Birthright

by Fiona Lowe

  ‘Ellie Jamieson, right?’

  Before she’d decided if she was going to admit to being herself, Noah said, ‘That’s my mum’s name. I’m Noah.’

  ‘Pleased to meet you, Noah. I’m Luke.’ Deep lines arrowed around his smiling mouth and eyes—lines that spoke of a life lived outdoors—and he stuck out his hand to Ellie. ‘Luke Sorenson. Mingunyah Primary.’ She must have looked baffled because he added quickly, ‘We had Mrs Pye in Grade Six. She made us run the perimeter of the playground every morning.’

  Ellie had a sudden flash of a boy with white-blond hair racing past her before turning, running backwards and taunting her that she ran like a girl. She’d beaten him enough times to keep things competitive. A laugh bubbled up at the memory; a laugh that surprised her.

  ‘Do you still run backwards, Luke?’

  He gave a self-deprecating shrug. ‘I’m a boundary umpire. What about you?’

  ‘She chases me,’ Noah said. ‘She can’t catch me, but.’

  ‘You look pretty fast,’ Luke said in the easy manner of someone familiar with children. He turned back to Ellie. ‘The school had its hundred and fiftieth a couple of years back. Mrs Pye came and a dozen of us did the run for her. Didn’t see you there.’

  ‘No.’

  He rubbed his stubbled jaw thoughtfully. ‘Didn’t you head off to some swanky Melbourne boarding school?’

  ‘Scholarship,’ she lied with perfected ease. It was so much easier than the truth.

  ‘You back for a visit then?’

  ‘It’s Mother’s Day,’ Noah chipped in. ‘Sarah told Mum we had to come cos it’s Gran’s special day and she deserves it but Mum said it’s her special day too and—’

  ‘Noah! That’s enough.’ Ellie hastily cut off her son before he quoted her less than optimal opinion about today’s lunch to this virtual stranger. It was a quote from a rant she’d made to Wendy when she’d been certain Noah was watching television, but apparently not. ‘Mr Sorenson isn’t interested in that.’ Except going on the glint in Luke’s oddly hypnotic blue eyes, he looked far too interested. ‘He needs to get back to his family for Mother’s Day and you need to close the gate after him.’

  Luke’s gaze rested on Ellie and she realised it still held the same teasing playfulness it had all those years ago. Back then it made her squirm with a feeling that lurched between delight and determination. Now it just made her squirm with unease. She deliberately looked over his left shoulder. ‘We’re late.’

  ‘And I need more supplies for the job.’ Luke jammed his hat onto his head. ‘Noah, don’t move, mate. I want to see you when I drive through the gate. Good to see you again, Ellie.’ He walked to the ute without glancing back.

  As Ellie trudged to her car, she felt her shoulders fall from up round her ears. She hadn’t been aware that they’d risen.

  CHAPTER

  2

  Margaret pinned the diamond brooch on the lapel of her navy woollen coat before looking in her cheval mirror and checking it was straight. She’d worn the spray brooch with its scroll design for forty-four years, not caring that for twenty of those it had been considered old-fashioned. Diamonds never went out of style and now, with vintage fashion all the rage, her granddaughters adored the brooch. They always made a fuss whenever she wore it, and so they should. It wasn’t just a beautiful piece of jewellery worth a lot of money, it represented a lot of hard work—hers. She’d earned every single one of the 123 baguette-cut and twelve brilliant-cut diamonds. The day the brooch became hers was still etched in her mind—far more vividly than anything she’d done yesterday…

  Cameron’s arrival ten months after Sarah’s was as swift as Sarah’s had been agonisingly slow. In the time it took for Kevin to deliver her into the care of the midwife, park the Fairlane and walk back inside the hospital, her son was born. The following day, Kevin’s father, George, visited her. He came alone and outside of the rigidly enforced visiting hours, a fact that hadn’t surprised her. Not even the dragon charge sister could resist George’s charm. When he unexpectedly walked into her private room, her first reaction was one of wide-eyed surprise immediately followed by disappointment. The least she’d expected from her father-in-law was flowers—and not just any flowers. Certainly not the common pink-edged cream carnations that every other woman in maternity had received. No, she deserved a massive bouquet of white roses for what she’d just done.

