The Bay

by Di Morrissey

  ‘At least she is taking appropriate steps,’ his wife replied. ‘I like to see women wake up and take control of their own lives.’

  Paul Maynard smiled at her. ‘Quite so, my dear. Now what have you arranged for the rest of my day?’

  Holly tossed throughout the night. She had strange, half-awake visions like weird dreams. She kept seeing the face of a woman – a woman she didn’t recognise. She was young, in her thirties maybe, dark hair pulled back from her head in a severe style like a ballet dancer. This woman made Holly fearful. Who was she? At the same time she kept seeing Andrew, laughing, looking carefree and youthful.

  Why was he so happy while she was racked with worry over her finances, her future, which was bound up in Richmond House? She had to make a success of it because she knew very well now that Andrew was not going to bail her out if it foundered. He was wrapped up in his own business and he regarded Richmond House as her little hobby, of no consequence in the big scheme of things where he operated. And what exactly were his business activities? Nola’s bombshell that he had been seen at some Asian man’s apartment with a local businessman of dubious reputation worried her more than she had let on. A golf game was one thing, clandestine cocktails quite another. The yawning gap in their communication with each other, even on things like who he knew in what she now regarded as her town, made her realise how far apart they’d grown.

  The information the solicitor had given her, although he’d cloaked it in fatherly tones, made her feel an utter fool. How could she have been so stupid? So trusting? But that was how she’d been brought up, even at the tail end of the baby boomers. She had no reason not to trust her clever, successful husband.

  Holly had never felt so alone in her life. She leaned over and looked at the clock: 4.45 am. She got up. What was the point of tossing and turning? She made a cup of tea, and seeing the first pale streaks of dawn faintly lighten the sky, she wrapped her thick bathrobe around herself and walked upstairs, through the little bedroom out onto the widow’s walk.

  A balmy breath of air lifted her hair. It would be colder after sunrise, but at the moment it was calm. The stars were still out, the morning star bright. Below, the waters of Tiny Bay were placid, the lighthouse flicked its beam in its endless pirouette. Holly paced around the small deck. A fleeting thought made her look down expecting to see a worn path; some other woman had paced like this, concerned, fearful. How had she dealt with her fears?

  Holly stopped, drew a breath, closed her eyes and stood very still. It was as if every nerve ending in her body was tuned, vibrating, waiting. And then suddenly she knew exactly what she had to do. She threw back her head, feeling the tension slip from her body. It wouldn’t be pleasant but it had to be done. She felt strong and capable. As the dawn chorus began, she laughed at the sleepy birds. ‘Good morning, birdies, it’s a new day. Is it ever.’

  Holly queued for a taxi at Sydney Airport. A new experience. No hire car on Andrew’s account this trip. She hadn’t given him warning she was arriving. Her instinct told her not to let him be prepared. She wanted to catch him off guard so there’d be no smooth answers. She wondered if Thomas, the family solicitor, had told Andrew about her call.

  How hectic the city seemed. Gazing at the traffic round her she couldn’t help flinching as the cab darted between lanes. Holly decided she’d never be able to drive in the city like this again. She smiled as she thought of how she whinged when she couldn’t find a parking spot at the supermarket in The Bay.

  As the taxi nosed through Neutral Bay towards Mosman Holly reflected that she’d never felt a part of her Sydney suburb. The taxi braked suddenly, flinging her forward and the driver cursed. Holly decided she’d be glad to go back home. Then she caught herself, she now considered The Bay as ‘home’.

  She felt strange as the taxi pulled up outside the large Mosman house. How formal and cold it looked. The garden was a bit neglected. Roger the handyman had cut the grass, swept the driveway and done some token weeding, but no one had dead-headed the flowers or done any pruning. She paid the driver, took the keys from her bag and wondered if Andrew was at work as it was barely 9 am. The doors of the double garage were closed. He normally left after a quick cup of coffee and a glance at the morning papers, leaving Holly to her solitary breakfast in the small sunroom. It was a ritual she’d always enjoyed.

