Jacaranda Vines

by Tamara McKinley

  ‘How come you know so much of what went on all those years ago? You make it sound as if you were there.’

  Cordelia perched her glasses on her nose and yawned. ‘I was in a way,’ she said finally. ‘Rose was a great storyteller.’

  ‘But you couldn’t have known all that just through her, surely?’

  ‘Not at first,’ Cordelia admitted. ‘But as the years went on and I matured enough to understand the complex weave of our family history, I was given access to other sources that filled the important gaps. The rest is logic and imagination.’

  Sophie shifted in her camp chair. ‘What sources?’ she asked impatiently.

  ‘This and that,’ the old lady replied airily. Then she yawned again. ‘Time for tucker and a stiff brandy. All this story-telling has given me an appetite.’

  *

  Sophie and her grandmother had started out early the next day so they could cover a good part of the journey before the sun made travelling uncomfortable, and were rewarded by the sight of a mob of roos bouncing over the pale green grass before they disappeared into the dappled shadows of a stand of gum trees. The road was deserted, the land stretching for endless miles around them. Distant mountains were dusky blue clouds along the horizon, and stands of eucalypt and stringy bark danced in pools of heat haze.

  Sophie drove along the deserted Newell highway, aware of her surroundings and of her grandmother in the seat beside her. Yet her mind constantly returned to the dreams she had had the night before, and as a companionable silence fell between them, she compared the landscape of her dreams to that of reality.

  She had dreamed of a chalk figure embossed in the lush grass of a gentle green hill above an English village, and of the people who had once lived in the Manor House and tied cottages that lay in its shadow. Her years in England had given her a taste of the scenery that must have surrounded Rose and her family, for Cris had wanted her to see as much as possible of his country and they had spent a great deal of time exploring the south coast of England and the tiny villages there time seemed to have forgotten. Now, as her grandmother unfolded the story of her ancestors, she felt those memories come alive, as if she too had witnessed the turns of fate that must have brought Rose to the other side of the world.

  ‘I wonder what Rose felt when she first saw this country,’ she murmured. ‘It’s so big, so empty – so stark compared to her tiny village. She must have been very lonely after living in such a close community.’

  ‘Rose was made of stern stuff,’ pronounced Cordelia. ‘She might only have been a girl who knew nothing of the world outside her village, but she was clever and quick-witted and made the best of what of what life dished out to her.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘You’ll find out later,’ said Cordelia with a smile.

  Sophie knew she had to be satisfied but it was hard not to show her impatience. ‘Thank goodness things have changed,’ she said as they approached the next camp site set on the edge of the Herveys Range. ‘These days she could have sued her employers for sexual harassment.’

  ‘Yes,’ agreed Cordelia. ‘It was a tough kind of justice in those days. Rich and poor alike were tied within their classes with little or no means of escape. For a pretty servant girl like Rose it was even tougher. The gentry looked down on them, if they bothered to look at all, and used them quite shamelessly without a thought for the consequences.’

  *

  ‘Why did you let mother go off on this hare-brained trip in the first place?’ Mary demanded.

  ‘I didn’t know anything about it until she came out of her bedroom that morning with Sophie and her suitcase,’ retorted Jane as she poured herself another drink.

  ‘You could have stopped her.’

  She turned from the bar and eyed Mary. ‘Have you ever tried to stop Cordelia from doing anything?’ Her tone was conciliatory. She had learned long ago not to rise to Mary’s bait. If it was a fight she was looking for, she’d come to the wrong place.

  ‘You could at least have called one of us to come and reason with her,’ said Mary stubbornly. She drained her glass and helped herself to another gin and tonic.

  Jane watched anxiously. Mary didn’t usually drink much, there were a lot of calories in gin and tonic, but today was obviously proving more stressful than usual. Yet if she carried on drinking like this, she would soon be drunk and impossible to reason with.

  ‘Cordelia is not someone who listens to reason when her mind’s made up about something,’ Jane said quietly. ‘You should know that, Mary.’

  ‘But to go off to the Hunter with Sophie is sheer madness with the crisis at Jacaranda looming over us all. What on earth possessed her?’

