Franco cheerfully slapped Giuseppe on the back. ‘You are a fisherman indeed. Giovanni was right to send you to me. Come, let’s join the others.’
The other men clustered around Giuseppe. Amid much laughter and tales of fishing and dramas at sea, they filled him in on life in Wollongong and its prospects for a rosy future.
‘It’s such a great place, people come here from Sydney for their holidays,’ said one enthusiastic Italian.
‘The fishing is truly wonderful,’ said another. ‘Just you wait and see.’
‘Welcome to our club. Welcome to Wollongong!’ they all exclaimed, clapping him on the back.
Giuseppe was overwhelmed by their cheerful welcome and generosity. A woman appeared from the kitchen and announced that the food was ready. For several hours they all lingered over wine and an array of dishes that followed each other, course by course, with plenty of talking and laughter. The women stayed in the background, pleased to see their food being appreciated. Eventually they joined the men and sat around the table to eat the sweet dishes and a platter of fruit. Later, over cups of dark Italian coffee, someone brought out an accordion and they sang the old songs from home.
Night fell and Giuseppe wondered where he could stay for the night. It seemed late to be looking for a room. Perhaps he could sleep on the beach.
Then, as though reading his mind, Franco stood up and said, ‘Joe, you’ve had a long day and I know you are wondering where you will sleep. Come with me and I will take you to a boarding house where other men who work for me also live. I think you’ll find it comfortable.’
Giuseppe collected his suitcase and, after saying goodnight to everyone, followed his new employer out of the yard, fully expecting a long walk to the guesthouse. But Franco stopped beside a car that was parked in front of the house.
‘Hop in. I’ll drive you there and introduce you to the landlady.’
Giuseppe could not believe that Franco was rich enough to own his own car, and that he had invited Giuseppe to ride in it. It was the first time that he had ever ridden in a private motor car.
‘What sort of car is this?’ he asked when they were under way.
‘A Model-T Ford. The most common car around. One day I hope to have enough money to buy a better one, but this will do for the time being.’
Giuseppe thought the Model-T was a wonderful machine; it seemed to fly along the road.
‘This seems pretty good to me,’ he said, trying to sound as though he frequently rode in cars.
But Franco was not fooled. ‘This the first time you’ve been in a car? But you’re right, my Tin Lizzie is good. Easy to drive and easy to fix if it breaks down. Maybe you’ll own one someday, if you work hard and save your money.’
Giuseppe could not imagine such a time.
It took only a few minutes to reach the boarding house and Franco introduced Giuseppe to Signora Casalegno. Giuseppe thanked Franco for his kindness and promised that he would be at the harbour bright and early, ready to start work.
The signora showed him to a pleasant room and, as he fell groggily to sleep after so much good food and too much grappa, he wished he could tell Antonio and Luciano about all that had happened. He felt hopeful about the future, but this time he would be more cautious about his actions. But after his evening with the Rivieras he felt enveloped in the warmth and comfort of familiar customs and habits, generosity and hospitality. It was as if the distance across the sea to his homeland was not so great. He felt as though he belonged.
*
Giuseppe worked the long line fishing with Franco and his crew. Once he was confident Giuseppe knew the sea conditions and after he’d seen how capable he was in the snapper boat, Franco allowed him to go out on his own with just one of his boys.
There were three other Italians living in the guesthouse, all of whom worked for Franco, and they quickly became friends. The guesthouse was owned by the Casalegnos, but it was the signora who made the decisions. She was businesslike and didn’t take a personal interest in her boarders like Signora Pagano had. Signor Casalegno had set up a small bakery and was at work by two each morning. He slept in the afternoon after the bakery closed. The signora made a huge fuss if any of her guests disturbed him, so it was easier to stay away from the house until evening. The three Italian boys showed Giuseppe the best places to visit around Wollongong, going to the beaches or the movies. But there was little that they could teach Giuseppe about fishing and after a few days out in Franco’s boat it was obvious to everyone that Giuseppe was a born fisherman. They knew that his father had taught him well and he had listened to what Kostas had to say about fishing in Australia.
Giuseppe loved what he was doing and enjoyed everything about Wollongong. As the weeks turned to months, he thought less and less about returning to Sydney.
Franco was very sociable and he invited all his employees to the parties he usually threw once a month on a Sunday. As time passed and he came to know Giuseppe better, Franco began to ask him home on the other Sundays to discuss fishing. Giuseppe, spruced up and dressed in his best shirt and jacket, would join the family for Sunday lunch after they’d all been to church. He enjoyed being part of a family again and it was over lunch that Giuseppe learned all about his boss and his successful fishing venture.
Franco had arrived in Australia from Piedmont and, despite coming from the alpine slopes near Turin, his love of the sea and his love of eating fish developed into a passion. He was determined to make a new life in a very different world – that of fishing. He told Giuseppe that when he had arrived in Melbourne he had been mentored by an old Italian fisherman who took him into his business and taught him all he knew. When the old man died with no family in Australia or Italy, he’d left his fishing boat and a ramshackle boathouse to Franco.
