Willow Tree Bend

by Kaye Dobbie

  ‘Oh, I almost forgot the most important thing! Tell Joe not to talk with Looking Back,’ she went on hurriedly. ‘I believe they’ve arranged for an interview with him. It’s about Pete. He’ll know what I mean. They shouldn’t even be going there—Pete is really none of their business.’

  Was that anger I heard in her voice? I’d noticed before that when she was under the influence of strong emotion her vowels became much more Australian.

  ‘Right. I’ll tell him.’

  What was the big deal with talking about Dad’s brother? Or maybe Hope just didn’t want him upset—I’d seen how painful the subject of his brother was on the night of the barbecue.

  There was another pause while we both gathered our thoughts.

  ‘How’s Lincoln?’ she said in a more relaxed voice.

  ‘Ah. Good. Really good. He’s written some new songs and he plans to sing them at Estelle’s.’

  ‘Does he now? I’m looking forward to that.’

  ‘Estelle is very excited. I couldn’t get a word in when I told her. She’s already sold more tickets than she thought possible. I think she’s going to need a caterer.’

  ‘Might be a job for Cantani Desserts. Didn’t Faith have a new pudding she was launching? Maybe she’d consider combining the two?’

  It was a good idea. I thought I might suggest it when I had a chance. After we’d had that long, intense discussion.

  ‘I have to go,’ Hope said. ‘Prue will be here to pick me up and I’m not dressed yet. I’ll see you soon.’

  And she was gone.

  I tried to ring Dad, but he wasn’t home, and the girls at Cantani Desserts hadn’t seen him. Then the hospital called to let me know Gran would be ready to go home after lunch, so I decided to spend some time working on my favourite garden design.

  Of course that meant I forgot all about Hope’s message for Dad.

  I’d been thinking about the memorial to Zanzibar, and wondering whether I could make more of a feature of it. Maybe move it into a prominent position? But then that would mean digging up the horse and moving him, too—if there was anything left. Being heritage listed meant nothing would be simple, and no doubt I would have to fill in endless forms explaining myself, as well as appearing before groups of earnest people who are the guardians of our past. I was glad they were there, really, they did a fabulous job, but … Any grand ideas I had might just be a complete waste of time.

  As for the rest of the garden, that seemed to be falling into place just as I wanted it. The potager and the old goldfields section were taking shape. The wall, too, although Derek wanted to do most of that himself. I was of the opinion that building a wall from scratch might take longer than he thought and hold up the rest of the work, but what did it matter anyway? They had time. Even if the restaurant opened for Easter as Jason wanted it to, they didn’t need to have the garden one hundred percent completed.

  I heard a car pull up out the front and for a moment my heart went pitterpatter, thinking it was Lincoln. I hadn’t forgotten about the kiss last night—how could I? I still had that breathless, dizzy feeling. So I rushed out of my work room, over to the window, to see if it was him.

  It wasn’t. It was Dad, and as he jumped out of his dusty four-wheel drive to open the gate, I noticed two things. One, he was dressed in a suit, which seemed very strange in the rising heat of the morning, and two, there was another car coming up the road behind him, a low-slung car I didn’t recognise at all.

  He drove through and then kept coming, leaving the gate open for the other car. By the time I got out of the door, he was already on the verandah, with Mitch dancing around him. Even Pompom, woken from his slumber on the kitchen floor, had waddled over to see what was going on.

  Dad looked flushed and flustered. ‘Sorry, Sam, didn’t have time to ring. I’m supposed to be doing an interview for Looking Back, something Hope teed up, evidently. They wanted to meet me here.’

  I looked at him in bewilderment. ‘I spoke to Hope on the phone. She said to tell you not to do the interview! I tried ringing, but you weren’t there. It’s about Pete and she said you’d know what she meant.’

  He stopped and stared at me. All sorts of emotions seemed to be fighting for supremacy on his face. Anger won.

  ‘They can’t do that! Not without her permission,’ he growled.

  Why would they need Hope’s permission to talk about Pete? I wondered, but had no time to get the question out.

  ‘Where is Hope?’ he demanded.

