by Margaret Way
“A bit of a chat, is it?” Pippa had no hesitation asking as she refilled Amelia’s cup.
“I’d say Marigold is about to pull rank,” Anthea sighed. “She wants you leaving with her, Amelia?”
“We’ve been together nearly twenty years, Anthea.”
“I know, dear. That’s a very long time.” Anthea’s sympathetic touch on Amelia’s wrist was as delicate as a butterfly’s.
Amelia lowered her golden head. “I’ve always been there for her. Maybe not right now.”
Pippa plonked rather than sat herself down with a cup of tea. A kindly-looking woman with a round face, Pippa always wore her sandy hair held back by different-coloured headbands. Pippa was the sort of woman who could inspire agoraphobics to take to the streets. “Mightn’t it be the right time to let go, love?” she asked, gently. Pippa had seen enough of Amelia’s younger sister to consider her unstable. Pippa had to wonder what Marigold had been like as a child. A closet holy terror?
Both young women, however, were hiding a secret, Pippa thought shrewdly. It had to do with Marigold’s miscarriage. A terrible blow for Jimmy, causing him so much grief. On the other hand, Marigold was showing no sign whatsoever of inner devastation. Had Marigold truly lost the baby? If so, she had recovered extremely fast. Or had Marigold only been playing at being pregnant? Pippa had spent many an hour speculating. After all, there was no hard proof.
Anthea broke into Pippa’s speculations. “I’m truly sorry to say this, Amelia, but I can’t feel Marigold is a safe person to be around.”
Who would after last night? Amelia thought. She had been suffering her own concerns. “I’ve made my decision,” she said quietly, looking from Anthea to Pippa. “I’d love to stay on a little while if you’ll have me.”
Pippa drained her tea cup and then stood up as though reenergized. Time to clear the dishes. There was a big smile of relief on her motherly face.
“That’s great news!” Anthea said, a light in her eyes. She and Pippa had been down on their knees nightly, praying for just such an outcome.
* * *
At ten-thirty a.m., Pippa wheeled a delicious morning tea into the study. The menfolk, Royce and Jimmy, had returned to the house. They needed sustenance. That was a priority, feeding the men.
The atmosphere was a bit like a trial with everyone waiting on a verdict, Amelia thought.
“Were you happy for even five minutes of our marriage?” Jimmy abruptly asked his wife.
“Jimmy, I loved you,” Marigold turned on him a distressed face. She was dressed very simply that morning. Yellow cotton pants, oval-necked white cotton top. No make-up. She didn’t need it. A light touch of peach lipstick. She looked more her age than she did in her newly acquired sophisticated gear.
“God help me, I’d never have known,” said James.
“Let’s all keep calm, shall we?” Royce advised. “You know, Marigold, you and James have to live apart for at least twelve months before you can file for divorce?”
Marigold gave him a sorrowful smile. “That it should end like this!” she mourned.
“You could, of course, seek counselling,” Royce suggested, nodding faintly at his brother. Probably to shut him up, Amelia thought.
That look of sadness and deep disappointment remained in Marigold’s blue eyes. Amelia had to hand it to her. The world stage had lost a truly great actress.
“I’m going to say this once more,” Marigold told them, a prophetess forced into repeating her prophecies. “I will never say it again.”
“Can we count on that?” James swivelled to face his wife. He was fully aware of what was coming. The indictment.
It came.
“There were three in our marriage,” Marigold said with the quiet acceptance of a martyr.
“Sounds familiar,” James drawled. “Princess Diana?”
“She knew the pain of it!” Marigold was swift to respond.
“Only there were three in her marriage, Marigold,” said Anthea, who continued to hold a very soft spot in her heart for the late princess.
Marigold turned to face her. “You don’t know Melly as well as you think you do, Miss Stirling,” she said respectfully. Although Anthea had asked Marigold a number of times to call her Anthea, Marigold continued to act as though that were tantamount to calling the Queen of England “Liz.”
“Oh, bin it, Marigold,” Jimmy implored, rubbing a hand across his face. “No one believes your story.”
Marigold looked around, searching those faces. “I endured it as long as I could,” she said, her eyes suddenly glittering with tears.
