by Margaret Way
‘She expects me to go.’
‘Oh no.‘ he said emphatically. ‘You’re staying here. I can’t even think of holidays at the moment. Flick had better understand that.’
‘It’s a good thing I’m through my finals, or I will be. I worked well all year.’
‘Oh, what’s going to happen now?’ he inquired sardonically, leaning back against the desk.
‘I‘ll get a job, of course.’
Ingo nodded. ‘Most people have them. It’s about time you justified your existence. What about Dave?’
‘Don’t talk about Dave.‘ she said a little wildly, expecting him to have taken a different line. ‘I don’t want to talk about Dave.’
‘You invited him here,’ he pointed out reasonably. ‘He’ll arrive in a few days.’
‘Oh, don’t, Ingo!’ she said forlornly. ‘I‘m in dangerously low spirits. You want to hear something else?
Flick is thinking of having another child!’
For a minute he towered above her, then he put a hand on her shoulder. ‘Help me to sit down.’
‘It could even be dangerous.’
‘God!’ he gave a soft laugh and put his arm about her shoulder. ‘One of the things I admire about Flick is her ability to stun you. Is she going mad? A cat would make a better mother.’
‘Oh, don’t destroy everything!’ she wailed, half blinded by tears.
‘Why in God’s name are you crying?’ he asked sharply, at the same time chaining her small frame to him. ‘This sort of thing happens regularly with Flick. Oh, stop that, Gen. I can’t stand itl’
‘I‘m just as upset about you!’ she continued.
‘Damn it, baby, I’m your friend. You believed it when you were small, why not now?’ She was sniffing delicately and he whipped out a clean handkerchief. ‘I’m afraid this little cry was way overdue. If there’s anything else important to say, say it now.’
‘There’s not a single person I prefer to you,’ she gulped.
‘What a blesing. Listen, Giannina, Flick loves you dearly, but in her own way. No one and nothing really captures her attention outside of herself.’
‘I hope no one says that of me.’
He shook his head. ‘You’re as different from Flick as you could be and you’ve carried the burden of her long enough. If Dan wants to take her on, let him.’
‘Flick is my mother.‘ she said, starting to cry again.’ My mother, Ingo, don’t you understand that? I don’t want her to make any more mistakes.’
He lifted her small mournful face, her dark eyes drowned in tears. ‘Haven’t you noticed she’s emerged from them relatively unscathed? You’re the one with the scars. Flick’s fragility is false. She’s really very good at taking punishment and brilliant at dishing it out. She’s come through things that would have driven you frantic. Don’t look like that, Genny, your face is as desolate as a small child’s. I’ve never tasted the flavour of your tears-you’ll move me to do it in a moment and I mightn’t be able to stop.’
She was searching for something unfathomable in his face. ‘What would happen if we were ever really all alone?’
‘Nothing you would ever regret. There’s nothing strange or disturbing about me.’
‘But you’re both.‘ she said wildly. ‘And so familiar as well. I can’t explain it. When you touch me it’s like standing in a blinding ray of light. I can’t see anything, all I cann do is feel. It’s something I’ve never known before and it’s a little frightening. Everything about you draws me to you like a butterfly rushing into the lantana. It’s odd.’ She dropped her head on to his shoulder and left it there, quite spent.
He didn’t speak for a minute, then she heard his dark attractive voice. ‘Are you O.K. there?’
Genny nodded. ‘Sure. It’s absurd how I cling to you. I mean, it’s a long way from all the fights we’ve had.’
‘They were good too. I’ve been thinking, who said Flick was making a mistake? Dan is a fine man.
There’s even a chance he could make Flick behave.’
‘It seems to me that none of them have been able to do that,’ she returned.
‘Wouldn’t you say Dan was an improvement on them all? Flick isn’t as young as she used to be. I think she’s ust about ready to settle down, but naturally if she decides to make a break, that won’t include you.’
‘I’d best get used to being on my own,’ Genny said.
‘You’re almost totally mine,’ murmured Ingo, then ‘I‘m picking Trish and the kids up tomorrow. Want to come?’
‘Won’t you manage all right without me?’
