Floodtide

by Judy Nunn

  It had been the first time Muzza had ever talked about Olga's past and he'd got himself quite worked up. 'She refused to go home though. Her qualifications weren't recognised, so she had to work in a restaurant at night to put herself through uni. But she did it. She's proud. If her family didn't want her, then she didn't want them, she said.'

  The wedding ceremony concluded, and there was a round of applause as husband and wife kissed. Then Muzza winked at Mike; a wink that said 'We've been married for three months, if only they knew.'

  Well-wishers gathered around the couple, and Muzza's parents, siblings, aunts, uncles and cousins surrounded the bride, embracing her as one of their own.

  Well, Olga certainly had a family now, Mike thought. He looked at Muzza who, even as he accepted the congratulations and hearty slaps on the back, had eyes for no-one but his wife. And she'd sure as hell found love and a man she could trust.

  Waiters popped champagne corks and people mingled while the couple signed the official registration papers and posed for photographs. Muzza and Olga hadn't hired a photographer, but family members and friends had arrived with cameras and were insistent, so they obliged with good humour.

  'What a lovely ceremony, wasn't it?'

  Mike had been about to join Spud and Pembo, who'd parked themselves over beside the help-yourself beer table, but Arlene had latched on to him again.

  'Yes, it certainly was,' he agreed.

  'You will be at our wedding, won't you, Mike? We're getting married at Christmas – promise me you'll be there.'

  'I promise, Arlene. Cross my heart and hope to die.'

  She laughed gaily, a laugh very reminiscent of Cynthia's, Mike couldn't help thinking. She even looked like Cynthia. A young Cynthia anyway – she couldn't have been more than twenty-one, twenty-two at the outside. But like Cynthia, she was very slim, very blonde and very beautiful, in a synthetic way. It was uncanny. He wondered if, like Cynthia Pemberton, there was a clever woman beneath the façade. He somehow doubted it.

  'I'm so glad.' Arlene's smile faded, she was serious now. 'Your friendship is important to Ian, you know.'

  It certainly was. Mike was exactly the sort of friend Ian should cultivate, Arlene thought as she glanced over at her fiancé, in conversation with Spud Farrell. Spud was essential because he was well on the way to becoming rich, as indeed was Ian, and the rich naturally gravitated to one another. But men of good family like Mike McAllister, men who had class and commanded respect, were highly advantageous from an image point of view.

  'I'm not sure you realise just how important,' she added with a meaningful look, which said that she did.

  Mike found both the look and the attempted sincerity gauche. Here was one area of expertise she hadn't mastered in the Cynthia manner, he thought. Cynthia was so blatantly flirtatious when pretending to sincerity that you couldn't help succumbing even when you knew it was a sham. If Arlene was going to model herself on her future mother-in-law, then she'd better start taking lessons.

  'Well, friendships formed at university are usually very lasting, aren't they?' he said, easing his way out of the conversation.

  'Isn't that funny,' her face lit up, 'that's exactly what my father says. Daddy always says his closest friends are those he made at uni.' Arlene smiled, pleased that they'd discovered common ground so quickly. 'Flinders University, that is, we're from South Australia. Daddy's an orthopaedic surgeon.' She wanted Mike to know that, like him, she came from good stock.

  'Really?'

  'Yes, Mummy went to Flinders too, that's where they met, but they came to Perth when I was fifteen. We've been living out at Kalamunda, Daddy likes the country air, but we recently moved into town.' Her smile was that of the confidante. 'He says he got sick of commuting, but I actually think Mummy talked him into it. She told me she felt stranded in the hills.'

  'Yes, I suppose she would.'

  Mike cast an envious glance towards Spud and Pembo at the beer table; it seemed he was stuck with Arlene for a while.

  Spud poured himself a second glass and then topped up

  Pembo's.

  'So Arlene likes the penthouse, does she?' he asked.

  The seemingly innocent query was laden with innuendo, and the two shared a smile. Ian had filled Spud in on the facts. Arlene, who lived with her parents at their new waterside home in Nedlands, played the virginal fiancée to the hilt, and with great success. Her family and friends had no idea that the two of them had been sleeping together for the past three months.

  'Yes,' Ian replied. 'She particularly likes the wall-to-wall mirrors in the master bedroom.'

  They laughed.

  'Well, I'm glad it paid off for you,' Spud said. 'It's a good buy too. You won't go wrong there.'

  Arlene and her need for secrecy had been the reason Ian had sold his share in the Esplanade flat to Spud. Arlene wouldn't sleep with him while the two shared accommodation.

  'How could you possibly suggest it, Ian?' she'd said, horrified.