  There was no reply from Jane for the trip was as much of a mystery to her as it was to the others. As she watched the younger woman pace the floor, she wondered why it should matter so much.

  ‘What was her mood when she left, Jane? Was there anything odd in her behaviour? Any sign something was bothering her?’

  Janet twirled her glass and watched as the light caught the crystal. ‘She was the same as always,’ she replied. Then she looked back at the pacing Mary. ‘I do wish you’d sit down,’ she said quietly. ‘Wearing a path in the carpet isn’t going to change things or bring them back any faster.’

  Mary turned to face her, the glass in her hand almost empty now. ‘Of course it would suit you if Mum never came back, wouldn’t it, Jane?’ she said thoughtfully. She waved a hand to encompass the apartment. ‘You stand to gain quite a bit when she goes.’

  Jane stood up. ‘That’s a spiteful thing to say, Mary.’

  ‘But it’s true, isn’t it?’ Mary closed the gap between them, her cold gaze sizing Jane up with calculated rudeness. ‘You wormed your way into this family, lived free and easy on Mum’s handouts. Now you’re sitting tight, waiting for whatever she leaves you.’

  It took all Jane’s acting skills to appear calm before such vitriol – but the veneer was thin and wearing thinner by the minute. ‘I don’t have to justify myself to you or anyone,’ she hissed. ‘The arrangement between me and Cordelia is none of your damned business.’

  Mary smirked. ‘Not for long. If Mother’s left you so much as a cent, I’ll contest the will. You deserve nothing.’

  Jane took a deep breath. ‘You’ll find there are no grounds to contest Cordelia’s will, and you’d be better occupied minding your own business and looking out for your daughter.’

  Mary’s eyes were suddenly watchful and sharp. ‘So you know what’s in Mother’s will? Helped her write it, did you? Made sure you weren’t wasting your time?’

  This was intolerable. Jane slammed the glass down on the table and heard the sharp crack as the crystal shattered. She stared at the deepening puddle of gin and tonic on the polished wood but made no move to clear it up. It reminded her of something that had happened a long time ago and, coming on top of Mary’s tirade, it was almost too much to bear. ‘You’d better go before I say something we’ll both regret,’ she said softly.

  ‘What could you possibly say to me that I’d find remotely interesting, let alone regret? We’re hardly close,’ Mary sneered.

  ‘Perhaps the lack of closeness is the best reason for silence.’

  Mary frowned and Jane could see she was puzzled. She looked away, almost afraid of the questions that would surely follow for there were things Mary didn’t know. Things she wouldn’t understand – and this was not the time to reveal them.

  ‘I’m not going anywhere until you tell me where Mum’s will is.’

  Jane almost breathed a sigh of relief before she looked into the stubborn face. This was something she could handle. ‘I have no idea where it is,’ she lied.

  ‘I don’t believe you.’

  ‘Then we’re at an impasse,’ said Jane quietly as they stood facing one another. Her pulse was hammering, and she could feel cold rivulets of sweat running down her back. She wanted Mary gone. Needed silence and space so she could drop the façade of cool detachme
nt.

  Mary snatched up her handbag and headed for the door. ‘This isn’t the end of it,’ she snapped. ‘You’ll be sorry you crossed me, Jane. Very sorry.’ She didn’t say good-bye, merely slammed the door behind her.

  Jane sank into the chair and stared sightlessly into the distance. Mary had unwittingly scratched the soft underbelly of her lonely existence within this powerful family, and Jane found that more painful than she could ever have imagined. It had taken years to build up that defensive wall, but only moments for Mary to tear it down. Now she was left feeling vulnerable and lost, her conscience troubled.

  4

  Kate smiled as she left the meeting of the charity trustees and ran down the steps to the car. She had managed to persuade them to apply for a grant from the Lottery, and with the funding she had already raised, her dream of providing a special facility for young paraplegics was about to become a reality.

  Australian Rules football was a tough, physical sport and, like her son had been, there were dozens of youngsters maimed or killed by it each year. Those who survived often had to live out their lives in wheelchairs or nursing homes. One put a terrible strain on both the patients and their carers; the other often took the youngsters miles from their families to places where they felt isolated and forgotten.