  She unlocked the front door, dropped her bag and heard the radio playing. Andrew must have left it on. The familiar smell of the house came to her, bringing with it so many memories. She walked down the carpeted hallway and then stopped, hearing Andrew’s voice. Perhaps he was on the phone. She had been planning to see him at the office on less personal ground. Maybe she would suggest they could meet in town and have lunch together. She walked through the dining room towards the breakfast nook in the sunroom thinking she’d better call out so as not to alarm him, then she heard a second voice, a woman’s voice. At the same instant she reached the doorway and the tableau before her burned into her mind.

  Andrew and Letitia Sweetman were sitting over the remains of breakfast and scattered sections of the morning papers. Andrew was pouring coffee into Letitia’s cup. Both were dressed for work, though Holly noted Letitia had no shoes on.

  ‘Good morning. Am I interrupting?’ said Holly icily.

  Andrew leapt to his feet, putting the pot down with a clatter.

  ‘Darling, what a nice surprise. We’re having a bit of a breakfast meeting. You know Letitia, don’t you?’

  ‘Not really.’ Holly could only stare at them, the wild thought going through her mind, how come Andrew never had a leisurely breakfast with her?

  ‘We met when you came in to sign those papers and at dinner at The Bay,’ said Letitia with a bright smile.

  Andrew kissed Holly on the cheek. ‘Coffee? Still some in the pot. We thought it safer to meet here, bit of a hush-hush deal going on. Didn’t want people putting two and two together.’

  ‘About what?’ Holly went to the kitchen and got herself a cup.

  ‘It’s a long story. Letitia put me on to a developer and we’re negotiating a deal. A bit complicated,’ smiled Andrew.

  Holly sat at the table and held out her cup. ‘Well I’m not in a rush. See if I can follow your long story.’

  ‘Well, maybe later, we do have to get to another meeting,’ said Andrew glancing at Letitia, who rose.

  ‘I’ll get my things. My papers,’ she added unnecessarily.

  ‘Why are you here, Holly? Why didn’t you tell me you were coming down? I’ve got a really heavy schedule –’

  ‘Shall I make an appointment to see you then? I came down to speak to you, Andrew. About several things,’ she said in a tight voice.

  ‘How’s the house going? No problems? No more snakes?’ It was a feeble comment and he knew it.

  Letitia reappeared with a jacket, wearing shoes, carry ing a briefcase and handed Andrew a folder. ‘Your briefing papers. Shall I call a cab and meet you at Beard and Walshe?’

  He glanced at Holly. ‘Can this wait, I have a bunch of people turning up for this presentation? What about lunch? I could cancel my dinner I suppose . . .’

  Holly held her coffee cup with both hands so they wouldn’t see they were shaking. ‘Let’s do lunch. I’ll come to your office.’

  ‘Right, round 12.30. There’s a great new place close by. You’ll like it. See you later.’

  He escaped. She listened to the garage door open and close behind his car.

  Holly waited before gathering her strength to walk slowly through her house.

  Everything was in place as though the owners were away. She knew Judy had been in to clean, ornaments and pictures were lined up soldier-straight as she always left things after dusting. Distractedly, Holly repositioned a photograph and a vase on the small side table. The kitchen was clean except for a leftover croissant.

  She opened the dishwasher. Inside were two wine glasses and a plate. She looked in the fridge, no leftovers, very little food. She peered in the du
stbin under the sink. An empty bottle of one of the good old reds from Andrew’s collection was all it held. She went into the lounge room. It was tidy save for the wine opener on the bar, which she put in the drawer with the others. There was a fat envelope in there too. Curiously she pulled it out and her mouth dropped when she saw it was filled with thousands of dollars.

  But it was the note on top that puzzled her most. Why was Andrew being paid in cash? And who was the General? For a moment she was tempted to take the money and give it to Marcus, but instead she closed the drawer and continued wandering through the house in a daze. There were no flowers anywhere, Judy had emptied the vases.

  Finally she reached the master bedroom. The cushions on the bed were not how she arranged them. But then Andrew wouldn’t know that. No dirty clothes, nothing out of place. It was as if he hadn’t been living here. But the shower was wet, the glass still fogged. There was a sweet unfamiliar smell, soap perhaps. Holly looked down and saw long dark hairs caught in the plughole. There was nothing else, no used tissue in the wastepaper basket.

