He smiled. ‘You’ll like this, Sam. The Dalzells were mad on horse racing back in the early nineteen hundreds. They bred a few winners in their time and one famous one was called Zanzibar. When Zanzibar died they wanted something suitable to commemorate him, and that’s it.’

  ‘So … there’s an entire horse under there?’

  My face must have been a picture because Derek doubled up laughing. ‘Yes,’ he said, when he could speak, ‘an entire horse. That’s a tribute to Zanzibar, or it was before Safrano took over. I’m not sure what can be done with it because, like the house, the memorial is heritage listed. We can’t knock it down. Maybe, after we’ve finished the potager, we could take out the rose, although it seems a shame.’

  I looked at the pale golden blooms glowing in the sunlight and thought, yes, it would be a shame.

  ‘No hurry,’ I told him. ‘You should never be in a hurry to take anything out of your garden, or even to change what you have—unless it’s weeds of course—especially in an old garden like this one. Take your time and see what happens during the year. Sometimes bulbs pop up in the spring or something that looks like a boring shrub will suddenly burst into stunning summer colour.’

  He smiled, and although he probably thought he knew all of that, I could see he liked my attitude.

  ‘Bert Dalzell,’ I said tentatively. ‘He was a bit of a character.’

  ‘You could say that.’ Derek looked at me.

  ‘Jason showed me the photo he found. Dalzell seems to have walked out, left everything, and headed off to Queensland.’

  ‘Yes. They say he went to ground up there, as far away from here as he could get. He left his wife and kids, too. A real charmer.’

  ‘There was a place in St Kilda he had some involvement with. The Angel?’

  His eyes lit up. ‘Yes, I know about that. How do you?’

  So, time to fess up. ‘My mother worked there at the same time he was there.’ I think she’s in the photograph. But something stopped me going that far.

  ‘Really?’ His thin face cracked into a smile. ‘Strange how coincidences happen—if they are coincidences and not the hand of fate. You know, after we’d bought the house, we were so full of enthusiasm that we told everyone what we were planning. And then one day Mrs Dalzell came into Jason’s restaurant. We didn’t know it was her, but she’d heard about our venture—“adventure” Jason calls it—and introduced herself.’

  ‘What was she like?’

  ‘Nice. Rich of course. I think her family had money, or maybe Bert squirrelled some away for her. She said she remembered the house with immense fondness. Not sure whether or not she was just being polite, but she seemed genuine.’

  ‘You didn’t ask her where Bert had got to?’

  Derek shook his head. ‘I thought about it, but Jason changed the subject before I could be a sticky beak.’

  ‘The police searched the house?’

  ‘Naturally. They searched the house and the garden. For a while they thought Dalzell was dead, so they had dogs, shovels, whatever was at their disposal in those days. They didn’t find him. Don’t worry, Sam, you’re not going to turn over his mouldering bones when you start work here.’

  After that the conversation moved on, and Derek took me back to the house to show me the book he’d mentioned, although I already thought I knew the one he meant. Upstairs, I could hear a radio playing and the sound of the steamer as Jason dealt with the wallpaper.

  ‘We’re trying to get it down to the original layers,’ Derek explained, as we sat at the table in the kitchen. ‘See if there’s anything worth saving. Jason wants the whole place painted white, but I’d like to keep some of the earlier paper. Gives the place character. And you never know, there might be a clue to Bert’s whereabouts under there.’

  ‘A map with X marks the spot?’ I ventured, and made him laugh again.

  We took some time looking through the plant listings, and I ticked off the ones I knew were still available. Specialist nurseries carried old-fashioned perennials and roses, or if necessary I could use newer versions with the same growing habits.

  ‘I’m loving your ideas,’ Derek said, although I thought a lot of them were his.

  And that was fair enough, this was obviously Derek’s baby, and even if Jason fell by the wayside, I thought he might carry on here alone. Hopefully though, it wouldn’t come to that.