  At the time, he hadn't been sure whether her horror had been a general reaction to his suggestion they make love before they were married, or whether it had been merely the thought of Spud's nearby presence. He'd shopped around for another apartment, but Arlene had remained unforthcoming, and he'd resigned himself to the awful fact that he might have to wait for over a year. He was quite prepared to do so, he was obsessed with Arlene.

  Then the real estate agent had shown them the penthouse, tastefully leaving them alone to explore it for themselves.

  'How divine!' she'd said. The kiss they'd shared in the master bedroom had left Ian in no doubt. She'd never kissed him like that before. 'How absolutely divine!' And she'd kissed him again, the same way. He'd bought the place that very afternoon.

  Built in 1961, the Mount Eliza apartments at the top of Mount Street had been Perth's first luxury high-rise apartment complex, and as such remained extremely controversial. It towered on the hill overlooking Kings Park, a circular building fifteen storeys high, and had created a furore at the time of its construction, most considering it an eyesore. The fuss had eventually died down, although there were many who still referred to it scathingly as 'the thermos' or 'the spark plug'. There was no denying, however, the luxury of its interior or the panoramic views afforded its occupants, particularly those whose apartments took up a whole floor, as Ian's did.

  Ian Pemberton's penthouse looked out towards Rottnest Island to the west and the Darling Scarp to the east. It looked up and down the Swan River and over Kings Park, or over the city and the northern suburbs, depending upon which room or window one chose to look out from.

  Arlene had a key to the apartment, and while her fiancé was away on field trips or working at his Kalgoorlie offices, as he so often was, she'd pop in. She'd wander, clockwise or anti-clockwise dependent upon her mood. She adored the apartment. It must have cost Ian a fortune, she thought.

  It had. Or rather, it had cost Excalibur Holdings a fortune.

  'Yes, it's a good buy,' Ian agreed with Spud, and the conversation turned to business.

  The wedding party and guests were about to retire to the Kings Park Restaurant just up the path where the reception was to be held. But Muzza wanted a quick break. He'd had enough of posing for photographs and responding to toasts with champagne. He was after a beer with his mates.

  'Go on,' Olga urged. 'I will lead the troops and see you at the reception.'

  'Good on you, love.'

  He looked about. Spud and Pembo were over by the beer table, but where was Mike? Olga spied him first, locked in conversation with Arlene.

  'I will send Mike to you,' she said. 'Join your friends, darling.'

  Muzza gratefully zoomed off, and in less than a minute had a beer in his hand.

  Arlene was still in full flight. She'd been telling Mike about her interest in fashion design. She'd graduated from her arts course at UWA only last year.

  'Just imagine,' she said, 'if I'd gone to uni a few years earlier, I'd have been there wi
th you and Ian. Isn't it funny the way life pans out?'

  'Yes, I suppose it is.'

  Convinced by now that Arlene was seriously dumb, Mike had resigned himself to the conversation – she was, after all, only trying to be nice. But he was deeply thankful for Olga's interruption.

  'We are going to the reception, Arlene,' Olga said.

  Arlene found the intrusion extremely rude. Bossy too, she thought. But then Olga was often bossy. And where were her manners? She could at least have said 'excuse me'.

  'Lovely.'

  Arlene smiled at Mike, presuming they'd walk up to the restaurant together and continue their chat. She must ensure she sat next to him at the reception – she'd switch the place settings if necessary. Her plan to cultivate his friendship on a personal level was going extremely well. But Olga once again interrupted, tucking a comradely arm through Arlene's.

  'The boys are going to have a quick beer before they join us,' she said. 'Shall we go with the others?' Olga was always friendly towards Arlene. Sure that, deep down, the girl was insecure, she felt sorry for her.

  Arlene was irritated, but left with no choice. 'I'll see you shortly, Mike,' she called over her shoulder as Olga led her away.

  Arlene didn't like Olga. Olga was foreign and plain and yet utterly self-assured. The mixture was not right at all, she should recognise her place in the pecking order. And how on earth could the woman get around the way she did, without any make-up? Ian, strangely enough, refused to encourage any criticism of Olga. He was normally amused when Arlene bitched about other women – he'd laugh with delight and egg her on. But not when it came to Olga. 'Yeah, she's a bit of a weirdo, but she's good for Muz', was all he'd say. Arlene found it most annoying.

  Mike, Spud and Ian raised their glasses to Muzza.

  'Here's to a long and happy life with a woman who loves you, mate,' Spud said.

  'To Muzza and Olga,' Mike toasted.

  'To Muzza and Olga,' Ian repeated, and all three drank heartily while Muzza grinned from ear to ear.

  He raised his own glass. 'To mateship,' he declared.

  'To mateship.' They drank again.

  Then, just like the old days, the toasts continued. They kept topping up their glasses as they drank to Mike and his new job with Dampier Salt, to Spud's stud farm and next year's Perth Cup, and to Excalibur Holdings and its fresh enterprise in the Pilbara.

