by Judy Nunn
The antique grandfather clock which had been in Todd’s family for generations struck five.
‘Oh, is that the time? Check there’s plenty of ice and lift out the Glenfiddich will you, dear? Toddy’ll be home in a minute.’ And Helena started clearing up the endless mailing list she’d been working on for the Variety Club’s Black and White Ball.
‘Todd of Todd Hall’ was a very nice man—a protestant version of Robert, really. A little less stitched-up but reserved nevertheless with a penchant for a well-ordered life and a pretty and supportive wife. Helena fitted the bill perfectly and they were very happy together. When they saw the sandy-haired little girl with the strong face, the direct grey-blue eyes and the even temperament, they quickly became doting grandparents.
Nevertheless, Helena was thrown when Jenny posed the question out of the blue. ‘Did you know my father?’
While Helena fumbled for the answer, Maddy dived in. ‘No, she didn’t, really. Like I told you, he was a student at NADA and we weren’t together for very long.’
‘I was asking Helena, Mum.’ Jenny wasn’t being rude, Maddy realised, just her usual disconcertingly direct self. And she did, after all, deserve an answer. They all looked at Helena.
‘Well …’ Helena could barely remember Alex. ‘He was very attractive, and … well …’ It was no use. ‘Your mother’s quite right. I hardly knew him.’
Jenny turned to her mother. ‘Is he here in Sydney? Are we going to see him?’
It was Maddy’s turn to be thrown. ‘I hadn’t planned on it. Do you want to?’
Jenny shrugged. But it wasn’t a diffident shrug. She was watching Maddy closely, realising that her mother had been unsettled by the question.
‘Why the sudden interest?,’ Maddy asked. ‘You didn’t seem to care one way or another when we were in England.’
‘That’s because we were in England.’
‘Oh.’
‘Would you like to see him, Mum?’ The eyes didn’t waver; they demanded to be met head-on.
Maddy did just that. ‘No,’ she said.
‘Fair enough.’
Why did Maddy feel such a chill at the prospect of seeing Alex? And what right did she have to deny the child a meeting with her father? She felt riddled with guilt. ‘Maybe when you’re a bit older, what do you think?’
Jenny had read her mother’s guilt. ‘Mum,’ she said, ‘I don’t mind.’ And then she smiled. ‘Really!’ And Maddy knew she was off the hook.
Jenny’s queries about the past continued, though. She particularly wanted to hear about NADA and the people Maddy knew there. And now she wanted to meet Julian.
During the second act of the play Maddy’s mind kept weighing heavily on whether or not she should seek Julian out and introduce him to her daughter. How close was he with Alex these days? Could she trust him with the secret of Jenny? Maddy was still pondering her decision at the end of the performance as they walked out of the auditorium into the foyer.
‘I didn’t like the second act as much as the first.’ Jenny chatted away, oblivious to the fact that her mother wasn’t really listening.
‘Maddy?’ A tall bony man with lank hair that fell across his brow was waiting for them beside the foyer door.
Maddy froze for a moment before she realised with a sense of relief that her decision had been made for her. Julian’s eyes had flickered to Jenny and, when they returned to meet her own, there was a query in them. She nodded slightly. Julian now knew and she was glad.
‘Julian! How lovely to see you.’ And it was. She hugged him, forcing back the tears. ‘This is my daughter, Jenny.’
Julian had called in to the theatre at interval. He hadn’t intended to stay for the second act. Then he’d seen Maddy. She was looking about a little nervously as if she didn’t want to be noticed. But surely by coming to the theatre she was hoping to make contact. Why the mystery? Why didn’t she want to initiate the contact herself?
Then he’d looked at the child with her and he knew. The child was Alex Rainford’s. He could tell not only by her physical appearance but, as he watched her in animated discussion with her mother, the girl’s intensity—her very mannerisms—were Alex’s.
He’d watched as Maddy gestured towards the women’s toilets. He saw Jenny shake her head and then he watched as they returned to the auditorium. He followed, positioning himself in one of the many empty seats up the back and then he studied them as the lights started to fade. Maddy had changed. With her cropped blonde hair and her slim body she looked as young as ever but she’d matured. There was a womanliness about her now and it suited her.