James jumped to his feet as though goaded beyond endurance. “I’m outta here!” he cried. “I can’t listen to any more of this self-serving bullshit!”
“Sit down, Jimmy.” Royce’s voice held a good dollop of parental sternness.
James sat down again.
“Have you a settlement figure in mind, Marigold?” Royce asked, maintaining his air of civility.
Marigold spread her little hands, the nails painted post-box red.
“What the hell! Go for it.” Jimmy shouted, indignation and despair written all over him.
Royce looked about to rebuke his brother, but let it slide. “You must have a figure in mind, Marigold.”
“Jonty Martin got ten million dollars,” Marigold said, naming a young woman recently divorced from her prominent wealthy husband some twenty years older. “The whole business was lurid, don’t you remember? Really juicy stuff! It gave me something to go on. George Martin wouldn’t have as much as you Stirlings. I sort of thought, twenty million?”
“Good grief!” Anthea sat back, as though in the presence of the most outrageous of blackmailers.
“You’re joking! That’s peanuts to you lot.” Marigold gave her girlish laugh.
“That’s it . . . sure?” Royce asked with no expression on his dynamic face. “Twenty million dollars?”
“Marigold!” Amelia groaned. She had run out of all patience with Marigold, who was acting like a stupid, greedy, petulant child. Was that what she actually was?
Marigold swung her head, breathing hard. “Do shut up, Melly. You know they’ve got it. You’re the one who pushed me into this.”
“Come on,” Amelia shook her head “You have to stop this,” she said, with what she hoped was the voice of reason. Marigold had to listen in her own interests. Not turn nasty.
“Twenty million dollars should keep you in dresses,” Royce spoke in a considering manner. “Houses, cars, jewellery, handbags, shoes. It could even extend to a small yacht.”
Marigold’s pretty face broke into a smile. “I don’t need a yacht. I get seasick. Just sick to my stomach. I’m not Melly the mermaid. Good at everything is Melly.”
“And you find that hard to deal with,” said Royce. “Only what we all want to know is . . . did you get pregnant?”
Marigold yelped. There was no other word for it. “Dammit, dammit, dammit!” She threw out a hand, an over-the-top gesture that knocked over her coffee cup. “You’re calling me a liar now?”
“Leave it, Amelia,” Royce said, as Amelia rose to pick the pieces of fine bone china off the Persian rug.
Amelia did.
“Why are you doing this to me?” Marigold persisted, a persecuted note in her voice.
“As I’ve explained to you before, Marigold, questions will be asked. Proof will be needed.” Royce gave her a cool look.
“Excuse me! It isn’t Elizabethan times, is it?” Marigold retorted, colouring up. “Proof of virginity. Proof of pregnancy? Ask Melly. She was there.”
“You can’t hide behind Amelia anymore,” Jimmy said with a grimace of disgust.
“Melly is the true culprit in all this,” vowed Marigold. “She knows the truth, but I see now she’s trying to ingratiate herself with the family.”
Royce broke in with great patience. “We’re prepared to make you an offer of five million dollars, Marigold,” he said. “I’d advise you to take it. That’s
around a million for every week of your marriage. I’d call that a good deal.”
Marigold wriggled her bottom around in her chair this way and that. This way and that, as if it was impossible to get comfortable. Her breath came in a gasp of bitter disappointment. “How mean of you, Royce!” she said, huskily, genuinely fighting tears.
He looked less than contrite. “It’s a considerable sum, Marigold. Had you and James had a child, it would have been a great deal more.”
“We would have!” Marigold cried, over her tearfulness. “I’m going to consult a top lawyer. I’m warning you. I’m warning the lot of you.”
“Ooh, look out, guys!” James cried. “This is the real Marigold bitching about everything in the most unethical way.”
“Well, I for one, Marigold, have been on guard since I met you,” said Royce, ignoring his brother’s outburst.
“You should have been concentrating on Melly,” Marigold blurted, belligerent to the end. “You can’t rule her out of all that went on.”
Amelia stood up purposefully. She’d had enough. She went to Marigold, placing a firm hand on Marigold’s narrow shoulder, not for the first time in their lives. “Stop now, Marigold. If you can.”
