by Di Morrissey
‘I have to lock up the studio and keep the key,’ said Sarah. ‘To stop him creeping back in at night and redoing a painting, or starting over. As soon as one is finished I whip it over to Greta to store.’
Dani laughed, but she understood Max’s feelings of insecurity. ‘No matter how good you become, or how famous, or collectable – whatever you want to call it – seems to me each painting is like starting from square one again.’
As everyone chatted, Henry turned to Lara. ‘Been meaning to tell you. Had a woman contact me at the museum the other day. Said she’d heard about you and that her elderly mother could help you with your family search. I’ve got her details at the museum. Pop by next week.’
Lara was surprised at the casualness of his remark but decided not to get too excited by it. Once again the spectre of the mysterious letters came back to rattle her. She was about to quietly mention it to Henry when Dani came between them, handing around biscuits.
Max and Sarah rose to go and check on the children, and Helen and Barney went off to see a few more exhibits with an offer to join their mob where Angela and Tony had set up their picnic.
‘Now there’s something you don’t see very often,’ commented Henry.
‘What’s that?’ asked Dani.
‘Jason and Kerry being sociable.’ He nodded in the direction of where Jason was standing talking to Kerry who was about to get into her truck.
‘Why not? Don’t they have horses in common?’ asked Dani.
‘They’ve a lot more in common than that,’ commented Patricia.
‘Some of us can relate to sibling rivalry,’ grinned Henry. ‘Patricia has a very difficult sister. Jason and Kerry have never had much in common. Big falling out when their father died and left everything to Jason.’
Dani sat down. ‘They’re brother and sister? I had no idea.’
‘It’s common knowledge. Jason moved away when he was very young and didn’t come back till he got involved with the Birimbal project. His great-grandfather was a lawyer and his grandfather too. His father, also a legal man, moved to Sydney and became a judge. Jason’s mother was a Sydney society matron, so he cut his ties with Cedartown pretty early. When their father died the family estate here went, as it always has, to the oldest son. Girls did not inherit as they weren’t considered capable of managing money. Their husbands did that, hence the idea was to marry up, as you were discussing earlier.’
‘So Jason hardly lived here but what happened to Kerry?’ Dani was shocked she knew none of this. But then she and Jason were more professional associates, why would he talk about his family?
‘She was into horses and on the show-jumping circuit. Got married, her husband was killed and later she had a bad accident so she came back home. Except she had no home. So Jason lets her live on the family estate,’ explained Henry. ‘There’s more to it, but you’d have to talk to Kerry and Jason to get the story.’
‘It feels like prying,’ said Dani. ‘Nothing’s ever been hinted at, and if they don’t get on, I don’t feel I should ask.’
‘Quite right too,’ said Patricia, standing up and smoothing her skirt. ‘There’s enough speculation and gossip in this town. Always has been. Right, I’m off to do what I have to do.’
The group broke up with plans to join Tony and Angela and Helen and Barney who had Eskies full of cold beer and chicken in the back of their four-wheel drive. To make a day of it, Lara invited everyone back to Cricklewood for an impromptu supper.
Tim and Dani stayed the night at Cricklewood and after everyone had left and they’d cleaned up and Tim had gone to bed with his prize ribbon hanging on the bedpost, Dani and Lara sat in the crisp night air on the front verandah.
‘That was a surprise about Jason and Kerry,’ said Lara.
‘Mmm. I’ve found Kerry to be a bit . . . stand-offish. Maybe it’s shyness. Maybe she’s bitter.’
‘Who wouldn’t be? It’s how it was in the country, the property always divided up among the boys,’ said Lara.
‘There’s this amazing old house filled with antiques on the property, it must be Jason’s family home. But it’s like a mausoleum and Kerry lives in a farm cottage. Weird,’ said Dani. ‘There must have been some falling out.’
‘Sounds cosier than a big place full of stuff to look after,’ said Lara. ‘That must be where the things in your cottage came from.’
Dani was thoughtful, remembering Kerry slaving away cleaning the big house. Why didn’t Jason get a cleaner rather than let his sister do it?
