by Judy Nunn
It wasn’t like Vera to snap, and Mavis realised that she might have overstepped the mark.
‘Oh, the doctor certainly did everything he could,’ old Mrs Chapman said.
She had their attention instantly. In fact, Mavis and Vera had made a bee-line for old Mrs Chapman – word had gone around that she’d been at the doctor’s surgery when it had happened.
‘Well, he would, wouldn’t he?’ Mavis said with a snide glance at Vera, as if she’d been vindicated.
‘Oh yes, and so did poor Edith Beasley. Such a nice woman – she was most upset.’ Old Mrs Chapman was regularly at the doctor’s: she spent a great deal of time in the waiting room and she’d had many a long and pleasant chat with Edith. ‘She’s a very good nurse too, even though she’s retired. Between them they did everything they could to resuscitate the boy. Such a terrible business,’ she tut-tutted and shook her head sadly.
Old Mrs Chapman was having an excellent afternoon. At eighty-four she was desperately lonely and a regular mourner at funerals of people she’d never known. Usually she came and went unnoticed; this was the first time she’d ever been the centre of attention.
‘Goodness me, I can’t tell you what it was like,’ she said, ‘sitting in that waiting room, knowing that something terrible had happened.’
Mavis and Vera continued to give her their undivided attention.
Lucky and Peggy were talking with Maarten Vanpoucke. Lucky would take Peggy home soon and then join the men at Dodds where they would pay tribute to Pietro the way Snowy workers did – by reminiscing and getting drunk. But like the others, Lucky had felt it was respectful to stay and mingle before he left.
The three of them were discussing Violet’s heartbreaking outburst. Now that the service was over, Peggy had lost her poise and was openly dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief.
‘Yes, yes, the poor girl,’ Maarten agreed, ‘insane with grief.’
‘Strange what she was saying about the eyes of the priest,’ Lucky said.
‘Strange?’ Maarten queried. It had surprised him when the girl had said that. How could Pietro have told her he had the eyes of the priest? The boy hadn’t recognised him until that day in his rooms. But if Pietro had mentioned him by name to the girl, then perhaps he had done so to Lucky, the man who was his father figure. ‘Strange, in what way?’ he asked.
‘Pietro told me he had dreams about a priest,’ Lucky said. ‘He was terrified of the man. Strange that Violet should see you as –’
‘As the demon priest?’ Maarten relaxed; the boy had said nothing. ‘No, no, my friend, not strange at all.’ He shook his head, his smile sympathetic, professional and just a touch patronising. ‘Pietro told me about his nightmares and his obsessive fear of the mythical priest – it’s all in my medical report.’ It was, Maarten had made sure of it – the demon priest was further evidence of the boy’s mental instability. ‘Unfortunately, it was the recounting of his nightmares that precipitated the seizure,’ he said sadly, ‘and then, of course, the heart attack. It’s understandable that Violet, in her distraught state, might see me as the evil figure in her husband’s nightmares.’
‘Yes, I suppose so,’ Lucky agreed. ‘Poor little Violet, I hope she’ll be all right.’
‘Indeed, I worry for her mental state,’ Maarten said. ‘And she’s to have a baby, Pietro told me. I do hope the tragic loss of her husband won’t affect her pregnancy. It could well do so, I fear.’
Lucky decided it was time to take Peggy home. Maarten’s dire prophecy wasn’t helping and a fresh onslaught of tears threatened.
Maarten adhered to his plan that Saturday. Arriving at Dodds at six o’clock in the evening, he stood in the front bar by the windows, where he had a perfect view of all who came and went from the hotel. Lucky and Peggy arrived on the dot of half-past six.
He waited a minute or so, finished his Scotch, then walked through to the lounge. He hoped he wouldn’t bump into Ruth. Though he longed to see her, it was not part of his plan to meet her just then.
Lucky was also hoping he wouldn’t bump into Ruth as he and Peggy sat and he ordered a couple of drinks from Peter Minogue.
‘Did you love her?’ Peggy had asked when he’d admitted to the affair he and Ruth had had during their university days.
‘Very much,’ he’d answered.
‘And she loved you.’ It had not been a question.
‘Yes.’
‘You still love each other, don’t you.’ Again it had been a statement.