  A shower and breakfast and off to meetings. How cosy. Her plan to call Melanie and Marcus was pushed to one side.

  Holly walked through the house again. Very slowly, remembering. Idly she picked up a small blue vase that had belonged to her mother, wrapped it in a tea towel and pushed it into her shoulder bag. She glanced at her watch – nearly 10 am. Two and a bit hours to fill in.

  She rang for a taxi and waited at the front porch with her overnight bag at her feet. She watched birds dart around the garden, diving among the shrubs, trees and flowers she’d planted. Or had Roger planted them? Those were what her children called her pointing days. All she had to do was point and say, ‘Put it there, please.’ How different from life at Richmond House where she was using a shovel, dragging out old vines and cutting back dead branches with her new little handsaw.

  She directed the taxi to the cinema complex near Andrew’s office and bought a ticket to a film that finished at 12.15.

  She barely remembered who was in it or what it was about. She touched up her hair and make-up in the ladies room and, still carrying her bag, made her way to the office.

  His secretary buzzed her through and Holly firmly shut the door behind her.

  ‘What’s with the bag? Aren’t you staying down? Holly, what is all this about?’ He came around his desk and embraced her.

  She stood frozen to the spot, not returning his brief hug.

  He drew back and seeing her set face with tears rolling slowly down said, ‘Oh for God’s sake, Holly, you’re not going to make a scene in here? Not in front of the staff. Sit down. Do you want a glass of water?’ He led her to the sofa and sat opposite her.

  ‘Why, Andrew? How could you?’

  She looked so bewildered, so crumpled, so pathetic, Andrew recrossed his legs and said aggressively, ‘What the hell are you talking about?’ He was feeling shaky, unsure how much Holly knew, about everything.

  He’d made a few phone calls since arriving at the office. Thomas had told him about Holly’s phone call and that he’d had no option but to tell her what the situation was with the papers she’d signed. But did she know about Letitia? He’d been so careful. He’d stayed every night at Letitia’s hotel, except last night when they’d celebrated with a bottle of one of his best reds after a late dinner at a restaurant up the road. He hadn’t wanted to chance driving back to the hotel so they’d stayed the night at the house. He’d been careful to tidy up after them as Judy, the cleaning lady, would notice anything out of order which could get back to Holly. The last thing he’d expected was Holly to walk in unannounced. It was so unlike her to do anything off her own bat. He and Letitia had gone through it all when he’d called her from his car on the way in, and he felt their story of the breakfast meeting was a good one.

  ‘Andrew, I don’t know where to start. When did it all begin to go wrong? What did I do? Was I that boring? Was our life so dreadful?’ Holly asked tearfully. ‘I’m really trying hard to understand . . . how it’s come to this.’

  ‘Come to what? I’m trying to understand what you’re talking about.’ He decided to take the bull by the horns. ‘Now look, if it’s about the company directorship, I’ve been shuffling shares and things, it’s only temporary. I didn’t think you’d be interested –’

  ‘Why wouldn’t I be interested in the fact I have been pushed out of the business and our joint assets?’

  ‘Do you need money? I’m just refinancing and restructuring. How much do you need?’

  ‘I don’t need money, I wanted to invest in Marcus’s venture.’

  ‘You’re mad! He hasn’t finished uni! Let him get on his feet like I did.’ Andrew was angry.

  ‘You forget your father gave you a loan to go out on your own.’

  ‘That was different! I was married with two little kids.’

  ‘I happen to think Marcus’s idea is clever and timely,’ she persisted.

  Andrew bit the retort that sprang to his lips, thinking what would Holly know about e-commerce. ‘How much does he want?’

  ‘Ten thousand dollars.’

  Andrew got up and went to his desk and opened a drawer.

  He’s going to write a cheque, thought Holly. He’s giving in too easily. Guilt. She wondered whether she should say anything about the cash at the house. But instead he pulled out a folder of business cards, extracted one and gave it to Holly. ‘Give this to him, this guy might be able to help. Very big in IT.’