“And you’re gonna stop me?” Marigold challenged in an excellent parody of a gangster’s moll.
“You need to give this offer very serious consideration,” Amelia said, undeterred. She was debating dragging Marigold out of her chair, only Marigold had wrapped her arms around it, guessing correctly Amelia was about to yank her out.
“Some offer!” Marigold burst out, surprised and aggrieved. “I want to go home.”
“I can arrange for you to fly out tomorrow morning,” Royce assured her in an expressionless voice. “You can contact me when you’re ready regarding our offer. You can have the money in stages, if you like, starting with your acceptance of our offer. This is on the understanding, of course, that the divorce proceeds as quietly as possible.”
“I’m not agreeing to anything yet,” Marigold retorted, as if the offer reeked of intimidation. “You all hate me, don’t you?”
“Hate?” James scrunched up his face. “I don’t hate you, Marigold. You’re not worth hating.”
Marigold jutted out her chin, her most marked mannerism when things weren’t going her way. “What’s wrong with this world?” she implored.
No one in the study appeared to have the answer when Marigold had wanted a free-for-all. They were all too damned polite.
“You’re coming with me, Melly?” she asked, rising to her diminutive five-two.
Some expression in her blue eyes—the vision of a despairing eight-year-old, lying on her bedroom floor madly kicking her legs—tore the heart out of Amelia. “I’ll see you safely home,” she said. Her eyes went to Anthea, seeking to convey she would be returning to Kooralya.
“Thank you, Melly.” Marigold whispered her gratitude, while Jimmy rolled his eyes.
“Keep hanging around with your little sister and you’re just asking for trouble, Amelia,” he said. “I couldn’t even count on one hand the nice things she’s said about you.”
“Why?” Marigold stared at him with angry blue eyes. “Because I didn’t have to. Melly’s perfect. She’s the only one who has ever worried about me.”
“Not true, Marigold,” Amelia said. “We all worried about you, your family.”
* * *
Moments later, Royce signalled to his brother. “Ken Pearson will be arriving pretty soon. Bill can’t handle everything. We’d better get back to the yards.”
“If I had to stick around here with Marigold, I’d go totally insane,” said James. “It’s like being on a roller coaster.”
“God only knows what you saw in her,” said Royce. “Go on, Jimmy. Get back to work.” Royce watched as Amelia shepherded Marigold out the door. He turned to his aunt. “Keep an eye on things here, will you?” he asked. “I need to speak to the vet, then I’m coming back to the house. Jimmy can hold the fort for a while.”
“Count on me, dear,” said Anthea. “Amelia can’t free herself of the past overnight, Royce. She’s protected Marigold all their lives. We have to accept that. But I believe Amelia when she says she will be loosening that bond very soon.”
“What if it’s unbreakable?” Royce glanced down sombrely at his aunt.
“You said that as if you really care about Amelia,” Anthea asked.
“She is running away!”
There was such a dark, brooding expression in her nephew’s handsome face, Anthea gave his arm a comforting pat. “No, my dear, she isn’t. Amelia isn’t a heartless, shallow creature like her adopted sister. Despite that Marigold is—and the best spin I can put on it is a handful—Amelia feels pity for her. It’s not a case of unending devotion. It’s Amelia’s kind heart. That’s why Amelia is accompanying Marigold home. I too am reluctant to let her go, but I trust Amelia. I know she will return.”
“Then you’re saying I should let her go?” Royce asked.
“On the condition she comes back? Yes, of course, dear.” Anthea gave him a little hug. “Don’t let me keep you. I want Amelia to meet Vernon. I’m certain they’ll hit it off splendidly. Marigold won’t want to join us. She’s free to wander around as she pleases.”
“Jimmy made a huge mistake when he married Marigold,” Royce said, a bleakness in his dark eyes. “Now we all have to pay for it. That includes Amelia.”
* * *
Back in Marigold’s assigned bedroom, Marigold gave vent to her frustrations. “Five million and you agree with them?” She turned on Amelia, protective arms wrapped around herself.
“It’s more than you deserve,” Amelia said. “I think the family have come around to believing you weren’t pregnant at all.”
“So what? They can’t prove it.”
