by Liz Byrski
He thought she looked irritated but he pressed on, taking her hand in his and kissing it. ‘Ever since we met, Sylvia, I haven’t been able to get you out of my mind.’
‘Will,’ she persisted, ‘this is not the – ’
‘Please let me finish,’ he insisted. ‘I know you think I’m some sort of playboy and that this was just an adventure on my part, but I love you, Sylvia.’
He reached into his inside pocket, drew out the ring box and opened it, and the diamonds flashed satisfyingly. ‘Sylvia, I know you feel the same. Marry me, please say you’ll marry me.’
He took the ring from the box and reached for her hand but she withdrew it suddenly and when he raised his eyes to hers he saw, not the rapture he had expected, but an expression of pure shock.
THIRTY-THREE
Fran always found it difficult to squeeze herself into Caro’s Beetle, but she had deliberately left her car at home that morning, knowing she’d be drinking. Mike had gone to work at four that afternoon and Rebekah, who was now fast asleep in her capsule in the back seat, had spent the afternoon and evening being handed around between Irene, Lenore, Hamish, Sean and Graeme, managing to get them all to fall in love with her.
‘Isn’t she just as good as gold?’ Fran said, twisting awkwardly around to look at her granddaughter. ‘She never cried the whole day.’
Caro eyed her daughter in the rear-view mirror and started the engine. ‘No, she’s saving it for tonight.’
Fran straightened up and buckled her seatbelt as Caro pulled out of the drive onto the street. ‘Is she still waking twice a night?’
‘No, we’re down to once now, thank god, but she messes about with it and takes ages to settle again after that. When d’you think she’ll start sleeping through?’
‘It’s hard to remember,’ Fran said. ‘David was going through the night by three months but you took much longer. You woke up every night long after I’d dropped the two o’clock feed. I just gave you boiled water and then you’d go back to sleep again – sometimes!’
‘So this is karma, I suppose,’ Caro said. ‘Ah well, I guess I should be thankful she usually sleeps well in the middle of the day. By the way, did you think Bonnie seemed a bit odd this evening?’
Fran shook her head. ‘No, I don’t think so. Although now you come to mention it, I don’t remember seeing her hold Rebekah. I expect she’s just tired. We all are, it’s been an exhausting few weeks. She probably just wasn’t in the mood.’
‘Maybe, ’ Caro said. ‘Anyway, did I tell you I’ve told Des to advertise my job? I’m not going back.’
Fran smiled. ‘I never knew how you coped with all those wrinkly rockers in the record company, anyway,’ she said. ‘You’ll find something else when you’re ready. And thanks for helping out today.’
‘It was great, ’ Caro said. ‘I loved it, and I really like Sylvia. And I’ve been dying to ask you this all day. What’s going on with her and Bonnie’s brother-in-law?’
‘Bonnie’s brother-in-law? Oh, Will … nothing, I don’t think, why?’
Caro shrugged and turned off Barkly Street into the end of Fran’s street. ‘Heavens, Mum, don’t say you haven’t noticed. He was hanging around her all day, like a faithful Labrador. In fact, she got a bit pissed off with him at one point and told him to stop mooning round the gallery and go and mix with the guests. Then they took off from Bonnie’s together in the car about six. I saw them when I came out to the car to get a new pack of nappies.’
Fran’s hand flew to her face. ‘No! Are you sure? Bonnie said she thought Sylvia had gone back to the cottage because she was exhausted.’
Caro shook her head. ‘No way, and his car wasn’t there when we left, and it’s after ten now.’ She glanced across at Fran and grinned. ‘Secret love affair, d’you think? He’s a lot younger than Sylvia, isn’t he? Why are you looking so shocked?’
‘Oh … well … I don’t know, really. Yes, he’s younger than her, not that that matters. Actually, when Sylvia came back from Hong Kong, Bonnie and I thought she might have met someone there, but now that you’ve said this, I … Sylvia stayed at Will’s place in Hong Kong. Maybe she … maybe they …’
Caro laughed out loud and slapped her hand on the steering wheel. ‘Yes, maybe they did! Good for her. He’s pretty cute, really, and probably very rich – good old Sylvia.’