  ‘Why don’t you give it to him, show you’re being supportive? I’m flying back this afternoon.’

  ‘Why are you here then, Holly?’

  ‘I was hoping we could renegotiate and restructure our business affairs. I guess I’m not very bright at all this. I’ll have Paul Maynard, my solicitor, deal with it.’ She stood up.

  ‘Who? We have a solicitor. Holly, that isn’t necessary.’

  ‘I believe it is. Thomas and your bank are in a serious breach of nondisclosure, failure to advise me and conflict of interest.’ She picked up her bag, imagining the wheels spinning in Andrew’s mind. She paused and said, ‘By the way, is this deal you and Letitia are doing the one your Asian friend and Sam Mann are also involved in? I’d be careful, Andrew, Sam is not highly regarded in The Bay.’

  ‘What the hell do you know about this, Holly? Who have you been speaking to?’ Andrew was across the office in two strides, but Holly had the door open.

  ‘I’ll be at home when you want to talk further. That’s at home as in The Bay.’ She nodded at his secretary and pulled open the glass door with the gold lettering: Andrew Jamieson. Architect, Design and Development.

  He caught up with her at the lift. ‘Holly, we need to talk. This is important.’

  ‘Then you come to The Bay. Oh, not for a week or so, I’m going whale watching. Goodbye, Andrew.’ She stepped into the lift, relieved it was empty. Her bravado melted and she fumbled for her dark glasses but still the tears flowed down her cheeks.

  Beacon Bay, 1908

  HANNAH SAT BY THE SEA TRUNK LOOKING THROUGH THE clothes and favourite belongings of her two boys. The idea of not seeing them for so many months was breaking her heart, but she tried to hide her fears and sadness in the face of their excitement. Lars had explained to them the potential boredom of life at sea on such a long voyage after the freedom they enjoyed at home. But to the boys it was looming as a grand adventure. And while they weren’t on a whaler, they’d heard the old stories the whalers told of seafaring exploits. Lars had also, if reluctantly, tried to explain to Hannah the estrangement that had developed between him and the family in Norway.

  It seems such a big mountain has grown from quite a small event. But I finally understand what caused Lars to sever ties with his family. It had not been a happy family, for many reasons, and Lars, when only nineteen, decided marriage to a younger relative was a way to escape and start a new life. There was a dreadful disagreement with his parents, he felt guilty because the girl too had
been shamed and shunned, so before the wedding he ran away to sea. His father rejected him completely and when he finally wrote to his mother after many months, his letter was returned to the shipping company. He tells me he wrote to them on the happy occasion of our marriage, saying they would approve of his choice now he was a mature man. He heard nothing. He wrote again after Sven was born and received a reply from his mother telling him his father had died some time before. But she was pleased to know of the birth of her only grandson.

  Lars says his mother is old and there are only a few members of his immediate family alive. Also, as Sven has been curious about his family so far across the world, he thinks it his duty to take the boys to Norway. Later in life they can choose where they wish to make their home.

  I am relieved that due to the forthcoming baby I am not going on this journey. I do not speak their language and I secretly fear meeting such a strong old lady who rejected Lars’s first choice of bride, even though he was a rash young man. I fear she might still be disapproving.

  Lars has left the business in good order and I am well cared for with assistance for when our babe arrives. Another reason I like being settled here is the friendships among our small community.

  I will sorely miss my beloved husband, from whom I have scarcely been parted. I should not complain about this separation when I think about those wives of captains who went a year or more without seeing their husbands. My days as a ‘petticoat whaler’ when I accompanied Lars to sea were often tedious and difficult, though enlivened by the whale hunts and the rare occasions to gam with other wives. I selfishly believe our time here in this beautiful bay is reward for the hardship, but looking back I would not have exchanged one day. I truly count my blessings, especially when I stand atop the roof walk to watch the sunset. Such a peaceful time. I’ve told Lars and the boys that I will make it a daily habit to watch the far horizon until their ship returns them safely to my arms.