  Mitch was lying panting on the floor and I was refilling his water bowl when Jason came down, dripping with sweat and covered in dust. He filled a glass with water and sculled it, and at the same time cast a look over the gardening books.

  ‘Everything okay?’ he asked, filling the glass again.

  ‘Great,’ Derek replied, smiling at me. ‘I think we’re on to a winner here.’

  Which was very flattering, and I told Mitch so after we left.

  It was early evening by now, but the day still had a long way to run. At this time of day the heat was only just starting to wane, while the sun continued to blaze as it slid towards the horizon. Making sure we all remembered it.

  I rolled down the windows and Mitch stuck his head out and lolled his tongue.

  My thoughts turned to Bert Dalzell. Derek had said something about his car, a big black Rover, which he used to drive around the district.

  ‘Like a lord of the manor who couldn’t afford a Rolls Royce,’ Derek had said.

  ‘There’s a ghost here, so I’ve been told,’ Derek had added, ignoring the way Jason had rolled his eyes. ‘But it can’t be Bert, as he’s up north somewhere. A man though. I haven’t seen him myself, but a friend has. Youngish with blonde hair. Sounds a bit of a dish, actually.’

  Definitely not Bert. When my mother came home I planned on asking her about Dalzell, among other things.

  Golden Gully was quiet, the shops mostly closed, but the supermarket still had a few hours before Suzy could go home. She assured me that the bunches of flowers were fresh, and I bought one for Gran. I needed to wash and change—it was almost visiting hours. Dad had said he would be there, and I was looking forward to seeing him. Perhaps he had some news?

  Perhaps my mother was on her way home and had rung and … oh, I hoped so, I really did.

  We needed her, and I hadn’t realised how much until she was gone. And then I remembered that Hope was just a few hours away, and she’d said she wasn’t going anywhere. The sense of relief was surprising. I’d never felt close to my aunt, never thought of her as someone I could look to for support or comfort. But now something had changed, and for the better.

  HOPE

  16 January 2000, Melbourne

  The dinner dragged on. Hope did what was expected of her, smiling and being charming, winning over the program’s sponsors. It was all part of the game, and she knew that. She was earning her pay packet.

  But behind her smile, where her real thoughts resided, Hope was in another place.

  Sam hadn’t known where Kitty lived, and Hope didn’t insist she look it up in Faith’s address book. There were many reasons she didn’t want to let Sam know that she thought Kitty might be a key player in all of this, another of them being this mysterious man. Although her niece already seemed to have an inkling.

  Clever girl, Samantha.

  She’d rung Jared Shaw’s nursing home and charmed them into telling her where Kitty lived. She’d guessed her cousin must be a regular visitor and they’d have her address. It wasn’t that difficult. And it helped that the girl on reception remembered Hope and, if she wasn’t a fan, then her mother was.

  It turned out that Kitty was Jared’s primary contact. Now that was interesting. She’d like to ask Kitty why she was so concerned with the life of a man she had worked for thirty years ago.


  But first she had to get away from this interminable dinner.

  Finally, she felt able to make her excuses and venture out into the lobby. She chose a time when someone had told a particularly amusing joke and everyone was busy laughing. And Prue, who had been clinging close, had been called away to the phone. She hadn’t come back.

  Possibly, thought Hope, another argument with Ken the cameraman. Poor Prue. She certainly wasn’t the bright and chirpy girl she’d been when Hope first met her. Just went to show, she told herself, slipping on her lightweight jacket, and then wondered what it did show.

  That love was a waste of time and you were better off without it? Did she really believe that?

  Pete’s face came into her head, smiling, his blue eyes half closed against the brilliance of that long-ago summer sun. The best summer of their lives, and the worst. His memory shone brightly, his mother had made certain of that, but Hope had colluded. Was she really going to tear down the shrine Mrs Cantani had built to him? And what choice did she have?

  ‘Hope?’

  Prue’s voice was right behind her and made her jump. She turned with a breathless laugh, hand to her throat.

  ‘There you are,’ she lied. ‘I was looking for you.’