‘Oh dear,’ Fran said. ‘Oh, shit …’
‘What’s the matter? Heavens, Mum, you’re not going to disapprove, are you?’
Fran shook her head. ‘No,’ she said. ‘No, not at all, it’s just Bonnie … if Bonnie finds out, she’s not going to like this one little bit.’
Bonnie carried the remaining glasses out into the kitchen and stacked them in the dishwasher. Irene and Hamish had gone to bed some time ago, but Fran, Caro, the Bannisters and Sean and Graeme had stayed on until the exhaustion of the day finally sent them in search of their beds. Sylvia, Bonnie guessed, must have fallen asleep in the cottage hours ago. Will, on the other hand, had disappeared early in the evening and not come back. Bonnie was disappointed and just a little hurt, but she wasn’t going to let his desertion spoil her satisfaction.
‘I really want us to get together and talk about some other possibilities,’ Jack Bannister reminded her. ‘I know you’re in for a hectic few weeks but it would be good to talk sometime soon.’
‘Love to,’ she’d said. ‘I’ve got the bit between my teeth now, although I have to tell you I don’t know anything about books.’
He smiled. ‘You didn’t know anything about running a restaurant and a gallery until you bought the Boatshed,’ he said. ‘Anyway, it’s not books, or at least not solely books. Lenore’s the book person now, I want to branch out a bit … so let’s talk another time, but soon.’
She liked Jack, who was similar in many ways to Jeff: solid, reliable and he treated her with the same courtesy and attention she’d grown accustomed to in Europe. Bonnie realised she had sorely missed that sort of interaction with men since she came home.
She left the back door on the latch for Will and made her way upstairs, stopping on the half-landing to look out into the moonlit garden. There was a low light on in Sylvia’s window; she must have fallen asleep. Bonnie felt a tiny flicker of guilt. A week or so earlier she had been looking for Sylvia and had gone into the studio room. The designs on the table and the made-up garments on the rack had surprised her with their individuality and style. She had known Sylvia was good, but not quite that good; perhaps this was something she’d like to develop. As she stood looking at the drawing board, Bonnie glimpsed another prospect for expansion and felt a surge of excitement at the idea. But they’d been so busy she hadn’t even mentioned it to Sylvia. Now that the opening was behind them she could start to focus on other things. In the morning, she’d talk to her about it, find out what plans she had for her designs.
Bonnie kicked off her shoes and let her clothes fall on the floor. Tonight she was too tired to go through all her usual hanging and tidying, too tired even to take off her make-up and clean her teeth. She climbed into bed, anticipating that special last moment before sleep when she always told Jeff about her day. But now she was just one satisfied sigh away from sleep and was gone the moment her head touched the pillow.
‘For goodness sake, Irene, calm down and come to bed,’ Hamish said. ‘There’s absolutely nothing you can do.’
‘I know, I know,’ Irene said, wringing her hands, ‘but I wish there was. Something awful’s going to happen, I know it is.’
Hamish got out of bed and went over to the window where she was peering through the curtains to see if Will’s car was back. ‘Don’t be so dramatic,’ he said, closing the curtain and putting his arm around her shoulders. ‘What’s the problem? Will and Sylvia took off together, then you saw him bring her back and he drove off again on his own. He’s probably gone somewhere for a quiet drink.’
‘But it was the way they came back,’ Irene said, twitching the curtain open again. ‘He dro
ve in and Sylvia got out of the car almost before he stopped and ran into the cottage. Then Will got out and hammered on the door but she didn’t let him in. That’s when he got back in the car and drove off. That was a couple of hours ago – it’s after midnight now.’
Hamish sighed and led her back to sit on the foot of the bed. ‘I know, my dear, you’ve told me all that. So, they went off for a meal or a drink or something, had a bit of a tiff and she’s sulking in her place, and he’s gone off to sulk somewhere else. It’s their business, Irene, nothing you can do.’
Irene knew that Hamish was being perfectly logical but she couldn’t get rid of the feeling that the whole thing spelled trouble. She was worried about Sylvia and Will, but she was also worried that whatever had happened between them tonight was going to bounce back on Bonnie.
‘I was thinking I might put on my dressing gown and pop across to see if Sylvia’s all right,’ she said.