‘Yes, and we probably always will,’ he’d said. He’d been determined to follow Ruth’s advice and tell as much of the truth as was possible. ‘But we loved each other in different lives when we were different people – we both know that. Ruth said it herself. We have new lives now. And you’re mine, Peggy. You’re my life.’
He hadn’t been sure whether she was laughing or crying as she’d kissed him – it had seemed a mixture of both.
‘Well, Ruth has great taste,’ she’d said, ‘and I’m willing to share you.’
Peggy’s reaction to the honesty of his admission had gone very much along the lines Ruth had predicted. It was amazing, Lucky had thought, how women always seemed one step ahead when it came to emotional issues. He would probably have tried to bluff it out, to pretend there had never been anything between them, but Ruth’s advice had proved correct.
Nevertheless, when it had come to their customary Saturday dinner at Dodds, Lucky had been in a state of indecision. Should he change the ritual of their weekends? Peggy would want to know why, and what would her reaction be if he suggested not going to Dodds because Ruth was staying there? He wished he could have asked Ruth – she would’ve known what to do.
What the hell, he thought now as Peter Minogue disappeared to the bar, perhaps Ruth herself had averted the possibility of a confrontation. She knew they regularly dined at Dodds on a Saturday – perhaps she’d taken herself out for the evening. But it was most uncomfortable, he thought, playing these cat and mouse games.
‘Lucky, what a pleasant surprise.’
Maarten Vanpoucke had appeared beside their table.
‘Maarten, hello.’ The two men shook hands.
‘And Miss Minchin.’ Maarten offered his hand to her too. ‘I was having a drink with some friends in the front bar when I saw you arrive, and I realised that I hadn’t offered you my congratulations on your engagement. But then,’ he added sadly, ‘it was hardly appropriate to do so the last time we met, was it?’ He smiled at Peggy, ‘I must say, my dear, in my personal opinion, you couldn’t have made a better choice.’
‘Thank you, Doctor Vanpoucke.’ Peggy returned the smile politely, but found his charm grating. ‘The last time we met’ referred to two days ago when they’d buried young Pietro, and Violet had been carted off to the hospital, hysterical. The doctor was rather a cold fish, she decided. ‘I tend to agree with you, but then I’m a little biased.’
Lucky sensed her reaction. Peggy was never very good at disguising her feelings – it was one of the things he loved most about her. But he felt sorry for Maarten, as he so often did, and he doubted whether the man had been having a drink with some friends in the front bar at all – Maarten didn’t have any friends. In fact, Lucky was surprised to see him in the pub at all. Loneliness must have got the better of him to bring him to Dodds, Lucky thought. He’d probably been sitting in a corner on his own.
‘Would you like to join us?’ he asked. ‘We’re having a quick drink before we go in to dinner.’
‘Well, if I’m not intruding …?’
‘Of course you’re not.’ It was Peggy who was quick to reassure him. She realised that Lucky had picked up on her brittle tone. She really must watch herself, she thought. She could be so impolite, and Lucky was always sensitive to the feelings of others. ‘Please, do join us.’
‘I’d be delighted,’ Maarten said, ‘just one quick beer.’ How could Lucky have chosen this one over Ruth? he wondered. And it had been a choice, he was quite s
ure of it. Observing them in the park, he’d seen the love that Ruth and Lucky shared, and yet Lucky had opted for the little schoolteacher. Unbelievable.
He sensed, however, that the little schoolteacher wasn’t quite the mouse he’d presumed her to be. There was an edge to her and, he recognised, an astute intelligence. He wondered briefly what she’d be like in bed.
When Peter Minogue arrived with the drinks, Lucky ordered a beer for Maarten, and it was Peggy who steered the conversation. It was deliberate on her part. She wanted to avoid any discussion of Pietro’s death; the doctor would speak of it coldly and clinically as he had at the funeral, and she didn’t want to hear his views. Violet was home with her family now, but Peggy was plagued by the memory of her in the hospital the day after the funeral. The girl had been under sedation; blank, emotionless, not wishing to talk. Peggy had found it heartbreaking.