  Kate’s dream was to build a nursing home with a difference. She had found a plot of land on the Mornington Peninsula, and an architect who was willing to give his services free. The building would be constructed along the lines of a luxury hotel, with rooms set aside for visiting relatives and friends of the patients. There would be a medical wing, of course, and all the usual chiropractors, masseurs and physiotherapists, as well as a state-of-the-art entertainment centre with its own cinema that could double as a theatre. Indoor and outdoor pools, a restaurant and small shopping mall would make the complex completely self-sufficient. All profits from the retail and entertainment sectors would be ploughed back into the charity.

  The project was ambitious and would cost millions of dollars. The trustees had been slow to commit such a vast sum, but once she’d raised more than half of what they would need, they’d had to capitulate.

  Kate slammed the car door and took a deep breath before lighting a cigarette and starting the engine. If her meeting with Charles went half as well, she’d count this as a successful day.

  The first spots of rain splattered on the windscreen as she drove down Nicholson Street, past Parliament House and the Hotel Windsor. Typical, she thought. Sun one minute, rain the next. It only needed the wind to get up and it would be like winter again. Turning right into Flinders Street she had to brake sharply and wait, nails tapping on the steering wheel, for the rattling brown and yellow tourist tram to pass before she could turn left onto Princes Bridge.

  Charles and his second wife Vipia lived in a sixbedroomed mansion off the Toorak road, and as Kate finally turned the car into the driveway, she was struck, as always, by the sheer grandeur of the place. It was big and rambling behind the remote-controlled wrought-iron gates, its balconies and terraces bright with flowers and tropical palms. The front door had once graced an old church in oak studded with iron. Stone lions guarded the steps leading up to the door, and as Kate passed them she patted them on the head and smiled. Even they looked smug.

  The Italian maid opened the door and showed her into the lounge. ‘How’re the English lessons coming on, Angelina?’

  ‘Is-a good. Fair dinkum.’ She grinned. ‘I getta de maestro.’

  Kate raised an eyebrow. Charles must love that, she thought wryly. Maestro indeed. Whatever next?’

  ‘Kate, good to see you. Drink? Vipia will be with us shortly. Just seeing to lunch.’

  She eyed her cousin with exasperated affection as he bustled about serving the drinks. He might be pompous and overbearing in the boardroom but at home he was just a bumbling fool. ‘So you’ve got her doing the cooking now, have you?’ Kate teased. ‘Saves on the housekeeping, I should imagine.’ Charles had a reputation for meanness when it came to servants.

  ‘Now, now, Kate,’ he said with a knowing wink. ‘Vipia likes to feel she’s in charge of her own home. Refused to let me hire any more servants, you know.’ He shook his head, his brows meeting in a frown. ‘Extraordinary woman,’ he muttered.

  Kate sipped the drink he handed to her but was saved from any caustic comment by the almost silent entrance of his young wife. The tiny, graceful Thai woman bowed a greeting and went to stand beside her husband. Her almond-shaped eyes were watchful, a smile playing only around her mouth. Her long black hair fell to her waist, her skin was the colour of milky coffee and her dress was a whisper of silk held up by threads of ribbon.

  Kate smiled back, feeling as ever awkward and clumsy in the company of one so young yet so composed. Charles had never divulged his wife’s age, or where he’d found her, saying only that they’d met in Bangkok through an acquaintance. Kate reckoned she was not much past twenty-five, and judging by what Vipia had confided to her when she’d had too much to drink, had probably been working in a bar or strip club.

  ‘I suppose you want to talk about your mother?’ Charles always came straight to the point.

  ‘Then let’s do it over lunch.’ He put a proprietorial arm around his wife and gave her a squeeze. ‘Vipia has prepared Thai chicken with rice and steamed vegetables.’

  Kate remembered the last meal the girl had cooked and could already feel the onset of indigestion. Vipia’s idea of home cooking was to chuck in as many chillies and hot peppers as she could find, then send out for more. ‘Great,’ she said with forced enthusiasm.