  Quickly buttoning her matinee jacket, she sat up higher in the bed. ‘Hello, George.’

  He gave a silent nod and pulled up a chair. She was about to say, ‘Have you seen the baby?’ when he said gruffly, ‘This is for you.’ Pulling an old blue velvet jewellery case out of his jacket pocket, he pushed it into her hands.

  Hopeful anticipation quickly pushed aside astonishment and her fingers shook, fumbling with the ornate brass latch. She finally managed to open the box and gasped in delighted relief—it was exactly what she wanted to see. The ornate diamond brooch George had given his wife, Enid, on their tenth wedding anniversary was nestled in luxurious cream silk. Margaret knew it well; her relationship with the brooch had started long before her relationship with Kevin.

  The first time she’d been captivated by its tantalising sparkle was at a library fundraiser, where it had glinted on the lapel of Enid’s fur-trimmed coat. It was Margaret’s second week in Mingunyah after accepting the job as teacher-librarian at the high school and at age twenty-six, she’d never been so close to such an expensive brooch outside of a jewellery store. Nor had she met a woman who wore such a valuable item with so much casual style.

  ‘This old thing?’ Enid had said in response to Margaret’s compliment. ‘I’m glad you like it.’

  ‘Like’ was the understatement of the century. Margaret had coveted the brooch from that moment.

  ‘Oh, George.’ The wonder that it was finally hers danced through her fingertips as she lightly stroked the diamonds. ‘Thank you.’

  Never a demonstrative man, her father-in-law cleared his throat and gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze. ‘I always knew you’d be good for this family, Maggie. You rescued us.’

  With difficulty, she dragged her gaze away from the hypnotic brooch and looked at him. ‘You’ve always been good to me.’

  And he had been—so much so that George was the only person she ever allowed to call her Maggie. Early on, Kevin had tried once or twice, but he soon learned she only responded to Margaret. But her admiration for her father-in-law was established before her marriage to Kevin, starting a few months after Enid’s death.

  She and Kevin had been seeing each other for over a year but her goal of getting his ring onto her finger was proving elusive. She’d tried everything she could think of: listening to him talk about the sawmill and agreeing with his grievances even if she disagreed; watching him play endless games of football and enduring the monotonous post-game parties where Kevin was always absorbed in analysing the game with Gary Longmuir and Pete Cooper. Many parties were spent warding off the attentions of a few of his mates and their drunken pickup lines: ‘I wouldn’t ignore you, darlin’. I’d show you a good time.’ She imagined they probably would, but instant gratification wasn’t something she invested in. Her eye was on the long game—the future.

  At the six-month mark and starting to despair, she’d tweaked the traditional advice of ‘the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach’ by serving Kevin chicken and veal Kiev and chocolate soufflé before dishing herself up on a platter. Kevin savoured the meal before savouring her, sending her hopes soaring. But while Kevin hadn’t sought to end things with her after that meal, he hadn’t shown any signs of taking the next step either and with her twenty-eighth birthday having come and gone, she was at a loss as to what to try next. The idea of kissing one of Kevin’s mates to startle him into a claim of ownership was starting to look like a viable option.

  When she accepted an unexpected invitation from George to dine at Mill House, she was struck by a thought the moment she stepped into its high
-ceilinged Georgian hallway: Was she pursuing the wrong Jamieson? Surrounded by impeccable decor and obvious wealth, the idea of marrying a rich man thirty-five years her senior suddenly became something worth considering.

  Over a meal of beef Wellington cooked by George’s housekeeper and accompanied by a bottle of Penfold’s Grange, he eventually said, ‘My son’s a fool for not snapping you up.’

  Her meat-laden fork stalled halfway to her mouth. It took a moment for her brain to recover from its momentary shock and kick up a gear.

  While she weighed up the best way to respond, George continued, ‘I, on the other hand, always get what I want.’

  ‘I imagine you do,’ she purred, unwilling to burn any bridges lest George was expressing interest in her.

  ‘Do you want him?’

  His directness stunned her. Of course she wanted the handsome heir to the biggest employer in town, but things between her and Kevin were travelling at a snail’s pace and had been for some time. Was saying ‘Yes, I want Kevin’ the right answer if George’s motive in asking her here tonight was because he was interested in her? She kept her cards close.