‘But there was a lot of competition around Melbourne and I heard that the fishing was good along the coast here, so I brought the boat to Wollongong.’ He smiled. ‘It was the right time. I got in first. Other men are starting to come here to fish, too, but I want to keep ahead of them. To do that I need good people. I think you could help me and if you stay with me, I’ll do the right thing by you.’
‘I am very grateful to you for the opportunity you have given me,’ said Giuseppe sincerely.
‘My son Silvio is not like you. He is not fond of fishing,’ Franco told Giuseppe. ‘But he is a very good salesman and he makes a lot of money with his contacts and his hard work. He always gets the very best prices for my fish.’
Giuseppe knew that Franco also had two daughters – Maria, who was still at school, and Evalina, who was nineteen and had finished school and now worked at home with her mother.
Evalina was a shy, sweet girl, who spoke English well and did the shopping for her mother. Every Saturday Evalina bought bread from Signor Casalegno’s bakery, which was near the Casalegnos’ boarding house and, if Giuseppe wasn’t working, he often saw her there and walked with her back to the Rivieras’ place.
One Saturday afternoon after Giuseppe had walked Evalina home and carried her shopping back in to her house, Franco called him to come out into the backyard.
‘I’m sorting old lines and nets and tidying my workshed,’ he explained as they walked across the large yard filled with several nets, boxes and fishing paraphernalia. He indicated an upturned crate for Giuseppe to sit on, next to a bottle of grappa and two glasses. He poured Giuseppe a glass and handed it to him. ‘Salute. Thank you, Joe, for being such a help to me and my family.’
‘I am pleased to be able to help you all. You and your family are good people,’ said Giuseppe.
‘I have been thinking,’ said Franco as he lifted his glass. ‘I came to Wollongong before anyone else did to start the fishing business. Now I think there are other opportunities further down the coast. I have purchased another boat and I plan to expand south of here.’
‘You would move from here?’ asked Giuseppe, surprised that Franco would choose to move from Wollongong.
Franco sh
ook his head. ‘Not me. You. What do you think of moving to Whitby Point? It’s not many hours from here and the fishing is excellent. It is further away from the Sydney markets but Silvio is sure that we will be able to compete successfully.’
‘I don’t understand . . . I will go there if there is work you need me to do there. But I know nothing about starting a business.’
‘Of course not. I will help you get started, just as I started here. You will need a couple of good men. If you agree, we can go down and see about getting you set up.’
‘I do not know what to say. It would be a . . . dream,’ began Giuseppe. ‘What will Silvio say about bringing a stranger into the family to run part of the business?’
Franco dismissed this with a wave of his hand. ‘I have another proposition. I want to make you part of my family. How do you feel about marrying Evalina? She has feelings for you and would be agreeable to such an arrangement.’
Giuseppe stared at Franco while he searched for words. ‘She is a very nice girl. A sweet girl. I admire her very much.’
‘Then it is settled. She will be a perfect wife for you. It would make me – all the family, in fact – very happy.’
‘You have welcomed me into your home, given me a good job, and now you offer to make me part of your family’s business and want me to marry your daughter. She is the kind of girl my parents would want me to marry; a good Italian girl. They will be very pleased.’
‘Evalina is happy to marry you and to help you start my business down there. I will help you both set up a home as well as the business. You won’t do any better, Giuseppe.’
Giuseppe was not sure if Franco was referring to the business offer or to his daughter, or both, so he nodded in agreement. ‘I am honoured by your offer. And it is something I would like to do very much. I have always dreamed of running my own – well – of being in charge of a fishing business. Of course I would like to speak with Evalina.’
‘Indeed. There is no rush, you must court her properly.’
Giuseppe wondered what his friend Antonio in north Queensland would think, but he knew his friend would tell him he’d be mad to pass up such a proposition. He could hear Antonio saying that, even if the girl was ugly, it was an offer too good to refuse.
And Evalina wasn’t ugly. She looked like many of the pretty girls in his village. She had light brown hair, dark eyes, a curvaceous figure, pleasant features and a kind smile. She was a good cook and she knew how to run a household. She would be a good wife. She was not from his village, but he knew that even Nonna Celestina would approve of his choice.
So it was all agreed.
South coast, New South Wales, 2011
It was not a day to fall in love with Whitby Point.
The sea thrashed angrily onto the empty beach, flinging waves up against the rocky cliffs, and gnawed hungrily at the sloping dunes that protected the small lagoon lying behind the beach. Sea birds huddled at the edge of the lagoon, taking refuge from the howling winter wind.
A lone figure, bent against the wind, fists pushed deep into the pockets of her jacket, walked along the path that skirted the deserted caravan park and camping ground. A change in wind direction blew back the hood of her jacket and her curling hair burst from the restraint of its hair clip.
The woman lifted her head to the smarting sting of sea spray, and changed her mind about walking past the cliff into the small township and harbour. She turned and made her way back around the bend to Pelican Cove, where three isolated cabins were hidden. Despite being spoiled for choice at this time of year, she’d chosen to rent one of these older cabins from a real estate agent in the town because of its seclusion.