  It appeared they'd run out of toasts, but Muzza came up with another.

  'To the next matrimonial cab off the rank,' he said. 'To Pembo and Arlene.'

  Muzza didn't particularly warm to Arlene, but he'd been influenced by Olga, as was often the case. Olga was a very astute judge of people's character, and if Olga felt the girl was insecure then she was no doubt right. Anyway, he thought, Pembo was mad about Arlene, and that was all that mattered. As mates it was their bounden duty to accept her into the fold.

  Mike and Spud were plainly in agreement.

  'To Pembo and Arlene,' they said with gusto.

  Ian beamed. He wished Arlene was with them so she could hear the toast. She was keen for his friends to like her, and this was proof that they did. Hell, what man wouldn't like a woman as good-looking as Arlene? He couldn't wait to see her walking down the aisle, the most beautiful bride in the world. He'd be the envy of all. And then they could live together as man and wife. He longed for the day, he was sick of the subterfuge. A whole ten months to go! God, he wished it was Christmas.

  The four of them were well in the mood to party as they made their way up the path to the restaurant.

  'Hey Muzza,' Ian said quietly when they got to the door, 'could you somehow manage to get that toast in towards the end of the reception?'

  Muzza looked blank.

  'You know ... me and Arlene and the wedding at Christmas, she'd really like that.'

  'Course I will, mate.' Muzza was amused. How very out of character for Ian Pemberton to sound humble. But he found the request touching. There were no two ways about it: the man was in love. Pembo was putty in Arlene's hands.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Andrew had been surprised when Jo had announced that she was going home for Christmas, and that furthermore she was leaving in just one week.

  'But you never go home for Christmas,' he said. 'Your mother always comes to Sydney. Why the change? And why so soon? It's three weeks until Christmas.'

  'Well, I'm not actually going home – not to Manjimup anyway. Mum's moved to Perth.' She appeared a little distracted.

  'But surely your mother can come over here? What about Alana?' Jo smiled in spite of herself. His protective attitude towards Alana was always endearing.

  'She's three years old, Andy. She's very excited about the prospect of flying in an aeroplane. I couldn't possibly disappoint her now.'

  'You mean you've already told her? Before you talked it over with me?' Andrew was genuinely shocked.

  'Yes.' This was the down side, she thought. Andy was under the impression she belonged to him, but she didn't. Perhaps she loved him, she really didn't know, but the more proprietorial he became, the more she retreated into herself. 'I need to go home, Andy,' she said. 'Things have happened. I need to see my mother.'

  She'd closed off, he could tell. It annoyed him when she did that, but he'd learned not to push her too hard. Johanna preferred to keep her feelings to herself, and it was difficult to get through to her at times. He wouldn't pursue the conversation now, he decided, but he'd choose the right moment, when she was at her most receptive. He'd need to make his bid before she left for Perth.

  Johanna Whitely and Andrew Gaden had been lovers for over a year. He'd initially kept his distance after she'd shocked him with the news of her child – why pursue a woman with a baby, he'd thought. But he'd felt guilty. Jo needed a friend and he was letting her down. He'd realised only several weeks after he'd renewed their friendship that he'd been fooling himself. He was more in love with her than ever, and it wasn't friendship he wanted.

  It had been a full six months before they'd made love, and he'd expected things to change after that. But they hadn't really. She was sensual in bed, and openly affectionate, but he still didn't know where he stood with her. Johanna remained a mystery.

  Jo remained a mystery to herself in some ways. What was it she wanted? She'd given in to Andrew's sexual over-tures during a moment of weakness, never intending to embark upon a full-blown affair. But Andy had proved irresistible. He was fun, he made her laugh, and further-more he was an excellent lover. She found their sex far more fulfilling than the exchange of favours she'd experienced with Mike. So how come she didn't love him the way she'd loved Mike? Jo had given up asking herself that question.

  Despite his repeated requests, she'd refused to move in with him during her final year at university, continuing to stay at Nora's house in Potts Point, but most weekends had been spent at the flat he'd bought in Double Bay. Andrew, now a highly sought-after lawyer, enjoyed the trappings that went with success, and that included a three-bedroom apartment with harbour views.

  He'd reserved one of the spare bedrooms for Alana, fresh toys appearing on a regular basis, and he'd recently had the walls covered with Donald Duck wallpaper. Jo had found it somewhat confronting.

  'Andy, you shouldn't have!'

  'Why not? Look at her. She loves it.'

  Allie was kissing every Donald Duck she could reach.

  'You spoil her too much already.'

  Jo knew that her response sounded weak, just as she knew that the indulgence of the child was not the problem at all. The problem was her own feeling of entrapment. Andy treated her like some form of acquisition, he was taking over her life. And now, it would appear, her daughter's too.