  ‘All I want is to make this family happy again.’

  ‘Good. We’re in agreement then. It’s what Enid would have wanted too. My darling wife spent the last eight years waiting for Kevin to marry and make her a grandmother.’ His voice quavered slightly. ‘That bastard cancer took her too early.’

  The haze in Margaret’s mind cleared. George’s intentions had nothing to do with pursuing her. Tonight was all about her and Kevin. ‘There’s nothing I want more than to be Kevin’s wife but—’ She leaned forward, opening her palms and aiming for a gesture of conflicted understanding. ‘He’s still grieving for his mother.’

  ‘Life goes on. My son needs a wife and an heir to get him back on track,’ George said decisively. ‘Leave it with me.’

  Her heart rate picked up, filling her with hope, but she tried to quell its expectations. ‘Leave what exactly to you?’

  ‘Everything.’ He poured her a whiskey and raised his glass to hers with a wink. ‘I promise you’ll be walking down the aisle of St Mary’s before the year is out.’

  True to his word—and two days after her twenty-ninth birthday— that was exactly what she did. Wearing a cream, pure silk wedding gown with exquisite hand-embroidered scalloping and seven thousand seed pearls, she glided along the blue carpet on George’s arm in front of the who’s who of Mingunyah and the surrounding district. He placed her hand in Kevin’s as he stood nervously in a pale blue tuxedo next to his best man, Gary Longmuir. Mark ‘Tiger’ Ralston, the groomsman and one of a group of men she’d toyed with kissing to make Kevin jealous, gave her a big wink. Margaret liked Tiger a lot more than Gary. Gary was too serious and Kevin valued his opinion a little more than Margaret would have liked.

  The squawk of a cockatoo brought Margaret back to the present and she gave the brooch a fond pat. The action made something niggle in the back of her mind—something Cameron had said to her recently. Was it about the brooch? It wasn’t like Cameron to notice jewellery, unlike that wife of his, who did enough noticing for the both of them. The annoying niggle burrowed in, demanding to be answered. What on earth had he said?

  How long since you had the setting checked on your brooch, Mum? Cameron’s voice came back to her, soothing the prickling need to remember. It would be heartbreaking if one of the diamonds fell out.

  It would be. Her hand rose unbidden to her mouth as an even worse scenario occurred to her. What if it got stolen like the lemons on her tree that had all suddenly vanished? As soon as she saw Cameron she’d insist he take the brooch to Melbourne this week and have Abe Rubenstein’s son check it and value it for insurance purposes. The Rubensteins had cared for the Jamiesons’ jewellery for decades and she wouldn’t trust anyone else with the task. Although part of her would love to see the look on Derek Lung’s face if she took it into Mingunyah Jewellery. The man sold the occasional diamond solitaire engagement ring but most of his sales consisted of costume jewellery and watches. She doubted he’d ever held anything like the brooch.

  She checked her watch. It was time to leave for Sarah’s. Irritation zipped through her as she searched for her car keys. It was Mother’s Day! Surely one of her children should have offered to drive her? Why had Sarah and Alex moved out to Riverbend? After all, when they started out as cheese makers in the old factory, they bought their milk with no intentions of ever farming themselves. Margaret clearly recalled the first time she met Alex. He told her most emphatically that his father and grandfather struggled for years on the farm, which was why he chose to study engineering. So much for that malarkey. Riverbend was a good half-hour drive out of town and the last stretch was a minor road full of potholes and corrugations. She had much preferred it when her daughter lived three streets away and was available whenever Margaret telephoned.

  A car horn sounded long and loud, making Margaret jump. It was probably that dreadful Hamish Makin visiting his mother. That boy had been a difficult child and now he was an obnoxious adult. If she’d known a decade ago that subdividing the land surrounding Mill House would mean noisy neighbours, she might have changed her mind. She peered through the lace curtains, expecting to see a bright blue Holden complete with a spoiler and dual chrome exhausts, but gasped in confused delight and surprise. Rushing to the front door, she pulled it open and waved as Cameron got out of the car.

  ‘Hello, dear,’ she said presenting her cheek for a kiss. ‘Why on earth are you driving my car?’