‘I‘ll ignore that. Trish likes you and the kids are your friends. Besides, I want your company.’
‘I don’t suppose I’ll ever be able to pay you back,’ she sighed.
‘For what?’
She shrugged. ‘For making life bearable for God knows how long. For what you’ve done for Flick.’
‘Not Flick. You. I did it all for you.’
‘Me?’ she said, lifting her head.
‘I can’t tell a lie. I’d have helped Flick out, of course, but you were the one that needed protection, some semblance of a family.’
‘Well done, Ingo Faulkner.’ she said, rubbing her cheek against his shirt. ‘I should feel happier about it.’
‘You’ve got a melancholy streak, and oh, what it does to me. Get up, cherub. We both have to change for dinner.’
‘What time shall we leave in the morning?’ she asked.
‘Nine or a bit after. Trish could have made it here on her own, but I don’t want her to go to all that trouble. The kids will enjoy coming in on our own plane.’
‘Trish used to be jealous of me once.’ Ingo nodded.
‘I know.’
‘Nothing’s simple, is it?’
‘Trish was displaced as a child; I think she’s made out very well considering. Ian and the kids have helped a lot.’
‘But your mother, no,’ she mused.
‘I don’t want to talk about my mother, Genny.’ He looked down at her with hard, gleaming eyes.
‘That’s sad. She was torn up too, you know.’
‘Yes, she was very unhappy, I believe.’
‘She couldn’t have wanted to.…’
‘Leave me?’ He drew a short hostile breath, his white teeth snapping. ‘She couldn’t have been very attached to me, either.’
‘Your father was a very powerful man. She couldn’t have gone against him.’
‘Would you leave your son?’ His silver eyes seemed to stab her. ‘No, Genny, you wouldn’t. I know you.
My mother left me, now I’m content never to see her again.’
‘She couldn’t fail to be aware of that, yet Trish sees her all the time.’
‘Certainly. What Trish does is entirely her own business, but I’m not going to expend any time or sympathy on my mother. She’s been provided for more than adequately, but there will never be any polite invitations from me. She’ll never set foot on Tandarro again.’
‘You mean it, don’t you?’
He looked at her reprovingly, a hard, very formidable man, his glittery eyes narrowed. ‘Yes, I do.’
‘But she’s suffered all these years, Ingo.’
‘A familiar argument, and one that doesn’t move me.’
‘She never remarried,’ Genny pointed out.
‘Sound thinking on her part. I would never have given her a penny if she had.’
‘You’re not your father, Ingot’ shesaid a little desperately. ‘He left your mother nothing, but you’re a much more compassionate man, bigger in every way.
Can’t you be more generous now?’
‘No, I can’t, and it would be a whole lot safer for you to get off the subject. Feeling better?’
She sighed. ‘How do I look?’
‘The same way you’ve looked since you were a child. I’m beginning to ask myself if I’ve ever seen anyone else but you.’
‘Well, I’ve always been your usual target. I
know deep down that Trish still resents me.’
‘The repercussions of an unhappy childhood are endless,’ observed Ingo. ‘Trish is making a success of her marriage. It’s giving her confidence.’
‘But she never had you.’
‘Oh, shut up,’ he said briskly, ‘just be thankful you did.’
The trip to Adelaide, instead of being the usual pleasant jaunt, turned into a nightmare with no warning.
The flight in had been smooth and uneventful, with a hire car waiting for them at the airport to take them out to the charming leafy-garden suburb where Ian and Trish lived. It was a beautiful day, sparkling and sunny, and Genny particularly liked Adelaide; a very graceful, prosperous city with more tranquillity than most. Ingo, too, was in an unusually relaxed mood which made his pitchfork into white-hot anger all the more unbearable.
When they pulled into Trish’s drive there was no sign of the children, which in itself was remarkable, for they could never see enough of their uncle, not to speak of the proposed ride in his speedy, luxurious six-seater to his fabulous property. Genny had been rather expecting acrobats on the lawn, instead of which perfect peace prevailed : flowers blooming, bees humming, birds singing, someone mowing a lawn up there beyond the trees, the slow lazy days of summer.
‘Sure we’re at the right house?’ she said, smiling.