Julian had slipped out into the foyer just before the curtain and waited for them, hoping that he was right about Maddy’s desire to make contact. Why bring the child to the theatre if she hadn’t been hoping subconsciously he’d be there? Now, as he hugged her, he knew he’d been right.
‘Jen. This is Julian Oldfellow, the playwright.’
‘Oh, great!’ Jenny beamed. ‘I was trying to nag Mum into letting me meet you.’
‘What a good idea. She’s been avoiding me altogether too much. How about lunch tomorrow? My place at Bondi?’
‘Bondi Beach?’
Julian nodded.
‘Wow! I’ve never been to Bondi Beach.’
Julian looked questioningly at Maddy, who laughed. ‘All right! I can’t take you both on.’
‘I suppose a coffee now is out of the question?’ Julian asked.
Maddy nodded firmly. ‘It’s past Jenny’s bedtime.’ But she accepted Julian’s offer of a lift home.
As Jenny sat in the back seat and unwound the window to get a better view of the harbour lights, Julian murmured to Maddy, ‘Can I ask Harold tomorrow, or would you rather I didn’t?’
Maddy hesitated, then shook her head. ‘Let’s keep it just between ourselves for the moment, Julian. We’ll talk about it tomorrow. I need your advice.’ Julian nodded and Maddy called over to the rear seat. ‘Stick your head back in the car, Jen.’ They were crossing the Harbour Bridge now and Jenny was leaning out of the window to watch the arch of lights zooming by overhead. She pretended not to hear.
‘I said now,’ Maddy demanded. ‘And close the window, it’s cold.’
‘Nag, nag, nag,’ Jenny muttered. Julian and Maddy shared a smile.
Julian picked them up the next morning, telling them to bring some warm clothing for a walk along the beach.
There was the bite of winter in the air but the sky was blue and the air was clear when they arrived at Bondi. A steady stream of long white breakers rolled invitingly to the shore.
‘Good day for the surfies,’ Julian said. ‘Look at them, the idiots. It’d be freezing out there.’ At least two dozen wetsuit-clad surfboard riders were braving the waves, much to Jenny’s delight.
Not long ago David would have been one of them, Julian thought, with a rush of nostalgia. Then he shook off the feeling. Don’t be maudlin, he reprimanded himself—it’s not healthy.
After dumping their gear at Julian’s they walked for miles, Jenny skipping on ahead, indefatigable. So’s Maddy, Julian thought, already aware of tomorrow’s cramp in his calf muscles.
‘Sure you don’t want to call it a day?’ he suggested for the fifth time and Maddy once again smiled as she shook her head.
‘Not just yet.’ She laughed at Julian’s painful grimace. ‘You’re getting positively middle-aged, Julian. Just to the cemetery, I promise. Then we can sit and talk while Jenny explores. She loves cemeteries.’
They crested the hill and saw Waverley Cemetery ahead of them. Maddy sought a choice park bench where they could look back along the headlands to the view of Bondi in the distance and Jenny started her exploration of the headstones.
Julian sank gratefully onto the bench and, after regaining his breath, sat back, ignored the view and looked demandingly at her. ‘Right. You want to dive straight in or do you need me to break the ice?’
Maddy shook her head gently, took a deep breath and
plunged in. She told him about the doctor and the faked abortion; she told him about the rift with her father and her seedy life in London while she tried to carve a career for herself; she told him about Androgyne and the start of her success. She spared no details and pulled no punches and the telling was a salve to her. For the past twelve years there’d been no one to whom she could bare it all.
Julian listened patiently, offering a smile of encouragement here and there. He laughed uproariously at the story of Androgyne and Rodney Baines.
‘Stop it, Julian,’ Maddy admonished, although she was grinning broadly herself. ‘He’s a lovely man and a very, very dear friend.’
‘I’m delighted to hear it, Maddy. You could obviously do with one over there, it sounds like a bloody uphill battle.’ But he kept chortling nevertheless. ‘The dick that defies an ice bucket—I’ll never be able to watch that film seriously again.’ He dabbed at his eyes, the chill in the air and the tears of mirth were making them sting. ‘I can’t wait to tell Harold.’