  ‘She said she was staying in town another night, to try to sort things out. Dad—’

  The second vehicle—I could see now that it was a well-loved Porsche—had pulled up behind Dad’s four-wheel drive. A man and a woman were visible through the windscreen, but it wasn’t until they got out that I recognised the camera guy from that memorable day at the cottage.

  Camera guy was smiling—annoyingly I couldn’t recall his name—and I didn’t remember him doing much of that last time I saw him. The woman with him wasn’t the one with the pink hair—this was an older, sleeker person, her hair dark and straight, and wearing a very nice outfit that was totally inappropriate for my place. She picked her way towards us in her spiky heels, reaching out a hand and plastering on a smile.

  ‘Mr Cantani? Miss Cantani?’

  ‘Yes,’ Dad answered for both us, frowning down at them as they reached the verandah.

  They’d been about to mount the stairs, only now they didn’t. My father had broad shoulders and when he wanted to he could look very intimidating.

  I could see the woman considering her next move, but she must have decided that whatever it was she was after was worth the aggravation.

  ‘So pleased to meet you both,’ she said, ignoring the waves of hostility. ‘I’m Frances Durant from Looking Back, and I think you know Ken. We’re here to talk to you about Hope Taylor.’

  ‘Hope just rang to say not to do the interview,’ I said.

  The two of them exchanged glances before Frances took the lead again. ‘Look, do you mind if we come in and talk about this? The sun is awfully hot out here.’

  Dad was still frowning, or was it a scowl? ‘First tell me what this interview is about.’

  So, no air conditioning until they came clean.

  ‘It’s about your brother, Mr Cantani. He and Ms Taylor had an affair, didn’t they?’

  Whoa! I looked at Dad to see if he was as shocked as me, but he wasn’t. That was the moment I realised that this piece of amazing information wasn’t news to him, and that actually it was probably true.

  Although, ‘affair’ seemed a pretty big word. Hope must have been a teenager and Pete was only twenty-one when he died. Surely it was a fling, a first love, or maybe a one-off in the backseat of Pete’s car?

  I didn’t like where this was heading.

  Frances had also noted Dad’s expression—was his face as easy to read as mine?—and a smug note crept into her voice. ‘Now that’s out of the way, please can we come in and talk? If you’ve been speaking to Hope then she should have told you that she’s also being interviewed on the same subject. In Melbourne.’ She glanced at her watch. ‘Around about now, I should think.’

  I could see Dad was wavering. He didn’t know what was going on, and although he didn’t like what he was hearing, he was also aware that Hope had signed a contract to tell her story, and maybe this was just part of it.

  ‘I don’t think this is fair,’ I spoke up. ‘Hope said not to do the interview, and until we hear from her … This seems awfully personal. My father’s brother has been dead for a long time, he died in Vietnam, and now you’re dragging his memory into this. Sorry, but no.’

  They must have seen they were losing us. After another exchanged glance Frances appeared to make an executive decision. She nodded at Ken and he put his camera on his shoulder and a red light came on. He moved closer and instinctively I stepped back. Dad stepped in front of me.

  ‘Stop right now,’ he said. ‘Or I’m calling the
police.’

  ‘Sam?’ Startled, I looked up.

  At some point during all the madness Lincoln had arrived and I hadn’t even noticed. Relief flooded me as he came striding towards us, looking as if he was prepared to rescue me from something far more dangerous than a camera.

  ‘What’s going on?’ he asked, giving the show’s duo a dirty look.

  ‘They want to talk to us about Dad’s brother,’ I said. ‘According to them he and Hope had an affair when she was …?’ I gave Dad a questioning glance.

  ‘Sixteen,’ he muttered.

  Lincoln shook his head, nonplussed. ‘What, when they were kids?’ he said. ‘Experimental sex, was it? Wow, guys, that will up the ratings.’

  Frances’s perfectly made-up cheeks turned pink.

  Lincoln jumped up onto the verandah without using the steps, and Mitch, thinking this was fun, jumped too. ‘Come on, guys,’ he said. ‘Go home. There’s nothing for you here.’

  But they weren’t going home.

  ‘Samantha,’ Frances reclaimed my attention. She continued to talk, but Dad had raised his voice over hers and I could hardly hear her. Something about a private hospital.