“I’m not a medical person, so I don’t actually know. But you can be certain it will be checked out. Take the money, Marigold.”
“How good of you to say so,” Marigold scoffed.
Amelia turned to leave the room. “If you can’t behave in a courteous way for the remainder of the time we’re here, I won’t go back with you.”
It was obvious to Marigold that Melly actually meant what she said.
“Wait, Melly,” she cried, the picture of contrition. “I’m sorry. Sorry. It will take me ages to get over this. I’m not strong like you. I’m still the messed-up little girl. I truly am suffering.”
“You need help, Marigold,” Amelia said. “We can find someone very good in that field.” She still saw herself as having obligations. Marigold hadn’t asked to be born bipolar or whatever she was. The right medication could well work miracles.
“I’m afraid I’ll never be able to function properly on my own.” Marigold flashed Amelia a sad smile.
It was a familiar lament.
“Have you ever really tried?” Amelia asked. “You can function when you’re shopping. You can function when you’re spending money.”
“Well, I am smarter than most. I’m just wired wrong. I love you, Melly,” she said, her tone sweetly girlish. “You’re my soulmate.”
“No, I’m not, Marigold.” Amelia said. “We’re two entirely different people, but I do care about you. I have worried so much about you. But you’re a grown woman. The Stirlings are offering you a great deal of money. Life certainly won’t be arduous. Take it. I’m going to join Anthea in the garden now. I’m so looking forward to meeting their master landscaper. You don’t care to join us?”
“Bloody hell, no!” Marigold reverted to her alter ego.
“Then what are you going to do?” Amelia asked, with an unwanted softening for the troubled young woman she had always thought of as her little sister.
“Well, I’m going to call down for some ice cubes to put on my aching head, then I’ve got to pack,” Marigold said, ticking off her fingers. “Afterwards, I’ll wander around the place. I might come and find you after a bit. We could take a dip in that creek. It’s running a b
umper, I believe. Who could live in this godforsaken place?” she complained, although a lovely breeze fanned in through the open French doors. “The heat is unbearable. By Christmas, it will turn into hell.”
* * *
Amelia spent a most enjoyable and calming hour wandering around the garden with Anthea and her brilliant mentor, Vernon, who had not lost his English accent for all the years he had spent in Australia. Amelia felt so comfortable with him she broached the subject of forming a long S curve in the glittering, still green pond instead of the massed flowering across the pond’s surface. Despite the bright metallic sun, the glorious water lilies, blue, pink, and white, were blooming profusely.
Anthea spoke with delight, as she visualized the concept. “I think it could work, Vernon.” She turned to him.
Vernon held up a hand. Dressed in a long, loose, khaki shirt and cargo pants, Vernon was a tall, upright, well-kept man in his eighties with a clipped moustache and copious frazzled white hair that stood up in a quiff that reminded Amelia of a cockatoo’s. “Just let me think, ladies,” he said, putting a hand to his deeply creased forehead. “Simple enough to do, of course, but rather more difficult to maintain. As you can see, the water lilies are thriving here. We can certainly form the long sweeping curve, Amelia, and it would look wonderful, but plants like to fight back. Still, it could be tried. We would then have to sit back and wait for the regrowth. It’s bound to be within a few days.”
“It was just an idea, Vernon,” Amelia said, seeing the sense of what Vernon had said.
“A good idea, m’dear!” He smiled benevolently, something he didn’t often do. “We can call it an experiment.”
“Amelia flew to London to see this year’s Chelsea Show,” Anthea turned to her mentor and friend. It was very clear they were the greatest of friends as well as collaborators in Kooralya’s gardens.
“Did you now?” Vernon showed his interest. “Not another flower show to match it,” he said proudly.
The talk fell to the world-famous Chelsea Flower Show. Vernon, in another lifetime, had actually met the young Queen Elizabeth, an honour he had never forgotten. The three of them took a slow, rambling walk around the unconventional gardens. Amelia could see they had been planted by an expert with a superb design vision allied to the knowledge of which plants would survive the hot Outback conditions. Vernon and Anthea together had come up with the idea of the fascinating abstract metal sculptures that were strategically placed around the large area. It wasn’t the garden for classical statues anyway, Amelia thought.