The cabins on either side of hers were empty, and their small porches were carpeted with decaying vegetation – feathery needles and leaves from the trees. Their drawn blinds gave them an air of hunched defensiveness; the setting looked nothing like a sunny summer holiday escape. Cassandra Holloway had arrived in Whitby Point a few days ago and, while she could visualise how this place would look in the height of summer, its wintry setting suited her bleak mood.
As she approached the cabins, she saw a car parked by the side of the small dirt road that ran beside her cabin. A man, probably in his sixties, well built and fit and wearing overalls, got out of it as she approached.
‘Mrs Holloway? I’m Geoff Spring, the repairman. The real estate agent sent me. A problem with the kitchen, is it?’
‘Yes, the stove isn’t working. I thought the gas bottle was empty but it’s not, so I have no idea what’s wrong.’
‘No stove makes cooking tricky. These places are getting old. Built in the eighties and haven’t been touched since, except for a lick of paint.’ He grabbed his toolbox and followed her as she unlocked the front door.
‘If it wasn’t for the weather I’d use the barbecue. I’m getting a bit tired of meals in a frypan. But I can still boil the kettle. Tea or coffee?’
‘You don’t have to do that. But if you’re making tea . . . Where’s the gas bottle? I’ll just check that first.’
Finding that it was indeed full he turned his attention to the stove. He fiddled with the knobs, peered into the oven and jiggled the gas line at the back of it. Fifteen minutes later, with the stove fixed, Cassie poured the tea into their cups as they sat at the kitchen table.
‘Nice view out there across the lagoon to the ocean between the dunes. Summertime this place is jam-packed. A lot of families have been coming here forever. Book the same spot in the caravan park year after year. It’s a bit off the beaten track but for those in the know, it’s paradise. This is an odd time of year to come here.’ Geoff gave Cassie an enquiring look.
‘I wanted a break and the peace and quiet suits me.’
‘I don’t suppose you’re staying long, but if anything else goes wrong, all you have to do is tell the office and I’ll be right back out.’
‘Thanks, but I’m hoping there won’t be any other faults.’
‘Righto. If you want to know anything the office can always help you out, or you can give me a ring. I’ve been here a good number of years now, I know what’s what and who’s who. Anyway, you probably won’t need help because this town is so small, you’ll know every inch of it in a day!’
‘How long have you been here?’ asked Cassie.
‘About twenty years. Usual story – my wife and I came on holidays and fell in love with the place. Quit a boring job in Newcastle and started doing handyman work and gardening. I like working outdoors. We lived in a caravan before I built our house. You should come back when it starts to warm up.’
‘I don’t know. I’ve only been here a few days but I’m enjoying the cool weather and solitude.’
‘You warm enough? Have you got enough wood for the pot-bellied stove and the barbecue? I know the office supplies some, but it’s rubbish. I can bring you round some better stuff. I’ve got a big stash of seasoned wood and a bundle of old fence posts.’
‘That’s kind of you. I’d like that very much. Could you bring it by tonight so I can have a nice fire in the pot-bellied stove?’ asked Cassie, getting up and putting the milk away in the old refrigerator.
Geoff drained his cup. ‘No worries. You sure you’re okay out here on your own with no phone or TV? ’Course you could rent a telly, there’s a connection they put in last year. But you’ll have problems with mobile phone coverage out here.’
‘Yes, so I discovered. But I found that if I walk out to the edge of the lagoon there’s a spot where it works. I don’t think I want a TV. For the moment I’m enjoying re-discovering the radio and the joys of a good book. But thanks for asking.’
Geoff nodded and took his cup to the sink, rinsed it and pulled a card from his pocket and left it on the bench before he walked out of the little cabin and closed the door behind him.
Cassie watched him get into his car, touched that he was concerned about her being there on her own. She hadn’t felt lonely or at all nervous staying among the whispering sh
e-oaks. Right now she preferred not having people around. And she liked the idea of some good firewood. The little cabin would be cosier with a fire burning in the pot-bellied stove.
How very different it all was from the apartment she’d just left behind in Sydney. The slick, modern building that was only a short walk from the law firm where she and her husband had worked, seemed to be on a different planet from where she stood now.
Over the last few days she had tried not to think too much about the disaster that had happened in her marriage, but, now she’d opened that door, there was no closing it as the trickle of memories and emotions swiftly became a flood. She took a deep breath, picked up her pashmina, wound it around her shoulders, walked out onto the little porch, sank into the unravelling wicker chair and stared at the lagoon where the wind was whipping up small foaming waves.
She saw now that the apartment had symbolised her relationship with Hal. It was always about him and what he wanted. She’d argued with him about their first home. She hadn’t wanted to live right in the city, she would rather have gone somewhere like Manly, where she’d grown up in a rambling cliff-top house overlooking the ocean.
‘I don’t want an apartment in the city. The city is cold. Canyons of city blocks, like beehives with tinted windows and little worker bees slaving away inside them.’
Hal Holloway had merely laughed. ‘That’s us, babe. Worker bees. If you want to get ahead in a law firm, you have to be prepared to work long hours, so you won’t want a long commute at the end of the day.’
The Winter Sea Page 10