‘Well, I really mustn’t keep you from your dinner,’ Maarten said barely twenty minutes later as he drained the last of his beer. He didn’t want to overstay his welcome and it was time to get to the point. ‘Oh, and speaking of dinner,’ he said as he stood, ‘I have an excellent idea. Next Saturday, instead of dining here, why don’t you join me for some home cooking? Mrs Hodgeman would love to demonstrate her expertise, and she gets so little opportunity.’ He smiled at Lucky, pulling on his heartstrings – he knew the man thought he was lonely.
Lucky suspected Peggy wasn’t all that keen to take Maarten up on his offer – for some reason she hadn’t seemed to warm to the man – and he found himself in a dilemma, not wanting to hurt Maarten’s feelings.
‘That’s very kind of you …’ he started to say, wondering what to say without giving offence.
‘Excellent.’ Maarten dived in before Lucky could come up with a valid reason to decline. ‘And I wonder,’ he added as if the idea had just occurred to him, ‘whether you might like to ask your old friend Ruth to join us. As a newcomer to town, it might be nice to show her some local hospitality.’
His smile was affable, but he was studying Lucky’s reaction – he knew he’d put the man on the spot. Had Lucky made any mention to his fiancée of his ‘old friend Ruth’? If not, he’d have some explaining to do, Maarten thought, but either way the man couldn’t refuse his offer – it would look far too suspicious if he did. His fiancée might assume there had been something more than friendship between him and his ‘old friend’ Ruth.
It was Peggy who answered. ‘What an excellent idea,’ she said, ‘don’t you think so, Lucky? It would be a lovely welcoming gesture; I’m sure Ruth would appreciate it.’ Then to Maarten: ‘It’s very kind of you, Doctor Vanpoucke.’
‘Call me Maarten, please,’ he smiled, ‘and may I call you Peggy?’
‘Of course.’
‘Splendid. Well, Peggy, I shall look forward to seeing you all next Saturday. Shall we say around seven?’
He shook hands with them both and made his farewells. How astounding, he thought, that the little schoolteacher herself had been the one to decide.
‘She might not be able to come,’ Lucky said sulkily when Maarten had gone. ‘She might have something else planned – she might not even want to come.’ He was wondering why Peggy had taken over the way she had.
‘She’ll want to come. And if she has something else planned, she’ll cancel it.’
He scowled. She sounded supremely and annoyingly confident.
‘Oh Lucky, stop sulking,’ she said briskly in the schoolteacher way she did when he was behaving childishly. ‘It’s best that Ruth and I get to know each other, at least on a social basis, and this is the perfect opportunity. We live in Cooma, for goodness sake; we can’t keep trying to avoid each other. It’s ridiculous.’
‘How very wise of her. I agree entirely,’ Ruth said the next day when he returned to Dodds to tell her about Maarten’s invitation and Peggy’s response.
‘But you said you thought it was best if you kept your distance.’ He was confused – she was contradicting herself. ‘That’s what you said, I remember, those were your exact words.’
She laughed. His expression of boyish bewilderment was one she easily recognised. Though he had such a way with women, Samuel really did not comprehend the workings of the female mind.
‘That was before we knew Peggy would be so understanding,’ she said; he’d told her of Peggy’s reaction to his admission. ‘It’s different now. I was wrong and Peggy is right.’
‘I give up.’ He was exasperated – women were a bloody mystery. They’d both patronised him as if he were a child.
‘Samuel,’ she said patiently, realising that he was becoming irritated, ‘when you dined here at Dodds last night, were you worried that I might appear?’
‘No, I wasn’t worried,’ he said, floundering, on the defensive, ‘but I was a bit concerned. I thought it might be … you know … awkward.’
‘So did I.’
He stopped floundering and his irritation subsided.
‘That’s why I went out for the evening,’ she said. ‘I didn’t particularly want to – I normally eat in the dining room downstairs – but I was worried that you and Peggy might be there.’
‘I thought of changing our routine,’ he admitted, ‘but I knew she’d ask why, and …’ He shrugged. ‘It all got a bit too difficult.’
‘Exactly, and it’ll stay that way if we don’t stop being so overprotective. Peggy doesn’t want it like that, and neither should we. We’re old friends now, and old friends don’t avoid each other.’
Lucky’s smile was rueful. ‘I’m having a bit of trouble thinking of you as an old friend, Ruth.’