  Ken had that camera on my face, and Lincoln leaned down and gave him a push. Ken staggered but straightened up again, determined to carry on. Things were getting seriously out of hand.

  ‘Did you know … October nineteen seventy, Hope Taylor gave birth … baby … private hospital … Curtis House, and the father … Peter Cantani?’

  She was shouting and this time I heard some of what she said. Enough.

  ‘W—what?’ I gasped, almost laughing, because it was ridiculous. Wasn’t it? I looked to Dad to confirm just how ridiculous this was, and for the second time I saw affirmation. It was true. My famous aunt had a secret love child. And, oh God, Looking Back were planning to make it public knowledge.

  ‘This is so unfair,’ I whispered. And then louder, into her face, no longer caring about the camera, ‘This is unfair! She didn’t give you permission to talk about this. She wouldn’t want—’

  ‘She signed a contract,’ Ken retorted, still filming. ‘This was the deal. She was happy to take the money.’

  I shook my head.

  ‘A baby girl, Samantha,’ Frances spoke over him. ‘What have you to say to that?’

  ‘Get her inside.’ My father’s voice was low and rough, and Lincoln took my arm and began to hustle me through the door. I wasn’t putting up much of a fight, I admit. I was in shock.

  The dogs were wildly overexcited, Mitch barking, and then Pompom deciding it was time to make his own claim to fame. As Frances came up the stairs, chasing after me I suppose, he nipped her on her neat ankle and made a hole in her stocking.

  She shrieked. ‘That animal bit me!’

  Just as Lincoln closed the door.

  I could still hear Dad reading them the riot act. We went to the window, peering out from behind the curtain like spies. Ken had decided he’d had enough and was packing up his camera and putting it in the car. Frances limped over to him, her arms waving furiously. Making threats to sue or wanting him to carry on? I wasn’t sure which. Mitch and Pompom were still barking, but as they were the victors they didn’t feel the need to leave the safety of the verandah.

  I sat down on a chair. I found my legs wouldn’t hold me up. Dad opened the door for the dogs and they shot inside, Pompom flopping down on one side of me and Mitch on the other. They were like Praetorian guards, and I would have thanked them, if I’d been able to think at all. I stared up at Lincoln.

  ‘You all right?’ he asked me with a worried frown.

  ‘Hope had a child,’ I whispered.

  Outside, the Porsche was on the move. They must have been backing out of the yard, because a moment later I heard a metallic thump, and then a tinkle of glass as the rear light hit my gate post. Lincoln went to the window again and I heard him laugh softly under his breath. He was enjoying this. I was glad someone was.

  Hope Taylor had had a baby girl in October nineteen seventy, the daughter of Pete Cantani. I was born on the fifth of October nineteen seventy, and I was the daughter of Faith Taylor and Joe Cantani.

  According to my parents I was born prematurely, a month before my due date. They were married in February. I’d always accepted what they said. Why wouldn’t I?

  Now there was another girl born in October of the same year, and it was a coincidence, it must be. Because what I was thinking was completely and utterly impossible.

  When you were born I held you in my arms and I felt as if I’d been given a miracle.

  My mother’s voice replayed in my head. A miracle? Suddenly, the word held all sorts of connotations.

  The phone started to ring. It was Lincoln who went to pick up. I could hear the murmur of his voice outside the kitchen door, but I wasn’t listening. I seemed to have removed myself so that there was a wall between me and the world. Mitch butted my hand and automatically I patted him, and then Pompom whined and I ruffled his head.

  ‘Sam?’

  Lincoln was back and I looked up at him, wanting him to tell me this was all a nightmare.

  ‘That was Hope,’ he said, and his voice was coming from far away. ‘She wanted to let us know that Looking Back were coming here and under no circumstances were we to let them in.’

  From somewhere inside I felt a bubble, and then it turned into a laugh. I put my hand to my mouth to stop it.

  Too late, Aunt Hope. The secret was out.

  HOPE

  17 January 2000, Melbourne

  Hope stood in front of the mirror as she buttoned her silk blouse. She looked composed and professional—although, she hoped, still approachable. But if Looking Back was going to ask her about Pete, then definitely not too approachable.