Lara changed the subject. ‘Speaking of weird. I’ve been getting these letters, Dani. Well, a couple dropped in the mailbox here, by hand.’
‘What sort of letters?’ Dani was unsettled by the strain in her mother’s voice.
In reply Lara handed Dani the letters, which she read swiftly in the light coming from the lounge room.
‘Mum, who would send these? Whoever it is sounds unhinged, and who’d know about what you’re doing? Did you go to the police?’ said Dani.
‘No, I let it go, it’s some kind of a prank maybe. There was that article about us in the local paper . . .’
‘Mum, these are threatening.’ Dani felt unnerved and glanced out into the dark street.
‘What puzzles me is the idea there’s some secret, something bad I shouldn’t know.’
‘Like what? Is there something you’re not telling me?” asked Dani.
‘No, of course not, it’s something I don’t know and whatever it is someone doesn’t want me to find out.’
‘About your father? His family? That’s the only gap in your family history, isn’t it?’ Dani had become so swept up in reading about Isabella’s history and life that she hadn’t thought too much about her mother’s search. She now had the feeling, following her thoughts on the merry– go-round, that there was some convergence. That past histories – linked to her family, the present, the future and the valley – were somehow merging.
‘Mum, did I hear Henry say he had some contact? Someone who knew your family? You’d better look them up.’
‘I will. I just hope whoever it is has all their marbles and I’m not going to have to sit with some oldie in a home who can’t remember their own name.’ Lara got up. ‘It’s been a big day, I’m going to bed. You should too. Don’t you have some work to do tomorrow?’
‘Yeah. I’m seeing Jason and going with Max to the gallery to help him select which paintings to show the agent.’
‘Honey, maybe you should show the agent some of your work too,’ suggested Lara.
‘No way, Mum. I’m nowhere near Max’s league, and it’s his connection. When I feel I’m ready Greta will set me up I’m sure.’
Dani had her own creative insecurities and wasn’t ready to put herself out there for public comment. She was still trying to find her own style and the best technique to express it. For the moment she was absorbed by Isabella, her life and country, which was giving her a focus and also providing something of a crutch. She just hoped her work would be what Jason and his backers wanted. At the thought of investors she thought of Roddy and his mysterious film financier and hoped he’d come up with the full budget for the film. Dani wanted the film to be made, not so much for Roddy’s sake but for all the people in the community who were supporting it.
Dani shut the front door and wondered if the strange letter writer was out there, watching. You’re not going to spook us. There are too many strong family vibes around this house protecting us, she decided.
Lara
It was the usual chaotic jolly atmosphere in the back room of the historical society. Lara greeted Garth and nodded at the others whose names she couldn’t recall. Henry emerged from the front display area and produced a scrap of paper.
‘There you go. She says her mother knew your family.’
Lara glanced at the name. ‘I’ll give her a call. Hope her mother is still alert, she must be getting on.’
‘Only one way to find out. I’m off to the Cedartown RSL for lu
nch. You joined yet? Best and cheapest food in town,’ said Henry.
Lara did some shopping at the local organic fruit and veg shop, popped into the cheese factory deli to stock up and made a note the next time she was in Hungerford to go to Rudi’s smallgoods for some of his tasty German bratwurst sausages and his smoked and pickled meats. She hadn’t entertained or had people drop in to visit so regularly in a long time. She’d got out of the habit in Sydney. She had dinner parties when she was married and after that she met friends in cafes or restaurants. Preparing food for guests had become a chore. Here she was enjoying discovering all the local delicacies and, most of all, the company of friends she’d made in the valley.
Back at Cricklewood she poured herself a glass of iced rainwater from the tank, sat at the telephone desk in the hallway and dialled the number Henry had given her.
The woman who answered, Barbara Ellmore, sounded very pleasant and said her mother had read the article in the local paper and knew who she was.
‘So your mother is pretty active?’ asked Lara.
‘Oh, she’s amazing, fit as a flea, I have trouble keeping up with her. She’d go to the club every day if I had the time. She plays cards three nights a week.’