  Prue gave her a knowing look. ‘Were you?’

  ‘Anyway, I have to go,’ Hope went on, fastening the buttons of her jacket. The garment was a little old now, but so well made, and it never dated. She loved it. She tended to hang on to clothes rather than always go for the latest trends. Class had nothing to do with what was ‘in’ this season and everything to do with clothing that suited you and presented you in the way you wanted to be seen. Had Faith told her that? She couldn’t remember.

  With a wave she set off for the door.

  ‘I’ll come with you,’ Prue said, falling into step beside her. ‘Are you going back to the hotel? I did want to have a little chat with you, Hope, if you don’t mind.’

  So it was Hope now, was it? When had she ceased to be Miss Taylor?

  ‘Sounds ominous.’

  ‘Not really.’

  Abruptly, the last of Prue’s happy, smiley face vanished and she gave a big sigh, wrapping her silk scarf around her throat as if she wanted to throttle someone.

  ‘Actually, I was going to see my … a friend,’ Hope spoke as they reached the door. ‘I’ll take a cab.’

  Prue was adamant she would drive. ‘Where does your friend live? We can talk on the way.’

  Hope hesitated. If she told Prue and then Prue followed it up and used Kitty in the program, what then? But if she dillydallied much longer she would only further spark Prue’s curiosity. Resigned, she searched for the address in her purse and smoothed it out, squinting in the poor light outside the hotel door. Why hadn’t she brought her glasses with her? In the end she gave up, and casually handed it over to Prue, who flicked an uninterested glance over it.

  ‘Okay, I know where that is. More or less,’ she said.

  As the car was brought around, Hope put a hand on Prue’s arm. ‘You don’t have to do this,’ she said quietly. ‘She may not even be in. We can talk tomorrow. I’m not leaving until after lunch.’

  ‘I want to take you,’ Prue insisted. ‘Really, it’s no trouble.’

  Hope sank back into the passenger seat, and Prue drove them carefully out onto the street. The traffic was busy and it seemed natural to remain quiet and allow the other woman to concentrate. Whatever it was Prue wanted to talk about, Hope thought it could wait. She had a hunch it was something to do with Ken and she really, really didn’t want to be the recipient of her PA’s romantic woes. Surely she didn’t expect sympathy from someone she barely knew?

  ‘Ken left me.’

  Hope tried not to groan. ‘I’m sorry to hear that, Prue. But he didn’t seem all that … well, he was rather beneath you, I would have thought.’

  Prue looked at her, wide-eyed, and then she smiled. ‘Thank you!’ she said. ‘Everyone else I’ve told has said how sorry they are and that perhaps I can win him back. As if I’d want to!’

  ‘God no,’ Hope assured her, keeping an eye on the road, something Prue didn’t seem to be doing. ‘Have a break off men altogether and then, if you still want to dive into the ocean, find a much, much nicer fish than Ken. And preferably someone who isn’t in the same job as you. I find that never really helps. You just end up competing.’

  She was speaking from experience, and Prue seemed to appreciate it. ‘Thank you,’ she whispered, blinking back tears.

  ‘Is that what you wanted to talk to me about?’

  Prue’s pink hair was glowing in the lights from the passing cars, and she seemed so young and fragile. Maybe, Hope thought, she had got her wrong after all.

  ‘No, that just came out. Sorry. I wanted to tell you about what Ken overheard when we were in Golden Gully.’

  It turned out that it was Ken who had suspected Lena knew something about Hope’s past. He had insisted they go back and get some film of Lena, and then Lena had told them all about Pete, and how she had seen Pete and Hope kissing.

  ‘She made it seem rather nasty,’ Prue said. ‘Like a blue movie. Which I’m sure it wasn’t. I had no intention of using it, or of mentioning it to anyone. I swear to you, Hope. But Ken did. And now that they know, they want to pursue it. I’m so sorry.’

  Hope was sorry, too. Very sorry. This was the very thing she’d been afraid of when she spoke to Lena, but she told herself that at least now she was prepared.