  The table was superbly set with linen, crystal and silver, with a delicate arrangement of one rose, one twist of something that looked dead and a few leaves as a centrepiece. Kate had to hand it to the girl, she knew how to make a table look nice – even if she did burn the lining of her guests’ stomachs with her cooking. No wonder Charles was constantly red in the face.

  Kate did the best she could with the lunch, eating as little as possible and shifting the rest around the plate. It reminded her of when she was a child. She used to do the same thing with Brussels sprouts, and could almost hear her mother now telling her to stop making a mess. She finally gave up and drank a long glass of water.

  ‘As you seem to know why I’m here,’ she said as she manfully tried to get her numbed tongue to work, ‘I assume Edward told you what Mum’s up to?’

  ‘Dad did mention it, and although he thinks she’s crazy to go off like that at her age, he agrees with me that she’s free to do as she pleases so long as she gets back here in time for the next vote.’

  ‘It’s unfortunate you and Edward should choose to use the word “crazy” to describe what Mum’s doing, Charles,’ Kate said solemnly. ‘Because that’s just what Mary is trying to prove.’

  He put down his fork and took a long drink of lager. ‘I know,’ he said finally. ‘She turned up here last night.’

  ‘You didn’t believe her?’ Kate was disturbed to feel her pulse start to race. If Mary had convinced her cousin, then it would indeed be an uphill battle to protect Mum.

  ‘Fair go, Kate,’ he blustered. ‘Aunt Cordelia’s one of sanest people I know. If you ask me, that sister of yours is the one who should be locked up. She’s gone too far this time.’

  Kate sighed with relief. She should have known her cousin had more sense. ‘Mary’s not demented, Charles. Merely greedy and spiteful. But I know how to spike her guns. I’d like you to draw up an affidavit to confirm your opinion of Mum’s competence. I already have one from Daisy, and I’m seeing Jane later. Perhaps you could approach your father, Philip and the boys?’

  ‘That’s a good idea, Kate, but our opinion isn’t a medical one. Won’t hold water in a court of law.’

  ‘It might only be a small dam, but it’s better than no dam at all,’ she said firmly. ‘I phoned her solicitor this morning. He visited Mum at the beginning of the week, and he’s willing to swear she’s of sound mind. If w
e all agree, in writing, then Mary will find it almost impossible to prove otherwise.’

  ‘I’ll do my best, Kate,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘But what if we’re wrong and this trip really is the first sign that all is not well with Cordelia? Bloody strange thing to want to do right in the middle of a crisis.’

  Kate felt a surge of impatience. ‘You saw her the other day. Didn’t she impress you with the way she handled the meeting?’

  He nodded and grinned. ‘She certainly gave as good as she got, I’ll grant you that.’

  ‘Mum’s solicitor could see no deterioration either. In fact he was impressed by how sharp she was when it came to putting her affairs in order.’ Kate looked across the table at her cousin. She had to persuade him to sign that affidavit. ‘Daisy and I see her most days, and Jane lives with her. We know her better than anyone, and would be the first to notice if something was off-key.’

  ‘Take your point.’ He nodded sagely and stuck his thumbs in his waistcoast pockets as he leaned back in his chair. ‘I’ll get on to the others straight after lunch.’

  ‘In my country we have respect for our elders.’ Vipia’s light voice broke the silence.

  ‘We do in this country, too,’ said Kate sharply. ‘That’s why it’s so important we block Mary’s trouble-making before it gets out of hand.’

  Charles patted Vipia’s shapely thigh. ‘All this talk of business must be boring for you, dear, and as it doesn’t concern you, why not get my chauffeur to drive you into town? I know you want to shop for something to wear to the Vintners’ Ball.’

  The glance she shot at Kate was venomous but Vipia said nothing, merely rose from the table. Having deposited a kiss on her husband’s balding head, she bowed to Kate and left the room.

  Charles followed her with his eyes then turned back to Kate. ‘Artful little thing,’ he murmured. ‘Better not to discuss the family business in front of her. She was quite put out that Jock didn’t include her in his legacies, you know.’