Maddy’s smile faded. ‘I’m not sure if you should, Julian.’
‘Why not? It’s the sort of story he adores. Besides, he was mad about the film. Said it had shades of Les Enfants du Paradis about it; “just a tad short of a masterpiece”, he said.’ Julian noticed Maddy’s sombre look and decided to joke her out of it. ‘Mind you, he said he’d have liked a touch more vulgarity. “A touch more La Grande Bouffe,” was what he said. He said,’ and Julian struck a pose, ‘“I feel cheated if I don’t get any repulsive eating or furious fornicating scenes. The Europeans do all that salivating and slobbering so well”.’
Julian burst out laughing at his excellent imitation of Harold. ‘He didn’t mean it, of course, he so loves playing the cantankerous old actor these days. He spends most of his afternoons lolling around eating chocolates and reading the Bulletin, Time and Life magazines because he says when you’re fat and over seventy sex is out the window, so what else is there?’ Julian grinned and shrugged. ‘Just another aspect of the jaded aging actor image he likes to present—I don’t think sex was ever that important to Harold, anyway.’
Maddy was still looking serious so Julian stopped camping it up. ‘What’s the matter, Maddy? What’s worrying you?’
‘I don’t want Alex to know about Jenny.’
‘I agree with you,’ Julian nodded. ‘And you can rely on me not to tell him.’
‘But could I rely on Harold?’
Julian didn’t answer.
‘Are they as close as they used to be?’ Maddy asked.
He nodded. ‘As far as Harold’s concerned, possibly even more so. He worships Alex.’ Julian breathed a regretful sigh. ‘You’re right. Even if Harold swore on the Bible, you wouldn’t be able to trust him, not in anything relating to Alex. A night of camaraderie, a good bottle or two of red under the belt, his love for Alex overshadowing everything …’ Julian shrugged ‘… he wouldn’t be able to resist reuniting you two and your beautiful child. He’d do it with the best of motives, of course, but …’ Julian shrugged again.
Maddy nodded and they both turned to watch Jenny as she ran up the grassy slope towards them.
‘How’s it going, darling?’ Maddy asked when the child arrived panting beside them.
‘There are lots of children buried here,’ Jenny said.
‘Well, I guess there would be, it’s a fairly big cemetery.’
‘There’s a Celia Dora who was twelve and a Thomas William who was thirteen and they were both born in 1886, and there’s a six month old baby called William Norman with the most beautiful headstone: a white lamb with “Suffer little children to come unto me” written under it. It’s right over the other side; do you want to come and have a look?’
‘No thanks, sweetheart.’ Maddy flashed a smile at Julian. ‘I think we’d better preserve our strength for the walk back.’
‘Do we have to go now?’ Jenny looked disappointed.
‘No, lunch’ll keep,’ Julian interrupted. Then he assured Maddy, ‘I’m happy just sitting here. Really!’ he insisted when she looked doubtful. ‘And there’s a lot more talking to be done. Believe me!’
‘Off you go, Jen,’ Maddy said. ‘Take your time.
‘I don’t know why she’s so interested in cemeteries,’ she mused to Julian as Jenny skipped happily down the slope. ‘She’s not at all morbid and yet she seems to have this fascination with death. Weird.’
The two of them watched the child weaving her way through the tombstones.
‘It’s shocking of me, isn’t it?’ Maddy said eventually. It wasn’t a question and Julian waited for her to continue. ‘I don’t have any right keeping the child from meeting her father.’
‘Does she want to?’
Maddy nodded. ‘Not obsessively though. I’ve told her I’ll introduce them when she’s a bit older.’
‘I’d leave it till she’s a lot older, if I were you.’
Maddy glanced at Julian, surprised. There was an uncharacteristic bitterness in his voice.
He didn’t look at her for several moments while he made his decision and when he finally turned towards her it was with great urgency. ‘Don’t ever let her meet him, Maddy. If you can possibly help it, don’t ever let him into her life.’
It took Julian a long time to tell Maddy everything he knew of Alex. He told as much of his story as objectively as he could, starting with Alex’s childhood and the death of Tim. At the end of that segment he decided it was time to leave. It was a gruesome enough story without the headstones of little Celia Dora, Thomas William and William Norman looking on. Besides, the wind had sprung up and it was way past lunchtime.