  ‘I really don’t want Pete’s family bothered with this,’ she said softly, struggling with her words. ‘When he was killed … it was a nightmare, really. I don’t think his mother ever got over it. Truly awful and very sad. Well, none of us escaped unscathed.’

  ‘He was my son,’ Mrs Cantani had said, her voice icy as she stood squarely in the doorway. ‘I won’t have you drag his name through the mud.’

  Prue took a moment to answer. ‘I thought it was something like that. Listen, I like Looking Back, and I think they do an amazing job, but I also believe that sometimes they can go too far. The public don’t always have the right to know, not in my opinion.’ She looked away.

  ‘But they are going to talk about Pete in the show?’

  ‘I think so. They’ve teed up an interview with your brother-in-law, Joe. I don’t think he knows what it’s about, but you could give him a heads-up on that, maybe?’

  ‘Oh God, poor Joe, that’s all he needs.’ She bit her lip, glancing at Prue, but the girl was staring ahead at the road. ‘Thank you, Prue, I do appreciate this. And I’m sorry about Ken, but you’re better off without him. He’s too much in love with his own career to care about you.’

  Prue smiled wanly. She began to slow the car. ‘This is it, I think,’ she said, peering out of the driver’s side window. It had begun to rain. ‘Yes, number forty-one. Are you sure you want me to leave you here, Hope? I could wait.’

  ‘Under no circumstances. You go home. Or better yet go and have a drink somewhere, and a dance. Look, the lights are on, and I can see a shadow. I’ll knock and when I’m done I’ll call a cab back to the hotel.’

  Hope didn’t want Prue nosing around Kitty. She might seem nice and genuine, and she probably was, but if the chance came to leapfrog over Ken, who knew? Hope decided it was best not to put temptation in her way.

  As the car drove away, Hope turned towards the modest-looking, single-storey house. The rain splattered about her as she hurried to the gate, unlatching it, and walked swiftly up the path to the front porch. The door had frosted glass panels on either side, and the glow coming through them was muted. She could hear a television.

  She took a breath, and then put her finger on the white button.

  The sound of the bell echoed inside, followed by footsteps coming towards her. She took another breath, realising she wasn’t even sure what she was going to say. With Prue in the car she hadn’t had time to prepare.

  But then Kitty had seen her today at the nursing home and she would prob
ably guess why she was here. Maybe she was even expecting her.

  As long as her cousin didn’t slam the door in her face.

  FAITH

  November 1969, St Kilda

  Gaz had given her a note. Faith was pulling on her coat and preparing to leave the Angel, when he’d appeared. ‘Faith,’ he said, ‘how are things?’

  Which seemed odd as she’d only seen him a short while ago, when she went to the kitchen to collect a customer’s order. And odder still was the piece of paper he slid into her coat pocket when he reached her, disguising the movement by putting his hands on her waist.

  Surprised, she pulled out of his grasp and went to reach into her pocket. ‘Best not,’ he said, his voice too low for anyone else to hear. ‘It’s a message from our mutual friend. Wait till you get home.’

  The look in his eyes persuaded her to do as he said. She glanced anxiously about and noticed Jared was at the door of his office, but silhouetted as he was against the interior light she couldn’t tell if he was watching. All the same she forced a smile for Gaz as she said goodnight.

  ‘And, Faith.’

  She looked back at him.

  ‘Be careful.’

  All the way home it was as if the paper burned a hole in her pocket, but she resisted stopping to read it. Once she was inside her door, she ran upstairs to the bedroom and shut herself in. She sat down on the bed, not even removing her coat, and took out Gaz’s note. It was creased, and she smoothed it out and held it up to the lamp until she was able to read the hasty scrawl.

  Meet me at the same place at 11 tomorrow.

  A chill ran through her, whether from fear or excitement she wasn’t sure. She’d suspected Gaz was part of Avery’s spider web of informants—either willingly or unwillingly—and this proved it. But that wasn’t what was worrying her now.