‘It’s not the same as usual, I grant you. Where do you suppose the kids are? I’ve got these things I promised them.’
‘I‘ll go in and round them up,’ offered Genny.
‘Tell Trish I’d like a good strong cup of coffee.’
‘Women usually think of these things.’
‘Just remind her. She tends to sit around talking.!
‘Damn it, she’s got to say hello. Why can’t a man be more reasonable?’
‘Why can’t a woman just give in and do what she’s told?’ he demanded.
‘Right, boss.‘ She walked away jauntily, while Ingo climbed out of the car and went to the boot where he had stored a box full of fascinating junk that the children had been uncommonly drawn to on their last visit. Genny knocked on the front door and stood back a little, admiring all the flowering plants. A second later Trish came to the door, opening it wide in welcome, but fluttering almost nervously, her grey eyes as soft as a dove’s and completely lacking the silvery sparkle that made Ingo’s eyes so striking.
Still, she resembled her brother, which made her an exceptionally good-looking young woman, but without Ingo’s inbred attractive arrogance that could on occasions amount to a frightening formidability.
Trish was almost diffident and she was definitely unsettled.
Genny leaned forward curiously, grasping her hand. ‘Surely we’ve got the right day? Anything wrong, Trish?’
‘No, no, of course not. Come in, Gen. You look terrific as always. You make me feel like a dull old housewife.’
‘That’s weird talk. It must be very pleasant to be a dull old housewife with her own lovely home and her husband and children. Where are the kids? I can’t wait to see them.’
‘They’re upstairs,’ answered Trish.
‘Gosh, have you got them tied up?’
‘They’ll be down in a little while.’
‘Good. Ingo will be here soon-he’s got a box of tricks for them, the one they made such a big fuss about last time.’
‘I don’t remember,’ Trish said vaguely.
‘I do,’ grinned Genny. ‘I had to sit down with them and count all the pieces of opal matrix.’
As she was speaking she was wandering into the elegant, contemporary living room. She saw nothing at first, coming in from the strong sunlight; then she saw a woman seated in an armchair, her dark head held erect, almost regal. Genny wasn’t prepared for any such confrontation and the shock was tearing, almost robbing her of her voice.
‘Mrs Faulkner.‘ she said, in an upset whisper.
The woman smiled and got up, moving slowly towards Genny, most definitely Ingo’s mother. ‘It has to be Genny.‘ she said gravely, in a low, cultured voice. ‘How beautiful you are, dear. Your photographs don’t do you justice with such rare colouring!’
Genny was responding automatically, taking the extended hand, thin and long-fingered and visibly trembling. ‘Ingo is here with me,’ she said painfully.
‘Yes.’ Marianne Faulkner looked past her with the strangest expression, almost mystic and imponderably sad.
‘He hasn’t changed, Mrs Faulkner.’
‘I know what you’re trying to tell me, child.’
Genny swallowed. ‘Should you expose yourself to more pain?’
‘I‘ll never have enough time to beg his forgiveness.’
‘Please, Mrs Faulkner.’ Genny said, desperate to protect her from what must surely come.
‘Don’t worry, don’t worry. I trust you, Genny. You have very loving eyes. Life hasn’t been easy for you either. I can see traces of Felicity in you-the nose and the cheekbones, the petite figure. Flick’s hair was never your colour, I think, more silver than gold. How is she?’
‘She’s well and happy, Mrs Faulkner. I’ll tell her you were asking about her.’
‘Do that, my dear. I always liked her.’ The conversation was well meant, sincere, but a valiant attempt to act normally. There were fine tremors running through those long fingers.
‘I feel as though I’m going to faint,’ said Trish, deliberately looking down at the floor. ‘Ingo’s going to resent this deeply.’
‘It was my idea. I wanted it,’ Marianne Faulkner said with great quietness. ‘I wanted to set my son.’
‘You’re going to.‘ Genny said with equal intensity, and gripped that frail hand.