‘How wonderful. How old is she?’
‘She’s seventy-nine, still drives, has a bad back and arthritis, so she moved out of her big house and has a nice unit on the outskirts of Riverwood. She lives alone, cooks, tidies her unit, potters in the garden. We insisted she get someone in to do the heavy cleaning. Would you like to meet her?’
‘Indeed I would. Perhaps I should chat to her on the phone first,’ said Lara.
‘Fine. If you can catch her at home,’ added Barbara.
Lara wrote down the phone number and directions before realising, ‘Silly, I haven’t even asked her name.’
‘It’s Phyllis Lane. She was Phyllis Richards. She’s a really decent old stick. And I’m not just saying that ’cause she’s my mother. Everyone loves her. From the few things she said, I’m pretty sure she’ll be able to help you. She wants to talk to you, wouldn’t tell me anything.’
‘What sort of things?’ asked Lara cautiously.
‘Look, it’s not my place to say. At first she said she didn’t think you should be raking over the past, it’s all dead and gone. But I figured anyone who moved up here to research their family history needs to know anything Mum remembers that could help.’
‘Thank you,’ said Lara.
‘That generation, they’re very proper, conscious of not stepping out of line, breaking confidences, that sort of thing,’ said Barbara cheerfully. ‘You have to admire that.’
‘Indeed. Well, I’ll give Mrs Lane a call.’
‘Call her Aunty Phyllis, everyone does.’
Lara hung up the phone, quite rattled at so easily finding a member of the Richards family. What relation were these people to her father Clem Richards? She hadn’t wanted to ask someone like Barbara who probably didn’t know, sounded busy, and seemed not that interested anyway. All Lara knew about her father was the name on her birth certificate. She hoped this ‘Aunty Phyllis’ would be honest and give her unbiased information.
But there must be some reason her own mother had refused to talk about him. Elizabeth said she’d told Lara about him when she was little. Lara protested that she was so young she had no recall of the conversation, but that the subject was closed as far as Elizabeth was concerned.
Her stepfather – whom she believed to be her father until she saw her birth certificate for the first time – was a loving, gentle man whom she adored. Lara had never wondered about her biological father until she was pregnant with Dani. By then she was living abroad and the subject of her real father had become such a taboo subject Lara let it drop. Now there were many unanswered questions.
How she wished she’d probed her grandfather more deeply when she’d come to visit him with baby Dani after her grandmother Emily had died. Lara knew her grandparents tended to put a positive, light-hearted coating on unpleasantness. Vague references from her grandmother about not raking up the past, or certain things being best forgotten, had slipped under Lara’s childhood radar at the time. She knew there had been a falling out between her mother and her grandmother, but neither of them were easy personalities. With the instinctive wisdom of a child, Lara found it safest never to repeat anything either said or did to the other.
It took two days to reach Phyllis by phone. Lara caught her one evening and found her to be chirpy, bright and chatty.
‘It’s taken you a while to come back and visit, what took you so long?’ asked Phyllis.
‘I’ve visited a few times. And I used to come on holidays,’ said Lara feeling chastised. ‘But you’re right, I have left it a long time. Maybe too long. You don’t think about the past when you’re busy getting on with the present.’
‘You were little when you left here, weren’t you? I only remember you as a baby.’
‘You knew me, saw me then?’ exclaimed Lara.
‘I was young, not interested in babies at that stage,’ chuckled Phyllis. ‘My dear old mum was more interested in you, not that your grandmother allowed that.’
Lara was feeling overwhelmed, the past had caught up with her in a rush. ‘So what relation are you to my father, Clem Richards?’
‘Little sister.’ Phyllis sighed. ‘He was my favourite brother. If we could turn back the clock, eh?’
‘What was he like? What happened between him and my mother, she refused to talk about him.’
Phyllis paused. ‘Dear, I don’t think it’s my place to tell you things your mother never told you.’