  She stepped back and carefully inspected herself, making certain she was as perfect as she could be, from the top of her glossy hair to the tips of her Miu Miu sandals. The woman staring back at her was an accurate example of the old saying: looks can be deceiving. Because beneath her calm exterior, Hope had a deep, simmering anger that she was struggling to keep under control.

  Pete was off limits. Anything to do with him was a cruel invasion of her privacy and that of his family. Pete was one of the secrets that should never have been dug up and laid out for public view. And Hope had sacrificed so much to keep that from happening.

  Don’t you dare drag my son’s name through the mud.

  And she hadn’t. She had kept their shared past locked up in its little box so that Pete, smiling charmingly on his mother’s wall, forever the brave young soldier, could remain pristine and perfect. And now the show’s producers were going to take all of her sacrifice away from her as if it was nothing.

  It had been very late when she left Kitty’s house, and even when she fell into bed in her hotel room, her cousin’s revelations had kept her awake off and on throughout the night.

  Hope asked herself: why she hadn’t known at the time? There was irony in there somewhere, if it wasn’t so tragic. Faith was her sister and she’d needed Hope, and Hope had gone missing. It seemed all the worse when she remembered that when she had needed Faith, her big sister had been there with bells on.

  So much was making sense now. So much was falling into place. The driver of the big black car and his cold eyes, watching her so intently in the rear-view mirror. Faith’s joy when she’d held Sam in her arms. It’s like a miracle, she’d said. And that phone call from a man in her past, drawing her back to a place she had thought she had left far behind.

  Hope knew who it was. She understood.

  One thing was certain, when she’d sorted out Looking Back, Hope and Faith were going to have a long heart-to-heart, and she wasn’t going to allow her sister to go all silent on her. It was time to bring their secrets out into the open.

  Nervously, Hope twitched the collar of her blouse.

  She wondered what Pete would have thought of all this, and as if on cue his face came to her. Smiling,
his teeth so white and his eyes so blue against his tanned skin—he was better looking than any movie star. It had been a long hot summer that year and Pete always browned up. No freckles, not like Hope, just warm brown skin.

  He had a reputation around town, but that hadn’t bothered her. He’d told her she was special, and she’d believed him. From the first time he’d kissed her she’d known this was for keeps. From the second time there was no going back for either of them. The unkind thing was that they never had a chance to show everyone else, all the many doubters, that their relationship could endure.

  The end had come much too soon.

  After Pete’s call-up, they’d had a month. A whole month. It wasn’t long enough, but they’d tried to stretch it out. And then he was gone, reporting to Puckapunyal for three months’ training. He wrote to her, his letters going to Joe first, who didn’t entirely agree with what was going on, but was too busy being in love himself to put up much of an argument. Hope’s letters were sent back the same way, under cover of Joe’s.

  Miss you more than I can say. I’ll be getting some leave soon. Joe says he’ll make sure we get to see each other, and without Mum getting all upset. You know what she’s like.

  Mrs Cantani did not want Pete and Hope getting too serious. Bad enough in her eyes that Joe and Faith were marrying in February, but Joe had never been her favourite. Pete was her eldest and the apple of her eye, and after Mr Cantani died she had become even more possessive of his time and affection.

  There was a cousin she wanted Pete to marry. A Cantani girl who visited regularly and was always thrown into Pete’s company—a girl too timid to stand up to the older woman. Pete was kind, but he told Hope he didn’t want to marry his cousin and he didn’t love her.

  Give it time. Everything will turn out, you’ll see. Mum just has to get used to you. Once I’ve done my two years’ National Service, and I’m home again, I’ll tell her it’s you or no one.

  Mrs Cantani wasn’t the only one who objected to her child being involved with someone she’d deemed unsuitable. Lily didn’t like Pete. She didn’t trust him, and she didn’t think he was good enough for her daughter. She didn’t object to Joe, but he was well known for being a steady, trustworthy boy, and everyone was well aware of how he felt about Faith. But Pete had had lots of girlfriends and had been the source of plenty of jealousy when he’d encroached on the girlfriends of other men. There’d even been talk of a fling with a married woman.