From the entrance hall they heard Ingo’s voice, disturbingly attractive, with a laugh in it. ‘Where the devil is everyone? Genny? Trish? This is a lovely welcome, I must say. ‘
‘We’re in here.‘ said Genny, the only one who could possibly have found her voice. She could feel the thrill of emotion in the older woman, the strange remoteness leaving her finely boned face. She looked anguished, extremely vulnerable, so much so that Genny was seized with compassion. Trish was almost crouched at the other side of the room, as tormented in her fashion as was her mother. Genny’s mind and heart leapt forward.
Ingo came in, so impossibly, handsome, so vivid and authoritative that Genny could well understand his mother’s spontaneous shrinking: He looked overwhelmingly sure of himself, perfectly made in his father’s image except for his mother’s eyes. Marianne’s hands were clinging to her, seemingly trying to draw strength from Genny’s young vitality. It seemed almost unforgivable that her dearest wish should not be fulfilled, infinitely pitiful that she should so expose herself to further pain.
Ingo had come to a halt in the arched doorway, as still as a statue, then he threw up his dark head exactly like a high-mettled thoroughbred, his eyes so brilliant, so furious that they could have slashed all of them to ribbons. A few feet away from him, her face paperwhite, Trish rushed into speech:
‘Please, Ingo, whatever you think, just be kind.’
He didn’t even glance at her; kindness was not one of his virtues at that time. His aura was remarkable, confusing them, his expression relentless, the mouth faintly contemptuous and proud as the devil.
‘Genny!’he said, in a hard, impassive voice.
‘I‘m sorry. I’m sorry! ‘ Trish began to cry, great tearing sobs she didn’t bother to control.
The room was full of a bright hostility, a raw, aching sensitivity. Genny could feel her heart pounding.
She could see no victory here for Marianne, who was extremely pale and staring with a peculiar fierce intensity at her only son. No one seemed to matter to her but Ingo, and he was burning with a bitter resentment. Genny had no real wish to, but she couldn’t see what else she could do. She dropped Marianne’s hand, patting it consolingly in the last second.
‘I‘m so sorry, Mrs Faulkner. Please believe me.’
Marianne didn’t an
swer, her brilliant light eyes focused entirely on this forbidding near-stranger. It was costing her a considerable effort just to stand there unwaveringly, like a victim trying to face up to a firing squad. Ingo’s stillness didn’t deceive any of them. He was white under his tan, his eyes so glittery that they were as extravagantly beautiful as diamonds.
‘I take it you’re not coming; Trish!’
It wasn’t a question but a statement and Trish realised what it meant well enough. ‘But I wanted to. I wanted to!’ she cried.
Her distress might have softened another man’s heart, but her brother only turned his head and looked down at her crumpled in a chair. ‘Why can’t you leave well alone?’
‘Please, Ingo, leave her!’ Genny implored. ‘I doubt if she knows.’
‘Then I can’t think why. I’m sorry to have to disappoint the children. It should have been an occasion.
Perhaps another time.’ He reached out his hand and locked his fingers about Genny’s wrist, hurting her without knowing it, his body answering the icy outrage in his mind. Genny, looking up into his face, could see he was blind and deaf to any kind of entreaty; still she tried.
‘Can’t we take them? Can’t we wait in the car? We’ve come all this way. ‘
‘The blame is mine entirely. ‘ Marianne Faulkner said, speaking for the first time to the son she had deserted. She sounded agonised, grief-stricken, all the ancient wrongs as fresh in both their minds as twenty years before. ‘Ingo, can’t you, won’t you speak to me?’
‘Forgive me, madam,’ he said cuttingly, ‘but I don’t know you.’
‘Why are you so heartless, Ingo?’ his sister suddenly made a rush at him, pulling on his arm. ‘You look like Father. ‘
‘Get out of my way.’
The violence was in him and Genny started to tremble. It seemed to check him. He looked down at her, then put his sister’s hand almost gently away from him. Trish’s eyes had darkened to slate, her soft mouth working.
‘Always Genny. Little Genny with the baby curls. I hated you, Genny, for years, but it was never your fault. You didn’t ask for Ingo’s cold heart, it was always yours -Mother and I are the beggars. You’ve marked us, you and Father, between you. What did you lose, really? You have Tandarro. Father cared for no one but you. I was nothing, a girl, expendable. Why don’t you listen to the story of my life?