  * * *

  ‘Got any more of that merlot?’

  Sarah turned from stacking the dishwasher to see Cameron standing in the kitchen, glancing around expectantly, empty wine glass in hand. It was that tricky period at a formal lunch when the table had been cleared after the main meal but dessert and coffee were yet to be served. Twenty minutes earlier, Cameron had emptied the second bottle of wine into his glass so his question was really more along the lines of a statement: I’m sure you have another bottle of that very expensive wine I’m enjoying so let’s open it.

  Cameron liked to drink the wine Alex served, and it wasn’t as if they couldn’t afford to offer wines from the high end of the range, but Cameron rarely brought a bottle to add to their cellar. She knew this about him—had known it for a long time—but today, for some reason, it irked her. She had plans for the third bottle of merlot and it involved her, Alex and the couch.

  ‘I’m making coffee,’ she said, hoping he’d take the hint.

  ‘After this morning’s fun and games, I’d prefer to stick to wine.’ Cameron smiled as he spied the unopened bottle in the butler’s pantry. In three strides, he was holding the bottle in his beefy hand. Sarah heard the seal crack, and then the glug-glug of the velvet liquid swirling into the deep bowl of the glass. She had a sudden poignant memory of the days when red wine came corked and all it took to stymie greedy guests was hiding the corkscrew.

  ‘Oh, thank God. You’ve got more wine.’ Ellie appeared in the kitchen and extended her glass. ‘If I have to hear one more time how embarrassed my mother is about my housing situation, I need to be blotto.’

  ‘So how is life with the lesbians?’ Cameron asked, filling her glass.

  ‘I imagine the same as life with the heterosexuals,’ Ellie said equably as Sarah flinched at Cameron’s question.

  Like most things about her younger sister’s life, Ellie’s sexuality was a mystery to her—one they’d never discussed. Ellie had never openly said she was gay but then again, she’d never said she was straight either. It didn’t help that she dressed in baggy T-shirts in summer, oversized flannel shirts and vests in winter, wore jeans on cold days, knee-length shorts on warm days and work boots no matter what the season. When Sarah considered that, apart from the occasional smear of gloss on her lips, Ellie’s face was never touched by makeup, that she drove an old Subaru station wagon and she was vegetarian, the evidence seemed pretty conclusive— right up until it was
n’t. Sarah always got stuck on the facts that Ellie had never introduced a woman to the family—or a man, for that matter—she wore her eye-stopping blonde, curly hair long and she always waxed her legs.

  And then there was Noah.

  Sarah had read enough to know that Noah’s existence didn’t mean Ellie was straight. But it struck her as odd that Ellie would choose to use Thai donor semen, so she was reasonably confident Noah had been conceived naturally. Of course the window of opportunity to ask the question was long past. It had got lost in the stunned surprise of Ellie’s out-of-the-blue phone call telling Sarah that not only was she unexpectedly in Sydney, Sarah was an auntie. Her spoiled and self-indulgent baby sister had once again managed to shock her.

  The most recent Ellie thunderbolt was her decision to return to the valley, but she supposed that was old news now. Despite Ellie living closer than she had in decades, Sarah felt as removed from her life as she had when Ellie was living overseas. But it had been longer than that. The truth was that the last time Sarah felt close to Ellie and relaxed in her company was the summer before her wedding to Alex, when she’d taught her little sister to wax her legs.

  Sarah quickly capped the merlot bottle in a vain attempt to save some wine for Alex and steered the conversation away from sexuality. ‘Talking about Mum, does Graeme Aitkens have any idea who took her car for a joyride?’

  When Cameron arrived at Riverbend House with their mother, Margaret had breezed in, taking centre stage on the couch and accepting her gifts with the graciousness of the Queen before mentioning she was quite thirsty. Sarah, busy playing hostess and keenly feeling Alex’s absence, had appreciated Anita’s suggestion that Cameron help Gus organise the drinks. It turned out to be a stroke of genius, because apparently, her brother was the only member of the family capable of mixing a Bloody Mary to their mother’s exacting standards.

  ‘Sergeant Plod reckons it was opportunistic kids.’ Cameron sipped the wine. ‘He reckons Mum must have left the keyless remote in the car.’