‘No,’ Hamish said in an authoritative voice she’d never heard him use before. ‘It’s after midnight, Sylvia’s probably fast asleep by now. If she wants to talk to you she’ll do so in the morning. But my bet is that by the time we wake up, Will’ll be back here, sleeping off a hangover, and it’ll all be forgotten. Things always look better in the morning. Come on, why don’t I read to you? A few pages of Tim Winton’ll take your mind off it.’
Sylvia put down the phone and sat for a moment in the dark, her skin prickling with shock and panic. The call had woken her with a start from a heavy, restless sleep peppered with fragments of incomprehensible, troubling dreams and she had sat bolt upright in bed, heart pounding, fumbling around in the dark to find the mobile. The green figures on the digital clock said it was three-thirty. Snapping on the bedside light she got out of bed, dragged on a sweater and a pair of jeans, brushed her hair, splashed some water on her face and grabbed her bag and car keys.
At the doorway she paused briefly, wondering if she was doing the right thing. Would it be better to go alone? But it was only a fleeting moment of indecision, keeping the secret from Bonnie had been bad enough; she couldn’t compound it further by excluding her from this. Besides, she needed someone with her, this was something she couldn’t face alone.
She closed the door of the cottage and ran through the shadowy garden to the back door of the house. Fortunately, it was on the latch – presumably Bonnie had left it that way for Will – and she crept through the darkened kitchen to the hall, ran up the stairs two at a time and tapped lightly on Bonnie’s bedroom door.
‘Bonnie, Bonnie,’ she whispered. Getting no answer, she opened the door. ‘Bonnie, are you awake? It’s me, Sylvia.’
Bonnie’s head popped up from under the quilt. ‘What? Who’s that?’
‘It’s okay,’ Sylvia said, going over to the bed. ‘It’s me.’ She put her hand on Bonnie’s arm and sat down on the edge of the bed.
Bonnie struggled up from under the covers and switched on the bedside light, blinking and putting her hand up to shade her eyes. ‘Sylvia? What is it? Are you okay?’
‘I’m fine,’ Sylvia said, taking a deep breath. ‘It’s Will, he’s in the Alfred Hospital. I’m not exactly sure what happened but he fell into the river and is quite badly injured.’
‘Fell into the river? Oh my god, how? Was he drunk or something?’
‘I think he probably was but I don’t have any more details. I said we’d be there straight away.’
Bonnie struggled out of bed and headed for the bathroom. ‘I’m probably over the limit still,’ she said. ‘Can you drive?’
Sylvia pulled out onto the road into town, shivering with the chill of night-time waking and with dread of what the next few hours might bring.
‘I can’t understand it,’ Bonnie said. ‘Will’s usually pretty careful what he drinks. Mind you, we all started drinking early in the day. But where did he get to this evening? And how did he manage to fall in the river?’
‘I think they said he fell off the Princes Bridge,’ Sylvia said, shooting through traffic lights on orange.
‘Fell off the Princes Bridge! You can’t just fall off that bridge,’ Bonnie said in amazement. ‘I mean, it’s got great thick concrete balustrades, you’d have to climb up on them to fall off. Oh, for goodness sake, he couldn’t have been so drunk that he’d climb up there, could he? Men, honestly, don’t they ever grow up? Who was he with, for heaven’s sake?’
‘I think he was on his own.’
‘Will, drunk, on his own, climbing over the Princes Bridge – it doesn’t make sense.’ Bonnie let the car window down a little to get some air. ‘So what else did they say?’
Sylvia swallowed hard and tried to concentrate on the road. ‘Just that he was unconscious and they weren’t sure how serious the injuries were. I was so shaken by the call that I didn’t ask any of the right questions.’
‘Yes, yes, of course, sorry,’ Bonnie said. She sat quietly for a moment. ‘Hang on, why did they call you? How did they get your number?’
Sylvia hesitated. It was the moment she’d been dreading, and there was no escape.
‘Will had a card in his wallet with his blood group and on it he’d listed me as his next of kin.’
‘Next of kin! You? He hasn’t got a next of kin, not since Jeff died. I’m probably his closest relative, so why did he …’ She paused, and it seemed to Sylvia that she could actually hear the connections happening in Bonnie’s head. With her eyes still on the road, she saw in her peripheral vision that Bonnie was turning to face her, very slowly and deliberately. ‘Okay, Sylvia,’ she said, and her voice was low now, her tone measured. ‘Do you want to tell me why Will had you listed as his next of kin?’