Lara wanted to shake the phone. ‘Come on, it couldn’t be that bad, could it? A lot of water under the bridge. My mother isn’t here, how am I going to find out anything? It’s not just for me, my daughter wants to know her history too,’ said Lara in exasperation.
‘I don’t know a lot, and I’m not going to repeat gossip unless I know it to be true. I was young, more interested in my own life. There was a lot of pain, the war changed families . . .’ she broke off.
Lara tried another tack. ‘What about my grandparents, Emily and Harold Williams, did you know them?’
‘First time I met them properly was at the wedding. I so wanted to be a bridesmaid in a long dress with flowers in my hair. But it was war time, it was an evening wedding as I recall. I remember having a dance with Clem, he always made a fuss of me. ‘Cause I was the only girl and the youngest in our family.’
‘What was the wedding like? What do you remember?’ Lara was thirsty for any details.
‘It was small, simple. I remember there were a few friends but the two families kept very separate. Your grandmother didn’t approve. She kept her nose in the air. Not that it bothered me.’
‘And after that?’
Phyllis sighed. ‘It’s a bit late, I haven’t had my tea. I think it’s best we have a chat another time. Face to face?’
‘I’d like that. Can I come and see you? I’d really appreciate it. Do you have any photos?’ asked Lara suddenly.
‘Well, now. I suppose I have kept some. I had a big clean out when I moved here. Gave a lot of stuff to Barbara and her daughter.’
‘Is tomorrow too soon?’
Phyllis chuckled. ‘Steady on. I have to do a bit of digging in boxes and I have a card tournament, and a few things on. What about morning tea on Friday?’
Four days away. Lara sighed, she had little choice and she didn’t want to frighten her off. ‘Whatever suits you. I’ll come to you. Barbara gave me the address. Can I take you out somewhere?’
‘No, let’s stay here. Easier with pictures and things.’
‘Of course. Thank you so much, Phyllis . . . Can I call you that?’
‘Everyone calls me Aunty Phyllis, dear. Of course in your case I really am your aunty. Be real nice to catch up with you, Lara. Bye.’
Lara sat still, holding the phone, staring at the black and white tiles of the hallway f
loor. It hadn’t registered with her till that moment that the woman she’d been chatting with, a complete stranger, was family. Her father’s sister. Her aunt.
Lara poured herself a drink and sat in the lounge room, the TV flickering with the sound off, unheeded. Photographs and cuttings were still piled on the coffee table. Idly she began to flick through them deciding which ones she’d take to show Phyllis in the hope she could identify them. There were lots of pictures of soldiers in uniform. Some obviously taken at Cricklewood, on the front verandah, on the front lawn beside Emily’s roses, and some more casual ones of the boys with Elizabeth and another girl cuddling on the back steps.
Then a photo caught her eye and she lifted it from the pile and studied it, looking at the boyish happy face, with his arm around a beaming Elizabeth in a very forties frock with padded shoulders, round-toed high heels, her hair rolled around her face in a stylish copy of Joan Crawford or Loretta Young or whatever movie star was the current favourite.
Then Lara shivered and turned slowly to glance over her shoulder into the shadowy corners of the room. Could this be the man she’d glimpsed as a ghostly figure standing in this room the first night she stayed here? He looked familiar.
Lara threw the photo down on the pile and rushed from the lounge room, shutting the double glass doors and retreating to the kitchen. She went to bed early with her book, the phone and a glass of hot milk. She slept. A determined sleep. Eyes squeezed shut, pillow clutched close. She barely moved during a dreamless passing of the hours. But in the morning a sixth sense, a feeling of dread sent her to the letterbox.
As she suspected, and feared, another letter waited.
Do not believe the lies and fabrications of those with fading memories. No one knows the truth. It is too late to repair the damage and fix the pain. Go away before you and yours are punished too.
In the bright light of morning, the letter seemed less intimidating than it would have at night time but nonetheless threatening. Lara decided to put it to one side and try to ignore it. She didn’t want to worry Dani. But it was a creepy feeling, like someone had intruded into her home. She knew she was watching faces in the street, wondering if anyone was following her.