‘I know,’ she agreed, ‘me too. But we must try. The past won’t disappear – but who knows, perhaps there’ll come a day when it won’t be so vivid.’ She smiled too, although for some strange reason she felt on the verge of tears. ‘In the meantime, my darling,’ she said lightly, ‘we don’t have to live in each other’s pockets, but we do have to live in the same town.’
He would have liked to have embraced her, just for old times’ sake. ‘Peggy and I’ll collect you shortly before seven,’ he said.
‘Why don’t you make it earlier?’ she suggested. ‘We could walk. Maarten Vanpoucke’s is only fifteen minutes from here, and these early autumn evenings are so beautiful.’ He hadn’t quite got her drift, she realised, but then it had been another subtle female ploy. ‘It’ll give Peggy and me time to talk,’ she said, ‘before everything becomes dinner table chat.’
‘Talk?’ he asked. ‘What would you want to talk about?’
‘Oh, fashion, jewellery, hairstyles, that sort of thing – or maybe we’ll talk about you. For heaven’s sake,’ she said as he looked alarmed, ‘who knows what we’ll talk about, Samuel? It doesn’t matter.’
Lucky left feeling distinctly uncomfortable – he was not looking forward to Saturday.
Peggy thought Ruth’s idea was excellent.
‘Let’s not take the car at all,’ she suggested as they dressed for Maarten’s dinner party. ‘Let’s walk to Dodds.’
‘We’re backtracking on ourselves a bit,’ he said. Peggy’s house was equidistant from Dodds and Maarten’s.
‘Doesn’t matter,’ she insisted. ‘I’d really prefer to walk, would you mind?’
He didn’t mind at all, and they both enjoyed the ten-minute stroll to Dodds, walking hand in hand. It was a beautiful evening; March was always a pleasant time of year in Cooma.
As they approached the hotel, Peggy felt a vague trepidation; she’d known that she would. From the outset, she had been nowhere near as confident as she’d led Lucky to believe. She knew she was right to forge some sort of connection with Ruth, however superficial – they couldn’t avoid each other constantly in a town like Cooma – but she was daunted by the prospect of the confrontation.
Ruth was waiting at the front of Dodds when they arrived, even though they were several minutes early. ‘How nice to see you, Peggy.’ She didn’t offer her hand, but her cheek instead; a
half-embrace, woman to woman, the greeting of old friends.
‘Hello, Ruth.’ Peggy felt herself relax.
‘Lucky,’ the name still felt strange, Ruth thought as she kissed his cheek. ‘Now wasn’t I right about walking? What a glorious evening.’
They set off at a slow pace, the women more intent upon talking to each other than their route. Lucky dawdled along beside them, his hand still in Peggy’s.
Peggy asked Ruth about her new job, which they’d discussed with Rob Harvey over dinner that night at Dodds. Had she started work yet? Was it interesting?
Lucky realised, guiltily, that he hadn’t asked Ruth about her job.
She loved it, Ruth said. She’d been working for the SMA for a week now, and in three days’ time she would move to the accommodation they’d arranged for her in Cooma North.
As she responded to Peggy’s enquiries, Ruth found herself deeply admiring the woman for her open reference to the night they’d met. Peggy had been hurt and humiliated throughout the entire evening – Ruth had sensed it, now she felt she should apologise.
‘I’m sorry about that night at Dodds,’ she said.
The words came out jarringly in the midst of what had been everyday conversation, and the three of them halted, Lucky feeling ill-at-ease. Ruth was going too far, he thought.
‘We should have said something, both of us.’ Undaunted, Ruth continued, ‘But it was such a surprise, seeing … Lucky after all these years.’ She stopped herself saying ‘Samuel’ just in time.
Peggy noticed the stumble. It was silly, she decided in her eminently practical way, that Ruth should feel such a need to be on her guard.
‘He wasn’t “Lucky” then, though, was he?’
‘No,’ Ruth admitted. ‘He was Samuel.’
Peggy nodded. ‘Samuel Lachmann.’ Her pronunciation of the German surname was faultless.
‘That’s right.’ Ruth was surprised, although she supposed she shouldn’t be. Samuel would naturally have told his fiancée about his past. She turned to him. ‘So how did “Lucky” come into being?’ she asked. ‘You didn’t tell me.’