THIRTY-FOUR
‘I don’t know what happened, Fran,’ Sean said, cracking eggs into a mixing bowl. ‘All I know is that Bonnie rang and said she wouldn’t be in until later. She and Sylvia are at the hospital because that weirdo brother-in-law had an accident. She tried to phone you but your mobile was switched off.’
‘Shit!’ Fran said. ‘I forgot.’ She pulled the phone from her bag, switched it on and picked up the message from Bonnie, but it told her nothing more. Her head reeled in panic. Six-thirty on the first day of trading and they were due to open at seven.
‘Don’t worry, darl,’ Sean said. ‘We’re all cool, Graeme’s here, the sous-chef starts tomorrow and Graeme’ll stay on for a bit if we need him.’
‘We’ll owe you two a fortune,’ Fran said gratefully.
‘Naturally,’ he said with a grin, and batted the kitchen hand on the shoulder with an egg whisk. ‘Coriander – get me a big bunch, kiddo. I assume you know what it looks like. Chop it really fine.’
Out in the restaurant, Tan was checking the table settings and calling instructions to the waitstaff.
‘It’s okay, Fran,’ she said. ‘It’s a shame Bonnie miss the first morning, but we got good staff, we be fine.’
Fran decided to believe her and went up the stairs to her office, wondering what could have happened. Since her conversation with Caro, all Fran’s instincts told her that Sylvia and Will were having an affair and trouble was not far ahead. She sat down at her desk and dialled Caro’s number.
‘Sorry to call you so early,’ she said. ‘Any chance of you rolling up this morning to keep an eye on the gallery?’ Even in her present anxious state, Fran relished the ease with which she was able to ask the favour, and Caro’s willing response. She paused, wondering whether to call Bonnie or Sylvia, or just get on with the job of opening the Boatshed, and decided finally that it was probably best to leave them to it. She’d wait until the first customers were happily tucking in to their breakfasts before she called, then she could at least reassure them that everything here was under control.
She sat in the silence, getting a grip on the fact that it was opening day and she was here alone. But of course it wasn’t like before, there was a whole infrastructure in place, and while her presence was useful and desirable, it wasn’t essential. What would Bonnie expect her
to do? Just be there, talk to people and keep an eye on things. She must control her urge to get into the kitchen and try to take over there, stay calm and remember she was running a business.
Fran walked through into the small washroom between the offices and stared at her face in the mirror. She thought she looked confident and professional. Her nervousness didn’t seem to show and she wondered how much creative energy she had wasted in the past worrying about her weight and appearance. What might she have achieved if she had been able to ignore the relentless cultural pressure to look different?
‘Go on then,’ she said to her reflection, ‘this restaurant is trading on your reputation, Fran Whittaker, and you’re in charge.’ She paused and fiddled with a stray strand of hair. ‘And you don’t look half bad either,’ she said, and she made her way down to the restaurant, where Tan was giving the waitstaff a final briefing.
‘Okay, guys?’ Fran asked sticking her head into the kitchen, and Sean gave her a thumbs up.
Outside the restaurant doors, a few people were chatting on the grassy slope, a car drew up and a couple got out and headed for the steps, as two more cars pulled into the car park, and three Lycra-clad cyclists chained their bikes to the rail at the edge of the boardwalk. Fran checked her watch; it was a couple of minutes to seven.
‘You guys ready too, Tan?’
‘We been ready ages,’ Tan said with a smile, and the others nodded.
‘Okay,’ she said, ‘here we go.’ Reaching up she unbolted the glass doors and stepped outside to fix them back. ‘Good morning,’ she said. ‘Welcome to the Boatshed.’
And the first customers made their way into the restaurant.
Sylvia sat on a vinyl-covered hospital bench, eyes closed, head resting against the wall. It was seven o’clock in the morning and the twelve hours since Will had sprung his proposal on her seemed like an escalating nightmare. Against the harsh soundtrack of hospital activity – the rattle of trolleys, ringing phones and the cacophony of voices – she went over events again in her mind.