After they had eaten, they settled Jenny in the study happily poring over Julian’s endless array of books. Over coffee, Julian embarked upon the Jonathan Thomas saga.
He told it succinctly without embellishment but Maddy’s face reflected her growing horror as she realised how Alex had used the erotic photographs. The photographs, which she had thought were such a personal and precious thing between the two of them, had also been the final straw for poor, sad, guilt-ridden Jonathan Thomas. She was sickened by the thought.
Julian ploughed on remorselessly and it was only when he had finished telling her about Michael Wright’s death that he started losing control.
‘I’m writing a play about it all, Maddy.’ He was trying to keep it light but his voice was strained. ‘The Conjurer—good title, don’t you think? About a man who wills people to disappear from his life. And they do. Just like that.’ Julian’s control suddenly went out the window as he leaned forward in his chair, knuckles tightening around his coffee mug. ‘That’s what Alex does, Maddy, don’t you realise? Alex makes people disappear.’
Julian stopped. He rose abruptly and crossed to the living room window where he remained staring out at the vine-covered patio. ‘He repels me,’ he admitted. ‘But I can’t seem to write without him. He knows it too. I think he’s known it since that Friday night in the pub when he told me about his brother’s death.’
Poor Julian, he’s torturing himself, Maddy thought, as she listened to him recount his attempt to break free of Alex’s influence, the failure of his next plays and now the ironic rebirth of his inspiration during Harold’s supper party.
‘Alex again, you see.’ Julian was indeed tortured but he was never one for prolonged self-dramatisation. ‘Jesus,’ he said, turning to her with a wry grin, ‘if Alex remains my muse I might well corner the market on black plays. Who knows, maybe I should be grateful.’
Maddy joined him at the window and together they looked out at the patio.
It was Julian who broke the silence. ‘So, you see, you mustn’t feel guilty about keeping Jenny away from him.’
‘I know,’ Maddy said. And she did know. She knew that Alex had revelled in the power he had had over her. Now he was obviously gloating in the power he had over Julian. Surely he would relish even more the power he would have over his own adoring flesh and blood. And Jenny would adore
him, Maddy realised. Alex would make sure of that.
Maddy saw Julian regularly over the next three weeks before she and Jenny returned to England. Each meeting drew them even closer together. Sometimes they talked voraciously, sometimes they walked quietly along the beach at Bondi watching Jenny chase the waves, and sometimes they read through the latest pages of The Conjurer.
‘Straight off the press,’ Julian would say. ‘First draft only—so don’t be too cruel.’
‘It’s great,’ Maddy would say after each read and each time she meant it.
‘Well, it’s only first draft,’ Julian repeated, secretly thrilled and in total agreement, ‘but yes, it’s coming on quite well, isn’t it?’
Then it was time for Maddy and Jenny to leave. Maddy insisted that family farewells take place at Kirribilli. She was aware that Helena’s reluctance was a gesture only. It was a surgery day for Todd, after all, and the Black and White Ball was only a week away. There was so much to be done.
Julian took them to the airport. ‘Why can’t lovers be this close?’ he asked and he held her to him. Then, as they both felt the prickle of tears, he wailed, ‘Oh God, do I really have to turn straight?’
Maddy giggled. ‘It wouldn’t solve anything if you did.’
‘Of course not.’ Julian hugged her again. ‘I hope he’s right for you, Maddy.’
They’d talked a lot about Douglas Mackie. He hadn’t rung once during Maddy’s month-long holiday in Sydney. It had strengthened her resolve. Good, she thought. I’ll get back to London and call it a day.
Then, twenty-four hours before she was due to fly home, the phone rang. It was Douglas. ‘Sorry I couldn’t call you. I was out of town on business.’
‘What business?’ she wanted to ask. Don’t they have a telephone, these business associates?
‘I’ve missed you,’ he said. ‘Very much.’ That bloody Scots burr, Maddy cursed, going weak at the knees, thrilling to the sound of his voice. I bet he’s laying it on thick deliberately, the shit. ‘I’ll be at the airport,’ he said, and hung up.
